[2014032] Sex with Animals

[2014032] Sex with Animals

Ryan the Bisexual Lion @ Garden of Unearthly Delights – The Spare Room

10:45pm, Wed 19 Feb 2014

Ah, The Spare Room – the most uncomfortable venue in The Garden, if not the Fringe. As I waited to be let into the tight, narrow venue, I wind up talking to two guys in the queue; unseasonal drizzle started falling, I offered them shelter under my umbrella, and – as usual with me – the conversation turned to what shows they’d seen. “Nothing really good,” said one, “though we saw one of the worst shows ever the other night.”

“Oh,” I asked, keen to hear a bit of venom, “which one?”

“Last night,” he said, “something called The Sheds.”

So we shared a laugh, the drizzled eventually disappeared, and a decent-sized audience (which The Spare Room turns into an uncomfortable crush) emerged from their shelters to join us.

After the lights drop and we’re shown documentary footage covering the attempts to mate Lonesome George (the last known Galápagos tortoise in existence), I almost started thinking that this show could be an educational ecological experience, perhaps linked by some awkward humour… all such thoughts were immediately dispelled, however, by the entrance of Ryan the Bisexual Lion. Ryan’s lion costume – patches of comical fur on a yellow lycra bodysuit, which he manages to wear about as well as can be expected – is ludicrous; the stories he manages to weave amongst the titular animal sex facts are both entertaining and thought-provoking.

To say that Ryan’s sex life – which he’s (mostly) willing to discuss in full and humorously frank detail – differs from the norm is an understatement. Besides the “bisexual” part of his nom de plume (he gets his tech to initiate a Grindr session early in the show, and regularly checked in to see what offers he’d received throughout), he also talks of the sex parties he’s been to, kinks and perversions, and – somehow – always manages to tie his admissions back to the animal kingdom. Gay penguins, murdering mantises, and dick-headed penis-flower hermaphroditic slugs (seriously, watch that video!) are some of the examples that Ryan uses to parallel his own sexual development… to obvious humorous effect.

And whilst nature is used to accentuate the comical nature of Ryan’s stories, it’s not all played for laughs: Ryan is a staunch supporter of polyamory, and speaks tenderly of his dreams to raise children with his two partners. Those moments feel very honest and raw, and contrast markedly with the more traditional standup delivery of most of his material… but there’s also a number of fantastic storytelling rants that provide a rapid-fire melding of fact and personal opinion that almost left me giddy with delight. On the other hand, for the second time today, there was an audience singalong to end the show – is this becoming a thing, now? I’m not sure I like it, and if you’ve ever heard me “sing” you’d understand why.

But the big moment in Sex with Animals for me was… well, probably not something that anyone else would have connected with. There was a short snippet where Ryan starts… well, I’d like to say “lamenting”, but he seemed a little more matter-of-fact about it. Anyway, Ryan starts lamenting that that endless positivity and one-sided love and hope and commitment isn’t enough to bring your mate to you… and I just sat there awkwardly, thinking “I know, mate. I know.”

And that may be confirmation bias talking, but that was special.

It’s fair to say that Sex with Animals was kinda what I expected… and yet almost completely not what I expected. Which is contradictory, but hey – I know what I mean. Fun stories, well told, by a man in a lycra suit… with a little bit of Deep Stuff to take away, too. Great stuff.

[2014031] Nath Valvo – Almost 30

[2014031] Nath Valvo – Almost 30

Nath Valvo @ Garden of Unearthly Delights – Campanile

9:30pm, Wed 19 Feb 2014

Too much pissing about on the walk back from the Grace Emily meant that options were rapidly drying up; I pulled out my iPhone, opened up the (hideous new) Fringe App and desperately tried to find a pair of shows that I could fit in the remaining evening. Ah – Nath Valvo… he was on The Shortlist, and I’d seen snippets of his work at the last Feast Festival, so that was a good option.

But it was only after I’d sat through the first ten minutes of his show that I realised that I’d actually seen the entire thing in the Feast Festival, not just snippets… well, almost the entire thing.

Not that it mattered. Valvo’s delivery is confident and gleefully camp – which, I suspect, may have been a bit of a surprise to the cluster of drunken muscle-bros in the front row, who heckled his first cock-sucking joke with fiery homophobic bravado… only to be shot down in no uncertain manner by the diminutive chap with the microphone. In fact, the manner in which Valvo kept the rowdy element in line would have to rate as some of the best bogan-wrangling I’ve seen.

Daunted by the prospect of his thirtieth birthday (awww, poor lad), Valvo recounts the unsuccessful birthday parties of his past. The mini-golf party ruined by a ring-in “friend” when he was ten. The glorious story of his drunken mother re-enacting his birth at his sixteenth. One of his few forays with girls being stymied by an allergic reaction on his eighteenth. The eye-opening accidental viewing of Zoo (instead of the latest Harry Potter) for his twenty-first. The vicious break-up of a couple of friends that cut short his twenty-fifth. And the New York-based twenty-ninth birthday present to himself in Roland, the big black masochist.

