[2013088] Circolombia

[2013088] Circolombia

Circolombia @ The Garden of Unearthly Delights – The Big Top

9:30pm, Sun 3 Mar 2013

I’m starting to get a bit weary of the super-polished productions that appear in the larger venues in The Garden; as I’ve previously stated, I like my acrobatics up-close and dirty, with the muscles of performers twitching under duress in clear view. Whilst the Cantinas and La Cliques and Limbos of the world impress in terms of the spectacle, they also distance themselves from the audience by virtue of their size.

And so, when walking into The Big Top to discover a wide performance area with shallow audience areas (I hesitate to call it “seating”) around the space, I immediately started gauging the distance between my eyes and where the performers would be… and my heart sank a little. Circus at a distance, it would appear. I looked at my ticket – $52. Shit. Think positive thoughts, think positive thoughts…

But as soon as the music started thumping (a consistent urban beat that drove the performance along), and the lights started flashing, it became evident that Circolombia would provide substance to match their style. Hailing from the Circo Para Todos (Circus For All) school in Cali, Colombia, the cast are uniformly beautiful human specimens, and they certainly perform: running, dancing, bounding, leaping, spinning, somersaulting, flipping, flying, soaring.

Oh, and they sing too, whilst revelling in a sense of convincingly ghetto camaraderie.

Aside from one spectacular trick at the tail end of the show – a stunning contrivance of a stunt that sees one performer twist and flip through the air before landing (and striking a cheekily lazy pose) in a chair suspended at the end of a pole three-quarters of the way to the roof – there were no new tricks to be found… hoops and ropes and ribbons all made appearances to support the performance, circus staples were separated by hip-hop dance battles, and the projection of movies into the space gave the cast opportunity to occasionally catch their breath (and allowed us to breathe again). There’s a polish in the multimedia support for the production, but it doesn’t seem at odds with the grittiness of the performers.

Was the makeup on the performers (and their marketing) a little over-the-top? Yep. Was the cast (a little disappointingly) male-heavy? Yes, though the women who were there more than held their own in the stunt department. Did some of the musical numbers grate my old-man ears almost instantly? You betcha. But there’s a sense of urgency in the production that more than makes up for any feelings of been-there-done-that; there’s a vigour and creativity that lifts this high above the other big-ticket productions. Whilst I may have been concerned about becoming jaded, Circolombia proved to be satisfyingly surprising.

[2013087] Dirtday!

[2013087] Dirtday!

Laurie Anderson @ Dunstan Playhouse

7:30pm, Sun 3 Mar 2013

There’s no point trying to hide the fact that I was disappointed by Laurie Anderson’s first paid offering this Festival, so I scooted into the Playhouse a little… well, wary. Hoping for the best, naturally, but preparing to ward off another snooze.

As per usual, I start chatting to my neighbours, a Tasmanian couple in Adelaide for the weekend; we compare notes and, as I raved animatedly about Skeleton, I discover that they (claim to) know Larissa McGowan personally. They’re thrilled to hear my ham-fisted and completely inadequate description of how amazing it was; they promised to pass on the compliments, before explaining the some of the finer points of Laurie Anderson’s body of work to me.

The stage is littered with candles, an armchair, various microphones, a keyboard, Anderson’s violin; there’s something about the candles that screams “these are precisely placed to appear nonchalant”, but I can’t figure out why they appear that way, nor why they should appear that way. The ambience is contemplative, but with a casual vibe; meditative and mysterious. And when Anderson walks onstage (I dwelt for ages on that verb – it wasn’t as focussed as a stride, nor lazy as an amble), it’s to rapturous applause – and I realised that I still didn’t know quite what to expect.

What followed was an odd mélange of spoken-word and music, of private and political; Anderson flits from story to poem to song, skirting across instruments and soundscapes and vocal manipulations, the steady rhythm of her voice just about the only constant in her delivery. Religion, politics, painting, art; feminism, the underprivileged, the loss of identity in modernity. It’s all in there, it’s all colourful, and it should be a mish-mash of grey as a result…

…but somehow every element of the performance comes together to form a cohesive whole. And the thing that makes it work for me is Anderson’s spoken delivery: it’s wonderfully measured, and she demonstrates a superb sense of timing, especially when it comes to injecting humour or sadness into the proceedings; no more so than when she spoke of her dog. What seemed like an eccentric excursion into the piano-playing of Lolabelle turned into a deeply touching tale of loss… a real rollercoaster of a sojourn.

