Category: 2013 – Adelaide Fringe Festival

[2013045] Joel Creasey in The Drama Captain

Joel Creasey @ Rhino Room – Howling Owl

10:00pm, Fri 22 Feb 2013

A frantic dash through the (previously unknown to me) Friday-night markets sees me scurrying into the Howling Owl just as Joel Creasey was launching into his opening song; as I crouched under the spotlight, I couldn’t help but notice Creasey’s stereotypical nasal, campy singing style. I found an unoccupied chaise lounge at the back of the room, and spent the first couple of minutes of the show sweating from the changeover.

Creasey – clad in his old school uniform (well… his blazer, at least) – spends the first half of his show discussing his role as the eponymous Drama Captain: the leader of the tiny Drama group in his school, led by a disinterested teacher and featuring some even more disinterested students. His heartbreak at not getting the leading role in the big school production leads to a second half which deals with the love and loss of his most recent boyfriend – and that’s equal parts lovely and heartwarming and backhanded snark.

The comparison – and contrast – between the two halves of the show demonstrate a remarkable maturity in Creasey’s writing… but that’s not to say that he ignores his role as comedian. He revels in the stereotype of the bitchy camp: his school days, in particular, are full of humorous spite; after mentioning that Ben Cousins and Buddy Franklin both went to his school, his disdain was obvious, and Creasey seemingly has no issues with painting a picture of Franklin as a disabled-taunting bully. The second half seemed to alternate between heartfelt tenderness and out-and-out cattiness… but there’s still some brilliant asides to his desperate jaunt to a local store upon the release of his first DVD (his disappointment is amusingly palpable), and there’s a hilarious reference to Amol misuse (and the second reference to that muscle relaxant that I’d heard within a couple of days… I’m guessing it must be A Thing now).

The Drama Captain felt like a brutally honest (and henceforth personal) show, peppered with little nuggets of raw truth from Creasey’s emotional travails. That he also manages to make his tales funny – at times uproariously so – is a credit to his writing skills; it really was a high-quality hour of stand-up, delivered with confidence by a truly skilful comic.

[2013044] Aggressively Helpful

Alice Fraser, Justine Rogers, Alex Wasiel @ The Producers Garden

8:30pm, Fri 22 Feb 2013

After the three Aggressively Helpful women impressed at the Rhino Room earlier in the week, I was looking forward to a more focussed ensemble performance; given the name and précis of the show, I figured there was a huge opportunity for some humorous interaction between the trio.

But before heading out to the beer garden, I thought I might grab a beverage – fair enough, you’d think. Into the front bar I wander, and I notice that there’s only two people in front of me in the bar queue – with five minutes up my sleeve, that should be no problem, even taking into account the fact that there was only one bar-guy. You’d think. But then the woman at the head of the queue orders three beers… then two wines… then five Jägermeister shots, all as different transactions. Which left the hipster chap in front of me getting quite irate… but then he ordered a large and complex batch of beverages too. People, eh?

The woman with the multiple drink orders – and her friends, who had arrived in time for the shots – entered the beer garden just ahead of me and parked themselves in the front row, immediately livening the place up… a good thing, too, because with the lack of music playing, the feeling out there was bordering on funereal. And that’s an odd feeling prefacing a comedy show: despite the fact that most of the seats in the beer garden were occupied, there was an expectant hush over the crowd – no music, no conversation.

Alex Wasiel, Justine Rogers, and Alice Fraser take to the stage, each armed with their own microphone. Their initial banter is… well, stiff. Awkward, even. And whilst the women promise to offer helpful advice to all who need it – including each other – there’s precious little forthcoming; as each comedienne performs her solo set (between twenty to thirty minutes each), the other two sit at an onstage table in near silence, only very occasionally murmuring an interjecting retort to the soloist’s comments.

Wasiel is first up, and her material comes from her past life as a lawyer (and especially her travels in the outback); there’s some oddball wall-hair stories in amongst jokes familiar from her Rhino Room set. She’s got a bright-eyed and very approachable style, and her writing is wonderfully verbose and lyrical, but the jokes unfortunately don’t really work as well the second time around.

Justine Rogers was the second soloist and, if anything, managed to create an even greater contrast between her pure-and-innocent appearance and gloriously filthy mouth. Unicyclist opinions turn into instructions on brother-wrestling, which were interrupted by (delicious!) cupcakes for audience, before she veered into a hyper-graphic face-fucking routine which… well, again, the contrast was quite incredible, but also says something (somewhat shameful) about my expectations. Alice Fraser wrapped things up reprising her Best Stalker in the Land song on banjo, as well as dipping into surreal staple-cat jokes.