And, as I noted before, this was all largely familiar material to me – even the break-up quiz game show (pitting a couple’s knowledge against each other) I’d seen before. But what was new was the denouement: Nath’s sixtieth birthday party. After Valvo leaves the stage, an older gent ones out and, in a minute or so, ties the show into a neat bow with about half-a-dozen callbacks, each funnier than the last.

That was a surprise, and a genuinely excellent way to round out a bloody good show. Despite my existing knowledge of the material, Valvo’s delivery (and his crowd management skills) made this a real treat to take in again.

[2014030] Folly – A Miserable Yorkshire Poetry Musical

[2014030] Folly – A Miserable Yorkshire Poetry Musical

Homesick Productions @ Grace Emily Hotel

8:00pm, Wed 19 Feb 2014

Folly almost fell victim to some enthusiastic and optimistic “planning”; I typed those quotes appropriately, because it proved to be a very brisk walk across town from the previous show to the Grace Emily. We make it into the pub with a minute to spare, just enough time to grab a paley and a seat in the small performance space with around a dozen other punters (including one chap who I’d charitably describe as a barfly, and who incessantly checked his phone and cackled in that little-bit-too-loud unsure-of-himself kind of way).

Folly is very much a tale of wanderlust expressed through poetic rhythms with musical accompaniment. Nuala Honan – originally from the Eyre Peninsula – played wonderfully weighted guitar underneath Yorkshire-raised Sally Jenkinson‘s travelogue; Honan’s tempo matches the spoken word perfectly, with gorgeous melodies that never overpowered (until necessary).

But Jenkinson’s words were the main attraction, and there’s more than a hint of Anthropoetry or Martin Dockery’s work in proceedings; her poetic delivery varied its tempo wildly, from slow contemplation to bustling dissatisfaction. Her words trace her travels from rural England through Asia as she does what (I imagine) all backpackers must do: Wander. Love. Eat. Suffer. Experience. And seek enlightenment.

But, far from being just another interesting-yet-self-indulgent collection of backpacker tales, Folly delivered a bit more. There’s a tangible sense of teamwork between the two women – the glare from Honan as Jenkinson marked her own forehead was a wonderfully measured piece of theatre – and the text that followed it was sheer joyful exuberance. “I’ve been to a temple,” Jenkinson insisted, with her face opening up with every beautifully weighted repetition until she was essentially beaming with joy.

But the question is never explicitly asked: is it folly to engage in all this travel, to immerse oneself in all these experiences, in the hope that we’ll find enlightenment? And why the “miserable” in the title, given the show’s effort to leave you anything but? It matters not – I was certainly glad that I followed some foolish planning and squeezed in to see this show, because it was the kind of stuff that I love to see at a Fringe.

[2014029] In Canberra Tonight in Adelaide Tonight

[2014029] In Canberra Tonight in Adelaide Tonight

Adventure Club @ Gluttony – The Bally

6:30pm, Wed 19 Feb 2014

Presented as a late-night variety show hosted by Chris Endrey (who was on crutches with one ankle heavily strapped), In Canberra Tonight in Adelaide Tonight is an Adelaide presentation of the nine-year old In Canberra Tonight variety show; I was expecting yet another Fringe ensemble performance, but the name of one guest sold me on this evening’s performance immediately: Philip Nitschke.

As the Big Name on the bill, Nitschke was the last guest to appear (although he sat in the front row for the rest of the show); the show opened up with some gentle keys (by the gorgeous Keyboard Girl, whose name I didn’t catch), and some warm-up banter from the Announcer (a somewhat less gorgeous – though cheesily suited – guy whose name I also failed to grasp). Endrey hobbled out for a bit of a chat before the first guests – the guys from Cirque du Bloke – performed some of their strength and balance tricks for the crowd. Whilst their material was de rigueur, their presentation – chock full of little winks to the women (and one surprised man) in the audience – had an appealing charm.

Next up was Glitta Supernova (from Pretty Peepers – The Untraditional Cabaret), whose domesticity-laced electro-strip presented my first bare breasts of this Fringe (and yet, there’s been male appendages galore… I wonder if my subconscious selections are trying to tell me something?). It was a pretty garish performance that seemed utterly at odds with the daylight; but the real surprise came when Glitta sat down with Endrey for a bit of a chat. What eventuated was a frank and blunt description of the drug scene that co-exists with the strip & burlesque scene in Sydney; a fascinating conversation.

The next segment was the delightfully titled Pitchionary, where another Fringe act got to pitch their show through the medium of Pictionary. Given the fact that I read the Fringe Guide cover-to-cover, I’ve got an unfair advantage when it comes to the names of shows, so I was able to guess all the pictorial clues and guess that the show in question was Luminous (although I went there via Illuminate – how embarrassing). The Luminous artist – was it Jessica Watson Miller? – was really engaging in her brief description of the show; I kinda regret not bumping it higher up the Shortlist.

The final guest was the aforementioned Philip Nitschke, a well-known vocal advocate of euthanasia. His interview with Endrey was completely engrossing: I forgot that I was sitting in a tent in the middle of a Fringe for a few minutes. Of course, most of the discussion was a bit sombre, but Nitschke seemed to be quite forthcoming with information about how he helps people takes their own lives; Endrey carefully asked about the mental weight of assisted suicide, and Nitschke answered that nothing made him appreciate life more than watching someone else die. (Typing those words out makes it seem like a sadistic glee may have been involved there, but nothing could be further from the truth that I observed.)

