[interrobang] (FringeTIX)

Unstoppable Huxtable [MySpace] @ FAD Gallery

9:00pm, Fri 30 Mar 2007

The FAD Gallery is very much a Fringe venue; it’s a small space upstairs from a bar, temporary seating wodged in every which-way. This fosters a very indie, intimate feel; it also means that, when the show is sold out (as it was tonight with what seemed to be a family-and-friends show), the sight-lines in a flat and cramped space are horrendous. Luckily, the seeing-shows-by-my-lonesome thing paid off again, scoring me a seat pretty near the front.

As noted in the comprehensive programme, the interrobang “is a seldom used … punctuation mark [and] is employed primarily to punctuate ironic, sarcastic or rhetorical statements, replacing the double punctuation ?! or !?”

Look, here comes an interrobang now: “‽” Or possibly “‽”, depending on the niceness of your web browser. Wikipedia (linked above) also makes reference to the gnaborretni, an inverted interrobang almost completely unused in Hispanic languages.

Wow. What a great way to pad the post out. But at least I’m writing something. Do you know how long I’ve contemplated writing this post, juggling words and memories in my head, knowing full well that once they were tapped forth onto my laptop they would completely miss whatever point I wished them to make?

Oh dear. Anyway…

[interrobang] consists of five short acts performed by various members of the Unstoppable Huxtable collective. The bracketing pieces (1, 3, 5) were heady pieces, absurdly played out by a Clown and a Strongman. Whether speaking to God on the phone, exploring existentialism through circus life, or questioning their own sexuality whilst scaling a mountain, these acts combine equal parts head-scratching and thoughtful rumination, with just a dash of humour. Whilst the first of the trio was a little limp, these performances were enjoyable enough.

The second act was a pre-recorded self-help video, played with no noticable grandeur on a couple of TVs, featuring Mark Trenwith (previously seen in Girls Just Wanna Have Fun) as a self-help guru. Despite the appearances of a few special guests, this infomercial-esque production was definitely the weakest link of the [interrobang] experience; a nice idea, but over-long and poorly directed.

The fourth act, though, was abso-fucking-lutely stunning. Kate Skully, Tess Appleby and Rhiannon Davis performed a contemporary dance piece that used the narrow confines of the FAD Gallery brilliantly – table lamps project deep lush shadows, the dancers walk on walls. Imaginative, visually gorgeous, and genuinely edge-of-your-seat exciting(!), this piece made [interrobang] worth every cent, worth every second. Stunning.

Up There, Cal Wilson (FringeTIX)

Cal Wilson @ Fringe Factory Theatre

7:30pm, Fri 30 Mar 2007

It’s early Friday night. There’s a small crowd that probably only quarter-fills the Fringe Factory Theatre, and there’s a very odd vibe in the air. There’s a burbling kind of buzz emanating from the Tiki Bar that desperately wants to be raucous but just can’t be arsed. The crowd is an odd mix, too – a fair few kids with their dads, a few groups of girls prepping for a night on the town.

Cal Wilson takes to the stage amidst one of the classic rock football anthems (probably Up There Cazaly or One Day In September, I really can’t remember), and I’m immediately expecting great things from the show. A short, svelte Kiwi lass, carrying the lovely blended accent of an ex-pat New Zealander, Wilson has an affable charm that endears her… to me. The rest of the audience, however, felt weary… the laughs are polite, but Wilson had to work hard for them.

The show tracks Wilson’s integration into Australian life through football, from her first larkish visit to an AFL game (“Carn the Sailors!”), to her realisation that this was The Game For Her, all the way through to her decision to become a Supporter. And this is the crux of the show; which team should she choose? She fills us in on the angst of her selection process, weeding out clubs on the basis of location, “dinky” club songs, or club colours (including Port Power’s metrosexual teal – or “poofter blue”).

