Category: 2015 – Adelaide Fringe Festival

[2015035] Pale Face Cold Blood

[2015035] Pale Face Cold Blood

Mina Mokhtarani @ Tuxedo Cat – Mayall Room

6:00pm, Tue 17 Feb 2015

As I entered the Mayall Room, I was surprised and disappointed: surprised that the now-familiar rows of seats had been removed, leaving just a ring of seats around the edge of the room facing a punching bag in their centre; disappointed by the fact that I was the last of six audience members in the room. Next to the punching bag, with a look of bloody-minded focus on her face, was Mina Mokhtarani: clad in gym gear, she was skipping, the rope clipping the roofing beams.

With the door shut behind me, Mokhtarani launches into her monologue mid-skip: she is Zara, a translator working in an immigration detention centre. Her work has placed her in situations where she has witnessed detainees being mentally, verbally, and physically abused, and when she attempts to report the violence – and the poor living and medical conditions available to the detainees – she is ostracised from her cohort.

Mokhtrani delivers Zara’s tale whilst continually exercising: she’s always moving, always exerting, and her sweat is dripping onto the floor before the end of the show. Her script wraps around the exertion, and whilst the high-impact exercise early in the performance works well with her descriptions of violence, the later parts of her routine seem a bit dissonant as Zara returns to Australia, suffering from post-traumatic stress and professional isolation.

Pale Face Cold Blood is a curious creation: the weighty content was delivered quite deliberately, as necessitated by Moktarani’s constant physical activity. But the regular pace of her skipping, boxing, and weightlifting created an almost metronomic delivery, impeding my ability to engage. Maybe the decision to keep a relentless pace was meant to parallel the constant moral abuse that Zara was privy to; a brave decision, then, but one which perhaps impacted my ability to connect with the performance. And that’s a real shame, because Pale Face Cold Blood is a potent text, especially in our current political climate.

[2015034] Come Heckle Joshua Ladgrove whilst he talks at you for 52 minutes in exchange for some of your money.

[2015034] Come Heckle Joshua Ladgrove whilst he talks at you for 52 minutes in exchange for some of your money.

Joshua J. Ladgrove @ Tuxedo Cat – Rivers Studio

11:00pm, Mon 16 Feb 2015

Josh Ladgrove opens another show in his unplanned “Come Heckle…” series by stating that this would be a standup show… but also that his doesn’t “do” standup. That this show was going to be shit. That we were free to come and go as we wished. That comments from the audience (of which at least half were other artists) were welcome.

This resulted in a bit of a buoyant mood in the room, and Ladgrove moved into some readings from some old Bond novels before flirting with a few other bits. The comments from the audience started early – surpassed only in frequency by sound-bite heckles from Josh’s tech, Nathan – and at one point Tessa Waters suggested that Josh drop the accent from a character he was performing; “That’s pretty ironic, coming from you,” retorted Ladgrove.

As to be expected when I sit in the front row (which is often), I was dragged up onstage… to help simulate sex with Josh. After a brief discussion about my shoes (again, to be expected, and they facilitated a cunning callback later in the show), Josh hesitated a little before deciding that I’d be a woman in this mimed sexual act. “Fine,” I said, and lay on the stage with my legs in the air. As his comically exaggerated fucking commenced, he asked me to moan for him; “No fucking way,” I protested, “I’m not a moaner.” Again he asked me to moan: “I can’t do it realistically,” I complained again, laughing. There had been some laughs from the viewing crowd throughout, but as Josh abandoned the scene and directed me to sit back down, there were some protests from a few audience members… “That’s stage rape,” they said only half-jokingly. I tried to placate them – “I was willing, just not a moaner” – but it felt like there was a temporary rift between the audience and the stage.

After a few other experiments – and many more perfectly-timed “Fuck you!” heckles from Nathan’s soundboard – Ladgrove decided that the show was pretty much done. He attempted to leave the room, only to discover Dr Brown waiting just outside the Rivers Studio. “Are you doing a show?” said Brown… and so began the second “half”, a ridiculously experimental period that saw Josh trot out new characters and old, engage in a pool noodle battle with Dr Brown, and – responding to Brown’s goading – threaten a perform-til-you-drop session.

