Out of the Dark [FringeTIX]

Jade Erlandsen & Company @ SA German Association

12:00pm, Tue 3 Mar 2009

Bloody hell, this was good.

I should preface this by saying, as I usually do, that I know nothing about dance. I don’t understand what makes a particular piece of dance good or bad; I just react to what emotes me, what movements thrill me, what causes a reaction.

I wind up saying that just about every time I write about a dance piece; maybe I should make that a standard disclaimer somewhere. Ahem.

But back to Out of the Dark.

There’s a great space atop the SA German Association that looks like it was just made for performances like this; a large open hall, as we enter it there’s about sixty seats around the outside of the room, in the round. The lights go off, and we’re in a dim twilight; the dancers appear, and travel in waves up and down the length of the room to some suitably murky ambient beats. There’s something distinctly organic about their movements; it’s not a synchronised piece except by suggestion, with all dancers performing approximately the same movements, but in their own time, to their own rhythm. Up and back, up and back… it’s mesmerising.

A change in music leads to a change in style – now the eight dancers are clumped in pairs, one blindfolded, the other guiding their movements. The pairs interact in the dimness, swapping partners with flings across open space – close encounters a-plenty. It’s genuinely exciting, with clever choreography and a real sense of spectacle.

A short break ensues – we’re pushed from the performance space and, when we return, we discover that all the seating is now back-to-back in a single line down the middle of the room. A caustic industrial tune starts, and suddenly the dancers are parading around the outside of our little island of seats. We’re armed with little flashlights, we’re free to use them to highlight the aspects that interest us, but there’s little need – such is the incredible dynamism of movement (dancers running, twisting, posing, interacting with each other) that it was too easy to get lost in what was being presented, rather than having to hunt with your little beam of light. The tempo and intensity seems to drop when Red Right Hand comes on, though, with a piece that felt a little too free-form, unfocussed, but the following piece picks up the tempo again with light-bulbs being slid around the room in an odd piece that still managed to engage.

As I mentioned at the start, I loved this performance – the opening piece after the interval was worth the cost of admission alone, such was the energy produced. And the dancers – well, they were uniformly great, with special call-outs to (who I presume are) the two leads: the girl with the red hair (I sat next to her step-mum, who was proud as punch), and That Guy. Blimey, they were impressive. Roll in some exciting choreography, a decent bedrock of music, and you’ve got some fantastic contemporary dance :)

Scattered Tacks [FringeTIX]

Terri Cat Silvertree, Skye & Aelx Gellmann @ Bosco Theater

11:00pm, Mon 2 Mar 2009

So – the Bosco drops into inky darkness, and the only sound to be heard is the pissed ramblings of people outside. Terri Cat and one of the Gellmann brothers appear, sporting bright white LED flashlights, which illuminate each other as they slowly, carefully, ever-so-deliberately stalk around the stage. Little mini-spotlights, grabbing a face, or a hand, or a shoulder… even as Terri Cat, lying on her back with legs in the air, gets pushed around like a lawnmower, there’s a beauty to the minimal visuals drowned in near silence. Light, shadow – I’m a sucker for that sort of thing.

But then a bowling ball appears, and is rolled around the floor. Light, shadow, lovely… for the first minute. After the fifth minute, it’s getting a little samey… then dull. There’s some circus-y balance tricks that cause the audience to clap, as we’ve been accustomed to do with all the other circus acts over the years, and that breaks the spell. Terri Cat stands centre stage and peels an onion, then eats it… over the course of five minutes. Five minutes, watching someone eat an onion. In silence. From the first bite, I knew that we were waiting for the tears to roll down her cheek, but when they came they lacked any kind of significance, any sense of weight.

One of the Gellmanns appears stage right, wearing only a jumper just short enough to be showing his cock. He brushes his teeth whilst balanced atop a few tubes; when he drops to the ground, there’s a brief moment of consternation that he may catch his man-junk on the edge of one of the tubes, but the dismount is successful. The eponymous scattered tacks are scattered on the floor, laid upon, and a bowling ball dropped onto the stomach of the layee; in the minimalist light, it all appears secretive, secluded – and not for my eyes.

It’s a real shame, this. The early experiments with light in an uncomfortable silence were glorious – it felt utterly alien, like I was watching someone’s private rituals alone in the dark – but all that was shattered by that first, uneasy applause. Thereafter, nearly everything missed the mark – extended periods where nothing really happened (eating the onion, brushing teeth) had no theatrical impact, and just came across as self-indulgent wankery. The zine we were presented with on the way out is the icing on the triple-layer coffee-cream sponge cake – “Terri, Aelx and Skye live and work together in an abandoned apartment block… Through squatting and scavenging, the artists try to boycott the monetary system which often works to destroy artist.” That’s all very well and good, kids, but sometimes it’s good to… y’know… have content in your artistic endeavours.