Some aspects of the show are exactly what you’d expect: comparisons to her hometown national sport of rugby. Poking a gigglish finger at the gibberish spoken by both players and coaches alike (including the great Alan Joyce “sausage” quote). The stereotypes associated with supporters from each AFL team. “Why aren’t ‘behinds’ called ‘besides’?”… that sort of thing. But it’s all amusing enough and impeccably researched, and some snippets are absolutely priceless; quite how (or why) she tracked down the “inspiration” (and I use that term very loosely) for the Freo club song is beyond me.

Best of all, though, is the relative lack of cheap shots (apart from the rugby comparisons). Using her outsider’s viewpoint, Wilson compassionately addresses the impact of AFL on Australian culture – the bonding nature of the game, the passion of the supporters. She hits all the right notes, tugs all the footy heartstrings and, with a teensy bit of trimming, she’d have a nigh-on perfect show.

Of course, her minxy end-of-show “strip” to reveal her Chosen Team’s colours helps seal the deal, too, even though her ads foreshadow The Choice rather spoilerifically ;)

Caravan Chronicles: Urban Reunion (FringeTIX)

theater simple @ Outside Fringe Factory Theatre

5:00pm, Fri 30 Mar 2007

Under sullen skies we gathered for a family reunion of sorts; a battered old caravan, a relic of the 50s, is home to relatives from out of town. Upon arrival at the Fringe Factory, we roll dice to determine our connection to the gathering – I became a cousin, my SO a friend-of-the-family – and then we slap on our nametags and sit back. We cast our eyes around the elaborate outdoor setting of the Chronicles, bordered by a shed, the Tiki Bar, and the Fringe Factory Theatre; the caravan, the BBQ, the clothesline and A-frame adorned with scribblings from previous family gatherings, all atop a cheerily bright fake grass matting that seems absurdly at odds with the grey skies overhead.

We start chatting with other peeps in attendance. Friendly words around a circle of people – hello, what-have-you-seen, what’s-your-nametag-say – and all of a sudden you realise that the conversation has been subverted in the smoothest possible manner; you’re suddenly caught up in the first of three set-pieces with Cousin Mo, who – with a glint in her eye as she parlays in the arena of gossip – gushes forth details of your oddball relatives… madcap aunts addicted to matrimony bring a guilty grin, before Cousin Lisa beckons us into the caravan for the second stage of the gathering.

It’s a tight squeeze inside the caravan, decked out in paraphernalia of bygone jaunts, and the compact surroundings mesh well with the discussion that Lisa leads (and it does feel like a discussion, as we – the “audience” – are frequently queried, our responses used to drive the discussion further along). It’s quieter, more intimate, focusing on the contemplative joy of family – melon balls are munched and there’s knowing smiles and nodding of heads. It’s all so familiar.

Cousin Drew, the family (through defunct marriage) genealogist, drags us out to the BBQ where we roast Peeps in sickly-sweet family tradition. Drew’s stories are dry and analytical, but the enthusiasm in his performance is utterly, utterly convincing. Once everyone’s indulged in charcoaled and sticky roasted marshmallow, it’s time for photos of the assembled throng – and then we’re encouraged to write thoughts about our family, or compose a haiku (a running thread in the performance) and peg it for posterity on the clothesline.

Caravan Chronicles isn’t a traditional piece of theatre – rather than presenting a performance for you to absorb, it presents a framework for you to explore. Within the confines of the (largely) fictitious family gathering, you feel compelled to integrate the tales that are being woven around you with your own experiences; this means that a fair whack of the performance goes on inside your own head, with your Cousins just providing the cues for further misadventures of the mind.

But the best thing about Caravan Chronicles is that it doesn’t feel like you’re watching a performance; it’s so incredibly easy (and occasionally tempting!) to believe that you’ve just been adopted into a new family. There’s constant nudges of recognition to draw you in; there’s constant throwaway lines ingratiating you into the unfolding expanse of a family. But here’s the best bit; you’re part of the show. Whilst the theater simple crew and their roped-in extended family (excellent performances all round) provide the foundation of the experience, it’s the little side-comments they’ll make that, while initially appearing innocuous, push the audience front-and-centre with their replies. And it’s a wonderful experience – all of a sudden, you realise that you’re “performing”. You catch your breath; are you “on”, are you “in character”? The moment of bewilderment passes when you realise that you’re so utterly comfortable with the environment – hey, it is family, after all – that you just roll with it.