As host, Chris Endrey was bloody brilliant: far from pandering to his guests with soft questions allowing show pimpage, his questions were quite insightful: the careful prodding of Glitta Supernova and Philip Nitschke was masterful work. There was also an odd faux ad break in the middle of the Nitschke interview – funny in itself, but maybe too much of a tonal shift? – and a bizarre audience singalong at the end of the show; I’ve got the feeling everyone left on a high.

Adventure Club‘s home-town productions of In Canberra Tonight are, according to their producer Meg (who I chatted with later in the Fringe), elaborate undertakings: they’re two hours long, a month apart, and immaculately planned. Their Adelaide Fringe versions of the show require a significantly quicker turnaround: a nightly, one-hour show is a bit of a change.

Not that it seemed to affect the show – or, if it did, the Canberran shows must be magical… because the show this evening was a compelling collection of insightful interviews laced with snippets of performances and comedy. This is the type of show I’d attend every day if I could; the mix of Fringe and non-Fringe was just perfect.

[2014028] Boris & Sergey’s Vaudevillian Adventure

[2014028] Boris & Sergey’s Vaudevillian Adventure

Flabbergast Theatre @ Gluttony – The Bally

10:15pm, Tue 18 Feb 2014

When hoofing through the Fringe Guide during my Planning Frenzy, I came across the précis for Boris & Sergey’s Vaudevillian Adventure and, after reading the “profanely hilarious” quote, added it to The Shortlist and moved straight on. A late timeslot meant that the show got slotted in early, and so I wound up sitting in The Bally on a Tuesday evening wondering what this cabaret-listed show had in store.

Of course, I’d completely missed the bit about Boris and Sergey being puppets.

So that was a bit of a surprise.

Boris and Sergey are two-foot-tall leather puppets with gangly limbs and over-large heads; the three clearly visible puppeteers that control each character (one of whom provides a heavy Eastern-European accent) overcome the faceless nature of the characters and somehow manage to make them amazingly expressive.

And rude, let’s not forget rude. Because these puppets have filthy mouths.

Whilst they open proceedings with crude abusive banter between the “Balkan bad-boys”, their profanity only really escalates throughout the performance – culminating in a phenomenally funny face-fucking incident, where an audience member is assaulted by Sergey (and his handlers). There’s a bit more audience interaction during a hilarious poker game (during which one of the two punters from the crowd fell off their foldable camping stool), but Boris and Sergey are largely driving the show with their own conversations.

There’s discussion of their origins, and an utterly bonkers interpretation of Wuthering Heights by Boris (complete with white dress); the chase sequence towards the end of the performance was a wonderful example of how effectively imagination can fill in the blanks: I was with the puppets on every inch of their car / motorcycle / parachuting escapade. And there were some brilliant sparks of humour when the puppets start referring to their handlers: “move my fucking leg!” bellowed Boris to his mute puppeteer.

It’s only as I write this that I realise what a truly wonderful achievement Boris & Sergey’s Vaudevillian Adventure was; whilst I was aware – and appreciative – of the puppeteers’ efforts at the time, I’m honestly staggered at how convincing their work was: for pretty much the entire show, I was focussed on the featureless forms of Boris & Sergey’s heads, as if I was lip-reading their Balkan obscenities. That the characters were so utterly convincing was one thing; that they were so damn funny is another. Those two elements combined to make this show an absolute gem.

[2014027] The Darker

[2014027] The Darker

David Daradan & Martin Christmas @ Bakehouse Theatre – Studio

9:00pm, Tue 18 Feb 2014

Even though I’m adamant that the pieces that I post on this blog aren’t really “reviews”, I still feel like I should mention something up-front when talking about The Darker: I consider writer/director Martin Christmas a friend. He’s certainly been very supportive of me (and is always encouraging me – not that it’s necessary – to write honestly), and that’s something I really appreciate… but I have to admit that it made me a little anxious about seeing the show. How would I react – or, more pointedly, what would I write – if I didn’t like the show? Or, worse, thought it was trite?

Luckily, that wasn’t an issue.

David Daradan plays Dave the Demonstrator in this one-man play; a stubborn man of many vices, all of which are exposed as he picks away at his life. It’s clear that Dave is struggling to deal with the loss of his parents and his partner, but that doesn’t excuse the final act of betrayal he enacted on his girlfriend (betting his mates that they wouldn’t grope her breasts), nor any of his other issues. He’s just a Man – a complicated, broken, lost Man, unable to cope with the expectations placed on him… both by others, and himself.

Of course, Dave the Demonstrator’s name contains the word “demon” – and he indeed wrestles with his demons throughout The Darker. They present as other Men, all contributors to his current existence; most of them reveal aspects of being a Man that we should be ashamed or frightened of. The few moments that aren’t uncomfortably close-to-the-bone – a glimpse of a Tender Man, a Loving Man, or some fragments of humour – are fleeting, and often backhanded in their presence; this is pretty unrelenting stuff.