Maybe it was there, and maybe I just missed it all. There was raptuous applause from those who stayed for the duration… but I just didn’t see it. Sometimes “different” just isn’t “good”.

It’s My Party (And I’ll Die If I Want To) [FringeTIX]

Heartspace Theatre Company @ The Irish Club

8:40pm, Mon 2 Mar 2009

Usually, I feel a tremor of fear when I discover that a production is either (a) a student production, or (2) a recently ex-student production. It may sound harsh and conceited, getting in the way of judging things on their merits, but that tremor allows me to approach such productions in such a way that I limit my potential disappointment; not every play can be a polished masterpiece, an Ota or a 3 Dark Tales or a 4:48 Psychosis or a Strindberg (In Paris). Yes, it means that such shows usually result in a “potential” analysis from me, but at least I don’t exit every show thinking “heap of shit.”

Usually.

The thing is, none of that matters with It’s My Party – because so much of it is Just Plain Bad.

The wrongness starts with the opening scene – Samuel Hakendorf is hopelessly miscast as Ron Patterson, who – with 111 minutes left to live – has gathered his family together to break the news of his impending death. Patterson is supposed to soon be a grandfather; Hakendorf, even with makeup, looks less than half my age (which he probably is). Kirsty Wigg’s Dawn (Ron’s wife), is likewise unconvincing (though amazingly attractive), and their three children don’t fare much better – Emily Ferrier’s Karen is by far the most compelling actor, her siblings being either implausibly soft and weedy (the supposedly hard-nosed businessman of Simon Moorcroft’s Michael) or annoying shrill and thankfully underused (Emily Ferrier’s Kathy).

The plot is right out of a British 70’s sitcom – Dad calls the family meeting, kids have some important announcements of their own (Michael’s getting a divorce – and is gay; Karen is single – and pregnant), and purported hilarity and overacting ensues, with Ron using the word “poofter” with gay (ho ho) abandon. Riotous! The second act actually is a bit better – the premature arrival of the undertaker yields a few additional laughs, despite Joshua Koster’s soft acting – and the final, laboriously over-the-top knocking-from-beyond-the-grave gag still raised a smile.

Can a production that’s hopelessly miscast, humour-by-numbers, and presented by generally weak actors with no stage presence actually be entertaining? Well, a little – but there was only about 5 solid minutes of enjoyment in a show that stretched for nearly two hours. Still, the majority of the audience loved it – then again, I’m guessing they were family and friends. I was neither of those, and I could have happily forgone those 5 minutes of enjoyment to have those two hours back.

That tremor of fear? Sometimes it’s justified.

Crime and Punishment [FringeTIX]

Heartspace Theatre Company @ The Irish Club

7:00pm, Mon 2 Mar 2009

Now, I don’t pretend to know the first thing about Dostoevsky’s purportedly classic, but there’s a decent synopsis in the programme, and (of course) Wikipedia provides the goods (hopefully).

Not that it matters, because this production is really not that good.

Using the interview between Raskolnikov and Porfiry as the spine of the play, the action is portrayed as flashbacks, culminating in Raskolnikov’s slaying of Alyona and Lizaveta, and his subsequent confession. The original novel appears to have been significantly butchered to accommodate a small cast, but the essential elements of Raskolnikov actions and their consequence – both psychological and physical – remain.

The problem is, though, that the cast can’t really deliver the goods. For all his desire to be Napoleonic, Matthew Trainor’s Raskolnikov came across as weedy and uncommitted; sure, the “crazy” bit was there, but I imagined him as stronger, bolder, more confident… the rest of the crowd loved him, but I was utterly unconvinced. Likewise, Joanna Hocking’s Sonia was thinly voiced, lacking projection and presence – particularly troubling given her pivotal role, but an affliction shared by the most of the cast. The only stand-out was Mark Smytherman’s Porfiry – a solid performance, but (necessarily) limited.

It wasn’t all bad, though – there was some decent direction (including a jumbled dialogue sequence where the end of one character’s lines would trip into the start of the next), and the odd lighting glitch (leaving one female soliloquy headless) caused unintentional mirth. But, in the end, there was little compelling to be found – certainly not enough to stop me from snoozing (a lot) during the performance. I remember Heartspace’s first Fringe production of King Lear in 2002 – that was a much better effort.

The Tailor of Inverness – Krawiec z Inverness [FringeTIX]

Dogstar Theatre @ Holden Street Theatres (The Studio)

11:00am, Mon 2 Mar 2009

The Tailor of Inverness is writer / performer Matthew Zajac’s examination of his father’s life and, in turn, a deeper tale of post-war migration throughout Europe after the Second World War. The first act revolves around Matthew’s father, Mateusz, telling his own story – born and raised in Poland (in a village that, post-war, fell under Russian rule), he traveled through Europe and North Africa as part of whatever army he found himself in, eventually settling in Inverness and raising his own family. Throughout, there’s lots of gorgeous little theatrical touches – his countryman, Uri, dying in his arms, Zajac emulating his beating heart. There’s a fantastic sequence where Mateusz rides the trains through Europe, swinging a clothesline around to generate a tremendous feeling of movement and excitement… it’s riveting stuff.