Yep, you’re “on”. And it feels bloody great.

Confusion passes,
Suddenly it all makes sense;
We are among friends.

Antigone (FringeTIX)

Urban Myth Theatre of Youth @ Holden Street Theatres (The Studio)

11:00am, Fri 30 Mar 2007

I woke up early this morning with the perfect opening line for this post; something along the lines of “after last year’s adventurous, but ultimately disappointing, production of -M[O]TH-, Urban Myth have refined their craft…”

Pity that Urban Myth weren’t involved in -M[O]TH-, then… otherwise, that would’ve been a really good springboard. Instead, here I am waffling on, demonstrating my own lack of research and desperation to finally get these posts written.

But onto Antigone.

As my impeccable research (read: quick look on Wikipedia) shows, Antigone was initially penned around 441 BC by the Greek tragic Sophocles. It opens with the titular protagonist, played with noble strength by Nikki Souvertjis, preparing to defy her king Creon (a loud and unsubtle Kym Beggs) in performing a proper burial for her disgraced fallen brother Polyneices. There’s something decidedly Shakespearean about the tragic plot development, which probably indicates the timeless nature of Bill’s work; humour is presented in the comic relief of the guards’ discussion, and the Chorus trio (who I assume are the Prophets) are reminiscent of the Witches in Macbeth.

Despite the relatively weak acting behind Ismene (and the aforementioned bombastic Creon), the cast work well on the cunningly sparse set. Netta Yashchin’s direction shows plenty of creativity – the evocative and cheeky spitting-in-the-boots was a nice touch – and the repetition in the circuitous dialogue creates a very sledgehammery feeling… but, given the relevance of the contemporary themes of Antigone, this is not unappreciated.

It’s not without its flaws, but I enjoyed Antigone… I enjoyed it a lot. However, the performance was – yet again – marred by noisy latecomers. For fuck’s sake, it’s not okay to be fashionably late for theatre, you freaks.

New Young Pony Club (FringeTIX)

New Young Pony Club @ SoCo Cargo

10:30pm, Thu 29 Mar 2007

Oooooooooh, this was a bit special.

The Garden Guide’s blurb for the New Young Pony Club piqued my interest, so this was an early lock. NYPC – a group of five youngsters from the UK – took to the stage around midnight, with the SoCo packing out moments before the start. And they immediately launch into a set packed with tight, punchy pop gems.

More New Wave than punk, more dirty-beats than glossy-disco. Their set is short – limited by their repertoire – and they’re unafraid to stick their “hits” nearer the front of the set than the end. That loses them no friends in the crowd, who remain bouncy and exuberant to the very end. Sure, the rest NYPC looked dead on their feet from jet-lag – keyboardist Lou Hayter, in particular, was almost zombie-like – but vocalist Tahita Bulmer leapt about with sufficient energy to make up for the rest.

In the end, NYPC remind me of a modern Romeo Void – very New Wave, edgy lead female, and capable of some stunning songs. Needless to say, an Amazon order was placed soon after this gig – because, frankly, the New Young Pony Club are a fabulous live indie-pop band. This was worth every second of recurrent tinnitus, and every elbow in the head from crowd fuckknuckles intent on filling up their camera before the end of the third song.

(As per usual these days, there’s sample tunage to be found at NYPC’s MySpace page, and a cracking review of The Bomb – for all the wrong reasons – at Drowned in Sound. Ooooh – debut album released in June – ace :)

SUGAR (FringeTIX)

The Black Lung @ The Black Lung Theatre

8:00pm, Thu 29 Mar 2007

Aaaaaaaaaah, back to the Black Lung. Word-of-mouth seems to be working a treat here, with crowds gathering early. And it’s becoming an ever-more interesting crowd too, with a great mix of the tired and jaded arty-types slinking around the bar and tables, the Fringe-enthusiastic wide-eyed and open, and the people who are no longer sure why they’re here in this ramshackle, until-recently-condemned building… and their eyes, scared and darting, are my favourites. We all file into the performance space, and I score myself a fantastic seat sharing the lounge with one of the guys who performed in Rubeville; I express my appreciation to him, he thanks me, and I’m suddenly convinced that he’s involved in the show.