One of the great things about seeing shows with my Event Buddy is that she always prefers to sit as close as possible to the performance; and so I found myself sitting almost directly under Daradan’s chin as he bellows through his deconstruction of Man. And so, as Dave shifts from one adopted persona to another (Couch Potato Man and Masturbating Man were most identifiable… though I’m afraid of what that says about me) and he loudly – often viciously – berates himself, we were often splattered with sweat… but we were also privy to a performance that always seemed to be teetering on the edge.

This was raw and brutal theatre, that asked for no concessions – and was certainly not going to grant any to the audience. There’s a bitter, almost grimly reluctant, honesty to both the text and the performance that makes Dave utterly unlikeable… but that’s something that actually resonates with me. I loved the bleakness of Dave’s character; I loved Daradan’s blustering portrayal of him. And, most of all, I love the fact that Christmas dared to make such a reprehensible character the centre of attention: that shows a bravery that must be respected. Kudos, gentlemen.

[2014026] The Sheds

[2014026] The Sheds

James Cunningham (Writer & Director) @ Bakehouse Theatre – Main Stage

7:30pm, Tue 18 Feb 2014

The Fringe Guide paints an intriguing picture: it promises an exploration of masculinity and mateship in the aftermath of an AFL player publicly announcing his homosexuality. And a near sell-out crowd assembled at The Bakehouse this evening to see The Sheds… but it’s hard to imagine that many left this performance satisfied.

Prior to the events of the play, star footballer Darren announces – in a press conference – that he’s gay; his good friend Liam, who acts as the play’s narrator, reflects the support of the rest of the team and club. But one of Darren’s friends from his past, the lively (and seemingly meth-addicted) Jimmy, isn’t quite as supportive: he saw Darren as a mentor, and cannot reconcile his sexuality. As their team’s fortunes fluctuate, and Darren drifts out of form and Jimmy becomes the linchpin of the team, Jimmy’s overt aggression and lack of willingness to discuss his discomfort with Darren’s presence leads to altercations…

This all sounds great, right? Throw in some (read: a lot) of full-frontal nudity in the showers (confronting when you’re in the front row!), some physically convincing naked fight scenes that resulted in buff wrestling, and you’ve got potential for some highly-charged theatre, right? Right?

But this production is completely hamstrung by the incredibly uneven performances of its cast. Patrick Chirico, playing the central role of Darren, mumbled most of his lines in such a way that even I – sitting in the front row – struggled to make sense of him; a flat tone (except when enraged, which also aided intelligibility) didn’t help. Andii Mulders, on the other hand, was perfectly clear with his diction… but every second word was “fuck”. That almost worked given the blinkered and intentionally bogan-ic nature of his character, but it still felt forced.

But perhaps the most embarrassing act I’ve seen in a theatre in nearly a decade was performed by Ludwik Exposto. As Liam, the narrator, he would often come onstage to deliver a short scene-setting speech prior to the arrival of the other characters; he was mostly audible, though he had a habit of rolling off the end of his lines towards the end of each sentence, making it really hard to hear. But, at the start of his second such soliloquy, he delivered perhaps fifteen seconds of material whilst walking across the stage before he realised he was repeating the first soliloquy… and, when he realised what he’d done, he faced the audience and said “But I’m repeating myself, aren’t I? Let’s rewind that bit…” and proceeded to walk backwards off the stage from whence he came, and started the scene from scratch.

Now, I don’t know much about handling mistakes in theatre. I’ve no idea what I would do in a similar situation. I’ve no idea what anyone would do in that situation.

But I’m pretty sure that pretty much anything would’ve been better than what Exposto did.

Still, at least it added a semblance of humour into proceedings; something that those in attendance could talk about in shared experiences after-the-fact (I wound up talking to a couple of guys who’d been at the same performance some time later, and it triggered a fantastic conversation). It’s terrible to admit that such an unfortunate event should remain the principle memory from this performance… but it’s the truth, because no other element of The Sheds was able to provide any semblance of quality.

[2014025] Trash Test Dummies

[2014025] Trash Test Dummies

Almost Exactly Circus @ Gluttony – The Peacock

5:30pm, Tue 18 Feb 2014

A last-minute addition to The Shortlist on the suggestion of a friend, I had – for some reason – assumed that Trash Test Dummies started at 5:45pm; so when I got a terse “where are you?” phone call at 5:25pm, I had the opportunity to verify that it’s possible to run from home to Gluttony in four minutes. And that I still have a five-minute lag between physical exertion to emitting sweat. Which was nice, but it meant that I didn’t miss a moment of the show… from the front row, no less.

A troupe of three men from Melbourne, Almost Exactly Circus present a cheery collection of circusy tricks that (initially, at least) have one great hook: the use of wheelie bins. From the synchronised wheelie bin ballet that opens the show, to some clever hide-and-seek moments, to the three-way juggling as the guys perched atop their bins, they very much defined the flavour of the show, influencing the guys’ workmanlike costumes and acting as handy storage for props between tricks.

Around the wheelie-related material, there was some decent juggling (nice cutovers and swaps), some decent – if brief – balance work, and a little bit of ladder work that almost felt like a last minute addition to the show. From behind their makeup, the guys are all really engaging – the bearded chap, quite obviously the cleanest juggler of the three, was really expressive with his facial expressions – and the crowd got involved when we were coerced into pelting the group with plastic balls.

