Ozstar Airlines .


Saturday 18th March


Some fun to finish this journey with! I hadn’t planned to see this event, but stumbled on it as I wandered around the Garden of Unearthly Delights on the final Saturday night of the Festival. I didn’t want all this to end and felt the need to be part of these dying moments of the Fringe. Standing outside the famous Spiegeltent I was drawn to the ridiculous exaggerated laughter of Stacey and Tracey from Ozstar Airlines. They were dressed in flight attendant's uniforms, wearing headset microphones and talking about turbulence and in-flight entertainment. What were they doing with Hula Hoops?

These two girls were circus performers. I’m not really sure about the flight attendant link, but their uniforms reduced during the show to sparkly shorts and tops as they juggled, danced and hula hooped their way into the crowd's hearts. Their sophisticated sound system, consisting of an iPod and some speakers, together with their pronounced Australian accents and bawdy humour endeared them to the swelling crowd. Some of their acts were polished and others, well you wondered if they had ever attempted them before. They improvised beautifully, incorporating a small child into their act, and deftly guiding him back to his caregiver when it became dangerous for him to be on their ‘stage’.

Their most charming moment came at the end of their show as they performed an amazing feat of Stacey standing on Tracey’s shoulders, twirling six hula hoops around her midriff, then somehow getting the hoops to separate and move along various parts of her body. Poor Tracey on the bottom looked somewhat dishevelled at the punishment but smiled through gritted teeth the whole way through. The dismount was not the most elegant manoeuvre I had ever seen, but hilarious.

After this act, who could deny them some coins in their oversized sacks with giant dollar signs printed on the side in sparkling gold. And that is what this performance was, Pure Gold.

An Unfortunate Woman .


Saturday 18th March


This was a surprise performance. I hadn’t really heard anything about it but the flyer caught my attention. The actor in the picture, Nicola Gunn, looked interesting, animated and mischievous. It was a matinee performance and not very busy. The start was delayed slightly and a woman in the queue was becoming very annoyed, saying that there was no excuse for lateness. I wondered what it was that was so important for her to be this upset at a ten minute delay.

The Promethean Theatre was a quaint old place with vinyl chairs and wooden armrests, and the stage was bare except for a chair. The sole performer entered via the rear door, in character as a simple minded clerk from the Registry of Births and Deaths. She was carrying an old fashioned suitcase and looking around her full of wonder and very happy. Once on stage she became another character, a psychiatrist, who sat down and read a letter, then climbed on a chair to hang himself. Confused? Yes, me too, but here the action went into rewind mode and we began to understand how this scene came about.

The mine in this performance was so skilfully performed that I could ‘see’ the objects being manipulated. I understood that the bread was pushed down into the toaster, then popped up and made the character jump, ever so slightly so as hardly to be noticeable, but enough to make me believe. When the housekeeper climbed the stairs it looked so real I could hardly believe that there were no stairs there. The miming skills of this performer were better than any I had seen before. She told the story with very little dialogue and only a chair and a suitcase. I marvelled afterwards at how I had understood what I had seen through mime and very little else.

The story told the tale of a young boy, Hubert, adored by his father Henry yet resented by his mother Clara. As the story unfolds we discovered that he was born as a result of Clara having had an affair. Henry was unaware of this and loved him as his own. We were shown flashbacks of events in Hubert’s childhood where his father had supported him but his mother had not. We eventually found out that Henry had taken him ice skating as a child and had fallen through the ice and drowned. Clara openly blamed the boy for this and he carried this blame throughout his whole life. Clara refuses to accept her husband was dead and lived for 42 years believing him still to be living with her. On receiving an invitation from Clara, inviting him to a party, at his ‘father’s’ request only as she thinks he ‘always ruins everything’, Hubert committed suicide. Hubert’s wife had just left him and the invitation was the last straw.

The integrated tale of a clerk, Stanley, in the Births and Deaths Registry concluded with him realising there was more to life than work and finally taking a holiday, which took the audience back to where the performance began.

The whole performance was very complex, but expertly told through mime. The lighting was used effectively to help us distinguish the scene changes, and particularly so during the climax where the action jumped between Stanley’s new positive life direction and Hubert’s desperate tragic final act. Nicola’s facial expressions were beautifully exaggerated to leave no doubt how the characters were feeling and what message they were trying to deliver. Her use of voice, albeit minimal, was clear and precise, with fantastic use of tone, pitch and volume to develop the characters into believable people.

The Bogus Woman .


Saturday 18th March


This was one of the most moving performances I have ever seem. It brought me to tears, literally, and I can’t tell you the last time that has happened. The flyer describes the performance as “…a powerful, passionate…”. Yes. The Independent reads “Kay Adshead’s angry stripped-down script bleeds humanity…”powerful words describing an equally powerful performance.

Sarah Niles’ portrayal of an asylum seeking African in England in 1997 is nothing short of breathtaking. She broke my heart. She finished to a standing ovation and I got the impression that this wasn’t her first. I marvelled at how this woman could give this performance each day during the Festival and still have something of herself left. They say good soccer players leave nothing on the field, well this woman left nothing on the stage.

The audience consisted of about 250 people, with only a couple of seats empty. This was a matinee performance and I believe most, if not all, of the evening performances were sold out. It wasn’t possible to define the crowd as anything in particular. There were all ages and both genders represented. The theatre itself was something of a surprise. It was an old warehouse prettied up for the occasion. Queens’ Theatre??? I wonder if She would be happy about this. Hardly glamorous. The chairs were attached to scaffolding, old rusty iron walls were masked by black plastic, as was the gap between the top of the walls and the roof. The shiny lighting units were attached to old wooden girders with flaking or non-existent paint, the contrast obvious, and strange giant white fibre balls of light hung from the same girders, looking very out of place. Was this all to set the mood for the show I wondered. Probably just a sign of the desperate need for theatre space in Adelaide during a Festival of such great proportions.