Heh.

While the crowd was seating themselves, a sparse bongo & double-bass musical accompaniment provides an expectant and gritty texture; the lights drop, and when they rise we meet our hero, crumpled on the floor. The Narrator appears, and coldly detached voice guides the remainder of the proceedings – an excursion through the memories of our hero.

His Flame appears, smokily singing, before they meet – in his mind, at least. And, of course, my sofa-mate sprang into the story midway through the performance, providing a flamboyantly loud and roaming counterpoint to the Narrator’s powerful – but static – presence. As we reconcile the strands of memory, there’s a building of tempo, a sense of urgency, a manic blur of violence (a head smashed with a sugar-glass bottle – nice touch!), and our Flame repeats her song to round out the show.

Sugar is perhaps the most coherent and scripted of the Black Lung productions; a feeling reinforced when I saw it for a second time a few days later (a long story) and an almost identical performance resulted. And that is in no way a negative; it stands up to repeated viewing well. It’s a great bit of Fringe theatre that feels perfectly at home in its environment: the Black Lung, once again, comes up trumps.

theater simple Professional Development (FringeTIX)

theater simple @ Fringe Factory Theatre

10:00am, Thu 29 Mar 2007

As I intimated earlier, this year is the Year Of Taking Risks, the Year Of Doing Things I Normally Wouldn’t. So I shortlisted this workshop because I’ve got time to burn, I have immense admiration for theater simple‘s work, and because – let’s face it – everyone yearns to be onstage. 15 minutes of fame, and all that.

Of course, I was horribly nervous about attending this, mainly because I have zero experience in theatre; but also because there would be people here out of professional interest, not just curiousity – and I’d hate to interrupt their opportunity to learn in any way, shape, or form. But Monique assured me it’d be fine, not to worry, and to just come along.

And so, still carrying a little trepidation, I found myself one of a group of nine eager learners – a couple of teachers, directors from local theatre groups, a few seasoned performers, newbies keen to learn. I introduced myself as a “professional punter” – stupid really, as “unemployed uneducated theatre enthusiast” would have been far more accurate (as well as having a lovely rhythm when spoken). Regardless, introductions are made over apples, and then theater simpletons Monique, Andrew and Llysa guide us into our first exercises for our six-hour day.

And, despite the fact that I went into this workshop with few preconceptions, the exercises – both physical and mental – were surprising to me; not what I was expecting at all. Ranging from (apparently) simple stage awareness exercises to evolving collective rhythm to more extensive collaborative creative pieces and adaptations, we engaged in a lot of group-oriented activities to cajole a common collective thought-process – but a process that still enabled individual brilliance to shine through. A fair bit of emphasis was put on various viewpoints, which were often used as constraints for many of the exercises – though, in the spirit of proceedings, these constraints were often conveniently “forgotten” without consequence. Except for the “two bottles of water” incident – but even that had a profoundly positive effect on the day.

It’s fantastic to engage in these exercises; there’s no right or wrong answer, which is quite a revelation for a science-oriented person such as myself. The other emotional element that surprised me was the feeling of support within the participants; again, there was no right or wrong, but even the least aesthetically pleasing ideas received warm applause – but the good ideas (and there were plenty) got squeals of delight. When one of my ideas got a gasp of recognition, followed by the chatter of appreciation… wow. My brain buzzed, my heart sang, my directorial eye glistened, I felt incredible.

