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Three Things Daley #16

Friday, December 11th, 2009

…Modern musical comedy gold

1. Two Nobodies in New York from [Title of Show]
If you’re not into musical theatre because you think it’s cheesy and old-fashioned, this show may well reframe things for you.  Modern musical comedy is sharp, smart, edgy and self-deprecating – and treats its heritage with a good-natured pisstake.  Let Hunter and Jeff be your guide…


2. Great Big Stuff from Dirty Rotten Scoundrels
This clip from the Tony Awards features John Lithgow and Norbert Leo Butz – two of the show’s three main characters.  Unfortunately, the swears are censored, which means you lose a few jokes (“…a life of taste and class, with culture and sophistication… pouring out my ASS!”).  But you get the idea -
it’s a cool show.  And yes, based on the film of the same name (but in a good way, I promise).  PS: apparently there was a production of it in Melbourne this year – I wish I’d known!


3. As We Stumble Along from The Drowsy Chaperone
Need a stirring anthem?  Not really?  Well, you’re getting one anyway and,
by jove, it’s sure to lift your spirits.  Melbourne Theatre Company is doing 
this show next year, starring Geoffrey Rush, which is pretty exciting news! 
Created in Canada, this show is a kind of play-within-a-play parodying seriously old-school Broadway.  This song starts off mildly amusing, but just you wait…

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Three Things Daley #10

Sunday, December 6th, 2009

…By request*: Things which are lopsided

1. Beepbeep, beepbeep, yeah.  The proportion of honking horns by Saturday night hoons on George Street to the necessity of said honking (and hoons).

2. M vs F.  The gender split in key creative leadership roles in mainstream Australian theatre is under scrutiny.  Being very much a fringe-dweller (fringe enthusiast, even) when it comes to theatre, I can’t give a qualified comment.  However, I did attend a lecture at Belvoir St Theatre today (I came, I saw, I tweeted).  One point that resonated with me was that women who are in key creative roles – directors, artistic directors, etc – could afford to be a bit more supportive of each other, of women who are long-term practitioners and of female emerging artists.  In other words, the sisterhood is the antidote to the boys’ club.  A point of concern was, anything outside a white middle-class male perspective is seen as ‘alternative’ which, obviously, includes stories told from a female point of view.  It’s a bizarre notion that half the population is effectively viewed as a minority group, but this mindset seems to be affecting the perceived merit of creative work.  It’s a worrisome and frustrating situation, but hopefully the floodgates for discussion and change have opened for good.

3. My eyes (these goggles they do nothing!).  I noticed this one day and it freaked me out.  I can’t tell which eye is the droopy one, but they’re definitely set differently in my head.  I asked the optometrist and she said, “It’s common to be slightly asymmetrical.  Or it could be a brain tumour.”

*Every 10th TTD will be by request!  Tweet @daleyrant or leave a comment…

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Three Things Daley #7

Thursday, December 3rd, 2009

…live show highlights of my 2009 (across three continents!)

1. Yankee.  On Broadway, I enjoyed watching two of this year’s Tony winners, best original musical Next to Normal and best original play God of Carnage.  But my personal favourite was 9-to-5 the Musical.  Exuberant and hilarious, this toe-tapper had the most amazing production design I think I’ve ever seen (not as shiny as Wicked, but much more ingenious).  Add to that, the pristine comic timing Allison Janney, the bolshy vocals of two former-stars of Wicked, and a whole bunch of new songs written by Dolly Parton, and you get a show that just couldn’t be more fun.  Meanwhile in Vegas,  Mystere by Cirque du Soleil showcased artists at the pinnacle of human physicality performing feats that most people wouldn’t even imagine, let alone attempt.  But the unexpected part was that it had not only a sense of breathtaking beauty, but a great sense of humour as well.  The experience was so magical and spectacular, I cried and ran straight to the gym*.

2. Yurp**.  I may have mentioned two or three (hundred) times that I was at Edinburgh Fringe Festival this year.  In technical/industry terms, there was an arseload of shows.  Austrian duo Living Room is the world’s only bass-clarinet-and-hang-drum pairing.  On a chilly, gray day, coffee in hand, I revelled in their warm rich tones in a tiny venue on Grassmarket.  I grew particularly besotted with the hang drum – at only 8 years old, it’s one of the world’s newest instruments.  It’s a convex steel drum with incredible versatility – both rhythmic and melodic.  And it’s not like you can walk into your nearest music store and buy one.  If you’ve got a hankering for a hang, apparently you have to write to its creators and explain why – but if you were a kick-arse percussionist looking for a new and unique challenge, it’d be so, so worth it.  On the other end of the spectrum were Aussie acrobatic spectacle Controlled Falling Project – like Cirque, it put feats of strength and balance in the spotlight, but with a simple almost vaudevillian aesthetic.  And last is the mammoth acapella troupe, Out of the Blue.  These dorkiest of dorky Oxford boys would, on the rare occasion they weren’t sold out, storm The Royal Mile in full force and belt out a gloriously energetic number.  People would stop in their tracks.  Then, almost as quickly as they arrived, they’d be gone again.  Their show was similarly energetic and delightful, featuring wacky stagings of pop tracks in quality arrangements.  No wonder they’re the best in the UK.