(credit to Shane Adamczak for the photo)

There’s little in the title that speaks with any real truth: 52 minutes became an hour-and-a-half, there was no cash exchange, and the heckles were more constructive criticism than anything. But as an opportunity to explore a less familiar medium, whilst in a fairly safe and forgiving space, this would have been invaluable to the performer. As an audience member, it was a creative and confusing maelstrom of ideas that felt like a lightning strike.

[2015033] The Sound of Nazis

[2015033] The Sound of Nazis

James McCann, Hayman Kent, Kel Balnaves, Florence Bourke, Brandon Mannarino, Chris Knight, Leigh Qurban @ Tuxedo Cat – Mayall Room

9:45pm, Mon 16 Feb 2015

After the joyful success of Wolf Creek: The Musical, hopes were high for another James McCann-penned musical parody. Unfortunately, I’m a bit of a fussy bugger when it comes to tropes… and if there’s one trope I hate almost as much as zombies, it’s Nazis.

As a result, I was a little… well, skeptical about this pisstake of The Sound of Music.

The Sound of Nazis was pretty much what you’d expect given McCann’s input: cheeky songs and loads of bluster. While McCann sat at his keyboard throughout, mouthing the words to other character’s songs, Kel Balnaves uses his broad ocker voice to wonderful effect as Macca, the profane Australian nun, and provides an absolutely killer evil stare as Adolf Hitler. Chris Knight surprised with a great singing voice as von Trappe (whose buxom daughter and lecherous son brought a lot of groan worthy laughs to proceedings), but the star of the production was Hayman Kent as Maria: besides a gorgeous singing voice, the sequence with Maria in the nunnery was gold.

But really, The Sound of Nazis is all about McCann’s glorious songs… and god-awful puns, which were dictionary-definition so-bad-it’s-good. And whilst the overall package didn’t quite live up to the masterful Wolf Creek, the quality of the writing made this worth the effort.

[2015032] Stuart Bowden: Before Us

[2015032] Stuart Bowden: Before Us

Stuart Bowden @ Tuxedo Cat – Perske Pavilion

8:30pm, Mon 16 Feb 2015

Whilst I will enthusiastically state that I’ve loved Stuart Bowden’s work in the past, I’ve always felt a little… well, hesitant in offering a blanket recommendation to people about his work. Don’t get me wrong: I’ve enjoyed his shows very much, but I can’t escape the fact that the melancholy in which they’re marinaded can make them a little… challenging to get through. For me, anyway; his presentations have demanded that I, as an audience member, put some effort in to extract the satisfaction. It’s always been more than rewarding, to be sure, but I found myself trying to perk up prior to this show, anxious that I’d need to be in top form to get the most from it.

Introducing himself as a forest-dwelling creature, Bowden appears in a floppy green sleeping bag (or some such), as comical as ever. Through story and song (ukulele, keyboards, and vocals are looped in a gorgeous live musical score production) we learn that Bowden’s female character is the last of her species left alive; as is his wont, Bowden’s narrative conjures delight from the most morose details and emotions from the deaths of the creature’s parents.

And so we are taken on a lonely little journey, but one filled with unexpected cheer: Bowden’s green creature isn’t grimly upset with her lot, but you feel a real sense of hopelessness – pointlessness – as she demonstrates her day-to-day struggle to us. And it’s here that Bowden’s clowning skills come to the fore: the creature has a consistently odd style of walking when traversing the stage, and her power-walking was even weirder.

Once again, Bowden mines melancholy for much of the performance… but there’s a lightness, a sweetness, to his monologue that is refreshing compared to his previous works. At the end of the show, as the creature inches towards its demise (as forecast throughout), she encourages us to push the Perske’s seating aside so we could all lie with her on the floor, and Bowden leads us in a soft chant that (in retrospect) is hugely inappropriate, but felt oh-so-right at the time: We are all going to die.

I’ll go out on a limb and say that Before Us is Bowden’s most accessible work to date… and I think that’s because of the (relative) lack of whimsy. There’s still a tremendous amount of melancholy, but it’s presented in an almost dissonantly joyful manner; this presentation marks Before Us as a wonderfully unique performance.