I found Dirtday! to be an absolutely enthralling performance. Without settling on a single form of delivery, or even a single theme, Anderson somehow manages to conjure a sense of cohesion in the work that I still can’t quite figure out; that I can still be dwelling on her methods (and her message) some nine months on seems appropriate… and satisfying.

[2013086] The Deer Johns are Growing Up

[2013086] The Deer Johns are Growing Up

The Deer Johns @ The Big Slapple – Apollo Theatre

6:00pm, Sun 3 Mar 2013

After thoroughly enjoying The Deer Johns in both 2011 and 2012, Growing Up was a certain inclusion on The Shortlist; the only possible concern was that the focus of this year’s musical time-warp was the 70s, of which my musical knowledge was decidedly shakier.

The Deer Johns know that they’ve got a winning formula, and Growing Up doesn’t bother to mess with it too much. There’s still a cheesy narrative thread that ties their vaguely relevant selection of 70s pop/rock classics together, but it seems to have taken a bit more of a back-seat this time around; the trio appear to be much more relaxed (as a result, maybe?), and the music feels… I dunno, more relaxed and fun. There’s much more humour to be derived from their renditions of the tunes, rather than the narrative dialog – two obvious examples being the regular Black Betty flashes by the drummer, and the progressive Bohemian Rhapsody playthrough.

While previous Deer Johns shows have had me occasionally lambasting the arrangements of songs, I very much enjoyed the instrumentation of this setlist – but I’m left to wonder whether that’s my lack of deep knowledge of the songs? Sure, many of the tracks were singalong familiar… but even when I did had a stronger remembrance of the song, the interpretation often delighted: Elton John & Kiki Dee’s classic Don’t Go Breaking My Heart, rendered with Jesse Cotton’s accordion, was an absolute pearler.

And, far from being a collection of songs I didn’t recognise (as I had initially feared), the selection was fabulous: Hall & Oates made an appearance, ELO got a couple of berths (though Mr Blue Sky is so terribly overrated), and even the fabulous Cool for Cats got an airing. Besides the bold mis-step of attempting Another Brick In The Wall, the only real disappointment in the show – especially compared to last year‘s gargantuan effort – was the crowd; there was probably a healthy eighty-odd people in, but within the yawning spaces of the Apollo it felt… well, a little insulting, really.

A need to dash to my next show meant that I didn’t have time to chat to The Johns post-show; hopefully I managed to impart a hearty thankyou in the words that were flung their way as I scooted out the door. And look – you can watch this entire show online, if you were unable to get to the show yourself. But you know what? You really should give them some cash, or at least some attention, if you get the chance: The Deer Johns use a ropey narrative to deliver cheeky interpretations of quality songs with a wink and a smile, and that makes for an occasionally groan-worthy – but always enjoyable – show.

[2013085] The Girl Who Won’t Grow Up

[2013085] The Girl Who Won’t Grow Up

Megan Doherty @ La Bohème

4:30pm, Sun 3 Mar 2013

As I head back into the city from North Adelaide, I duck into Burgastronomy for a tasty bite; crossing the bottom of O’Connell Street, a car full of young men drives past. My orange hair, coupled with my beloved green Young Gods t-shirt, draws their attention: “Oi, Drop Dead Fred!” they catcalled, and I made a mental note to thank my hairdresser for nailing my colour.

I’m fading as I get to LaB, and the days (and, more pertinently, the nights) catch up to me; it’s sleepily warm inside, but the mojitos are refreshing. And, more importantly, Megan Doherty’s stage presence is enough to keep my eyelids wide open.

Doherty’s cabaret show is tightly constructed around her dreams; as she gets older, Megan has realised that a lot of her childhood dreams aren’t going to come true, but accepts that dreams are still an important reflection on who she is… and who she wants to be. Accompanied by Daniel Brunner on piano (who gets a few vocal moments to shine too), her voice is gorgeous, with plenty of soaring notes and some occasional grittiness, and the number of off-key micro-moments could be counted on one hand.

The song choice was varied and creative: a few cabaret staples, a curious melding of Creep and Tim Minchin’s When I Grow Up, and a storming rendition of Ride This Feeling closed out the show. But my highlight was another Minchin cover, Not Perfect – it’s a truly beautiful song that rarely fails to make me well up with tears, and Doherty’s rendition does it proud.

By having no real expectations walking into the show, this proved to be a very pleasant surprise – Megan Doherty is a wonderful performer, and brings a genuine sense of honesty and humour to the stage. Well crafted and supremely polished, The Girl Who Won’t Grow Up was a lovely set of songs, personably delivered… and I’ll be sure to keep an eye out for Ms Doherty in the future.