It’s all quite fun stuff… if you haven’t seen it before. And, to be honest, I’ve not seen a man moonwalking a wheelie bin before, nor have I seen such a silly woo-woo ambulance skit, and they enacted a great parody of The Matrix using bagged helium balloons that created a convincing impression of time slowing to a crawl. But so much of the rest of their material was very me-too-ish… but that’s my problem, not theirs. The Trash Test Dummies were fun and enjoyable, but didn’t differentiate themselves enough from similar acts to warrant a rave from this jaded Fringe-goer.

[2014024] Square Peg

[2014024] Square Peg

Scorcher Fest Pty Ltd @ Royalty Theatre

1:00pm, Tue 18 Feb 2014

The précis of Square Peg promised that it would show “that one size doesn’t fit all and challenges the powers that be”; with a line like that, I was expecting this matinée performance to be dominated by a couple of school groups… it just felt like that kind of positive, affirming message. But as I approached the Royalty, I was surprised by the folk gathering in the foyer; the audience appeared to be full of adults of all kinds – builders, hippies, oldies, young ‘uns. It was one of the most diverse audiences I’ve ever seen, and I started wondering why they’d decided to attend this show.

Once inside and seated, I was further intrigued when I noticed that the left-hand side of the stage was dominated by a frame that suggested three doorways; on the frame the words “Learn, Love, Law” were emblazoned, and I start wondering whether Square Peg was acting as some sort of parole rehabilitation edutainment… that’d certainly explain some of the crowd, I figured. While I mulled on this, Pete Jenkins took to the stage and opened proceedings with some acoustic guitar songs underpinning some good-natured but ambiguous lyrics, before migrating to bluesy slide guitar.

Songs sung, Jenkins left the stage, and Fabien Clark came out to warm up the crowd in the manner one associates with a comedy show host. Which – although it seemed a little out of place – was all well and good. But then the theatrical component of Square Peg started…

…and it all turned a bit… well, ordinary.

The narrative thread involves the character Square Peg (played with a naïve charm by Brady Kitchingham), who is introduced to us via his kind and supportive Mum, and his gruff and intolerant Dad. As Square Peg grows up and asserts his personality, it becomes clear that he’s not your average child: Mum is always loving, but Dad is incapable of communicating with a son more interested in art than sport. As an adult, Square Peg encounters the usual trials and tribulations of love and relationships, but as his mother succumbs to dementia and is abandoned (maliciously) by his father, there’s an attempt to tug at the heartstrings as Square Peg battles for what is Right.

It’s all very well-meaning… but I found the direction to be clunky beyond belief. The play was performed as a series of short scenes, often separated by short live musical interludes. But even with the musical distraction, set changes often meant that the scenes often took longer to set up than perform… and that quickly became annoying as fuck. And whilst Kitchingham’s performance was solid, most of the other actors onstage looked like rabbits caught in the headlights: blank stares and wooden delivery only occasionally made way for exuberant over-acting. And Lindi Jane’s evil puppet – that represented Square Peg’s dark thoughts – seemed completely out of place.

It wasn’t all bad: the live band was great – vocalist Dino Jag La Vista was superb, the drummer never failed to grin like a maniac, and Crafty (who I’m sure I’ve seen perform with The Neo) rocked some great guitar and trumpet as The Love Makers ripped through a set dominated by easily recognisable covers. The original songs were good value too, though both the music and the play suffered a little from Literal Lyric Syndrome.

And at nearly two hours, this was verging on painful. Despite all the best intentions of the text, the content of the play was only average… and the direction of the performance seemed determined to stop any momentum building up. A solidly performed musical score saved this from generating more bile… but it simply wasn’t enough. At least I got to wander home wondering whether the hypothetical parole attendees in the audience were inspired to re-offend.

[2014023] Jazzflip – Zephyr Quartet vs 1.1 Immermann

[2014023] Jazzflip – Zephyr Quartet vs 1.1 Immermann

Zephyr Quartet, 1.1 Immermann @ The Wheatsheaf Hotel

8:00pm, Mon 17 Feb 2014

It’s no secret that I’ve become a Zephyr Quartet fanboy, desperately trying to see them at every available opportunity (though, shyly, not going out of my way to converse with them… we don’t need another incident like the one at the Festival Christmas show a few years back, do we?). But events conspired against me earlier this year: I didn’t know about their 2014 launch party until after I’d committed to other stuff, and didn’t realise they were slated to perform as part of Unsound (though I may have inadvertently heard them in a soundcheck during an ArtWalk). So: feeling slightly guilty (what kind of fanboy am I?) I inked in this COMA show early, despite it playing havoc with any other shows on the day.

The COMA Jazzflip series, I learned, involved two bands interpreting & playing each other’s work; on this evening, Zephyr was trading blows with local ensemble 1.1 Immermann. The two groups also selected one of their own composition that both groups played – a bloody brilliant idea that paid off handsomely.

But I’m getting ahead of myself a little.