[2015031] Discover Ben Target

[2015031] Discover Ben Target

Ben Target @ Tuxedo Cat – Perske Pavilion

7:15pm, Mon 16 Feb 2015

Even though the Fringe had only just started, there had been a bit of buzz around Ben Target; artist friends who were aware of my love of absurdist performances had already urged me to check him out. And I’d already been introduced to Target via a mutual friend whilst at the TuxCat one night… he’d appeared to be an interesting chap, quiet and very inwardly focussed.

It wasn’t just me feeling the buzz, though: the Perske was pleasingly packed for this performance, and – based on the laughs generated from Ben Target’s introductory battle with a ladder – they were here to relish the oddness.

And make no mistake: Ben Target brings some serious weirdness to the party.

Most of that weirdness comes in the contrast between his actions and his demeanour: Target leans heavily on audience engagement for his laughs, but he constantly holds them at arm’s length due to the blankness of his expression, which approaches affronted coldness. An example: he instructed a grinning orange-haired bloke in the crowd (i.e. me) to select a card, and presented a deck of cards held square, not fanned. I somehow thought that he meant that he wanted me to request a card, so I replied “I’ll have the King of Clubs, then.” There was no flicker in his expression, no quaver in his voice, as he expressed his disgust in my mistake; unflappable, he started flicking cards at me from the deck whilst addressing the rest of the audience. Faster and faster the cards came until the deck was exhausted, whereupon he moved onto his next bit.

Later in the show, he feigns an apology to me: he presents me with a flower. I thank him; he presents me with a small bunch of flowers. I thank him again… a bigger bunch is my reward, with increasingly large collections of flowers forthcoming. Eventually, I’m presented a (leaking) bag of cornflour… and I’m at a loss to explain why I was suddenly surrounded by all this crap.

A lot of Target’s bits seem opportunistic, leaning on the goodwill of the audience and the small collection of props that he’s brought with him; once again, I have no idea how scripted the performance was. I also have no idea why I found his blank expression so hilarious. I also have no idea what kind of mind can conjure humour from these trivialities. And I certainly have no idea why I find his web site so damn funny.

Ben Target is another one of those performers that the public will either Love (as in scream-it-from-the-rooftops) or Hate (as in this-isn’t-comedy-this-is-just-a-guy-doing-dumb-shit). As regular readers (ha!) might have guessed, I most definitely fall into the former category: Target has worked the minimalist form of (seemingly-)improvisational humour down to a fine art, and his equally-minimalist expressions helped conjure a delirious cycle of expectation and release within this purveyor. It’s a weirdly wonderful performance that absolutely worked for me.

[2015030] Flying Dreams

[2015030] Flying Dreams

Aaron Jessup @ Bakehouse Theatre – Main Stage

6:00pm, Mon 16 Feb 2015

Sure, it’s the first Monday night of the 2015 Fringe, but the crowd that turned up for the opening performance of Flying Dreams this evening was disappointingly small… the kind of size that makes my heart weep for performers. And Aaron Jessup has a very soft, almost quiet manner of addressing the audience… for some reason, I kept reading heart-breaking disappointment into those mannerisms.

On a stage accessorised with just a suitcase, Jessup presents an autobiographical tale of his pursuit of his passion: street performance and, in particular, juggling. There’s surprisingly little actual story here – youngster with dodgy family life makes a friend, they juggle a bit in San Francisco, there’s an inspiring leap-into-the-unknown as Jessup tries his hand as a pro street performer in Europe (battling his inherent shyness along the way), a comfortable return to San Francisco that spans 4 years, then a present day leap to Australia.

But whilst the plot may be thin (and bordering on twee), the performance is not. There’s plenty of juggling with some great set pieces – Jessup’s triples and quads are impressive within the confines of the Bakehouse, especially with the small audience huddled up close, and the drug-addled glow-in-the-dark sequence is bloody impressive.