[2013084] MANGA – Japanese Hero Action Comedy

[2013084] MANGA – Japanese Hero Action Comedy

Yamamoto Produce Japan @ The Garage International @ NACC

2:00pm, Sun 3 Mar 2013

Japanese Hero Action Comedy had made the Shortlist, but it was most certainly an outlier; but then I’d encountered the guys from Yamamoto in the Mall… and, clad in their scruffy DIY cardboard giant robot costumes, their infectious enthusiasm – coupled with just a hint of desperation in their eyes – convinced me that it was a pretty good bet. Support the different, I say. Support the risk-takers.

But the daylight was waaaaay too bright, my sunglasses were nigh-on ineffective, and I was really starting to doubt the wisdom of pledging to see a North Adelaide matinée a mere handful of hours after getting home from an extended Fringe Club close-out. But a ticket in my hand is a commitment – that’s just the way I play. That’s the way I like it, though sometimes – like on this walk – I have to remind myself of that fact.

I was worried that there’d be a tiny audience out at the North Adelaide Community Centre for this show, but I was pleasantly surprised to see that there were about fifty people (including the “star” of last night’s show) seated by the time I arrived. J-Pop was blaring through the sound system as I walked in – joyous, uplifting, nonsensical.

Which is just perfect accompaniment for this show.

Like a lot of the more popular anime and manga seen in the west, the plot of Japanese Hero Action Comedy is, at heart, a hero’s journey. Along the way, he makes friends, fights foes, and yells excitedly. But, let’s face it, the draw of this show isn’t about the plot; it’s in the presentation, the creativity, and especially the enthusiasm of the four performers.

Because this really was a wacky affair. Lo-fi props of cardboard and fabric and foam form characters that are instantly familiar to anyone who has spent more than five minutes with Japanese pop culture: ghosts and demons abound. Fight scenes are punctuated with onomatopoeic cardboard signs, and there’s plenty of anime tropes: running sequences see actors jogging on the spot whilst other performers whisk scenery by, and guitar power-pop accompanies the scenes where friends are fighting side-by-side in battle.

It’s all bloody silly fun, and – despite the increasingly uncomfortable heat in the room – the performers certainly gave it their all. And the scene where a delightfully poorly rendered (but still instantly recognisable) Pikachu was beaten up was one of the most enthusiastic scenes of all. And for this tired and hungover part-time fan of Japanese games and animation, MANGA certainly hit the spot.

[2013083] Snow Fright & the Apple of Temptation

[2013083] Snow Fright & the Apple of Temptation

Nikki Nouveau @ Nexus Cabaret

11:30pm, Sat 2 Mar 2013

“A chilling, sensual cabaret of murderous rivalry and enchantment,” leads the Fringe Guide’s entry for Snow Fright & the Apple of Temptation. “Featuring dark burlesque, Bavarian folklore and live jazz-blues,” it concludes.

And, having just transcribed that from the Fringe Guide, I should have known better than to commit to this show; I’m an overly zealous advocate of the Oxford Comma, and the lack thereof in Snow Fright‘s précis has just annoyed me mightily.

If only I’d noticed it nine months ago… I could’ve wandered down the Fringe Club much earlier this evening, and not be any worse off as a result. In fact, I’d be slightly better off, since I would’ve had one less post to write.

Still, a burlesque cabaret piece based (loosely) on Snow White is an interesting idea… and certainly gets off to a dark start as Snow Fright quickly transforms from innocent into deeply alluring, triggered by the titular Apple of Temptation. Snow Fright’s equally seductive stepmother also appears, and the two provide – with live musical accompaniment – scenes that were certainly not in the Disney interpretation of the fairy tale.

There were some neat touches in the adaptation: I thought the character transitions performed by walking through a “mirror”, and the use of the mirror to justify some of the burlesque-y stripping pieces, were really quite neat. The appearance of some (beautifully sung and curiously arranged) cabaret staples, along with a colourful fan dance (oh, those heels!), provide some substance to the performance; but most of the scenes felt waaaaay too long, and the general pace of the show was almost treacle-like.

And then came the audience participation bit… and here I need to take a slight detour.

During Fringe time, out and about as I am, I regularly encounter a lot of people… and many become familiar. There’s one shy chap – stocky build, thinning hair, ponytail – who I used to see at a lot of music shows; I remember trying to strike up a conversation with him at a show last year, but… well, he’s not the conversational type.

