Toronto Fringe!
OK, so I was all set to post my review of Diana Wynne Jones’ new novel House of Many Ways, which I really liked except for the inborn-evil lubbockin, which Sarah Rees Brennan talks about in a way more entertaining and lucid paragraph than I could fashion. (Actually, to be honest, my “review” sort of turned into a panegyric on DWJ, because she is to fantasy as Chuck Norris is to pwning. But you can read ALL ABOUT that next week.)
But then – STOP THE PRESSES! – I realized that I AM LIVING IN THE MIDDLE OF THE TORONTO FRINGE!!!!one!!!eleven!!!eleven-thousand, one hundred and eleven!!!!!!
I can literally go out my door, walk for less than a minute, and get to about four or five theatres that are showing rotating Fringe-circuit shows at pretty much all hours, see all the performers I recognized from my years volunteering at the Ottawa Fringe, see new ones who, I am assured by all and sundry, are awesome, and take a chance on brand-new, on-the-edge, one-in-a-lifetime shows that can be anything from professional companies from Australia to greenback high-school students performing their very first play. YAAAAAAY!
Of course this means encapsulated reviews.
There are eleventy-billion shows I want to see, but I can only actually afford a five-show pass, especially as I want to see Soulpepper’s productions of Congreve, Stoppard, and Schaffer. Hence, I can only see five shows. Even though there is a small-child part of me jumping up and down inside screaming, “But I waaaaant it! I want it NOOOOW!” So these are the five that I picked.
Show the first: T. J. Dawe’s Totem Figures. T. J. Dawe is well-known among the Fringe circuit for two things: one, delivering frenetic, 90-minute, funny, rambling monologues, and, two, selling out nearly every show. I went into his show Maxim & Cosmo last year expecting “dur hur hur, men leave the toilet seat up, and women take a long time to dress”, and got an amazing half-essay, half-comedy routine on how our culture screws over people, including women and effeminate men, who don’t conform to the masculine gender stereotype. Feminism can be funny! Anyhow, so I went into Totem Figures expecting brilliance and got “pretty good”. Makes sense: low expectations = enhance “wow” qualities of show, high expectations = enhance “enh” qualities. “Enh” because I don’t think you could describe anything Dawe does as “poor” or “bad”. He’s got amazing stage presence and verbal dexterity. Totem Figures is about how each of us has his or her own personal “Mount Rushmore” or “Sgt. Peppers cover” of persons, places, and things that affect the way we view ourselves and our lives. For Dawe, it’s George Carlin and Mr. Dawe, senior; Luke Skywalker and Charles Bukowski; Fiver and John Fahey. For me, it’s all the characters I mention in my list of fictional jerkfaces; it’s my family and friends; it’s everyone in whom I’ve ever seen a bit of myself. So, it wasn’t so much that there was anything wrong or bad or boring about this show – it was that there was no whisper of something I’d never thought of before. No “aha!” or “cool!” I would still highly recommend anything T. J. Dawe does to anyone who’s interested in slightly intellectual, entirely funny theatre, but I wouldn’t put this on my list of top ten shows.
Show the second: Randy Rutherford’s Singing at the Edge of the World. A lot of one-man or one-woman Fringe shows are autobiographical. Makes sense: the Fringe is unjuried, and slots are awarded by lottery, so it’s one of the few theatrical venues where a performer can tell his or her uncensored, unjudged life story and let the audience decide whether it’s worth hearing. One of the things a Fringe audience member quickly learns is that every life story can be interesting if told the right way – and few performers are capable of doing so. Randy Rutherford is lucky (or unlucky, depending on your point of view) to have a story compelling enough that it doesn’t need astounding acting versatility or verbal pyrotechnics to set it off: how he continued his career as a performer and musician through progressive hearing loss. Mr. Rutherford’s low-key performance, interspersed with songs he sings and plays on the guitar carries the show well. Because it’s a true story, it doesn’t end the way the audience might hope – but, because it’s a true story about not giving up on performing, it has the unique feature of showing the end through the whole show. One of the people fliering the line-ups called Singing at the End of the World “heart-full”, which is better than any description I can come up with. It’s not my cup of tea, I have to admit, but it might be yours.
