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Twin Town High (vol. 8) |
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On the Fringe of Good Taste
Wednesday 07 August @ 10:23:03 |
 Fringe Festival reviews by Dwight Hobbes
1) Absolutely Moore or Less
2) The Aberrations of Coitus Exoticus
3) Let It Be...Jazz
4) How Come There Ain't No White People In The Show
Absolutely Moore or Less
You don't have to be a single, 40-year old white chick to applaud Jean Armstrong's “Absolutely Moore Or Less.” Her lighthearted monologue makes the pitfalls of dating 20-something men humorously accessible to all. The opening night audience ate it up from beginning to end as Armstrong sketched a series of hopeless scenarios with a charmingly understated why-me delivery. Most effective was her detailing the arduous chore of drinking enough water everyday to keep her skin from looking its age only to be frustrated by an uncooperative Mother Nature. By the time she's done accounting witless would-be companions—with whom she has about as much in common as a fish with a bicycle—you're left nodding and chuckling in sympathy. Regrettably, Armstrong does not project her voice very well. Had the two women in the back row simply moved closer, instead of leaving less than ten minutes into the show, they'd've probably had just as much fun as everyone else. So, arrive early and get a seat up close for an enjoyable show well-suited to the intimate space.
Hey City Theater (Upstairs), 824 Hennepin Ave. So. 8/10 at 7:00, 8/6, 8/9 and 8/11 at 5:30.
The Aberrations of Coitus Exoticus
If you miss one show at this season's Minnesota Fringe Festival make Elizabeth Ash's and Loren Neimi's “The Aberrations of Coitus Exoticus” it. Neither of these performers have a stand-up routine worth sitting through. They combined their acts, taking turns onstage, for one truly forgettable evening. Ash does a wholly unimaginative take on the meat-market dating game, a la man-chases-woman until-woman-catches-man. Neimi offers a dry-as-unbuttered-toast tale of an aged Midwest couple sight-seeing up and down an avenue of strip clubs in New Orleans during Mardis Gras. Ash and Neimi fail to understand that the mere subject of sex in and of itself does not constitute hilarity. Hence, the most interesting thing about their show is the circumstance in which it's couched. They attempt cohesion at the close by doing a dance together, but it's no use. There are no characters to truly speak of, absolutely no development and, therefore no climactic payoff of any of the bits. In short, they are in plain need of material.
Hey City Theater (Downstairs), 824 Hennepin Ave. So. 8/8 at noon.
Let It Be...Jazz
Connie Evingson performs “Let It Be...Jazz,” backed by a serviceable quintet reasonably enlivened by bassist Gordy Johnson. Billed as an interpretive tour through the Beatles catalog, it's a sampling of Paul McCartney's work before going solo. Evingson, about as pretentious a performer as one is apt to come by, sets up one number with the image of John Lennon having tea with Bob Marley: She then does a completely unrelated rendition of “Fixing A Hole.” Bobbing about with a self-congratulatory air, this Achilles' Heel of the noted ensemble Moore By Four sings pleasantly enough but constantly relies on cloying, cliched phrasing. Johnson affords otherwise unremarkable renditions of such tunes as “When I'm Sixty-Four,” “Good Day Sunshine” and “Oh, Darling.” Opening week musical director Mary Louise Knutson has a promising career in elevator muzak. Sanford Moore takes over for the second week: Considering his uninspired contribution to Hey City's Smokey Joe Cafe, don't expect much improvement. This show is strictly for those already under the delusion that Connie Evingson is a jazz vocalist of consequence.
Illusion Theater, 528 Hennepin Avenue So. 8/10 at 4:00, 8/9 at 7:00.
How Come There Ain't No White People In The Show
“How Come There Ain't No White People In The Show” perpetrated by Aimee K. Bryant and Amy Anderson is a lowbrow affront palmed off as audacious social commentary. African American and Asian American stereotypes take center stage in a field day that has all the art, wit and general stage-worthiness of two kids seeing how many offensive images and words they can get people to laugh at them for coming up with. Bryant, a fine actor gifted with a superlative singing voice sells herself short, hamming it up for yucks in pointless vignettes and wasting her vocalise on worthless musical ditties. Similarly, Anderson who has solid stage instincts and a commendable voice, doesn't aim very high (though she briefly hits the mark, as an auditioning actor up against a short-sighted casting director). For the highlight Bryant and Anderson sing “Nigger, Chink,” a gratuitous laundry list of racial epithets the sole compelling aspect of which is Bryant's gorgeous harmonies.
Illusion Theater, 528 Hennepin Avenue So. 8/11 at 7:00, 8/8 at 5:30, 8/10 at 8:30.
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