3. Yowie***.  Surprisingly, for someone who doesn’t love stand-up as much as other forms of comedy, two of my favourites on the home front are stand-ups.  Way, way back at this year’s Melbourne Comedy Festival (which seems like years ago now) I saw Janeane Garofalo.  Now, I know a lot of people (read: guys) weren’t happy with her piecemeal approach to storytelling, but I loved it.  She is ridiculous in a way I really identify with.  My second stand-up rave comes from Cockatoo Island, home of World’s Funniest Island festival where Princess Cabaret did a post-Edinburgh reprise.  There I finally got to see a full show by Fiona O’Loughlin and, my god, I laughed until I couldn’t breathe.  Not only is she hilarious, but she’s a wonderful storyteller.  I made fool of myself on the post-festival boatride, excitedly telling her I was “the tragic lapsed-Catholic in the front row” (FYI, I’m not often starstruck, but when I am it’s embarrassing).  She laughed, perhaps in sympathy.  Finally, just the other night, I saw a wonderful local show called LoveBites.  It’s an ensemble-based musical revue on all things romance - a teensy bit like Australia’s answer to I Love You You’re Perfect… Now Change! but simpler and tighter.  It’s funny, clever, moving, and has just the right amounts of light and shade to make it immensely satisfying.  In terms of writing, composition, singing, and acting, it was as good as, if not better than, anything I saw on Broadway.  The lyrics were particularly awesome.  I walked out at the end smiling and inspired.  This show not only has legs – it has wings and a turbo-charger.

*in this case, gym = all-you-can-eat buffet at Mandalay Bay
**that’s Baltimorean for Europe (I chose this dialect here for no particular reason)
***this is the only Aussie-ism starting with ‘Y’ that I could think of (I bet there’s a really obvious one I’m missing)

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Notes on a Festival

Tuesday, September 15th, 2009

I didn’t want to write this post because I felt in danger of being all like ”and then THIS happened, and then THAT happened” – aka, the blog equivalent of making someone sift through 18,000 of your unfiltered holiday snaps.

But I do have to write something, otherwise I’ll be leaving a gaping hole in this vague chronicle of my life.  Plus, I need to move on with what’s on my mind now – or, rather, what should be on my mind now – which I fear I won’t be able to do until I tell this story.

So, in recounting the month that has just flown by, I’ll do my best to avoid the aforementioned pitfall of boring…

Let me preface this by saying that I’ve never done the full month of a festival before.  Most I’ve ever done is two weeks.  I’ve certainly never performed for 27 consecutive days before, as per our schedule for our Edinburgh Fringe debut.

So, based on my limited previous festival experience, I had the following expectations.

Cuisine a la Fringe

Expectation
I’ll get to cook healthy food in the apartment, thereby saving money and ensuring health simultaneously.

Reality

  • Breakfast: Fruit and toast at the apartment (not the porridge I’d aimed for and quickly forgot about, but so far, so good)
  • Lunch: Toasties from Baguette Express, paninis from Baguette Express, the occasional baguette from Cafe Lucano – all accompanied by these two phrases from me: “If I eat one more sandwich, I will turn into one” and “baguette-me-not”.  And once or twice there was the gleaming beacon of lunchtime deliciousness that is M&S food court – thanks Suz!
  • Dinner: something ready-to-go from the supermarket, pizza slice from the van outside the Gilded Balloon (have chilli oil stain on jeans to prove it… mmm, chilli oil), Susie’s Wholefood Diner vegetarian deliciousness (ah, my people…), carrot sticks and hommous (giving my people a bad name), or a French martini (What?  There’s fruit in it…)

The apartment

Expectation
31 days in an apartment with 7 other girls.  I’ll probably hate them all after this.  And they’ll hate me.  I’ll probably spend a lot of spare time in cafes with free wi-fi, blogging my gripes.