I arrived at the Wheaty just as the doors opened, and the queue to get in was quite daunting – more so after I snaffled myself a beer. But I’m flying solo at this gig, so I manage to find a spare spot at a table right in front of the stage (in exchange, I was told jokingly, for a drink later on – a deal I made good on). My three table-mates were there as die-hard COMA fans, not necessarily as fans of either ensemble… a curious approach, I thought, but the resultant conversation was invigorating.

Zephyr were first up, and performed a healthy chunk of Immermann’s music. It was all (understandably) unfamiliar to me, but I was immediately intrigued: odd rhythms and skip-beats, with lush melodies permeating the tunes… were these in the original songs, or were they Zephyr’s interpretation of them? The set was broken up by the inclusion of Air – and it’s impossible for me to describe how much I love that piece. It’s a magnificently taut and delicate composition that gets me sitting on the edge of my seat, anxiously trying to hear every faint note.

A beer break, a rearrangement of instruments onstage, and on came 1.1 Immermann – and the drum / bass / double guitar / key driven sound owes a lot to other art-rock groups… and I mean that in the best possible way, because these guys were great. Their rendition of Air went in a much noisier – though equally tense – direction, and their version of Ewens Ponds was nothing less than belligerently fantastic. The 1.1 Immermann song performed by both bands was the driving, almost jazzy Sensible Haircut Dan; their guitar-driven version contrasted nicely with Zephyr’s tight arrangement (Belinda’s violin-ised version of the guitar solo was brilliant!).

And then… the expected melding of the two ensembles. Oh god – it was wonderful. Tears-in-my-eyes types of wonderful.

I left this gig absolutely blown away. Not only were Zephyr their usual wonderful selves, but my exposure to 1.1 Immermann was (somewhat unexpectedly) revelatory: here, in my backyard, was a group that plays all the tight, quirkily odd-rhythmic stuff that I love. I bought their CD Extra Knusprig on my way out (as well as a Zephyr disc I seemed to lack), and mentally added them to the “must see” list… as well as more Zephyr. More Zephyr, more Immermann, more Jazzflip, more COMA. These are all things I should commit to.

[2014022] Radio Variety Hour

[2014022] Radio Variety Hour

Lauren Bok, Sam Marzden, Bert Goldsmith @ The Producers Bar

6:15pm, Mon 17 Feb 2014

With this Monday night very much defined by a trip out to the Wheatsheaf, not much room was left for any other shows; luckily, Radio Variety Hour (which previously appeared in the 2012 Fringe) fit the awkward timings perfectly. That it featured the two of my favourite performers from 2013 – Lauren Bok and Sam Marzden – was icing on the cake.

Presented as a behind-the-scenes look at a (titular) radio variety hour, Bok and Marzden are joined by Bert Goldsmith as they play three radio “personalities” on a stage littered with foley gear: there’s doors for slamming, papers for rustling, and cabbages for murdering. Three short radio plays are threaded together with a backstory that sees the threat of Goldsmith’s character being wooed from radio for new-fangled television; that the other two characters also have their own team-breaking options only adds to the spice.

But it’s the Variety Hour‘s episodic content that carries the most weight: Bok takes the lead with Joan Jackson, Lady Detective, a deliciously noir thriller that sparks the first bout of cabbage abuse. Captain Jet Propulsion is a quirky sci-fi expedition to a murderous cat planet (I shudder at the thought), but Peculiar Avenue‘s cast of bizarre characters and creepy ambience takes the gong for most compelling viewing… er, listening.

The manner in which the cast execute the foley is a worthy drawcard to the show; as they dart around the stage, looking for the next supporting sound-effect item, there’s a sense that they’re barely in control of the performance. And that may well be an act – after all, they’ve performed this piece many times before – but if they’re performing faux mistakes, then they’re doing it well… it’s convincing, edge-of-your seat stuff.

I can totally understand how Radio Variety Hour got nominated in the Fringe Awards a few years back: it’s fresh, it’s quirky, and there’s a genuine sense of excitement in the production. I can only help that this programme remains on the air for some time to come; it’d be great to see more parodies presented in this format.

[2014021] Safety First

[2014021] Safety First

Dylan Cole @ Gluttony – La Petite Grande

10:30pm, Sun 16 Feb 2014

A friend had raved about Safety First, and – after discovering it was performed by Dylan Cole (creator of last year’s enjoyable collection of NED talks) – I immediately squeezed it into my Schedule. A short run meant that it pretty much shaped the day, but luckily the late-night timeslot didn’t cause too many problems.

My desire to grab a burger (is it me, or have the burgers at Gluttony been slowly-but-steadily declining in quality over the years?) meant that I was at the tail end of the queue entering La Petite Grange, which turned out to be an odd venue for a show: it’s a small round tent with banked seating covering about 160 degrees of the central stage. The thin crowd – thirty people, tops – spread out over the entire bank, giving Dylan (who plays high-vis-tie-wearing workplace safety expert Tim Cole) no clear direction to project his performance.

Safety First is performed as a workplace safety seminar: we’re each presented with a questionnaire upon entry, with our answers group-evaluated once complete… here (somewhat embarrassingly) are my responses:

  1. I feel safest when… being cuddled
  2. In a fire I must always… dance! (I have no idea what I was thinking here)
  3. A hazard is… an opportunity!
  4. Who is the most important person in the world? the OH&S Officer!