The second act focuses on Matthew’s own attempts to discover more about his father, stemming from his need to reconcile the Polish, Russian, and German affiliations he’d discovered. The accelerated pacing of this act, as Matthew travels to his father’s old hometown, discovering a plethora of secrets that remained unknown to him, and the subsequent attempts to track down his half-sister, makes for all the feeling of watching a chase – in the cold light of day, it seems like pretty sedate stuff, but Zajac makes it edge-of-your-seat exciting.

Throughout, Zajac is superb – effortlessly slipping between languages, accents, and mannerisms of father and son (and any other characters). He’s supported by Gavin Marwick, providing live musical textures, and a comprehensive lighting display, including a series of projected slideshows, animations, and subtitles.

Even if the performance had ceased after the first act, I’d have been a happy man; that the second act occurred at all – and in fact was more compelling than the first – was a thrilling surprise. Absolutely fantastic theatre.

The Sam Simmons Experience [FringeTIX]

Sam Simmons @ Le Cascadeur

8:45pm, Sun 1 Mar 2009

I had no idea that Sam Simmons was a local boy. I guess the coasters that are floating around with “I lost my virginity on a slide in Hallett Cove” should’ve given it away, but I’d not seen them before the show… which’d make it a bit hard for them to have passed on their pertinent information.

Sigh. Another day, another tangent.

I suspect great things when we enter to the strains of “Monkey Magic”, and am pleased when I manage to snaffle a prime spot in one of the dozen-or-so seats in Le Cascadeur with a back on it. I’m even more pleased to see a flip-chart onstage – because that pre-empted the utterly bizarre diagrams that Simmons scooted through. He’s also got a sound effects box that he used for aural puntuaction (and laughable contrast: jolly jingle + “your Dad has cancer” = guilty giggles). But the bulk of the show stems from his opera libretto based on his time as a Coles employee at the Marion Shopping Centre.

…errrmmmmm, yes.

There’s a few decent songs that come from this, a wonderful heartfelt ode to the KFC Girl who was the target of his youthful desires, some scarcely believable tales of teenage sexual tomfoolery, and the brilliant “sitting on things” bit.

But…

I remember fondly the first time I saw Sam Simmons; his Tales from the Erotic Cat show was polished to a gleam, full of slick interactive multimedia, surreal content, and Simmons himself acting with complete and utter surety. So I was massively disappointed the second time I saw him, with a show chock-full of technical issues and undercooked material.

The Sam Simmons Experience is somewhere inbetween. Some of the hatstand leanings are back, but not all the confidence: he still stifles a smirk to himself occasionally, and often lapses into more conventional stand-up delivery – usually leading to a chuckle and a head-shaking “thirty-one years old.” And that’s not the Simmons I want to see; I want to the the refined Erotic Catster who had the crowd in the oddball of his kipper.

Still – great show ;)

JP [FringeTIX]

Theatre Group GUMBO @ Holden Street Theatres (The Studio)

7:00pm, Sun 1 Mar 2009

It should be obvious to regular readers (hahahahahaaaa – I crack me up) that I’m a fan of Theatre Group GUMBO – the boisterous productions that they brought to town in 2007 and 2008 keep me thoroughly entertained with bold visuals, a played-up culture gap, and enthusiastic Japlish.

JP is no different.

Initially introduced to a trio of GUMBO’s men, acting as Spirits in the Forest Of Truth, they are soon harangued by their Queen – find her a loving couple so she may extract their love from them and… ummm… stuff. When the lovers are introduced, He is portrayed as a narcissist, She as sex-mad (attempting to bump uglies with audience members). As they succumb to the powers of the Forest of Truth, She dons a nun’s habit, becoming a missionary of love; whereas He returns to birth, eventually devolving to become a sperm (!), trying to impregnate a member of the audience (!!) and eventually getting trapped in a testtube (!!?!OMGWTF).

So yes – this is everything I’d expect: loud, colourful, and utterly nutball.

Throughout, the cast of GUMBO are yelling their lines in glorious Japlish / Jenglish, and it really really appears as if they’re enjoying themselves… and enjoying making fun of themselves. And that’s great, because the crowd loved it too (except for the chap who thought it was going to be “serious” theatre) – and I’ll still be seeing GUMBO whenever they pop into town.