Reality
We are the Sisterhood of the Travelling Leggings-As-Pants.  I heart each and every one of them (but not the leggings).  Hopefully I was at least bearable in return (even if I used the phrase ”baguette-me-not” on a daily basis).

Also, we stole free wi-fi in the comfort of our own apartment for the entire month.  Bam.

27 shows in a row

Expectation
Overkill and insanity

Reality
Had a freaking ball, night after night after night…

Special mention must go to closing night, when we all decided to go a bit bollocking crazy – the pronouncement of a ‘sexy eunuch’ before the madrigal, the utterance of “toots” after Belle’s butt-slap (this had been in the works for the full month), my own alterations involving the stepmother’s hand-mirror and an angry moonwalk from Aladdin, but most hilarious of all: Bella insisting Edward grab her boob in the Twilight sketch.  Corpse-o-rama.

Houses

Expectation
Ooh, I dunno, it’s our first year… they say the average house at the Fringe is 6.  Hopefully we won’t sink below 8.  Every night I fear that we’ll turn around in the opening number and be taunted by that ironical icon, the tumbleweed.

Reality
Average house?  78!!!  That means 2111 people came to our show!!!  Ahhhhaaaaaa!!!

Will people like us in the ‘burgh?

Expectation
I suspect so, but you never know till you go.

Reality
Just for the sake of handy reference (yeah, right):
***** – The Edinburgh Guide
**** – Hairline
**** – The Scotsman (praise aside, this was a beautifully-written review – and so totally got us)
***** – one4review
***** and other cool stuff from Edinburgh Festival Insider 
And a nice write-up from The Groggy Squirrel 

Best of all, though, our audiences clapped and laughed and cheered and talked to us afterwards and came back again.

Twitter

Expectation
Cute and fun idea of Brydie’s that the characters should have their own Twitter accounts.  Might glean us a bit more attention.

Reality
Our supreme Twitter presence (at one point, we were the most Tweeted show at the Fringe) got us on the front cover of Scotland on Sunday‘s ‘Fringe Review’ lift-out – in full-colour, full-page glory!!!  Ahhhhaaaaaa!!!

Flyering on The Royal Mile

Expectation
I’ll probably hate all humanity after this.

Reality
The first week, the sun was shining, punters were excited, performers were excited, everyone felt generous, and it was fun.  But by week three, there’d been enough rain and enough refusals that it was hard not to be at least a teensy bit bitter when somebody blanked you or was needlessly smarmy at you – or handed you a flyer they’d just been given by someone else!  If you don’t want to be flyered, don’t walk down the Mile at Fringe time!

Breathe, Daley, breathe…

Surprisingly, though, the most offensive people in the end weren’t punters, but other flyerers.  You’d expect a camaraderie, no?  And with the more civilised of us, there was.  But scores of others would get in the way, or even interrupt our conversations with punters, in order to accost them with their own shows.  So rude!

Anyone in a crawling tableaux wearing a lycra unitard (‘multi-tards’) is just asking to have their flyers lodged so far up their wahzoos they’d require intricate surgical removal.  Heed this warning for future years.

However.  Just when you thought you couldn’t take anymore, that you really just wanted to go back to Starbucks for a second nanna nap till showtime, someone would tell you that they’d seen the show and loved it.  And with that, you could put your spruiking smile back on again with ease.

Edinburgh ghost tour

Expectation
It’ll be a bit creepier than the last time I did it because this one’s at night.

Reality
Someone threw up and fainted.  It was like The Exorcist.  I don’t want to talk about it.

The Chippendales

Expectation
Greasy, fake-tanned, steroid-infused stripping that we’ll all have to be quite drunk for, but a bonding exercise for us all to go see it together (plus it’s in our venue and, hence, free).

Reality
Firstly, my expectations were fulfilled, except that we were relatively sober – but I’m grateful for this because, whether intentional or not (suspect not), this show was a work of comic genius.

The slow-motion, deeply unco strip to Enrique Iglesias’ I Can Be Your Hero (which we determined – from the military garb, the Statue of Liberty lit up on the backdrop, and the oh-so-subtle American flag boxers - was a tribute to the heroes of 9-11) may be the funniest thing I will ever witness in my life.  The mere thought of it still brings tears to my eyes.  The rest of us should retire.

The Red Hot Chili Peppers concert

Expectation
It’s right in the middle of town, it wasn’t too hard to get tickets, and they were only £18 or so for general admission – amazing!  Most of us are going, we’re all really excited, and having seen them years ago, I know they’ll do a great live show (even if singing is not Anthony Kiedis’ best talent).  I can see us all singing along and moshing and having a great time – one of the highlights of the month.   This will be awesome!