I really wanted to like Aggressively Helpful more than I did… but whilst the three women provided a wide variety of material, its quality varied too much to build up any momentum during the performance. And any momentum that was built up was dissipated by the inexplicable positioning of the two non-performers onstage – it always felt like two of the women were in silent judgement of the performer at all times. Of course, I’d heard maybe a third of the material a few days beforehand, and the crowd was a particularly sullen bunch… but, after the show had run fifteen minutes long, I had no qualms turning my back and scooting out just as Fraser was wrapping up her set (and I normally hate leaving shows early). Having said that, I’d happily see all three of these women perform in lineup shows again… but I’m not convinced that their longer sets can maintain a decent quality yet.

[2013043] Nick Capper 45 minutes of…

Nick Capper @ The Crown and Anchor Hotel

7:30pm, Fri 22 Feb 2013

After being mightily impressed with Nick Capper’s performance during a ten-minute spot at the Rhino Room earlier in the week, I was really, really looking forward to seeing his full show at the CrAnchor… and became even keener when I saw a ton of people milling around the CrAnchor as I approached. A big room would be awesome, I thought.

Alas, I soon discovered that the crowds were in the vicinity for Little Miss Mexico, the fashionable pop-up du jour. In fact, there were precious few people inside the CrAnchor itself… and even fewer of them were interested in attending a comedy show by a virtually unknown Sydney-sider… not that the door staff were providing much encouragement.

And so it was that there were a mere five people in the audience, with none of the other attendees willing to venture forward to provide any support for the man on stage. As a result, Capper looked very uncomfortable directing the bulk of his material to the only audience he could see – that is, me – and I spent much of the performance trying to project my appreciation.

And I did appreciate his work, I really did. Sure, all of his material from the Rhino Room gig was repeated, but that was fine – it’s solid work, and stands up even though I knew where the stories were going. The bulk of Capper’s material sits on the side of quirky risqué, but it’s his delivery that impresses the most: he’s unafraid to use elongated pauses to heighten tension, and the dryness of his delivery – coupled with the sense of distance he seems to create between himself and the audience – makes for a bizarre experience.

But it’s really hard watching a comedian – even a good comedian – perform to a tiny audience, and Capper’s style doesn’t make it any easier. I could sense there’s an incredible performance hidden under that mop of hair – I’d seen some of it earlier that week – but a small room is not where you’ll experience it. I really hope that Capper returns to Adelaide and gets bigger audiences – hey, I’d be first in line – but, on the basis of this audience (and after hearing about his reluctance to tour), I’m not expecting him back soon. Which is a massive shame.

[2013042] Joel Bryant is ‘Running from Public Office’

Joel Bryant, Scott Black @ Ambassadors Hotel – Ambar Lounge

6:00pm, Fri 22 Feb 2013

After the Bull & Bear (which has apparently since closed, in perhaps a demonstration of karma) turned its back on the Fringe events to which it had been committed, Ambassadors offered the displaced performers a home; of course, that didn’t help those acts that had printed flyers or were relying on the Fringe Guide to target walk-ins. So it’s understandable that a lot of the performers had been struggling a bit with audience numbers; and, as I rolled up for Joel Bryant’s last show in Adelaide for the Fringe, I encountered him chatting solemnly with fellow comedian Scott Black atop the stairs leading to the Ambar Lounge.

I mentioned how impressed I was with Bryant’s ranting at the Rhino Room earlier in the week, and how that compelled me to squeeze him into my Schedule; he smiled, but I sensed a bit of a weariness. I brought up the Bull & Bear fiasco, and the guys just rolled their eyes and laughed; I asked whether they thought it had butchered their crowds, and the weariness returned… though Bryant said, with a genuine sparkle of honesty in his eye, that “we’re happy to perform to any audience.”

And that’s just as well, because there were a frugal four of us who were there for the start of the show; an older couple who seemed totally switched on (seriously – their engagement with the comedians was fantastic), myself, and another chap whose only audible contribution to the evening was when we were asked if we played video games. But Scott Black opened up with a solid fifteen-minute set regardless, dealing with the oddities of modern life: rewriting Shakespeare for the Twitter-literate and bogans provided some solid laughs.

Joel Bryant took to the stage, and it was clear from the outset that the man belongs in front of a big crowd. Where his Rhino Room set had seen him verbally battering the audience with political observations (and accusations), with just four people in front of him Bryant appeared almost timid and unsure of himself. It’s a lovely gesture to thank the audience for coming out to see a live show, but there’s no need to do it three times; more uncomfortable still was the fact that Bryant would often directly address me and apologise for repeating material he’d done at the Rhino Room earlier in the week.

Again, it’s a lovely human touch, but unnecessary.

But after about twenty minutes of his set, three couples descended the stairs, early for the next show; they’re a bubbly lot, and they readily accepted Bryant’s offer to sit in on the rest of his performance. And, even though the audience was still small (now only just breaking double-digits), the complexion of Bryant’s delivery changed markedly: the volume increased, the language became more pointed, his eyes lit up, and I could see him take risks.

And that’s a good thing, because apart a short story about getting into comedy via a diving-board erection, the bulk of Bryant’s material is political in nature, and hence potentially divisive. But the audience were all on his side as he amped up his rants about the homogeneity of the Australian political landscape and the frustration of bureaucracy; rather than focusing on right versus left comparisons, he appealed to common sense… and that makes his comedy very rewarding.