And that’s the big thing that I discovered in this workshop. There were other snippets – like the fact that I should never, ever, open my mouth onstage. But, coming from an environment where “work” is almost combative – driven by carefully horded cumulative knowledge – it’s an incredible thing to be exposed to a place where every idea is appreciated, every effort rewarded. Despite the fact that I really had to push myself to attend this workshop, I completely surprised myself by what others created – and what I created, especially as I regard myself as essentially non-creative. Fulfilling? My word, a thousand times yes. Life-changing? …we’ll see.

Polecats (FringeTIX)

Bluetongue Theatre @ Bakehouse Theatre

10:30pm, Wed 28 Mar 2007

Let’s get one thing straight – I don’t shortlist shows for titillation value. If I happen to roll up at a show and there’s goodies to purve at, then fine – but I won’t pick something because of promised nudity.

So quite why I chose Polecats is beyond me.

Let’s review the Guide précis (from the Dance section, no less), shall we?

Cathy Adamek and her feline friends take pole dancing out of the strip clubs and into the theatre to create a dance theatre spectacular! Set to turn the showgirl genre on its head, POLECATS takes dancing to places where the TapDogs feared to tread.

Right. So it’s a dance piece focused on pole dancing, eh? I’m not that big a fan of pole dancing; the physical element doesn’t thrill me, and its eroticism escapes me. So… why was I here, again?

No matter – the ticket has been bought, and – being all by my lonesome, as per usual – it was easy enough to get a front-row seat in this sold-out performance. In retrospect, not something to be stuck in the front row for, with all the crotches being swung about at head height; a tad uncomfortable, that.

And, to be fair, it was somewhat interesting to watch. A cute opening initially promises a lot of depth to the show – a cute little girl (I’m crap with ages, but let’s guess in the 5-6 year old range) peeks out from all corners of the wings, before running onstage to frolic, twist and swing around the five roof-high poles that form the set. It’s charming and endearing and grinworthy; she curtseys, smiling, then scoots offstage.

The stars of Polecats – the five main dancers – then trek from the back of the Bakehouse, through the crowd, to man their poles. Costumes are immaculate; each a sufficiently different style from the others to evoke a different response – there’s french aloofness, there’s delicate flower, there’s pricey escort, there’s cheap whore. And the dancing – well, there’s no doubt that pole dancing requires a massive amount of upper body strength, and there’s ample flexibility on show… but, as I’ve said before, it’s not really my cup of tea. The music is pretty good throughout, though.

Each dancer gets their own extended solo, allowing for some interesting set pieces – the champagne glass comes to mind – and there’s a couple of other diversions on rollerskates. In between acts, the only male in the Polecats troupe (the pole wiper… oo-er!) comes out and… wipes the poles down (presumably for safety reasons); his third appearance allows him to revel in a pole-dancing performance of his own. The finale, appropriately set to Spandau Ballet’s Gold, saw the five principal dancers kneel and turn their backs to the crowd, perform a very slow upper-body strip, then swoop down to cover their breasts with gold glitter. A cathartic exposure of the sparkling mammaries to the crowd and they’re running off, coming back only for a bow to thunderous applause from the predominantly female audience.

To be fair, Polecats is everything the Guide said it would be; but for some reason, I was expecting much more. Which is odd, considering that it delivers pole-dancing – just like it said on the tin. And I remain bemused as to why an act that want to “take pole dancing out of the strip clubs” ended with a strip. Like I said, I’ve no idea why I chose Polecats – and I can’t really see why it’s garnered sell-out crowds and rave reviews. Something different? Yeah, I suppose so. Worthwhile? Debatable.

Tim Minchin – So Rock (FringeTIX)

Tim Minchin @ The Umbrella Revolution

8:45pm, Wed 28 Mar 2007

In the darkened Umbrella Revolution, a spotlight suddenly picks out Tim Minchin, standing front-and-centre and looking guiltily wild-eyed like a blonde Robert Smith who’s just scored a blowjob off an underage groupie backstage. After peering into the crowd, he raises his arms and snaps them down – and suddenly he’s playing air-drums, perfectly synchronised to the snare coming forth from the sound system. Then bass, then a blazing guitar solo, then he’s singing his intro song So F**king Rock. It’s a visually stunning start, and the fact that I’m still singing I am so goddamn rock / I am so motherfucking rock over a week later is a testament to Tim’s ability to write a catchy tune.