Once the questionnaire was out of the way, Cole took us through a comprehensive PowerPoint presentation that was laced with anecdotes featuring his colleagues, who all feature the names of famous actors: the most notable was the recurring George Clooney, a chap who seemed to have the worst workplace safety record imaginable, as Cole recounted incident after incident where Clooney loses fingers, limbs, and his eyesight.

There’s jokes a-plenty at the expense of onerous policies, and the dry corporate-speak that Cole presents hits the right notes; there’s even a little coffee break in the middle of the show with cream biscuits (“the good kind – none of that home-brand rubbish”) that sit uncomfortably in front of a reluctant audience before Cole hoards his favourites. Evacuation procedures cop a bit of flak, and the first-aid segment – featuring an audience member performing CPR on a blowup sex doll – is a hoot. The recurring thread of phone calls from Cole’s boss (Richard E. Grant) regarding the legal case being brought against Cole for a seminar-related injury is also a blinder.

But there’s two big memories I’ll take away from Safety First: the first is entirely intentional, and featured Cole’s constant phone calls with his soon-to-be-estranged wife (who just happened, in the celebrity-laced nature of the show, to look like Julia Roberts). These one-sided conversations were absolutely dripping with dark humour and pathos, and – as uncomfortable as some of them were – provided the highlight of the script for me. But the other Big Memory was the older gentleman (perhaps in his sixties, who most certainly did not have English as his first language) who arrived just as the show was about to begin. Sitting at the far left of the seating, he always faced the pole in the centre of the tent, rarely facing Cole as he performed, and even more rarely observing the PowerPoint presentation. I began thinking that this gent really thought this was a legitimate workplace safety seminar: he seemed to glare at people giggling at Cole’s material, and appeared to even take notes on his phone once or twice. But when the penny dropped, his interruptions (usually scoffing disbelief at George Clooney’s running tally of injuries) was taken well within Cole’s stride.

Whilst I didn’t find Safety First to be as holistically satisfying as NED, it did amply demonstrate Dylan Cole’s ability to write character-based humour. Tim Cole’s rapidly unravelling life, bolstered by crumbling corporatism, was a joy to behold, and I even learnt a thing or two… and even got a Certificate of Safetynessness to prove it.

[2014020] The Market

[2014020] The Market

Gumption Productions @ The Bluebee Room

9:00pm, Sun 16 Feb 2014

As I descend into The Bluebee Room – the basement location of the first Fasta Pasta in Adelaide (that I can remember) – I discover a smattering of people scattered all around the room; there’s very few groups of people, and the trio of lads sitting directly in front of the stage look a little… well, seedy-drunk. And wary. After smiling my way through the (delightful) door peeps, I sat at a table near the front of the “stage”; the other person at the table, an older unshaven gentleman buried deep in a heavy book, paid no attention to my greeting, and left me wondering whether he – and I, for that matter – was at the right place.

The Market – a gameshow seeking to find partners for desperate singles – attempts to get the audience involved early in the piece, by dragging its contestants from within the audience; it didn’t quite work this evening (what with the sparse nature of the crowd), so the performers were easy to spot beforehand. And as the host (Sylvia?) of the titular meat-market introduces the contestants, her overbearing nature quickly grates – a perfect fit for a gameshow host, really. And the dating wannabes all fit a stereotype: there’s the cool younger girl, nervous beneath a brash exterior. The too-cool-for-school guy, wrapped up in his own new-age world and willing to take anything on (well, almost anything). The older, geekier chap, earnest and ever-so-slightly twee. And the beautiful career woman, an emotional mess beneath the frosty exterior.

A series of questions soften them up, and there’s a curious segment where the contestants roam the crowd seeking our approval. It quickly becomes apparent that the scores are all rigged, that the audience has no agency in this process script, but the gameshow is broken up by ad breaks, which sees the contestants donning costumes for their satirical sponsor messages (the FRITZ – the “Z” stands for “Zystem” – was a highlight).

And whilst the early parts of the performance roll along at a reasonable rate, the pace comes to a screeching halt during a “confessional” segment that purports to break the contestants down. Most of these segments were uncomfortable in their treacly nature, and veer wildly from the light-hearted tone of the first half of the show: Simone’s orgasmic Tim Tam experience almost lifts the mood, but that only came after her almost offensive (to me) “thirty-two and still single” whining – oh you poor dear.

The Market never really recovers from the change in tone and pacing of the confessionals; but, having said that, there wasn’t a huge wealth of goodwill generated earlier in the performance, either. It’s not that there were any terrible performances or anything, but nothing really grabbed me, either. But the two-paced nature of the show, combined with a bit of a lazy denouement, left me thinking that there were no winners leaving The Market at all.

[2014019] CREEP ROCK

[2014019] CREEP ROCK

Memory Waste @ Astor Hotel – Astoria Room

7:30pm, Sun 16 Feb 2014

Attracted by a précis that promised a blend of geek, creep, and… well, rock, I returned to the Astor and toddled upstairs to the larger Astoria Room. There’s no synthetic grass here, but I was surprised to find that the room was almost full of bright and bubbly youngsters, chatting amongst themselves with the kind of vibe that made me think that they were all old friends; that this is a regular occurrence. That Memory Waste has brought them all together again.