Anyway, He was sitting by himself at a cocktail table, front-and-centre. And so, when Snow Fright and her lascivious stepmother slunk into the crowd to pull up someone with whom to interact, He was fair game.

The only problem is, “wooden” would be an understatement for His actions. “Frozen” may be more apt; “paralysed” is probably the most effective description. After dragging Him offstage for an uncomfortably long time – presumably to dress Him up somewhat – He returned to the stage unchanged and sat stage-centre, unmoving, as Snow Fright essentially performed a lap-dance for Him. She’d gesture to Him to help her undress – you know, all sexy-like – but He was unflinching, petrified. It was a desperately uncomfortable experience… for us, the audience, as well as Him.

Look, there’s no doubting that Nikki Nouveau (as the titular Snow Fright) was a consummate performer, with both a body and voice to die for; I also thought Kira Daley’s wicked stepmother was a quality performance, too. But the performances were held back by inexorably slow pacing and – on this evening – an instadeath audience participation piece… and no amount of polished production values were going to paper over those cracks.

[2013082] In Defence of Hipsters

[2013082] In Defence of Hipsters

Cobi Smith @ La Bohème

10:00pm, Sat 2 Mar 2013

Me and hipsters, we’re not alike. I’m out of the normal hipster age-bracket, for one, and I’ve always associated hipsters with fixies… and fixies can fuck right off. There, I’ve said it. My hat is in the fixie political ring.

But, paranoid pessimist that I am, I’m always a little concerned that I’ve got things wrong… that maybe, in this case, my – distrust? snideness? – towards hipsters is undeserved. So, upon seeing the title of this show, I figured “why not – let’s educate myself.”

La Bohème had a really weird… well, unexpected vibe when I arrived. I’m used to the Friends-and-Family mood that permeates some shows, but this felt much more like a party where everyone knew each other – and, awkwardly enough, where I knew no-one. So when Cobi Smith – cute as a button and bubbly and with a huge generous smile – takes to the stage and announces that, at the strike of midnight, it will be her thirtieth birthday, it kinda made sense.

But I still felt like I was a stranger at someone else’s party.

Smith lamented her impending milestone – oh, you kids! – and mused on how this was the age at which she was expected to settle down… and then leapt into enthusiastic detail as to her upcoming work and travel plans (her personal and professional accomplishments are ridiculously enviable, having travelled the world and worked as a journalist, researcher, and translator). But she went on to describe the self-actualisation that occurred when she discovered that she was, by her own classification, a hipster.

Not a lot of evidence was given to back up her discovery; she left that to her friends, who essentially performed birthday speeches. Emily Steel spoke of Cobi’s love of crochet; Simon Pampena recounted tales of recyclables and bamboo toothbrushes. More friends spoke of her love of obscure music (yes, obscure even in Canberra), of drunken handbag shopping, of lazy board games, of Scrabble tile badges. Then a clutch of friends were dragged up onstage to improvise a scene from Smith’s life; it was a rabble, descending into a gaggle of laughter, but most of the crowd thought it was hilarious.

And that encapsulates the show as a whole, really. I could never shake the feeling that I had walked in on someone else’s party, like a friend of a friend of a friend of someone I didn’t know that well. And whilst Cobi comes across as incredibly likeable, I had no real connection to her: whilst others in the crowd could cackle about sideways references to That Time At That Party, it’s meaningless to me. I’m sure it was a great birthday bash for her, though.

[2013081] Laurie Anderson & Kronos Quartet

[2013081] Laurie Anderson & Kronos Quartet

Laurie Anderson & Kronos Quartet @ Festival Theatre

8:00pm, Sat 2 Mar 2013

So… Kronos Quartet. Ever since a sample from Black Angels was used on Faith No More’s stunning Angel Dust, I’ve been giving Kronos more and more attention when we’ve crossed paths… and yet, the only work of theirs that I own is Howl, USA (Ginsberg’s Howl set to music). So when their name was mentioned at the Festival Launch, I was sold: it was time to give them their due, and tickets to both their shows were quickly snaffled.

As for Laurie Anderson… well, it’s fair to say that I knew of her, rather than about her… but, having dragged myself out of bed to see Anderson perform Duets on Ice on Friday morning (and having chatted with some long-time aficionados in the crowd at that event), I felt like I had a better handle on this multimedia performance artist’s work. And, quite frankly, the very idea of this collaboration had me quite excited.

