You Need a Montage

20 Something

Below is my third and final review for the Melbourne Fringe Festival. After deciding I had been rather too forgiving for the first two shows, I was all ready to head in with my claws out, and live up to the 'critical reviewer' title. But this time I genuinely enjoyed it. A lot. I giggled throughout, and the performers were great. Probably a bit strange that this disappointed me, but I was somewhat excited at the prospect of letting the inner bitch out for a run around. Anyhoosie, here is the review below. As always, enjoy.

For a show titled 20 Something, I was surprised to find myself one of the youngest in the crowd at Tony Starr’s Kitten Club. But it soon became clear that age was irrelevant, because this cheeky cabaret act left the whole audience with a smile on their face.

Following sell-out shows in both the Adelaide and Cabaret Fringe Festivals, I had high hopes for 20 Something, presented by cabaret trio The Vox Trust. And sure enough, despite a late start, all was forgiven from the moment Tamara Shinners and Rachel McCall stepped on stage. Looking the part in fishnets and sparkles, the sassy blondes charmed the crowd from the get go, documenting their history since meeting as music students at Adelaide University.

With a nod to the nineties – mixtapes, Wayne’s World and The Thong Song all scored a mention – and accompanied by accomplished pianist Jamie Cock, the pair took us on an entertaining journey through the issues that plague the lives of the 20-something: from mixed messages to naivety, Centrelink payments and the much dreaded quarter-life crisis.

The performance was decidedly tongue-in-cheek, with handmade props, self-deprecating humour and a spot of hula dancing proving they never take themselves too seriously. Yet the occasional moment of profundity, flagged by an operatic barcarolle or a wistful Joni Mitchell tune, prevents the show from drifting into asinine territory, reminding us that Shinners and McCall are professionally-trained performers with serious talent.

Throughout the 75-minute show the connection between the twosome shines through, and it’s this rapport that makes it so successful. The witty repartee flows smoothly, leaving no doubt about the authenticity of their relationship.

As a virtual neophyte to the cabaret genre, I found 20 Something to be a sharp, polished and extremely likeable show, that well and truly lived up to the hype.

And the Little One Said...

Following on from my earlier post, this is a review for the second Fringe Festival show I attended last night. I left feeling a little unsure of the storylines that supposedly wound through the performance, but impressed with her agility and gymnastic abilities.

Enjoy.

There’s something twisted about The Candy Butchers’ And the Little One Said... , and it’s not just solo star Jess Love’s body. With cigarette smoking, spatters of blood and a severed foot in a rollerskate, this is not your average jovial circus act.

On entering the Rehearsal Room at the North Melbourne Town Hall, the show has already begun. Stationed at the entrance pushing fairy floss and spruiking, writer and international circus performer Love paints a clear picture of what’s to come. In her pink, frilly tutu, dishevelled hair and heavily smudged makeup, she personifies the blend of innocence and macabre that encapsulates this piece.

It is clear that Love is a seasoned performer. Encompassing roller-skating, tap dancing, skipping, glass walking, hula hooping and an acrobatic game of hopscotch, this truly is a one-woman circus, and Love manages to make each exploit look simple. She knows how to work the crowd, eliciting enthusiastic ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’ as she builds each stunt to its climax, and keeping them giggling in between with her comical slapstick act.

Artist Mark Ryden is noted as a strong influence, and his themes of surrealism and juxtaposition of the beautiful and disquieting are certainly evident. The show is powerfully mood-evoking, augmented by the eccentric soundtrack and eerie red lighting. Love’s dark humour and sinister giggles border between innocence and insanity: during one particular childish tantrum she has the unsettling air of a woman possessed.

At times the build up takes just a little too long, and anticipation teeters on the edge of impatience. The show wouldn’t suffer from a little less clowning and a little more illustration of her high-level circus skills. Because when she gets there, Love’s tricks certainly are physically impressive, proven by the audience’s open-mouthed captivation.

At just 45 minutes the show is brief, but if it’s the weird and wonderful you’re after, And the Little One Said… is the one to see.