Reality
Turns out we didn’t have The Red Hot Chili Peppers tickets.

We had The Red Hot Chili PIPERS tickets.

Yes, that’s right – PIPERS.  As in, BAGPIPES.  As in, cheesy rock music featuring BAGPIPES.  I write BAGPIPES in caps because a loud, obnoxious ‘instrument’ (a word I use in the least musical sense possible) calls for a loud, obnoxious font.

Do you know what I hate more than BAGPIPES?

Nothing.

So yeah.

French martini anyone?

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All this madness

Tuesday, August 18th, 2009
We pass each other at a bus stop, our hands full of flyers, surrounded by the bemused gazes of civilians.

“This is a surreal moment, isn’t it?” I say to the people carrying novelty boobs made from pilates balls, en route to the Royal Mile.

“Yep,” they reply, nodding at my pink princess gown.  Again.

Having spent the better part of 13 days on cobblestones, dressed as Princess Aurora (aka Sleeping Beauty), procuring Princess Cabaret to strangers from all over the world, surrounded by scores of shouters, stilt-walkers and unitard-wearers (or ‘multi-tards’, if you will) who are also procuring themselves, amid a festival which prides itself on living up to its name, The Fringe – on the edge, out there, sometimes a bit frayed - I have a question burning inside (or that could just be this crappy wine I’ve resorted to).

What drives us to partake in all this madness?

 Image by Trixta Photography

Did we not get enough attention as children and, hence, are now doomed to spend the rest of our lives making up for it?  Or did we get too much attention and were so over-indulged that we can’t help but continue to seek out our fix of the limelight, with our threshold ever-increasing?

While a sensible person would fear an overdose of attention, my greatest fear – and primary motivator, like any addict - is not getting enough.  If I approach someone to tell them about our show and they shun me, I am simply outraged.

To your complete lack of surprise I’m sure, I’ve taken to snide under-the-breath remarks between rejections to get me through the day.

“Yes, please ignore me – that’s why I chose this casual gown today.”

“Clearly, you hate fun”

“Clearly, you have no soul.”

“Clearly, you… don’t speak English?  My bad.”

Then there’s the all-powerful thought that there could be fewer people out there on seats than there are on stage.  That image alone is enough to make you whore your wares with gusto until right before lights up at 5.45pm at the Gilded Balloon every day of the Fringe (I may have said this once or twice in the last fortnight).

I feel blessed that, at the half-way mark, this horrifying image has not materialised for us (yeah, yeah, yeah – *touch wood*).  Mind you, blessings are lovely (just ask the guy Elise and I spruiked today who informed us, without a shred of Blues Brothers-related irony, that he’s on a mission from god), but we’re working our fingers to the arse to that end.

Princesses get rained on tooIt’s both a blessing and a curse that whatever we’re doing is working.  People are coming to the show because of our charming Mile demeanour.  But on the flipside, we have to keep doing it and, ideally, not develop a permanent hatred of humanity in the process.  Being nice is so much hard work!

A more Edinburgh-centric aspect to all of this is the inevitable issue of weather.  We awake and it’s pissing down.  We decide it’s too wet to wear costumes.  We arrive at the Mile and the sun is strong enough to burn.  We put on our costumes and the rain starts again.  After several hours of this, getting on stage is the least stressful event of the day - at least there it’s climate-controlled (albeit a sauna).

A few days ago, at 11am on the Royal Mile it was raining so hard that Smil and I had little choice but to stand mid-torrent and wait.  Were it any other time of year or in any other place in the world, the image would force you to question your sanity – a green fairy and a pink princess standing on deserted cobblestones, huddled under an umbrella that says “I [heart] Scotland” (FYI: not).  But during the fringe, Edinburgh is, by definition a madcap parade in which no corner is safe. Image by Trixta Photography

Out of necessity, we frequent cafes, sandwich shops, and festival bars in full garb.  Between flyering shifts, we have arvo nanna naps in Starbucks and in the park, buy supplies at Boots drug store, order coffee, and catch buses, all dressed as the iconic fairytale characters.  It’s become so ridiculous, we’ve started a photo gallery on Facebook called “Princesses are people too”.

The most bizarre part, though, is when we do go out in ‘civvies’ (talk about a balmy army) and are suddenly not stared at, not photographed like landmarks, and not accosted by children we have to disappoint with the phrase “It’s a grown-ups’ show”.

So while every day teeters on the fringe of sanity, it’s pretty obvious that normalcy is a crashing bore.  ‘Clearly’, all this madness suits us just fine.

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