I really liked Joel Bryant’s material, and look forward to seeing him in a crowded room again soon… hell, that Rhino Room spot was so good I’d consider going interstate to see a gig like that. But with a tiny audience, he unfortunately loses the courage of his convictions… which is understandable, given the disastrous impact of a walk-out in a small room, but when the fire returned with the larger crowd he was a genuinely thoughtful – and bloody funny – joy to behold.

[2013041] Sage

Chloé Eckert [writer, director] @ Century Theatre Immanuel College

12:00pm, Fri 22 Feb 2013

It had been at least twenty years since I’d last been at my alma mater – I’d attended Immanuel College for a couple of years in my high school career – and I took in the changes to the campus with mixed feelings; the wide open spaces shared with the neighbouring primary school were lovely, as was the new sporting centre, but the old boarding house lawns were now cramped and enclosed by the Performing Arts Centre – my destination for today.

Writer / director Chloé Eckert is performing triple duty, acting as front-of-house, and we have a lovely chat prior to the crowds (a smattering of adults and Fringe-goers, but mostly student groups) turning up; the Century Theatre is a pretty impressive space, with a guesstimated capacity of around 350, and there was a pretty decent audience this afternoon. The set is presented as a large elevated platform – a cliff – nearly three metres tall; disheveled photos form a collage on the face of the platform.

A girl, Grace, walks gingerly to the edge of the cliff; there’s no mistaking the fact that there’s darkness in her thoughts, and that leaping off that cliff was very much on the cards. As she trembles at the edge, Charlie saunters past; spying her, and sensing her plight, he sits down next to her and begins to talk. Whilst Grace responds with trepidation at first, as his queries become more pointed and challenging she responds in kind; Charlie, too, had a reason to be on this cliff-top, and as the two needle each other the audience are taken on a tour of the events – physical and mental – that led them here.

The only time that attention is dragged away from the two central characters is during an odd flashback sequence, performed adjacent to the cliff-face; it’s a jarring (but thankfully short) scene that manages to conjure a surreal dream-like quality, but it almost felt like it showed too much of the past; I was happier not knowing what it described. That (and some of Grace’s shrill notes that triggered my tinnitus) aside, I found the text of the play to be really engaging… but I am a sucker for pseudo-psycho-babble, and the references to Plath‘s poetry – coupled with the sense of suicide in the air – was a thoughtful piece of symbolism.

The Q&A session that followed was a fair bit of fun, with students posing some insightful questions about the creative process – both on the writing and performance front. Nic Cutts (Charlie) revealed he was afraid of heights (necessitating a careful rehearsal process), Eckert described her writing and envisioning process, and the entire cast discussed the minutiae that helped contribute to filling out the characters. My question about the prevalence of Plath was side-stepped, but – upon reflection – I’m happy that it was; it’s almost as if the uncertainty makes my memory of the piece more enjoyable.

And I did really enjoy the trip out to my old school to see Sage; it was a suitably weighty piece, with thin threads of humour permeating a dark subject, well performed and produced. And, more importantly for me, it highlighted Chloé Eckert as a writer to keep an eye on in the future.

[2013040] Squidboy

Theatre Beating @ The Tuxedo Cat – Green Room

9:45pm, Thu 21 Feb 2013

It breaks my heart that, despite frequent appearances at the Fringe Caravan in the ‘Mall (and the respect and love of the Fringe Crew that manage the caravan), there’s precious few people present to watch this performance of Squidboy – in fact, there’s only two attendees: myself and Insomnia Cat writer Fleur Kilpatrick. But I sincerely believe that, between the two of us, we managed to shower Squidboy’s stage with love and appreciation equal to a Green Room at capacity.

Because Trygve Wakenshaw’s performance is brilliantly bonkers.

It’s similar in concept and execution, of course, to last year’s version of the show, though there was a noticeable trimming of fat; this is, most certainly, a leaner, more efficient Squidboy. The broad strokes of the plot remain the same – animal greetings, meeting Pooch the dog, then the crisp cut to the squid-fearing fisherman; the road-trip to Mexico whilst being chased by gladiators is still intact, too. A slightly truncated ending – bereft of the meta-theatrical denouement of 2012’s show – was the most noticeable edit.

The similarity of the material leads me to several conclusions. The first is that Squidboy is, without a doubt, tightly scripted; something that Trygve verified when Fleur and I chatted with him after the show, in a most wonderfully private Q&A session. After my previous doubts – I’d written “it wouldn’t surprise me if [it] was just a couple of checkpoints and a sixty-minute finish-line” – I was genuinely surprised to see the script again, because it clearly means that Wakenshaw has a glorious screw loose. But I was still surprised by the variation in the delivery… whilst it would be charitable to call an audience of two “intimate”, Squidboy played to us, tweaking the performance to suit (and, on occasion, informing us what we may have missed due to the refined performance).

