God, I've fallen behind on my reviews a bit, haven't I? Sorry about that. As penance, let me race through the last few days in brief, in order to bring this here blog up to speed, but never fear; where detail is required, as opposed to brevity, no adjective will be spared!
When last we met, dear reader (why am I channelling a Victorian novelist this morning?), it was Saturday night and I'd just walked out of the last five minutes of Anthony Morgan, as he ended his show by strapping on his guitar and inviting three other guitarists up on stage for a song. The first musical minute left me underwhelmed, so rather than lose the good humour he'd bestowed on me with his set, I strolled out onto the mezzenine of the Victoria Hotel for a quick bevy. Ten minutes later I was back in Vic's Bar for my third show of the day...
Mickey D - Shame 101. This engagingly chaotic, barefoot comedian hails from Adelaide, and possesses a cheeky charm which he puts to good effect in this show, the focus of which is on banishing guilt and shame. To this end he talks about serial masturbation, colonic irrigation and other subjects frankly and cheerfully, in a manner that comes across as cheeky rather than crass or crude. On the night I saw him, Mickey D became so distracted by a couple of latecomers whose mobile phones went off that, after taking one of the phones in question and using it to call a mate in England, he briefly started the show again from the start. Later, clearly enjoying himself, he had Marcus, one of the front-of-house staff, buy a drink for the bloke whose phone he'd used, himself, and given that I was sitting in the second row, me (now that's the way to win over a reviewer!). By no means a brilliant show, but the lack of focus and Mickey D's infectious charm guaranteed an extremely enjoyable time. Three consistent guffaws out of five. (Victoria Hotel until April 29)
Josie Long - Kindness and Exuberance. One of the few international acts I've seen at the festival, and not one I did justice, I'm afraid. About 10 minutes into this gentle English comedian's show, the fourth I'd seen that day, I hit a wall. My lack of sleep caught up with me, and meant that instead of being endearing, Josie's gentle, observational humour, faux-naïve persona, and quirky, lo-fi presentational gimmicks rapidly started to give me the shits. Worst of all, I was stuck in the corner right at the front of the stage, so the only way out was to grit my teeth and suffer through it. Consequently I walked out hating every minute of her show. In retrospect, Kindness and Exuberance wasn't that bad, but I suspect that even if I'd been wide awake and raring to go, it still wouldn't have been my cup of tea. David Witteveen had a very different perspective of the show. Two gentle chuckles out of five. (Town Hall til April 29)Which brings us to Sunday...
The Receipt. This superb show is one of my undoubted highlights of the festival so far, and I urge you, nay, implore you, to go and see it as soon as you can.A dystopian comedy akin to Terry Gilliam's Brazil, The Receipt is an superb exploration of urban alienation and the malaise of modern life, told from two perspectives: as an archeological examination of contemporary society presented by a dispassionate narrator; and as an unfolding drama concerning the rapidly unwravelling life of the show's Everyman hero, Wiley, an office drone. Both roles are played by the Perrier Award-winning Will Adamsdale. To the side of the stage, and interacting with Adamsdale by interjecting, and generating sound effects and a live soundtrack, is the other half of the show, its co-creator Chris Branch. Through a simple but magnificent use of everyday objects - a filing cabinet, a chair, another filing cabinet - the pair not only invite you into their fictional world, but they create it on-stage before your very eyes, mapping out the streets and skyscrapers of a frighteningly familiar city.
The gently-paced story of Wiley's retreat from bureaucratic hell into fantasy, sparked by his discovery of a crumpled receipt on the street which is his one tenuous link to another real person, may not provoke tears of mirth in its telling, but if it's rich, subtle, thought-provoking comedic theatre that you're after, then this gem of a show is definitely for you. Don't just take my word for it, either; go here, here and here for further proof that The Receipt is one of the most inspired shows of the festival. Four jaws dropping in amazement out of five. (Malthouse Theatre til April 29)
The Pitch. More magnificent mirth and mayhem on stage at the Malthouse, but this time a play that both celebrates and satirises the mindless excess of the Hollywood movie. Written and performed by Green Room Award-winning virtuouso Peter Houghton, this 70 minute show concerns Walter, a scriptwriter still dealing with his girlfriend recently leaving him for another man, as he prepares to pitch his screenplay to three influential international producers. One hour before showtime, Walter is fine-tuning his pitch - and his screenplay - according to the Four Rules of Film-Making as laid down by the cigar-chewing American producer, Sid. The resulting hilarity entwines Walter's personal life and his preperations for the meeting with the deranged plot of his increasingly ludicrous movie, which stars everyone from Sean Connery and Catherine Zeta-Jones to either Russell Crowe or Clint Eastwood in the lead role - and Houghton plays every bloody role impeccably. Although I would have liked to have seen this play cut back by about 5-10 minutes, and the script isn't as good as Houghton's performance, it's still very funny, and definitely recommended. Three and a half hoots of mirth like a gibbon on heat out of five. (Malthouse Theatre til April 29)
My final show for the weekend was We Are Klang invite you to a Klangbang. Definitely a good show to see late at night when you're half-pissed and already semi-hysterical, this outrageously crass, over the top show will appeal to anyone who was a fan of shows like The Young Ones in all its spotty student glory. Several people I know have hated it. Others have loved it. Certainly on Sunday I was a little distant and aloof in the early stages of the show, but over the course of the next madcap hour, after witnessing talking buttocks, the creative exchange of some wicked insults, a dancing horse, and hilarious things done with grapes, I was in fits of mirth. Wonderfully wrong fun. Three and a half shrieks of nauseated mirth out of five. (Victoria Hotel til April 29)More reviews coming soon...
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