Minchin’s songs epitomise the very best of Fringe musical humour, and his piano antics are both elegant and clever. If You Open Your Mind Too Much Your Brain Will Fall Out (Take My Wife) is a straight-up pop gem, Perineum Millenium – The In-Between Years showcases his lyrical wit, and Angry (Feet) demonstrated his ability to get laughs (and plenty of them) sans piano. But it was his encore (the tumor song) that absolutely killed me with mirth. Christ, what a shithouse pun. I can’t believe I’m leaving that in this post.

Tim Minchin is obviously going to be huge. Over a single year, he’s graduated to the Umbrella Revolution within the Garden hierarchy, and is constantly packing it out. Next year, he could fill the Royalty, Thebby, or even – sacrilege! – the Festival Theatre. With all the pop sensibilities of Tripod, but the consistently blinding humour of Kitson or Sammy J or Tomás Ford (who, I just realised, is also from WA) or… Minchin. This guy is the real deal.

One more quick note – you can buy CDs via his web site. You should. Really.

One Man Star Wars (FringeTIX)

Charles Ross @ Royalty Theatre

7:00pm, Wed 28 Mar 2007

Now, I’m not a massive Star Wars fan; sure, I enjoy the films (yes, all of them – that’s how you can tell I’m not a massive fan) and have seen the original trilogy a couple of dozen times each. But – and here’s how you judge me in Star Wars fandom – I prefer Jedi over A New Hope because of the rockin’ climax with the Falcon spurting out of the flame-swollen Death Star.

But the Ewoks can go fuck themselves. So there; love the exciting bits, hate the Ewoks.

Anyway.

Skimming through the Guide, reading about a one-hour show in which one man performs the original Star Wars trilogy… it seemed like the stuff of legend. Or rampant tomfoolery. Or both. And Charles Ross – dressed in Jedi-Luke-black and performing with only the aid of a wireless microphone and a modicum of lighting – delivers the entire package… legend and tomfoolery.

There’s no point talking about the plot – but what is worth talking about is the editing. It’s incredibly tight, with the most protracted sequence being the 5 minute Rebel attack on the Death Star from Episode 4. Empire is the most heavily edited (and suffers somewhat because of it), but the tauntaun guts, the AT-AT battle (including a fantastic re-enactment of the first topple), the kiss, and the freezing of Han are all there. There’s no Ewoks – yay! – save for a few humorous references when recreating the Battle of Endor, but there is some great work for the rescue from Jabba’s palace, and Luke, Vader, and The Emperor’s final battle. And yes, Ross performs the characteristic opening text scrolls – edited and tweaked for laughs.

In fact, a lot of the material is played for laughs. Luke, in particular, is played as a whiny little shit, rather than the starkiller he was supposed to be – and Ross’ selection of dialogue merely serves to highlight how corny some of the Original Trilogy’s lines were. In fact, in cutting the three movies down to a total of one hour, Ross demonstrates how much fluff there actually is in the theatrical renditions. And – with wry asides to the audience, as well as references to Episodes 1-3 – he also makes this revisionist performance his own.

Throughout, Ross’ characterisations are generally wonderful – Jabba the Hutt and R2-D2 are the standouts, but he captured Han Solo’s swaggering mannerisms perfectly, and absolutely nailed The Emperor. Sadly, the one letdown was Yoda, who was noticeably weaker than the rest. Luckily, the strength of his mime – especially the Episode 4 trench run – more than made up for it.

Utterly brilliant, and bloody funny too. And it’s all done with permission of LucasFilm; imagine that meeting:

“Hi George. I want to perform the original Star Wars trilogy all around the world.”
“No.”
“Don’t be so hasty, George. I’ll be performing it as a one-man show, cranking it all out in one hour. I do all the voices and sound effects myself, too. Listen – I’ve got a rockin’ R2-D2 – *beep*boop*whistle*. Check out this Y-Wing… *vroooom* And I look a tiny bit like Mark Hamill. If you squint.”
“Oh – OK then. Go forth with the blessing of George.”