Yes, I lamented the missing “Ink!” blackouts, but in the grand scheme of things they don’t matter that much – the script now feels much more cohesive. Squidboy was still an immensely enjoyable blend of wackiness, whimsy, and – weirdly – genuinely touching moments. Wakenshaw has a wonderful presence onstage, and I wish him ginormous crowds in the future… because he really deserves them.

[2013039] Confessions of a Control Freak

Belinda Raisin @ The Tuxedo Cat – Red Room

8:30pm, Thu 21 Feb 2013

As grammatically incorrect as it is, common usage allows me to state that I’m a little bit OCD. Which is probably like being a little bit pregnant, I’m guessing, but without the physical impact. The point is that I manage my little issue with lists. Lots and lots of lists. Lovely, organisational lists with checkboxes and their associated statistics.

So Belinda Raisin’s alter ego, Frances, was immediately identifiable to me. In attempting to gain control over her seemingly unruly life, Frances thrust herself into all the usual life-changing forays – time micro-management, better eating, more stringent exercise regimes – and co-ordinates using those oh-so-familiar Lists.

Of course, micro-management and procrastination (spurred on by copious amounts of alcohol, it would seem) are not comfortable bedfellows, and all of Frances’ planning soon spiralled out of control; it’s entertaining to see someone else’s disorder play out so comically, and Raisin’s monologue plays with the chaotic desperation that all List-Followers feel when they realise that their obsessions are drifting out of control. The wonderful climax of the performance – leaving Frances tentatively accepting that, try as she might, she cannot exert complete control over everything (and that’s okay!) – is at once heart-warming and slightly nerve-wracking… and familiar.

Raisin certainly has a wonderful stage presence: her dialogue and connection to the audience is really nice, and for the most part her singing (yes, there’s a collection of control-freaky songs peppered throughout) is lovely; it’s only when the songs require some bass notes that her limitations are revealed, as there’s no real projection behind the lower frequencies. Her piano accompanist, James Teh, was fascinating to watch; blind since birth, his stage demeanour showed absolute concentration, and his timing was impeccable.

Bass notes aside, Confessions of a Control Freak was an enjoyable way for me to experience the ludicrous nature of my own obsessions; this was one performance where my familiarity with the topic greatly assisted my appreciation. Once again, however, I’m left a little heartbroken as Frances repeatedly referred to her husband throughout the performance; she could have write my Lists anytime.

[2013038] Dorian Mode – Boganville

Dorian Mode @ The Garden of Unearthly Delights – Paradiso

7:00pm, Thu 21 Feb 2013

It’s fair to say that I had absolutely no idea about what to expect from Boganville – I’d never heard of Dorian Mode, but I was certainly attracted to the idea of story and song combining to form a comprehensive coverage of boganity; the fact that Mode had apparently won awards for both story- and song-writing bode well.

But when Mode takes to the stage, he almost looks… well, nerd-ish. Tropical tourist nerdish. And as he perches behind his keyboard, there’s something distinctly cheesy about the set, which focussed more on plastic flamingos and flowers than the expected trappings of the began. Mode’s offsider, Andrew Wilkie (responsible for the musical content of Tap Dogs), was also bereft of bogan-ness as he provided musical support on the vibraphone.

I mean… a vibraphone. Surely the bogan percussive accompaniment should have been a bunch of empty West End bottles?

Their speech was very… well, soft. Gentle. Free of the angular ockerisms that I’d expect. And the music? Smooth, soft jazz.

What I’m trying to get at is that, at face value, Boganville was anything but boganic.

But the content of the performance was gold.

Dorian Mode’s stories of their central-coast began lifestyle were absolutely compelling; whilst it was almost impossible to reconcile their visual presentation with tales of their trips to the RSL, the local fishing club, or the bogan economy, the contrast provided an endless supply of humour. Mode talks at length about Bacon Busters magazine (the premier source for pig-shooters, complete with centrefolds), sings an ode to the vodka-swilling Sandy, creates a love song underpinned by the Cronulla roots, and there’s an oddly sweet song of heartbreak between bogan-boy and bogan-girl.

Best of all, though, was the Bogan Song Cycle – comical one- or two-liners made in the spaces afforded by a series of eight-bar jazz breaks.

The music is sublimely smooth, and Mode’s lyrics wry and descriptive – though not without a hint of compassion. The two men are clearly happy with their bogan lifestyles – even if outward looks deceive – and that results in a bizarrely contrasting experience.

And that’s the key word to associate with Boganville – contrast. Bogans and soft jazz blending together to produce a wonderfully entertaining experience… who’d have thunk it?

[2013037] One for the Ugly Girls

ONFG @ The Tuxedo Cat

3:00pm, Thu 21 Feb 2013

Tickets for this performance were booked nice’n’early in the Season; not only is playwright Tahli Corin an old friend, but matinées are – as any Festival Freak knows – like gold dust. And this matinée, despite having extra seats inserted into the customised venue, was completely sold out… but canny crowd management saw us sitting smack-dab in the centre of the front row with a perfect view of an artist’s studio… or, at the very least, a spacious lounge room.