Show the third: Die Roten Punkte, from a Berlin company whom I have never heard of before. The thing about reviewing comedy is you want to give snippets and examples of funny lines, but every line I put here will ruin that part of the show for you. So imagine, if you will, a brother and sister Europunk band from Berlin. Astrid is on the drums, and Otto plays the guitar, wearing bright red lipstick and longish “scene” hair. He’s straight-edge; she’s got a drinking problem. Both want the spotlight. I have to admit that I’ve been to a grand total of one and a half (don’t ask) non-classical concerts in my life, not being a big contemporary music fan, but even I thought their crazy songs and spoof of “artsy” bands was hilarious. As if that weren’t enough, their take on sibling rivalry is hysterical, and they do a great job of sending up both German stereotypes and the way North Americans sometimes believe them. See it.
Show the fourth: Pug in a Tux’s Domestic, by Joel Babcock. So one thing that’s really difficult to do is review a show performed, directed, or written by people you know. In this case, I went to school with the playwright, the director, and some of the cast, and first thing you should know is they are all awesome, energetic, talented people. Now, when I say it’s difficult to review a play by people you know, I don’t mean that it’s difficult because you’re afraid you’ll upset them (well, okay, a little). I mean that, when you know an artist as a person, you tend to interpret their work using the information you know about your personality. For instance, I’ve had strangers compliment me on performances that my parents didn’t like because they, knowing me, could see I was insincere. Or, when I read articles and books by people I know, I can’t help but hear their voice in my head reading it out.
That said, here’s my attempt at an actual review: first thing, if you don’t like plays where you don’t always understand what’s going on, this isn’t the show for you. If you don’t like writers like Samuel Beckett, then you won’t like this. In other words, if you don’t like to think at the theatre, find some other show. Domestic is a dark, absurdist comedy (though, as with all good comedies, by the end, you may no longer be laughing) about Mr. and Mrs. Smith and their idyllic life in the suburbs. Oh, and the travelling salesman who keeps popping by. And God, who just won’t stop calling on the phone. From that description, you can probably figure out the themes of the play, but don’t be fooled: it’s not just an undergrad-style slam on the bourgeousie. To explain more would take away from the humour (which is often, after all, the unexpected juxtaposition of unrelated elements), but I can honestly say that Domestic is a unique offering, and you won’t be disappointed if you go expecting something original and different. Congratulations, guys!
Show the fifth: Gemma Wilcox’s The Honeymoon Period is Officially Over. I thought I had heard great things about this show last year at the Ottawa Fringe, where I was volunteering; after seeing it, I realize I’d heard great things about the performer. And she really is amazing: she plays at least twenty characters, human, animal, and inanimate object, and you can always tell who or what she is (well… to be fair, her dialogue uses a lot of “tags” – her characters often begin their lines with “Look, Name-of-person-I’m-talking-to…”). She effortlessly shifts between different bodies, genders, and attitudes, and she can improv with the best of them when unexpected things occur (cell phone ringing in the audience, air conditioners drowning out the sound). Not to mention that she’s British – because, let’s face it, North American anglophones, there is nothing more amusing to us than watching a British person run through a variety of UK accents. Yeah, we’re that easily entertained.
While the script deals with interesting issues like how to let go of someone you love when the relationship just doesn’t work out, I didn’t find it particularly illuminating. I was much more caught up with watching the character-switches than following the story, and I found the various interludes with plots between talking animals to be a bit much. Not that I have a problem with animals talking, mind, or human performers playing them, but it just didn’t seem to fit in what the first ten minutes of this play told me the story was going to be. That said, it really is awe-inspiring to watch Ms. Wilcox’s virtuoso performance, and I highly recommend it.