But if there’s one thing that Landfall – this piece written by Anderson for Kronos – is not, it’s “exciting”. For the most part, it’s quiet: long sustained notes sitting down the low end of the frequency range, over which Anderson would contribute through voice (spoken, either natural or digitally distorted to a disturbing depth), iPad-triggered samples, or occasional electric violin. There’s precious few flourishes in the composition, with only rare moments for the Quartet to shine.

Behind the performers, a screen spanned the Festival Theatre stage; soft colours washed across it, but a few pieces featured Anderson’s text punctuating the screen, seemingly triggered by the Quartet’s instruments (or the product of impeccable timing). Like the music, however, the imagery isn’t impactful: it’s thoughtful, contemplative, almost meditative.

It’s ironic that, during a work inspired by the loss of Anderson’s possessions, my mind kept wandering away from the performance to my own possessions – I spent parts of the performance imagining where to work furniture in my home, or trying to figure out where my lost box of CDs was, or plotting the assault on my List of outstanding video games that needed my attention post-March. Only occasionally – usually triggered by Anderson’s percussion, or a harshly bowed cello or viola note – did I get dragged back into the moment, back to the reason I was sitting there in the first place.

Maybe that was just sleep deprivation having its wicked way with my attention span; maybe that was a genuine lack of connection. Whilst the fact that my eyelids grew heavy throughout the performance indicates the former, a sense of engagement usually helps overcome such issues… and that leaves me thinking that Landfall just didn’t work for me. And that’s a massive shame, because I was so looking forward to the performance…

[2013080] KnickKnack

[2013080] KnickKnack

Etched Dance Productions @ Adelaide College of the Arts – XSpace

6:00pm, Sat 2 Mar 2013

Now, I love me some weirdness. I love it when productions get their abstraction hats on. It’s only rarely that I dislike someone’s genuine attempt to think outside the box.

But I’m still not quite sure how to take KnickKnack… because it’s walking a very fine line.

First impressions are pretty lousy: it seems the Etched Dance crew are trying to evoke the Mad Hatter with a curious chap introducing the notion of Tony… who is he? What is he? Does he even really exist? While this narrator prowls the floor, stumbling with his attempt at a lofty accent, two heads can be seen peeking through the curtains at the back of the stage… this is either unprofessional as fuck, I thought, or quite odd.

The heads belonged to two female performers, who subsequently burst onto the stage with exaggerated movements accompanied by non-stop non sequiturs. Their “dance” – and KnickKnack is, ostensibly, a dance performance – is bold and brash, with oodles of movement that could best be described as “colourful”.

And then Tony appears. He does exist, and he’s a banana. And he’s a morbid bugger: we’re all going to die sometime, he mopes, but he offers no insight or hope… Tony is, quite clearly, the counterpoint to the exuberance of Red and White (the female characters, who I think were supposed to be dolls).

And that’s KnickKnack in a nutshell. Effervescence on one hand, morbidity on the other, with the whole lot doused in a colourfully eccentric sauce. Nope, I’m still not sure about how to take KnickKnack. But I’m pretty sure that’s a Good Thing.

[2013079] Agnes of God

[2013079] Agnes of God

Blue Fruit Theatre Company @ Holden Street Theatres – The Arch

4:00pm, Sat 2 Mar 2013

Itsoseng runs late, so it’s a mad dash to the tram stop, followed by a brisk walk to Holden Street. It’s also a bit of a sticky day, so I’m not entirely comfortable when settling into my front-row seat in The Arch.

Personal discomforts are forgotten when Agnes of God kicks off, however. A local adaptation of the Broadway play, it is a multilayered story centred on the “immaculate conception” of the titular Sister Agnes, a Novice nun whose steadfast belief in the beauty of the Almighty’s Creation is corralled by the abuse she suffered as a child. Simplistic and naïve, Agnes is convinced that the baby she carries was conceived by God alone; Dr Martha Livingstone, a psychiatrist concerned for Agnes’ wellbeing, sceptically prods for a more plausible reason for her pregnancy. Agnes’ Mother Superior, Miriam, tries to deflect any claims of impropriety, and defends the integrity of the Novice in her care, whilst constantly balancing her belief in miracles and the almost irrefutable proof that Agnes’ baby is not what she so desperately wants it to be.

The play flits scenes between scenes of the three women: Martha prying Agnes for the truth, Miriam challenging Martha’s lack of faith, and Agnes assuring Miriam of her righteousness. A large amount of the script is delivered through flashbacks (triggered by a character stepping into a spotlight), and it is loaded with threads of connections between the three women – the psychiatrist’s sister, Agnes’ mother, and Mother Superior’s sister all being named Maria was one overt example – and the use of metaphor is also less-than-subtle.