It’s really hard to dislike anything about Flying Dreams – Aaron Jessup is a thoroughly affable host, and whilst the narrative aspects of the show may be a little thin, they’re at least delivered with conviction… and his craft is certainly well presented, with all the polish of his years of street performance. Having said that, it’s also hard to really rave about Flying Dreams, too… but it’s certainly engaging entertainment.

[2015029] Shotspeare presents Romeo & Juliet

[2015029] Shotspeare presents Romeo & Juliet

Shotspeare @ Garden of Unearthly Delights – Umbrella Revolution

10:45pm, Sun 15 Feb 2015

I’ve typed it a squillion times on this blog: I love me some Shakespeare. I also love me some drinking. The idea that the two could be combined? Brilliant.

Or that was what I thought when I plonked Shotspeare into my Schedule, anyway… but experience has taught me that while having a boozy eight-show day is difficult enough, trying to do that on a forty-degree scorcher is a good way to physically bludgeon oneself.

As a result, I walked into Shotspeare’s performance of Romeo & Juliet completely sober… and that made me stand out from the crowd, the majority of whom would be comfortable with Fez Faanana’s 2:30am Fringe Club “double-fist that shit” last-drink calls.

The premise for Shotspeare’s performance is the tongue-in-cheek interpretation of The Bard’s work by five actors, assisted by one audience member (carefully chosen to be not too sozzled… initially), during which they all drink copious amounts of beer. Along the way, three audience-held “Shotspeare” cards could be played at any time, forcing the entire cast to neck vodka shots… resulting in an increasingly silly rendition. Luckily, the audience member chosen was pretty adept onstage, and comfortable with the extra tasks issued unto him via the occasional “Speech Wheel” interlude (he received the Spank, Saltines, and Drink “rewards”).

The performance was actually pretty solid – sure, it’s played for laughs with costume tomfoolery (problematic balloon breasts, ahoy!) and an occasional production aside (the shadow puppetry sex scene, to the tune of NIN’s Closer, is oh-so-right in context). Sure, there’s a few throwaway lines that remind me of Sound & Fury’s “ad libbing”, but for the most part it’s genuinely entertaining as the cast get increasingly drunk: two of the “Shotspeare” cards were played in the first five minutes (at the same time), with the third not long thereafter.

And I would’ve been happy with that, if it were not for other sections of the audience. It appeared that a good percentage of the crowd felt that their own inebriation allowed them to partake in the action as well; the cast did a pretty good job of keeping many of the more unruly peeps under control whilst encouraging the more entertaining outbursts, but the really drunk guys who had sat in the front row seemed to be in a world of their own: a world in which they would cackle in glee after yelling “Suck him off!” at the stage. Every couple of minutes.

And that’s the thing, really. I reckon that Shotspeare would be a brilliant experience in the right (i.e. sozzled) state of mind, with the right (i.e. not-a-random-Garden-wad) of people. As it was, I was left a little disappointed by this performance of Romeo & Juliet: entertained, yes, but some of that entertainment came from my own misanthropy. And that’s never really a good thing.

[2015028] Justin Stone in Who’s the Boss? The Tony Danza Experience

[2015028] Justin Stone in Who’s the Boss? The Tony Danza Experience

Justin Stone @ E for Ethel

8:45pm, Sun 15 Feb 2015

Shameful admission time: in my early teens, I had a soft-spot for Who’s the Boss?, and it wasn’t entirely because of the young Alyssa Milano. Even as a younger entertainment consumer, I was definitely aware that it was a cheesy, contrived, inappropriately laugh-tracked show… but still I loved it. The contrived plot-lines, the awful child-“acting” of Danny Pintauro, the wooden adult-acting of Judith Light, and the blissful ignorance of Tony Danza were so-bad-it’s-good elements of transience.

So – even though I had no idea who Justin Stone was – on the strength of the title of this show alone, I was there.

Justin Stone awkwardly took to the stage with all the elegance of a first-time rehearsal in the small space, performing a dance to the opening music of Who’s the Boss?… but the word “awkwardly” completely undersells the hesitant, self-obsessed performance (I initially thought it was a reproduction of Tony Danza’s moves from the opening credits, but painful research proved otherwise). The music finished, he looked at the assembled crowd… and then the music started afresh, leading to a repeat performance of the dance.