That’s how it went. Really.

A Night At Commedia (FringeTIX)

Access All Comedy @ Fowler’s Live

12:30pm, Wed 28 Mar 2007

Half-past-midday on a Wednesday, and I’m the only punter in Fowler’s. Until a cluster of schoolkids trundle in, teacher in tow.

Great.

Luckily, A Night At Commedia is not the usual school-day theatre matinee; it’s a performance in the style of Commedia dell’Arte. I saw one such performance last year and, unsure as to whether it’s a style that I could continue to appreciate (I still remember Octavia’s legs fondly, and wonder whether that clouded my judgment), I slotted this one into the schedule.

So – once again, we’re talking improv, we’re talking audience participation (three schoolboys were summoned for bit roles in the performance), we’re talking masks and costumes. And it’s not bad – the school kids got into it (the one time this Fringe where audience participation of that type was actually warranted), and the actors – Alessandro Gavello and Corinna Di Niro – keep the tempo up and the laughs flowing.

The plot’s not worth mentioning – it’s a ramshackle affair, but there’s enough of a convoluted love story in there to keep things interesting. It’s all earnestly performed, with massive overacting mixing well with mime (and even small stunts) as required. Special mention should be made of one of the teachers from the school group – he’d obviously been targeted as the twist in the love story, and the actors worked him into the act well. He was a bloody good sport to go along with the end-story, too – bravo, matey :)

So… worth the effort? Yeah, why not. Be warned, though – it’s a bit different to the normal theatrical presentation, so be prepared to get involved.

Charlie Pickering (FringeTIX)

Charlie Pickering @ Bosco Theatre

9:30pm, Tue 27 Mar 2007

It’s been a few years since I last saw Charlie Pickering – I liked what I saw then, but didn’t manage to schedule his 2006 show. But he’s here, now, and so I find myself in the Bosco on a cold Tuesday night as a storm hits Adelaide.

Pickering comes onto the stage, and straight away I can tell that he’s much more confident than he was in 2004. After all the Hellos and ThankYous, he jumps into a minor diatribe about the butt of many comedian’s jokes this Fringe – the World Police & Fire Games. After mocking the events, he asks if anyone present actually attended – and is informed that we have a Gold Medal winner in our midst.

“A Gold Medal winner? This is exciting – and, potentially, insulting. What event?”

“Wrestling.”

“…Embarrassing.”

Wonderful timing :)

The bulk of Pickering’s show, he explains, is based around one story – why he loves his Dad. Upon hearing this, the crowd noticeably dies – but he quickly wins us back with tales from his Dad’s war of one-upmanship with his practical-joking nemesis. Somewhere in there, he wandered into a rambling improv section where he was talking to a Algerian parking meter; this diversion was the sole negative for the night, and only because it went on a bit too long.

With this show, Pickering proves himself to be a master storyteller with a keen eye for humour in the everyday; granted, his father provided him with plenty of material to work with. He garners empathy from the audience, and he works well with us – he’s just a wonderful performer. And caring, too, giving us the opportunity to shake out the Bosco NumbArse in the middle of the act.

Let’s put it this way – Pickering’s still on The Shortlist whenever I see his name.

AddLogos: Are U Australia’s next Choreographic Tool? (FringeTIX)

Adelaide Centre for the Arts, TAFE SA @ Main Theatre – AC ARTS

8:00pm, Tue 27 Mar 2007

It’s a nice touch – walking up to the AC Arts building before the performance, there’s a rabble of protesters outside with “ADDLOGOS SUCKS!” signs, handing out hilariously poorly written flyers decrying AddLogos and supporting the “Extreme Left-Wing Radical Contempory Dancers Organization”. The protesters chanted, picketed, and were yelled at by building security as the audience queued to be let in.

Well, I thought it was a nice touch.

