Postcard from the Fringe
Wednesday 07 August @ 10:26:07 |
 by Marty & Martha Roth
Your faithful reviewers tasted some of the out-of-town acts at this year’s Fringe. Here’s our quick rundown of the preview: At the head of our list is a troupe from London called C Theatre or “Shakespeare for Breakfast,” we’re not sure which. The sketch we saw involved audience participation and some very nimble improvisations; the four actors, wearing white coats, promised to teach the audience “how to make anyone fall in love with you” and they then surprised us into storms of laughter. At Cedar- Riverside People’s Center and the Theatre Garage.
The Interstate Dance Collective, which consists of choreographers from Dallas, Denver, and the Twin Cities, impressed us with a show called “Merge Left.” The piece we saw, choreographed to Laurie Anderson’s “Looking for Huey Newton,” featured women lifting and carrying women, which we always like to see, wearing highly original costumes and displaying a fascinating degree of tension. At Intermedia Arts.
From Washington, DC, a pair of sleazy con artists masquerading as magicians call themselves Thin Air, and they amused us a lot. Although they mildly abuse audience volunteers they really deliver on the magic: juggling, sleight-of-hand, excellent props, and patter that won’t quit. Not for young children, but we think age eight or nine and up will enjoy them. At Woman’s Club of Minneapolis.
Cliff Chamberlain, a likely California lad, does a polished, audible comic monologue called “paper dreams and plastic promises,” and if his material isn’t altogether original, at least he goes at it with a zest that makes it seem fresh. We particularly enjoyed his sperm’s-eye view of human sexuality. Although Mr. C. is well in touch with his inner child, we wouldn’t recommend his show for your external ones. At Bryant-Lake Bowl.
A pair of deranged Californians (you mean there’s another kind?) who call themselves The National Theatre of the Americas have spawned a truly weird show called “The Revelations of Velma Gutflesh.” At first we sat in open-mouthed astonishment. Where did this stuff come from? But when we forced our ears and eyes and brain to work together we thought they were pretty funny. “Velma Gutflesh” is a junk-food-eating, Jerry-Springer-watching vulgarian, and she is us. At Hey City Upstairs.
From Montreal, The Puppet Project’s “Memory Tree” is gorgeous to look at and listen to—they brought their own excellent musicians—but the beautifully constructed puppets perform a stale script. Too often, we find, technical skill bordering on genius is wasted on mediocre material, and that’s the case here. If you get off on lovely workmanship, good sounds, and careful technique, there might be enough in their performance to gratify you. At Cedar-Riverside People’s Center.
An adorable young man from Los Angeles named Les Kurkendaal has a one-guy show called “Color Me Naked,” at MCTC Whitney Studio, that wrings a few chuckles out of Les’ role as a tolerant, right-thinking Black gay man in a world of crazies, bigots, and Art Deco. Just not enough. Les, have you ever heard Dick Gregory?
Niki McCretton, a solo dancer from Somerset, England, where the cider is good and the dancers are well-trained, has an act she calls “Worm-Hole,” which she performs in a top-to-toe nun’s habit. She is lithe and a pleasure to watch, but her dance—something about forms of worship—puzzled us. At Old Arizona.
Another monologuist, an attractive woman from Maine who calls herself Elastic Expressions, has a limp act called “Absolutely Moore or Less,” in which she spins so-called humor out of her Fear of Forty and her dates with younger men. Again, has she ever seen what’s out there? Hey City Upstairs.
From Toronto, a two-woman group called Just in a Bowl Productions presents a baffling show called “The Hungarian Suicide Duel.” They look spiffy in black velvet pants and Gypsy-musician embroidered shirts, but what on earth made them think they could build an act out of attitude alone? At the Woman’s Club.
At the absolute bottom of the barrel (and we know there’s a show called “The Worst Show at the Fringe,” but we haven’t seen that one) we scraped up a Chicago youth called Danny Donuts. His eponymous show consists of off-key singing, lame pastiche of Beatles lyrics and Peanuts comics (“Lucy Is Disguised as Linus”) and stupid harmonica tricks. At Grace Community Church, if you’re a glutton for punishment.
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