And that kicked me into Ludicrous-Land… which made me grin manically, and set me in good stead for the rest of the show.

The Tony Danza Experience is a wild, albeit oddball, ride: anchored with an odd letter to Danza, Stone loosely attaches other bizarre snatches of humour… his karate demonstration was hilarious, if only for the potential danger involved (to both audience and performer). There’s a constant undercurrent of pitiful sadness, though, which Stone injects through throwaway comments to his still-at-home unemployed life, his widowed Mum (“Dad left us,” Stone mentions, before outwardly trying not to think of his father’s exploding head), and references to grim sexual release. The latter threads also contain oblique references to his mother: “We don’t like the same porn,” Stone laments, before a curiously descriptive “Who knew a breast could go that colour when constricted?”

Throughout, Stone’s stage presence remains incredibly awkward; even the ending – where he leads us out onto Melbourne Street, then yells at us (to the raised eyebrows of passers-by), before running off in the direction of Zambracca’s – seems to be intent on maximising the discomfort to both himself and the audience…

…but I loved it. The Tony Danza Experience is a wonderful demonstration of what the Fringe can foster: a focussed, bloody-minded, and completely mental event that couldn’t really exist anywhere else. Justin Stone created an experience that had no real peers, that was unique in its bizarreness… and it still makes me grin to think about it today.

[2015027] The Show Must Goon

[2015027] The Show Must Goon

Four Stripes @ E for Ethel

7:20pm, Sun 15 Feb 2015

The ukulele has become a bit of a prop for comics in the last few years, I reckon: there’s been a glut of barely-funny comedy material that has made it into routines on the basis that a simple uke strum turns it into a “song”, and a handy way to break up the set. And so, when writer/performer Caitlin Armstrong takes to the stage with ukulele in hand, I involuntarily steeled myself.

The thing is… there was no need.

The Show Must Goon follows the booze-related tales of Suzi (or “Suze”, “Su”, or “Suzanne”, depending on the timeframe) as Armstrong delicately presents her transition into adulthood, leveraging those two most fertile sources of material: romance and drinking. There’s lust and heartbreak, cheap wine and vomit, and the stories are beautifully rendered and teeter between sickeningly sweet and painfully groanworthy… Armstrong’s puns are excellent, including the two songs that book-end the performance (“champagne in my arse” is a blinder).

The stories are supported by clever ditties on the ukulele, but also by something quite unexpected: wine tastings. Suzi’s tales each revolve around a particular cheap’n’nasty bottle of booze, which she airily offers to the audience… and they were all, to my rather uncouth tongue, rough as guts. The Gossips Sweet Lips Moscato was a viciously unsubtle poke in the taste-buds, but the Sunnyvale Fruity Lexia benefited from being paired with a fantastic projectile vomit story. The Bowler’s Run Shiraz rounded out the terrible trio, but its accompanying story managed to overcome the affronting nature of the wine.

There’s a moment of sober contemplation towards the end of the show that threatens to drag the jovial vibe down a bit, but Armstrong pops out of it with a fantastically upbeat, yet acidic and punchy, song that delights (though maybe shocking the older sections of the audience). And that left me with an overwhelmingly positive memory of The Show Must Goon: equal parts laid-back and feisty, innocent and rebellious, its blend of quirky songs and hilarious monologue really hit the spot.

The free booze was handy, too.

[2015026] Chris Knight is The Difference Between Women And Airline Food

[2015026] Chris Knight is The Difference Between Women And Airline Food

Chris Knight @ E for Ethel

6:00pm, Sun 15 Feb 2015

I met and chatted with Chris Knight (distracting him from the script in his hand, which he wound up referencing several times during the performance) under the vine-sheltered area outside E for Ethel; cute shop and café by day, it’s a new (for me) comedy venue for this year’s Fringe, and – despite the fact that it’s a very narrow space – it has a very friendly vibe… just as well, really, since the audience assembled for Chris Knight’s latest show is a little… well, intimate.