The artist in question, Alistair, is well-respected, with works hanging in the National Gallery; but the death of his wife (and muse) has left him creatively barren. In attempting to kick-start his abilities, he has ordered the life model who most matched his wife’s image from an online register; when “Jade” turns up, coarse and somehow shifty, he distances himself from her – “Jade”‘s physical appearance differed from the online identity that Alistair purchased.

Despite Alistair’s initial misgivings, however, the creative spark within him is activated; “Jade” peppers him with plaudits for his work, and probing questions about his feelings for his deceased wife. Initially hackling at “Jade”‘s questions, Alistair soon finds his footing in their relationship, and they begin to verbally spar in an invigorating manner.

But suddenly another woman arrives – and Alistair instantly recognises her as the Jade he ordered off the website, pretty and polished. As he banishes the first “Jade” from the house, the audience becomes privy to the relationship between the two women: the first “Jade” is actually the Real Jade’s sister, Claire, who took advantage of her sister’s booking to meet one of the artists she admires. The women spar, venomously attacking each other’s approaches – Jade’s vapid beauty opening doors, versus Claire’s pragmatic take-what-you-can-get approach – before Claire leaves.

When Claire later returns, anxious to claim some of Alistair’s sketches that she’d squirelled away, it becomes clear that Jade has seduced Alistair, ingratiating herself to him; Claire appeals to the memory of his wife before the trio fracture one last time before the play’s end. And that left me to applaud three conflicted characters, none of whom were particularly palatable.

Jade is the easiest character to reconcile – she’s clearly a manipulative bitch, and Hannah Norris plays her wonderfully, a holistic goddess with a soothing breathy placation of Alistair. When alone with Claire, however, the pretences are dropped and the knives come out; it’s a brilliant piece of (essentially) multi-character acting. Syd Brisbane’s Alistair – the only character to leave most of his clothes on – initially evokes pity via his wife, with his obsession keeping him at arm’s length; but the speed of Alistair’s acceptance of the Real Jade – essentially discarding the burgeoning bond with Claire – makes him appear to be… well, shallow. Unlikeable.

And that leaves Claire, played by Lori Bell. Now, I’ve never really got on with Bell’s comedy in the past – her Granny Flaps character is a little too coarse for my apparently delicate ears – but I was pleasantly surprised with how well she can act. She’s also much more buxom than I’d imagined – and most definitely ginger – and she makes Claire the most likeable character of the trio, despite her inclinations toward subterfuge and theft; her closing soliloquy (from which the play takes its name) is a truly wonderful, impassioned piece of work.

Whilst the staging would have certainly benefitted from a full black-out between scenes, the space is used well; but I was left struggling to pull all the threads of One for the Ugly Girls together. Maybe that’s because all the characters rubbed me the wrong way, leaving me with no clear Hero to support; maybe that’s because the denouement didn’t really provide any clear direction. But there’s no doubting the strength in performance and production of the ONFG crew; maybe I just wanted a neat little bow on the show that afternoon.

[2013036] Rhino Room Late Show

A grand total of thirty-two comedians @ Rhino Room – Upstairs

In the last couple of years, I’ve started referring to the number of shows I’ve seen as “uniques”; that is, I only really count the title of a show once. That makes sense in a theatrical setting, where two performances are likely to only differ in minor ways, but in comedy line-up performances – like the ever-popular Rhino Room Late Show – night-to-night gigs vary wildly in content and quality; but I’m all in favour of simple rules, and I’m currently in a position where I’m writing about these performances long after the Festival Season has finished, so I’ll attempt to post some highlights from all Late Shows I attended under this one post.

11:00pm, Wed 20 Feb 2013

Mickey D hosted this Late Show and was bloody brilliant throughout. I never really got on with his comedy early on in my Fringe career, but in recent years I’ve found his localised laughs to be really enjoyable; maybe it’s a consequence of ageing, but even material that I found questionable in the past – like his ice jokes – make me guffaw like a happy loon now. First act of the night was Nick Capper, a Sydney comedian whose dry delivery and wonderfully quirky jokes launched him to the top of The Schedule. Alice Fraser and her banjo were next, with her Best Stalker in the Land song eliciting some laughter, and she was followed by the incomparably fast Lindsay Webb, who never fails to steamroll with coarse delight.

The girls from Titty Bar Ha Ha opened the second set, and failed to entice me with their mixture of crassness and song. But they were followed by Justine Rogers whose gorgeous looks contrasted mightily with her twisted filthy mind. Another break, before returning with Xavier Toby delivering a solid five minutes, followed by Alex Wasiel. Wasiel’s set – chock full of jokes from her legal background – fell flat on the crowd, but I thought her material was awesome – with a fresh and quirky delivery to-boot. Finally, Steve Hughes performed at least thirty minutes, and he continues to impress with his implicitly political material. He’s still an incredibly compelling character, and – despite whispers that this set wasn’t a patch on his jet-lagged efforts of the previous evening – I felt incredibly lucky to have caught him.