And when Memory Waste – an indie singer/songwriter from Newcastle – takes to the stage, he’s greeted with rapturous applause and wooting. He announces that he’s recording the show on video – heads turn and more cheers are emitted once the camera is found – before the first song, I Followed You Home, is trotted out.

With guitar and a stomp-box accompanying his singing, Memory Waste’s songs all have a bittersweet charm about them – there’s plenty of love and adoration, to be sure, but they all seem to convey a troubled love… there’s always a darker side, usually broached with comedy. “If I could love you in Melbourne, I could love you anywhere” he sings in Melbourne, just before the song’s protagonist couple breaks up; “love isn’t what I thought it would be, but it’s better than being alone,” he laments in another track.

So… “bittersweet” is the perfect term for Memory Waste’s songs. But “creep” is not. And nor is his acoustic presentation anything that I would consider “rock”.

There was only around half-a-dozen songs – and interstitial chats to the friendly crowd – in this set; despite starting late, it finished way earlier than expected, and would have been struggling to hit thirty-five minutes. And whilst the music was pleasant, and the crowd singalongs were fun, there wasn’t really enough here to encourage me to pick up a CD of Memory Waste’s work.

[2014018] Roaring Accordion

[2014018] Roaring Accordion

Strangely @ Royal Croquet Club – Shanty Town

6:00pm, Sun 16 Feb 2014

For some reason, I’d always kinda assumed that the Royal Croquet Club had been established in Victoria Square with the urging of FringeCo: it just seemed like a (transparent) attempt at trying to break the shackles of the Garden’s hegemony over the implicit branding of the Fringe. Whether or not that was the actual case (and, let’s face it, I’m neither a journalist nor inclined to investigate such matters for myself) I was still keen to see what this new super-venue was like.

And first impressions were… well, odd. Wandering into the Club via its sole entrance (a weird planning decision – surely a northern entrance would’ve been more convenient for everyone?) on a sleepy Sunday afternoon revealed a collection of middle-aged couples and groups, all eating and drinking and having a very Garden-y experience. And I immediately thought that this venue was like the Garden for grown-ups, and painted this drunken idyllic picture of boozy non-show-attendees “graduating” from the Garden once they’d married and procreated, settling into the Croquet Club for the next stage of their “Fringe” life experience.

As it turns out, I couldn’t have been more wrong… but I didn’t discover that until later in the Fringe.

Still, it didn’t take long to identify two tented venues – the Panama Club and Ukiyo – and wonder about their potential for noise bleed; my destination for Roaring Accordion, however, was nowhere to be found… no signage was visible anywhere. I asked a bored security guard; he had no idea either.

Eventually, a nearby bar opened and indicated where the venue was located, and I was surprised to find that it was outside. Noise bleed was a certainty (with a band starting up on the Croquet Club’s main stage), but I was more alarmed by the fact that there was no real audience for the performance. In fact, when I entered the “venue”, there was only a couple sitting in the back row of a bank of (maybe) a hundred seats. I plonked myself in the front row, close to the small stage backed by a wall of old radios, and attempted to cajole the couple forward. She was reluctant: “No,” She flatly stated when He took an interest in my suggestion to populate the front row, “I’ll get picked on. I’ll get embarrassed.”

I gestured to the sea of empty seats. “Who are you going to be embarrassed in front of?” I attempted to reason. “You don’t know me, and your bloke doesn’t care.”

He laughed, She cracked a smile, and they joined me.

Strangely – immediately identifiable by his insane beard – appeared in his oddball band uniform and sporting a small accordion; he gruffly (though with gusto) pushed through a couple of drinking songs, trying to size up his audience of three. Initially ringing his collection of foot-bells in place of obvious swear words, it took a little while for him to warm up… but the arrival of another couple soon after the start of the show helped the mood of the stage considerably.

Most of Roaring Accordion was about the songs (with accordion and foot-bell accompaniment, though one of the foot-bells broke during the show), and Strangely would try to involve us in chorus singalongs as much as possible; but he would also occasionally thrown in some other talents as well: some straightforward juggling, balancing on the crossed arms of the other two guys in the audience, and an impressive balancing act involving a huge umbrella on his chin. On a windy day.

In between songs (which all seemed to be drinking-related shanties), Strangely would amiably chat to us about his life and travels; he came across as a genuinely likeable guy, with a quiet demeanour that I’d have thought would be utterly unsuited to his chosen profession: a gentle soul whose skin didn’t seem thick enough for the potential abuse of a Fringe (non-)crowd. And, given his recognisable presentation, I’d always try to have a friendly chat with him whenever I saw him around later in the season; the show picked up its audiences as it went along, he told me, and – during one late-night chat – he mentioned that this performance was the one that gave him the confidence in the rest of the season.

Which was really awesome to hear.

And whilst I kinda wished that I’d seen this show at a later timeslot, as part of a sozzled night-time crowd (because his raucous drinking songs would’ve then gone down a treat), that’s not how things work: I saw Strangely in a tiny group, sober, in daylight… and I still walked away with a bundle of respect and buckets of best wishes for the man.