The Difference Between Women And Airline Food has the “HA! Chris Knights” (HACK) deconstruction of comedy as a spine: each letter corresponding to one of the four elements of comedy, introduced with one (or more) bizarre haiku. Making copious use of a magnetic whiteboard, Knight leverages his eloquent wordsmithing to drive the show along, with his articulate language leading us down many dead ends (and surprise reveals).

As I’ve previously mentioned, I’m a big fan of Knight’s softly-delivered quirky surrealism – but The Difference Between Women And Airline Food was a bit more structured and accessible (and somewhat less bizarre) than previous shows. I think I prefer the more obtuse form of his comedy, but any Chris Knight is good Chris Knight, as far as I’m concerned… and certainly one of the more cheerily oddball acts that one could see in a given Fringe.

[2015025] Golden Phung Go To Hell

[2015025] Golden Phung Go To Hell

The Golden Phung @ Channel 9 Kevin Crease Studios

4:00pm, Sun 15 Feb 2015

A mad dash out to North Adelaide (not the best idea on a stupidly hot – and increasingly muggy – day) saw me join a solid audience in the Channel 9 Studios. There was an infectious bubbliness to the crowd, which eased my nerves somewhat: I’d seen The Golden Phung a few times in the past, but never really clicked with them in the way that much of the audience had.

Go To Hell aims to create a meta-comedic through line to its sketches: The ‘Phung purported to be exploring the nine layers of sketch comedy hell (presumably as a result of a sketch dying onstage). The resultant pieces were an odd lot – the Equal Opportunity Pope was a highlight, as was the extended sketch featuring Tony Abbott as a boxer, Bill Shorten as a luchadore, and the surprise late arrival of Penny Wong.

If there’s one thing to be said about Goes To Hell, it’s that The ‘Phung’s production values set a high bar for other sketch comedy groups: the set is effective (with “heaven” and “hell” embedded in the background with LEDs), and the sound design – in particular, the impact of sound effects and musical stings in the sketches – is really well done.

But the bulk of The Golden Phung’s material doesn’t really work for me – but that may be just me, because the rest of the crowd was loving it (even the hoedown at the end of the show, which I found painful). Sure, it’s (mostly) quite topical, and there’s an understanding and confidence between the members of the ‘Phung; they’re obviously a well-honed group that bring a lot of people joy. But… yeah. After giving them a couple of shows, I just don’t think that Golden Phung are for me: we’re a little bit out-of-sync.

[2015024] Zephyr Quartet presents Cult Classics

[2015024] Zephyr Quartet presents Cult Classics

Zephyr Quartet @ Royal Croquet Club – The Menagerie

2:30pm, Sun 15 Feb 2015

So: I’ve professed my love for Zephyr Quartet on many occasions, and I was utterly thrilled to see them performing one of their “Cult Classics” shows – their renditions of well-known songs, arranged and tweaked for a string quartet. As a result, this was the very first ticket I bought for this Fringe… but when I turned up a good half-hour before the allotted start time, I was delighted/dismayed to discover that the queue to get into The Menagerie was long and winding underneath the blazing sun.

Once the venue had been filled to capacity, Zephyr appeared (to applause that matched the warmth of the day) and plunged straight into an immediately recognisable Bohemian Rhapsody, and then took us on a tour of the Quartet’s favourite songs from the contemporary playlist – from Wuthering Heights to Enter Sandman via Africa.

The one thing all their selections had in common was – quite frankly – brilliant composition. Sure, some of their adaptations derived a lot of their delight from the sheer quirkiness of hearing a stringified rendition (like Why Can’t This Be Love and Livin’ On A Prayer), but all of the adaptations could stand on their own as examples of dynamic quartet arrangements. And under Zephyr’s arrangement, The Church’s Under The Milky Way transformed into one of the most beautiful, tear-inducing pieces of music I’ve heard in years… a truly awesome highlight.

Look – Zephyr have never done anything that hasn’t brought me joy. I still remain absolutely smitten with their arrangements and musicianship, and – even when I’m not a fan of the source material – there was plenty to appreciate: the Sia encore (complete with a quartet of platinum blonde wigs) was delivered with a cheeky grin, and the stage banter regarding rock crushes – Emily introducing Queens Of The Stone Age via Josh Homme, Belinda introducing Madonna (“…awkward!”) – was a delight.