This Late Show had a profound affect on The Schedule – Nick Capper’s show was elevated to must-see status, the three girls of Aggressively Helpful (Fraser, Rogers, and Wasiel) all impressed enough to warrant that show getting a look-in, and Webb’s short stint (and Hughes’ much longer spot) left me happily satisfied with their work. In all, it was a cracking evening.

11:00pm, Thu 21 Feb 2013

The following night also saw me squeezing into a far more enthusiastic Rhino Room to see Jimmy McGhie take up hosting duties; he, like Mickey D the previous night, was incredibly good value, and one of the more friendly and good-natured hosts I’ve seen, dealing with an occasionally unruly crowd with ease whilst smoothly drifting into his own (quality!) material. First up this evening was Dan Willis – nope, he still hasn’t won me back yet, and has yet to indicate that he ever will. Dave Bloustien’s set was good fun, and Kevin Kropinyeri – whose (short-running) solo show had been on The Shortlist – impressed mightily as he discussed the dancing abilities of aboriginal women.

My Fringe buddy all but drop-kicked Imaan as he scooted up to the stage; he’s getting funnier every time I see him, and has an incredible stage presence. The Golden Phung’s pair of sketches didn’t really work in the room that evening, and when Nellie White appeared I feared that she would suffer a similar fate – her seemingly unsure, almost stuttery delivery worked like a charm in a small room with a small crowd, but surely it wouldn’t work in a room as boisterously packed as this? Wrong wrong wrong – she absolutely slayed the room, which was really pleasing to see.

The third set began with Joel Bryant storming the stage and positively leaping into super-high-energy political rants – and he was amazing, getting the boozy crowd laughing early and continuing the bluster until tears were streaming down many faces. Bryant delivered one of the most impressive spots I’ve ever seen at the Rhino Room (and cemented himself a spot on The Schedule), before Gordon Southern took us out with his usual evergreen energetic quips and soundboard-laden gags.

On the face of it, this Late Show pales in comparison to the previous evening’s lineup; Willis’ name alone guarantees that unwanted distinction. But Bryant’s incredible efforts, along with White’s surprising work and my first experience of Kropinyeri, probably gave this evening the edge.

11:00pm, Thu 14 Mar 2013

After a long absence, I returned to the Rhino Room for my final Late Show of the Fringe, lured by the promise of Jacques Barrett hosting. I’d have to rate Barrett as my favourite comedian at the moment – a perfect balance of cynicism, cutting observation, and self-denigration – and he quickly gets the audience onside by naming most of the front two rows – in particular the cheerful T-Bone. David Smiedt was first up, delivering some familiar jokes (I’d seen him at Darkness and Light the previous evening) that lost nothing in the repetition – especially the anti-camel-toe device material. David Quirk, on the other hand, didn’t fare as well with repeated jokes – and I haven’t seen him for a couple of years! And by the time Smart Casual took to the stage, the front rows were boozy enough that the heckles were coming thick and fast, interrupting their attempts to get into their songs… which they handled with great humour: “this is our first and final song,” Roger David eventually blurted out.

Harmon Leon opened the second set, and I’m not sure the room knew quite what to make of him; I still think he’s wackily wonderful, though. Tim FitzHigham’s style may have been the same, but his material was all-new, and good value, too… but then out came one of the Puppetry of the Penis boys. And this was the first time I’d ever seen any of the penis puppetry brigade, and his energetic routine left me feeling… well, inadequate. Dunno how that would stretch into an hour-long show, though.

Tommy Dassalo did enough at the start of the third set to guarantee himself a spot in The Schedule on the closing weekend, Pat Burtscher managed to confound and astound the audience with his seemingly rambling performance, and Carl Donnelly had some great stories and an affable style that may see me seeking out his work in later years.

In all, I spent nearly nine hours in Rhino Room Late Shows this year, and I’d have to say that – after summarising them all in one place like this – it feels like it was time well spent. Lots of new experiences, lots of new comics to chase down…

[2013035] Insomnia Cat Came To Stay

Quiet Little Fox @ The Tuxedo Cat – Blue Room

9:45pm, Wed 20 Feb 2013

There’s a white sheet stretched across the front of the Blue Room’s stage; wrapped within it, seemingly cocooned, was Joanne Sutton. With just her head and arms exposed, she embarked on a monologue that leaves no doubt that she is suffering through the alternating effects of weariness and mania that typically accompany insomnia.

Her insomnia appeared as an unwelcome guest in her home, portrayed in animations that swept across the crisp whiteness of her vertical bed; Sutton’s trapped eyes alternated between wide and weary – crazed and clock-watching – and the edges of her voice did the same. Her cyclical quest for sleep drew me in, creating a rhythm that was almost predictable – but the return to the desperate realisation of the ticking of the clock was always jarring, usually in a creatively delicious way.