Michaela Burger’s role as Agnes is epitomised by two things: her angelic singing, imbuing Agnes with a sense of purity, is contrasted by her bone-cutting screams, which typically occur when Martha’s questioning starts insinuating that all is not as it seems. But whilst the first scream comes as a shock, their regularity makes the performance feel almost one-paced and predictable… one can almost plot a sawtooth graph of tension.

That’s not to say that Agnes of God is not good; it’s a meaty theatrical piece, with all three performers handling their roles well. But the predictability of the delivery detracts from the subject matter at hand, and unfortunately stops this production from reaching greater heights.

[2013078] Itsoseng

[2013078] Itsoseng

Omphile Molusi @ Space Theatre

2:00pm, Sat 2 Mar 2013

As I’ve written many times before, matinées are like gold-dust at Festival time; this afternoon performance of Itsoseng was doubly attractive, given the short Q&A session with writer/performer Omphile Molusi beforehand. And despite the autobiographical nature of the performance, Molusi presents himself very differently to his character portrayal – quietly spoken and contemplative, he was always ready to delve into detail about his upbringing and career… but when he was asked the inspiration for Itsoseng – his now deceased friend that lives on in the play as Dolly – he became very, very guarded. I don’t know whether it was still an (understandably) emotional maelstrom, or whether he was protecting the patrons who would see the play later that day, but the clamming shut was very obvious.

We leave the Space after the Q&A session and return less than an hour later to find the stage dusted with sand and littered with trash, several pathways evident through the debris. We start late due to two older patrons who thought it’d be a great idea to nip outside to the bar for a drink just as the first-call buzzer was sounding; the germ of grumpiness that formed as a result was almost immediately dispelled when I discovered that there would be an Auslan interpreter during the performance (I love me some Auslan action).

Molusi enters the stage, and there’s hints of frustration in his actions; he is Mawilla, a young South African man returning to his home township of Itsoseng, only to find it in ruin and despair; the passing of the apartheid era has not had a positive impact on the community. He’s back to see his family, and the woman he adores; but societal changes have not been kind to any of his familiars, and his beloved Dolly’s path through life – a desperate, ruinous path – is more tragic than most.

Itsoseng‘s rhythms are odd: Molusi focusses on minutia, delicately painting vivid pictures through his dialogue, before skipping comparatively quickly over the human interactions that provide the backbone of the performance. And it is a lovely, touching tale… Mawilla’s love for Dolly is tangible, and the frustration he feels as a result of his inability to help her is raw. But the script is punctuated by almost orthogonal fractures where Molusi openly criticises the slow-moving and corrupt nature of South African politics; pertinent points, yes, but not at the expense of character development.

But the core story is still solid, and Molusi’s performance is headstrong and proud… though his accent threw me more than once, and I could’ve sworn Dolly was named Doo-lee. And I’m pretty certain he dropped into one of the other native languages of South Africa at several points… but I was too busy trying to discern the dialogue for myself to look at how the Auslan interpreter was coping. But the feeling of fragmentation and distraction within the script is hard to shake; I can’t help but think that cutting ten minutes of repeated political grandstanding would make this a much stronger piece.

[2013077] The Breakfast Club – Stand Up for the Early Risers

[2013077] The Breakfast Club – Stand Up for the Early Risers

Mickey D, Lindsay Webb, Hard Core Damo, Mark Trenwith, Scott Mangnoson, Stuart Goldsmith @ Nexus Cabaret

11:00pm, Sat 2 Mar 2013

Look – it’s fair to say that mistakes were made. After last night’s Giovanni Experiment, the night bounced along at a rapid rate of knots until… well, morning came. And then I found myself, ticket in hand, trudging timidly towards the Nexus, head throbbing with the success of previous proclivities.

At least Mickey D and Boo were there to greet people at the door, ready to prop the adults up with coffee… which was very much appreciated. After a quick chat with Mickey D (always good for a natter), I navigated my way through the sea of bubbling kids (and less-than-bubbly parents) and took my seat to nurse my headache as far back in the Nexus as I could.

When I think of Mickey D, the first thing that springs to mind is his ice material – sharp and loud and profane as fuck – so it was a real surprise when he took to the stage and quickly won the younger audience over with a perfectly-pitched set of jokes that took the piss out of their parents. Sure, there was a lot of juvenile toilet humour in there… but this was the perfect audience for it. Who knew that the ultimate secret – that Mums fart too – would be so crowd-pleasing?