Would I prefer to have seen their take on something like ELO’s 10538 Overture? Well, sure – but (besides the incredibly niche material) that arrangement may have been too easy to be truly satisfying… because it’s the gorgeous string structuring behind familiar songs that really made Cult Classics soar.

(I’d tell you to go buy Zephyr’s Cult Classics CD – their rendition of Golden Brown is wonderful – except it’s not listed on their store anymore. A shame – but their other CDs are all awesome, too, so go buy them instead!)

[2015023] The Big Giggle

[2015023] The Big Giggle

Bamboozled Productions @ Royal Croquet Club – Ukiyo

12:30pm, Sun 15 Feb 2015

It’s bloody hot, and the crew were struggling to keep the Ukiyo cool: giant noisy fans that were being used to move air through the venue were only shut down at the very last moment, and restarted after one parent complained about the stifling conditions. So it was a bit of a surprise when the small crowd of around twenty people (including one family I’d seen at my previous show) entered the tent to discover that Peter Baecker was super-enthusiastically dancing behind his little mixing desk to the tune of I Wanna Dance With Somebody… his antics seemed impossibly exuberant given the conditions (and his costume!).

Only Stacey from OzStar Airlines was present (Tracey, she told us, was busy on another flight), so she MC-ed this family-oriented variety show solo. Stacey’s got a friendly demeanour, easily engaging both children and adults in the audience. After a little banter (how hard it must be to warm up such a small crowd, spread so wide across the venue!), she introduced Crystal (from the Flying Fruit Fly Circus) who performed a gentle hoop routine; Stacey then coerced members of the audience into a hula-hoop competition.

Dandyman then came out and put on a wonderful show, juggling and miming and interacting with the children in the audience with great success (and was certainly much more at ease with his act than the last time I saw him). Crystal then returned for a ribbon/tape routine… again, solid without being spectacular (to this jaded observer of circus acrobatics).

And then, surprisingly (but, because of the sweltering venue, thankfully), the show was done: Baecker, who had remained in the background onstage pretty much throughout the show (and quite clearly had the perspiration to prove it) rounded out The Big Giggle by getting everyone in the audience up to dance; we all tried to humour his intent for awhile, but dear lord that venue was hot. I went outside into the baking sun slightly disappointed: while there’s no doubting that The Big Giggle succeeded in family-friendly variety, I couldn’t help but think it was a little light on content.

[2015022] Frank’s Survival Guide

[2015022] Frank’s Survival Guide

Makee Makee theatre @ Garden of Unearthly Delights – Studio 7

11:00am, Sun 15 Feb 2015

Occasionally, I come across a show which feels so underdone that I marvel at the fact that it wasn’t cancelled. And whilst I’m perfectly aware of the almost hackneyed standup schtick of having written the show the week before of the Fringe, you don’t really expect the same of a children’s show… especially one that’s charging $20 per (inevitable) adult/parent ticket.

But Frank’s Survival Guide reeked of having been thrown together at the last minute… although I know damn well that it must have had a longer gestation than that.

Frank is a chicken, and his Survival Guide is an allegory about discovering inner bravery and overcoming overwhelming odds, as he tries to save Little Eggie (his son) from the clutches of an escaped lion. There’s a remote control that changes objects in a random manner, some chase sequences to amp up the tension, and…

…look, it’s a show for kids. A coherent story was not evident, but probably not necessary, either.

The show is a mix of hand-puppetry, with Frank appearing on solo performer Hamish Fletcher’s arm, and static cardboard stick puppets, which feature different images on their reverse sides to facilitate some interesting “animation”. These 2D puppets are typically used over the top of a video projection, which attempts to present Frank’s world in 3D… but the models used to create this 3D landscape are crude (at best), with animations and camera movements that border on the amateurish.

Sure, there’s the occasional bit of clever direction – the live puppets following the lighting on the pre-recorded projections is kinda nice – but this performance of Frank’s Survival Guide really, really felt like its first outing. That it took place in a sweltering venue didn’t help, leaving both parents and children (and myself) desperate for other distractions.