There’s no doubting the technical excellence of Insomnia Cat: it’s an incredibly polished production, with the swirlingly hypnotic imagery sweeping across the white sheets within which Joanne Sutton was trapped convincing me that a lot of thoughtful design had led us to this moment. And Sutton herself delivered her monologue with an intensity that demanded my attention; and, whenever the raucous backing music occasionally fired up, she belted through her songs with all the gusto of a rock veteran, her voice gritty and powerful.

But…

…there was something about Insomnia Cat that didn’t gel with me. Maybe it’s because my own experiences with insomnia led me down a very different emotional path to the ones that were being portrayed here; but that really shouldn’t be a problem, should it? Surely I should be able to put my own experiences aside and focus on what was being presented to me, right?

But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t. I couldn’t help but think that I was being held back from wallowing deep within Insomnia Cat‘s spell; the problem is, I was – am – completely unable to articulate why. And that’s galling for me, because I can see the quality of the work – images and sounds burned into my mind, coupled with words from the wonderful notes from writer Fleur Kilpatrick and director Danny Delahunty – but there’s something within me that stopped me from revelling in it.

(When talking to Kilpatrick over the next couple of days, I was still unable to verbalise where the Cat and I diverged in our paths… but Fleur was ultra-sweet in prompting me for the cause.)

[2013034] Abdicating Adulthood

Nikki Britton @ The Tuxedo Cat – Cat Bowl

8:30pm, Wed 20 Feb 2013

Nikki Britton’s feeling a little bit… well, wrong: all her friends are doing the traditional “growing up” thing, what with their marriages and children and buying houses and whatnot. And I’m with her in spirit… although (at least) a decade older, I’ve been subject to similar expectations from friends and family – to be fair, though, I think I’ve pushed through the age barrier to the point where the expectations have disappeared and have been replaced by pity.

But Nikki is determined to eschew the expectations of others, and chase her own dreams; and, in front of a crowd of maybe twenty-or-so (mostly women), she proceeded to let us know about some of her dreams – and the realities that get in the way. The core of the show was based around her work (helping sick kids by playing Captain Starlight for the Starlight Foundation), and this was very cleverly used to control the pacing of her performance – the giddy highs and sober lows of her material all came from tales of working with children. But there’s also her dream-fulfilling sojourn to France, oddball stories of friends’ weddings, and weird dating stories (the repressed religious beau was brilliantly portrayed).

Though the performance started a bit flat, Britton’s boundless enthusiasm is infectious, and her humour – whilst rarely breaking new ground – is just plain good-natured and fun… and by the time the handful of males (including, surprisingly, myself) in the audience had been assembled to crowd-surf (well… carry, in an attempt to fly) Britton from the stage to end the show, she’s won me over. Abdicating Adulthood was a joyous little sherbet of a show, effervescent and positive and… well, nice.

[2013033] Anthropoetry

Ben Mellor & Dan Steele @ Gluttony – The Piglet

6:45pm, Wed 20 Feb 2013

Anthropoetry was already on my Shortlist from my first pass through the Fringe Guide; meeting Ben Mellor whilst he was spruiking one evening had him enthusiastically explaining that the show was “beat poetry, with live music” – and those five words, for some reason, tickled my fancy so much that it was swiftly promoted up the list to be Scheduled ASAP.

And so it was that I was sitting down the front of a sparse crowd when Mellor and his musical director & accompaniment, Dan Steele, took to the stage. And that was a little confronting; whilst Mellor was unassumingly attired, Steele took to the stage wearing nowt but a black body-stocking onto which a skeletal image had been printed… and whilst he carefully protected his own modesty, there was always the threat of presenting more than was necessary.

The body stocking was of practical importance, however: once the initial greetings had been made, Mellor elaborated that Anthropoetry was a collection of pieces loosely based around the human anatomy; Steele would occasionally stand up for Mellor to point out the appropriate parts concerning the next poem on his skeleton. But it soon becomes clear that the anatomical connection between poems is tenuous, at best; as they launch into Head State, the progressive inclinations of Mellor’s poems is made clear.

And that was just fine by me.

Whilst Steele remained cheerfully mute as he played guitar and created sampled loops to add rich textures, Mellor’s poems fizz with political intent; religion comes in for a serve, there’s political history in Beat’n’Trachea, with an anti-consumerism message buried inside Peak Love. But the words aren’t preachy – they’re exciting and invigorating, and the insertion of humorous pieces (like the gloriously puerile Naming of Parts, or the blink-and-you’ll-miss-it Facelook) keep the show belting along. Mellor’s delivery is absolutely engaging, too, and his occasional forays into crowd interaction (venturing out for examples of anthropometry, the study of measuring the human body) were really well handled.

I love words, I really do… and I loved Anthropoetry. Mellor’s writing is cutting (without losing sight of compassion) and angry (without being blinded by rage); Steele’s accompaniment was beautifully refined, and suited the poems perfectly. But, even though it was a poetry gig, and it was early on a Wednesday evening, and it was the occasionally unfashionable Gluttony, I was still heartbreakingly disappointed that a sub-dozen crowd turned out for this performance… because it was an absolute cracker. One of those shows that I wound up mentioning to everyone I talked to throughout their season… because, let’s face it, there can never be too much progressive poetry in your life.

