FRINGE: 3 captivating COMEDIES
The Red Bastard – aka Eric Davis – practices a form of audience participation called “bouffon,” in which an outrageous character engages the audience in an intimate exchange. He’s the archetypal clown, and because of our classic view of fools and jesters, he can be allowed anything.
Davis’s new show is called RED BASTARD: Lie With Me (Stage 11), and its primary aim is to entertain – and perhaps along the way stimulate thought on what’s important in life.
The creature bounds on stage in a thunder of music – courtesy of Beethoven. He looks something like a scarlet-hued and rather lumpy pear with a Kardashian caboose the size of the arena, and the medieval face of Satan himself. Cavorting around the stage, leering lasciviously at us, he switches instantaneously from sympathetic listener to raging satanic accuser.
“How many great lies have you told lately?” he demands to know.
Skilfully he probes audience members on just what they think “cheating” is. Is it a full-on affair – or merely naughty talk? The creature puts us through a series of tests and proves, at least to himself, that we are all deceivers.
“Sometimes you have to lie to the ones you love because you love them,” he murmurs in the kind of silken voice Christ might have heard in the Judean desert.
And, when some in the audience admit to the transgression, he turns on us. “You are all LIARS!” he screams.
Amazingly enough, in a very few minutes he has individual members of the audience admitting to things they wouldn’t tell their priest. Several admit to cheating on their partners. Others of thinking of someone else when they’re having sex. One admits to a sexual act that even takes the monster aback.
“I never expected that,” Red Bastard purrs. He fixes on a man whose partner has just admitted to an indiscretion. and prods him, “Are you her partner?”
“Yes,” the man admits ruefully. “One of them.”
If the thought of such a smirking creature having access to an intimate probing of your innermost secrets makes you uncomfortable – don’t worry. In all this, Davis creates a safe and open space for discussion. There are no judgements made, and the performer keeps it light and humorous. By some kind of theatrical alchemy our inhibitions fade away and he pulls the most astonishing revelations from his audience.
Davis then takes off the outfit and the tenor of the show changes completely to one of overt seriousness. He sets up a number of what seem to be sincerely intimate moments. He observes at the end, “The journey of love never ends.”
When it is all over, the audience has had something of a profound experience and shared some very intimate relationships – and laughed together a lot.
5 out of 5
***
A few years back the bizarro British comic duo, James and Jamesy (Aaron Malkin and Alastair Knowles), burst upon the Canadian Fringe circuit and became immediate hits. They didn’t do a lot – just had tea, mostly – but Malkin seemed barely in control of a disconnected body that moved in ways Mother Nature never designed. Knowles, who had his own comic quirks, proved to be the perfect straight man.
They were masterful absurdists, able physical comics and their show was really about male bonding and friendship.
The two are back with James & Jamesy in the Dark (Stage 35) and their show is really different. They leave us in the dark. Literally. Much of it takes place with the lights out. Oh, except for large lampshades on the heads of the performers. The lamps turn on and off and the results are hilarious. It’s amazing how a simple lamp can take on such a large personality – reminding one of the animated Pixar desk light.
Like all their plots, In The Dark pushes ever more deeply into the surreal (In 2 for Tea, a simple pot of the brew expanded to create oceans of the stuff). One would think Malkin’s peculiar physical abilities and eccentric moves would be lost in all that darkness, but the staging only increases the humour.
The first part of the show is conducted mostly in mime and in what seems to be an exotic form of Mump and Smoot’s “Umonian” clown language – mostly grunts and noises with just enough English to make it quite comically understandable. Their discussion centres around the great existential questions of “Who Are We?” and “Why Are We Here?” and a search for invention and creation. The logic is cracked and they never quite get to a point.
Physically the show is very imaginative. The two are dressed in grey with light gray gloves – that take on a life of their own. The duo use two fingers to create small beings that walk all over each other (at one point they extend a single digit to connect – as in the Sistine Chapel).
When the two seem about to exhaust the possibilities of dark and light, they go into the audience for the strangest audience participation blitz you’ve ever seen. Several members of the audience display mime techniques that I suspect they never knew they had.
The show could very easily slip over into repetition but Malkin and Knowles are endlessly inventive, their relationship is engaging and the 70 minutes builds into quite something – easily holding our attention.
The two are apparently on their way to a six week off-Broadway presentation of the show and, I suspect, the Big Apple will love it.
4 out of 5
***
Improv comedy is fast becoming the monster that ate the Fringe. Given that kids are practising the art all over the country it’s not about to fade away, either. During the Fringe we get some of the best – and some of the worst.
Somewhere in the middle is Kris & Wayne (Stage 2). Kris (Saddiqi) hails from Toronto and Wayne (Jones) from Edmonton. The two bound on stage with much energy and proceed with the improv rituals that are fast becoming as fixed as the Catholic Mass.
They pull a (more or less) willing volunteer up from the audience. In the opening interview during one show, we find out that the volunteer is a Spanish teacher raised in Stony Plain and teaching in Edmonton. The two grill her in a pleasant manner for a few minutes and then send her back to her seat.
And it’s here that the test for all improvisers begins. They must take the Reader’s Digest version of her life and turn it into a story. The two are fast on their feet and create a tale of teaching Spanish and the problems teachers face – leading to a night on the town in Edmonton. They quite ingeniously weave in bits of information she has let drop – and, I suspect, they are not above using choice bits and pieces of earlier shows. Their heroine was warned about moving to Edmonton because it’s “the big city where they have drugs … and bike lanes.”
The two performers carried it off with some skill, and one marvels at their ability to spin a fantastic tale while continuing to keep tiny morsels of the original story tucked in their brains and weaving them into the narration at unexpected moments.
They also have very good chemistry and bounce off each other like balls in a tennis game.
There’s not a lot more you can say because every show is different. (It’s improv – duh!)
There were a few slow parts, as is the wont of improve, but Kris and Wayne are pretty good at it and kept us amused for the 45 minute duration of the show.
3 out of 5