[2015021] Sex Idiot

[2015021] Sex Idiot

Bryony Kimmings @ Garden of Unearthly Delights – Le Cascadeur

11:00pm, Sat 14 Feb 2015

Without rambling too much – hey, I’ve got 147 shows to write about in less than three months, and I’m well aware of my ability to procrastinate – I’ve got a lot of friends whose opinions on art (and feminism, and feminist art) I trust. And they all, without exception, told me that Bryony Kimmings’ work must be seen. Schedule, pen, Sex Idiot was inked in.

It was only as I ticket-jumped the massive lineup for entry into a throbbing Garden that I actually comprehended what I had done: I had slotted this show in for a Saturday night. A Valentine’s Day Saturday night. And the queue, as I approached Le Cascadeur, was what I should have expected for a show called “Sex Idiot“, had I thought about it a little more: Clumps of drunk men. Fidgety sober couples. Couples where one person was obviously way more inebriated than the other, with a dark cloud of resentment forming over them. And, most ominously, a merry teenage hen’s night… and the girls barely looked old enough to drink.

But at least there was a crowd, right?

Le Cascadeur is uncomfortably full by the time everyone packs in – oh the joys of drunkards who forget there’s no backs to Le Casca’s benches – and there’s excited chatter around the crowd. What’s the show about? mused many, with some sloppy grins verbally hoping it was going to be a lewd form of standup. My brain momentarily flipped into misanthropic disgust mode, until I realised that I didn’t have a clue about the content of the show, either. I was here on the prompting of friends; I knew nothing about what kind of work Bryony Kimmings produced.

Performance art. Kimmings does performance art.

After being informed (as a result of her first test) that she had a relatively common STI, she decided to contact her previous sexual partners… both as common courtesy, and also to – maybe – figure out where the disease had come from. Using that as a narrative backbone, Sex Idiot was a linked series of performance pieces based on the responses she received (after Kimmings had pointedly stated that not everyone had responded). And these pieces were incredibly varied in nature: some focused only on the physical side of their relationship, others on the emotional. Some pieces were more about the formative aspects of their relationship, others on the destructive.

Inasmuch as the performance pieces were varied in content, so too was their delivery: there were songs, poetry, Dylan-esque delivery of vaginal pseudonyms, and even contemporary dance. And there was audience participation, too…

Oh, god. The audience.

The barely-legal hen’s party had managed to situate themselves in the second row, and were obviously of the mind that they were actually the stars of the show. Phones were constantly recording both Kimmings’ performance, as well as their own reactions, and their discussions as to the performance’s progression were more-than-audible. And this didn’t seem to faze the drunken majority of the audience; it was deemed to be part of the experience.

Initially, Kimmings seemed willing to tolerate their behaviour – one of her pieces (alluding to an older man who spoke loudly and authoritatively on any subject) was followed up with a pointed “See, girls, the takeaway from this was that you shouldn’t get married”… and the cold venom in the subsequent overly fake laughter that Kimmings directed at them was brutal.

But the girls – the audience – didn’t really care. When Kimmings asked for audience pubic hair donations (for the construction of her infamous pube-stache), there was a sobering moment where she discussed the diseases that can be passed by pubic hair contact… but most of the audience missed it, busy with their back-slapping self-congratulatory chatter as they bragged about their clippings.

And that, to me, is the sad part about this performance of Sex Idiot: so much of the performance was wasted on a bunch of people who weren’t really there to see that show. They didn’t care about the awesome tear-inducing vignette, they remained unaware of the social commentary, satire sailed over their heads, and they missed the nuance of the ceremony of the performance. But they sure caught every sex-related joke that Kimmings trotted out (and found humour when there wasn’t any intended).

And that made it really hard for me to enjoy the show… but I still managed to do so. But I wish I’d elected to see Sex Idiot on a night more conducive to a… less self-involved audience; I wish I was able to let the full impact of the work hit me. Because I’m not sure that I got to see the show at its potent best.

(Oh – many thanks to Jane for pointing these tweets out to me; it would appear that Kimmings herself was not particularly pleased with the audience at this performance…)