[2013032] Nick Fischer’s I’ve come to clean the pool: The tale of how one man against all odds was able to get fired from most of the jobs he has ever worked

Nick Fischer @ Gluttony – The Pig Pen

5:45pm, Wed 20 Feb 2013

A little bit more about me: post-University, I’ve only held two real jobs, and they’ve both involved working with largely the same core group of people; I’ve also managed to be fired once in that time amidst a curious series of events. I realise that the idea of being fired typically fills people full of dread, but my firing came from out of nowhere and ended up being one of the most liberating times of my life.

So the incredibly verbose title to Nick Fischer’s show had me primed for forty-five minutes of mirth: I was expecting a plethora of sacking stories with humorous tweaks, with maybe some pool-cleaning thrown in. But when Fischer appeared, he was young – way too young, I thought, to have any significant tales from the trenches. And my heart sank a little as he opened with a series of soft jokes about living at home with his Mum…

…but then came the career “highlights”, beginning with his dismissal of Uni and then progressing from math tutoring to bartending at exclusive clubs. He doesn’t skimp the social impact of his various roles, either, as he moves out of home, starts living the highlife, before discovering that his lifestyle far exceeded his pay-packet and that some house-mates… well, weren’t.

Fischer’s style is friendly, without veering into “conversational”, and there’s few stumbles in his delivery despite his constant references to his notebook. And that notebook actually became a distinct point of interest as he describes how its contents caused more workplace friction in another (or was it his most recent? or even current?) job; and associated with that story comes all the insecurities that drive the rest of the show.

Whilst it wasn’t a laugh-a-minute performance, there were enough chortles in I’ve come to clean the pool to justify the performance; and, better still, there were some quirky laughs and turns of phrase that marked Nick Fischer as a performer to watch in the future. Chatting with him several times after the show reinforced the perception of a genuine and likeable guy; here’s hoping he returns for another Fringe, with possibly a few more sackings under his belt.

[2013031] NED: Ideas you’ll never have

Dylan Cole @ Gluttony – Pig Tales

10:50pm, Tue 19 Feb 2013

Like most people who abjectly fail to achieve anything with their own lives, I love me some TED talks: there’s some utterly inspirational stuff in there, and – despite constantly telling myself that I really should absorb their wisdom in a timely manner – I’ve been collecting my daily Talk for safekeeping for years now… in fact, I’ve got over fifteen hundred Talks saved, ready to inspire me. Yet another Massive List of Things To Do :}

Because of the reference to TED, I really wanted to see this purported parody – so much so that I bailed on an opening-night Insomnia Cat because of the (self-inflicted) tight scheduling between the shows, and I couldn’t get a good feel of the Cat‘s running time (as it turns out, I could have just squeezed both shows in this evening, but hindsight is a lovely thing, isn’t it?). Insomnia Cat didn’t miss out – I saw that the following evening – but it meant that the day felt a little short. Poor planning!

NED presents three speakers (all played by Dylan Cole, differentiated by mannerisms and the smallest of “costume” changes), each of whom have fifteen minutes to present their knowledge; Dr John Hatzenberger opened proceedings with The Science of Possibility which – whilst funny to me – seemed to be a bit distant from the rest of the dozen-or-so audience. But the true genius of that segment wasn’t realised until the other two gave it context; Hatzenberger name-drops his employer (the University of Oxcamprincetonyale), and introduces the character of young Sally (whilst building up, then destroying her hopes and dreams).

Joel Ham – who appeared to be suffering from an almost Monk-ish OCD – then introduced the theme of Choice in his presentation Being successful, happy and generally alright through achieving your goals, aspirations and being true to yourself. Ham was hysterical with his oddball pronunciations and Coke product placements, and his theory of Three Choices – that, at any given time, people always have the option to choose between Love, Hope, or More Choices – was a blinder.

Finally, Professor Jeffery De Hollander presented a very highbrow approach to Art in his talk Creating the Creation of Creativity. In comparing Sally’s doodles with da Vinci and Dali, he generates laughs of the most deliciously absurd kind, whilst calling back to more research from Oxcamprincetonyale and Choices; De Hollander even ends on the wonderful note that the best way to overcome the fear of the blank page is to do something (a sober message that felt a little out-of-place with the rest of the show’s humorous content, but one that I should remember).

NED was a really fun piss-take of the academic wankery that can invade TED Talks, but it seems to have a fondness for the source material as well; this wasn’t a cold-hearted butchering of the spirit of TED. I loved the constant callbacks: the university, the inexplicable wizard references, and especially the evolution of Sally, whose dream to be a bird / cat / helicopter was constantly being twisted. Whilst it took a while to get going, NED definitely delivered some decent giggles.