Death in Heaven [FringeTIX]

Helen Vicqua @ Higher Ground (Art Base)

2:00pm, Sun 1 Mar 2009

Here’s another little factoid, dear reader, that you may not have picked up about me: I’m a morbid bugger. I find Death to be of immense interest. Exploration of themes surrounding death evokes fascination, wonderment. And, being of the male variety of homo sapien, I’m also interested in sex. Imagine my delight when, whilst at Uni, an ex-girlfriend borrowed The Joy of Sex from the Reserve Collection and we gigglingly pawed through it, coming across the perfect French term la petite mort – the little death, post-orgasmic stupefaction.

So when I read the précis of Death in Heaven in the Guide, I locked it in after only a few words – sex, death, what’s not to love? Oooh, a matinée? Perfect!

But just after I clicked the “Confirm” button on my FringeTIX order, I had a sudden pang of self doubt. I poked around the FringeTIX site for more info… and became a little scared. “Edgy interaction”? Uh-oh… that’s something that doesn’t interest me in the least.

But I turned up on a warm Sunday afternoon and descended the stairs into the Art Base; there’s only a few candles illuminating the “dungeon”, so the transition from bright daylight to stygian darkness resulted in more than a few bruised shins for the mostly full house. And I looked around at my co-punters, wondering what brought them there; seriously, a full house? Colour me surprised.

Anyhoo, Helen Vicqua – The Mistress Mortician – perches herself at the electric piano, black fishnet body stocking and shiny silver dress, and perfunctorily pushes out some morose classical bars before launching into the tale of Isis and Osiris, describing her practice of chalis (sp?), before delving into the first of three “case studies” – clients she had either helped pass peacefully into death, or helped through life, using a mixture of meditation, sex, and psychology.

Now, just typing that in and reading it back made the performance appear far more interesting than it actually was. The theme of death was strong in this performance; the crowd was deathly still and quiet, completely unresponsive. Vicqua dropped lines on a regular basis, which really surprised me given she’s been performing this piece since the Feast Festival last year. And yes, la petite mort was mentioned briefly, but the killer was the audience interaction – because there was none. Oh, it was intended – Vicqua tried to drag the crowd into discussions whenever she could – but no-one wanted to participate. Like I said, the crowd was dead.

I guess the big takeaway from this performance is the realisation that there’s still a lingering taboo with talking about sex, even in a room full of strangers. Or, rather, especially in a room full of strangers. Hmmmmm – maybe there’s something in that.

Marcel Lucont: Sexual Metro [FringeTIX]

Marcel Lucont @ The Tuxedo Cat

11:30pm, Sat 28 Feb 2009

Preface: I was as pissed as a fart during this show.

Then again, so was pretty much everyone else in the room. And The Tuxedo Cat was just about full – clearly, the promise of thirty minutes of comedy for twelve dollars sounds like a good deal to the inebriated.

Marcel Lucont drifts to the mike, floating on the aloofness we attribute to the French (and cats). In fact, he takes every stereotype we apply to the French and runs with it, taking it to the extreme, making it laughably over-the-top. He’s super-smooth, ultra-arrogant, and God’s Gift to women… of course.

Mocking the crowd is, obviously, easy for him – after all, he’s French, so picking the youngest member in the crowd and harassing him with premature ejaculation advice is only to be expected. Hecklers are dealt with swiftly, and with absolute disdain… yet he still looks cool.

Honestly, I loved this show to death. It’s a short set, sure, but totally worth it… definitely one of my picks so far this Fringe. Check out the videos on Marcel’s MySpace page – and if they make you smirk in any way, get your arse to The Tuxedo Cat. Fantastique!

[2009023] Doppleganger [FringeTIX]

Bart Freebairn @ The Tuxedo Cat

10:30pm, Sat 28 Feb 2009

Bart’s a friendly enough guy. He pops onstage with little fanfare in front of maybe twenty punters – many of whom he’s successfully schmoozed out on the Rooftop Bar – and seems honest. Trustworthy. Not scary. You know, a comfortable comic.

But Bart has one big problem – he acts and sounds like a Complete Twat I work with. Which means that he’s probably stolen the style from someone else, because The Twat doesn’t have an original bone in his body.

Oh wait – now I remember. It’s the style of Pauly Shore. Now, that’s not necessarily a bad thing – lord knows I pissed myself laughing at Shore’s antics in Encino Man. In 1992. But Bart’s little punctuation mannerisms – the vocal uptick, the short dainty poses – get a bit wearing after awhile, and the entire show seems to be based on his backpacking experiences, but at least the gentle laughs keep coming.

Mind you, I was pretty pissed at this stage of the evening, so I may be giving him way too much credit. I remember patting him on the back at the Bar afterwards, congratulating him on a great show, so something must have cheered me somewhat; in the cold light of day, I’m arsed if I can remember what it was. But that irritating style is repeating on me the morning after.