And as pleasantly surprised as I was regarding the host, the first guest comedian had me initially bemused – Lindsay Webb. Again, I think Webb is a fantastic comedian, with a motor-mouth and instantaneous comebacks, but to see him perform a G-rated five minutes whilst clearly suffering from a big night was a treat… even more so when he was momentarily speechless due to a relentless junior heckler.

Ah yes, Darcy – the unintentional extra cast member. Darcy had been discovered by Mickey D early on, and he was determined to play a role in the rest of proceedings. Whilst his exuberance – and innocence – was certainly charming as he peppered the performers with ADD-ish non sequiturial heckles, it made me wonder whether his inclinations now will evolve into last night’s boorish behaviour.

Anyway – Darcy heckled Webb, and his response to Webb’s comeback left Lindsay stunned with a mystified grin on his face. In an attempt to wrest back control of the situation, Webb asked Darcy what he wanted to be when he grows up: “a ninja.”

Glorious.

Webb made way for one of Hard Core Damo’s characters, Skitzy the Fisherman, who was accompanied by Pebbles the Dog Shark (Damo’s diminutive dog with a fin tied to his back). I can’t remember much of Damo’s material, because the screams of delight from the children as they laughed at Pebbles licking her own arse onstage drowned out the PA system.

Mr Snot-bottom – Mark Trenwith’s successful character – made an appearance, but the kids were still a little hyper after Pebbles’ antics to really concentrate on his work. A shame, really, because I think Snot-bottom is a great little crowd-pleaser in small doses. Scott Mangnoson’s magic was perhaps a little too subtle for the youngsters to latch on to (though a treat for this adult to ruminate on), and Stuart Goldsmith – who I’d not seen before – didn’t really seem to cater to the younger audience at all.

Mickey D rounded out his emcee duties by letting the kids in on a secret – “your parents are all going to buy you ice-cream after this show!” – before trying to win the adults back – “remember, KFC is bad for you: nuggets are deep-fried chicks.” And, in the end, The Breakfast Club managed to do the same thing that Huggers does: deliver a family-friendly comedy variety show. But an 11am start? Like I said at the top, mistakes were made.

[2013076] The Giovanni Experiment

[2013076] The Giovanni Experiment

Hew Parham @ La Bohème

10:00pm, Fri 1 Mar 2013

La Bohème is chockers for this opening night of The Giovanni Experiment, and there’s a bubbly sense of supportive excitement in the air; I get the feeling that a fair chunk of the crowd is family and friends, though I also spot a few media passes proudly worn. Luck sees us sharing a cocktail table in front of the bar stools on the side of the stage; friendly company at the table, and some clearly lubricated friends-of-the-show behind us.

Giovanni is an Italian waiter working in his mother’s floundering restaurant; in fact, he tells us, it’s their last night of business. People like us (he half-sneers, half-welcomes) don’t feel the need for traditional Italian cooking anymore… though the dishes he reels off sound comically tragic. And nor do we appreciate quality waiters… leading him to passionately describe his three years of training, which seemed to fixate on moustache grooming and the correct treatment of female patrons.

His moustache, it must be said, is splendid in its slickness, and his treatment of audience members also demonstrated a search for perfection, tainted by his exuberance. Giovanni is quite the stereotype, from his appearance down to the Italian-infused gibberish he rattles at a million-miles-an-hour (usually to his off-stage mother). When he’s not addressing the audience, he’s whisking up an increasingly messy meal, or slicking his hair back with olive oil, or setting a table in perfect sync with his backing music.

Hew Parham has already proven that he’s a great character comedian with his charming clown, Schmoo; Giovanni (who, at times, is extremely reminiscent of some of Schmoo’s antics) doesn’t falter in the slightest, with a strongly defined character that facilitates a lot of comic tomfoolery. The Giovanni Experiment was a comprehensive demonstration on how to do character comedy right…

…which is why it was all the more disheartening that one of the women sitting behind us was such a fucking shit-head. Early on in the performance, Giovanni had spent some time attending to the every need (especially in the vino department) of a gentleman in the front row (who happened to be sporting a media-badge – an amusing case of reviewer sycophancy, maybe?). Unfortunately, that seemed to set an expectation with the aforementioned woman that audience interjections were okay… and she was happy to oblige. I struggled to understand why she thought yelling out “show us your tits!” was so hilarious, let alone warranted… and when she not only received, but also made phone calls – “yeah, nah, I’m at a show… a show!” – it’s fair to say that there was more than a bit of unpleasantness in the air.