The Main Theatre at AC Arts is a steep affair for the audience, but a massive space for the performers – who use it to mimic a TV studio producing the AddLogos programme. And the programme starts with a choreographed number, the four AddLogos dancers and two (over-exuberant) hosts prancing about in an overlong intro. Then we get to the meat of the performance – three “contestants” each have to perform three “tasks” to win the opportunity to be the next great Choreographic Tool.

During the third task, the Contestant #3 reveals herself to be an infiltrator associated with the protestors that we encountered before the performance began; she lets them into the studio, whereupon a battle ensues for control of the AddLogos network. Dancey dancey dance, game over, applause.

Righto, let’s discuss:

Pretty much anything that involved synchronised dance was sloppy – the cast (the Third Year TAFE Dance Students) didn’t really appear to have the discipline to make the tightly choreographed stuff work well. Don’t get me wrong, the solo performances were great; in particular, Contestant #3 – the infiltrator – shone during her solos. The music was strong throughout, mostly having a fantastic “corporate ominous” feel.

But here’s the thing – a lot of laziness caught my eye. Yes, the synced dancing was pretty obvious, but there were also typos a-plenty in the background video (the typos in the ELWRCDO flyer I can forgive), and surely the AddLogos protesters shouldn’t have been wearing clothing with logos? The devil’s in the details, kids.

Finally, I can’t help thinking this would have been a much better piece in a smaller venue – especially the ending which, whilst one could sense the chaos of the battle, it felt a little contrived in such a wide open space.

B File (FringeTIX)

Stone/Castro Company & Guests @ Holden Street Theatres (The Studio)

8:00pm, Mon 26 Mar 2007

It’s another Monday night Fringe dead zone, and one of the few remaining things on the shortlist is B File, which presumably takes place in a German airport – a lot of German is spoken, and there’s a collection of European characters drifting through. It centers on the police interrogation of five passengers, most of whom appear – through fair means or foul – to be named “Beatrice”. The first is the Japanese Beatrice, whose guilt is communicated to the audience by her lack of passport. At this stage, we don’t really mind that the police are continually badgering her about her sleeping habits with her husband; we’ve already ascertained that she’s guilty, a feeling further exacerbated when she tries to escape.

The second Beatrice, a Portuguese dancer returning from Brazil, starts triggering warning signals; the police ask her to dance for them whilst rifling through her possessions. The audience giggles at their reactions to the dance, but I’m starting to feel uncomfortable. The third Beatrice, an older Australian woman on holiday, leaves us in no doubt – the police have overstepped the mark, randomly grabbing her crotch, barking overly personal questions at her – abusing her. The impact is even greater due to this Beatrice’s inclination to assist them in any way possible until the abuse starts, whereupon she shrinks, repressed, into a cowering shell.

We finally meet our fourth interviewee – an Italian man trying to usher his “Hungarian cousin” through passport control – and, as with the Japanese Beatrice, we are led to be suspicious of him… but we also have no faith left in the police. When the police start fighting amongst themselves, we simply don’t know what to think; as the house lights drop, with two officers squabbling on the floor, we’re left very much in limbo – but it feels very improvised, almost ludicrously slapstick.

B File feels horribly mean-spirited – evil, insidious even – in its portrayal of characters. On the one hand, it appears to legitimise the overbearing and abusive techniques of the authoritarian characters, at the expense of the innocent; but maybe that’s the point… maybe it’s supposed to be an even and level analysis of the situation. But the ending is so out of place with respect to the rest of the performance; if it is improvised, then why place it upon this unsettling, oppressive framework? If it’s not improvised, then what’s the point?

There’s a couple of more technical issues with the performance, too – the multi-lingual nature of the dialogue makes it occasionally hard to follow; soft speech doesn’t really help. And the re-use of Jo Stone (as the Japanese Beatrice, then a police officer) and Paulo Castro (as a police officer, then the dodgy Italian man) really jolts the sense of disbelief.

Which, I suppose, is just as well – because B File left an awful, mean-spirited taste in my mouth.