Hearing her argue with Hew and his director (Craig Behenna) after the show was even more demoralising; she was clearly known to them (a “friend” indeed), but for some reason she couldn’t seem to make them understand that her behaviour was helping the show out. I wonder why.

[2013075] Charles Barrington in one character or less

[2013075] Charles Barrington in one character or less

Charles Barrington @ The Tuxedo Cat – Alley Cat

8:30pm, Fri 1 Mar 2013

This Friday was, in retrospect, an exercise in too-tight scheduling: and, after Sylvie ran long, I wound up running from Festival Theatre up to TuxCat, ducking into the Alley Cat around ten minutes late. There was little more than a handful of other people in the room; Charles Barrington spotted me as I tried to slink in, and his dry admonishment encouraged the audience to turn and watch me enter the room.

“I apologise, Charles Barrington,” I offered as I slid into my seat.

He smiled: “Charles Barrington accepts your apology.”

It’s fair to say that not much has changed with Charles Barrington since I first met him. All the character traits are still there: the pompous sense of superiority, hidden behind ugly stubble and a suave seventies veneer, is still strangely endearing. Some of the material was familiar, too; his much-built-up bee joke was sadistically milked for laughs after an almost-too-long pause.

The other seven people in the audience – all in one social group – could have been the worst audience imaginable; they were more than happy to engage (or attempt to engage) in conversation with Charles Barrington, and provided an outspoken running commentary throughout. They could have been the worst audience… but, in the context of this performance, it totally worked. After Barrington expressed surprise that he failed to get an uproarious reaction from his bartender joke – “that joke was gold, my friends” – the immediate retort was “so – when does it start?” And when a joke died, Charles Barrington would address the group, and attempt to explain the joke… “no, we got it” they’d say, which had Barrington pausing momentarily before exploding “My name is Charles Barrington, goodnight!” and feigning his exit from the stage.

That happened about five times. And it kept getting more and more laughs.

On another night, I could imagine that this performance would be deemed the bombiest show that ever bombed… but there didn’t seem to be any animosity from the audience. And, even if they were laughing at the performer in Andy Rodgers (as opposed to his creation), Charles Barrington was more than happy to chuckle along… and that made it a comically surreal exercise in self-deprecation.

[2013074] 6000 Miles Away

[2013074] 6000 Miles Away

Sylvie Guillem @ Festival Theatre

7:00pm, Fri 1 Mar 2013

Prior to the 2013 Festival kick-off, a friend had asked me for recommendations; I had immediately raved about Sylvie, and pointed her to my previous encounter with Guillem. My friend read my post, and returned unconvinced: “You say she’s an amazing dancer, but that her solos were boring?” Surprised by the comment, I re-read my recollections, and the memories came flooding back: yes, indeed, Sylvie’s solos in Sacred Monsters had felt… well, slow. A supreme demonstration of bodily control, to be sure, but…

From my near-optimal position, the Festival Theatre stage was a yawning chasm, and the opening piece of 6000 Miles Away (and the only piece to not feature Guillem) feels quite empty as a result. 27’52” sees dancers Václav Kuneš and Nataša Novotná cover the space with distinctly balletic movements and structures, with stark lighting creating curious cohorts in shadows. But the precision of their performance lacks a human element; it’s dry to watch, and even the use of shadow (and an occasional bared breast) doesn’t really entice me.

Sylvie Guillem performed alongside Massimo Murru in Rearray, a far more attractive piece that again exudes the precision of ballet. But, in comparison to 27’52”, it’s a much more approachable affair; there’s a bit more fragility on show, and I was actually engaged by their interactions.

But the highlight of the program was Guillem’s solo piece, Bye. Performed amidst a series of screens carrying various projections, the timing required to carry out the movements was just amazing: Guillem would fly across the space to fling an arm behind one of the screens, only for a different arm to be projected in her absence. And whilst the technological aspect of the piece was certainly impressive, it took nothing away from Sylvie’s performance; once again, her sense of control was nigh-on unbelievable… and the definition of her lower legs was amazing.

And yet, despite the strong finish in Bye, I don’t mind admitting that I left Festival Theatre feeling a little disappointed. Make no mistake, there was a technical mastery of the human machine (by all the dancers) that was almost beyond compare… but the lack of an emotional connection to the work left me flat. Once again, I can trot out my familiar “I don’t know anything about dance” line, but all I can say is this: Skeleton had me leaping to my feet in delight. 6000 Miles Away didn’t.