The show began with a single woman on stage. The only props were a bag and a bench. Apart from the sounds of aeroplanes landing and taking off, I was unaware of any other background noise throughout the performance except for the tribal music that played when the actor, in character as the African asylum seeker, reminisced about her homeland, and dreamed of the better place that her family had gone to.

The woman claimed that she had fled her country in fear of her life after she had written a controversial article in a local paper. At one point in the play she described how her house had been invaded and each member of her family, her mother, father, sister, husband and baby, were brutally murdered. She then claimed that she had been raped by all three of the attackers. She wasn’t believed. The authorities had heard it all before, and after 8 months of moving her from detention centre to detention centre, she was returned to her country.

During this time she was accused of being involved in an uprising and witnessed violent attacks on other inmates. At one point she was granted temporary admission on the grounds that she reside a specified address for six months. She was not allowed to work during this time and she took the audience through the financial hardship she experienced. When she was evicted after five months, any chance of her being granted permanent residency was shattered. She was reduced to prostitution to try to survive before being picked up and charged with absconding.

The performance concluded with one of the English customs officers summing up how the woman had been deported. She had been protected by some friends on her arrival, moving from safe house to safe house. However three months after returning to her country she had been found shot dead.

As the standing ovation died down, people began to leave. I could not move. I just stared forward, my friend looking equally stunned. The people next to me wanted to leave and we were blocking their exit. Reluctantly we got out of their way and left the theatre. We walked three blocks before speaking to each other and even then it was very little. I have never seen a performance that left me feeling so stripped of my emotions, so raw, so bare.

Fully Committed .


Friday 17th March


This show was on quite late, and the uni grounds were more deserted than I would have liked, but I am glad I got to see this performance. This audience was hard to define. No obvious age group and mixed gender, with the theatre probably two thirds full. This was a one man show performed by Rob Macpherson, playing an out of work actor taking phone reservations at an expensive restaurant in Manhattan. The only props on stage were a computer, a red ‘car’ phone, an intercom system, a desk and chair and a coffee machine. It was interesting to note that both the computer and the coffee machine appeared to be switched on and in use rather than just dummy props. I wondered why that would be.

The pace was frantic, stressful to watch, yet exhilarating. The talent of this man was amazing. Never was there a time when the audience couldn’t ‘see’ who he was portraying. I asked myself how me managed this. He utilised voice of course, but it was so much more than that. His facial gestures, his mannerisms, the tone, pitch and strength of his voice and of course the wacky accents all contributed to our belief that we were actually watching many different characters. The use of a special ‘car’ phone for calls from The Chef, and intercom for discussions with the in house staff and a regular phone or headset for outside calls helped to clarify all this in the early stages, but became unnecessary as we began to get to know the character’s voices and mannerisms.

Sam started the performance as a downtrodden individual, letting people walk all over him. The eccentric ‘Chef’ got him to clean out the ladies toilets when no-one else was available, then kept referring back to him doing it during the show to demonstrate his power over him. His ‘friend’, a fellow out of work actor, kept calling him to tell him that he got a call back for an audition for a part that Sam had tried out for too, knowing Sam didn’t get called back. He patronised him by insincerely telling him how sure he is that Sam will still get a call back. His agent didn’t have time for him as she was too busy dealing with her bigger or more successful clients. His brother tried to push responsibility for entertaining their father on Christmas day onto him, and his co-worker betrayed him by pretending his car had broken down when really he was going for an interview for another job, leaving Sam to look after the phones alone. The customers talked down to him and tried to push him around and the kitchen forgot about sending up his lunch.

But in the classic style of someone being pushed too far, Sam took it all for only so long and finally fought back. He used a customer to get in favour with the stage director of The Lincoln Centre, which won him the part he so badly wanted. This, inturn, changed his influence with his agent, and gave him the opportunity to ‘bite back’ on his ‘friends’ answering machine. The Maitre d’ begged him to perform in the restaurant for an important customer and Sam kept him hanging on just long enough to profit handsomely from the arrangement. The discovery of the betrayal of his co-worker, and subsequent threats to tell the boss, allowed him to swap shifts on Christmas day so he could be with his father, and finally he stood up to the egomaniacal chef and told him one of his dishes was only ‘okay, not his best’. This changed the power balance between them as the chef could not cope with Sam telling him this.

Sam left the stage at the end of the show walking on sunshine and whistling a song. He had deftly taken control of his life and how people treat him. It was a very clever performance both in the skill of the actor and the direction of the performance. I left the theatre with a feeling of justice having been done.

The Fringe Family Day .


Monday 13th March


This seemed like it would be a bit of fun for my children, so we hopped on the bus and headed for town. Was this event popular! And it certainly was a ‘Family Day’. Prams, prams and more prams. Into the back of the ankle, pushing their way through the crowds, blocking exits and entry points of just about every booth and walkway. Queues and queues of them in front of every food and drink stall. Ahhhhhhh! Clearly I’m ‘over’ those pram days.

Perhaps it could have been planned a bit better, or maybe they didn’t anticipate how popular it was going to be, but ‘fun’ it wasn’t. They had organised craft workshops for the children. I would have thought the ‘free’ bit would have given them a hint of how many children would want a go at these. They had arranged a 3m x 3m gazebo for each activity, under which were squeezed 3 or 4 tables and about 30 children trying to make a puppet, candles, clay drums or kites. We waited in line, in the full sun, for about 20 minutes before realising we hadn’t moved forward an inch, and gave up. Even the ‘fun balloon animal’ line blurred into the distance. I think if they were going to offer a free family day on a public holiday they needed to assume there were going to be a lot of people.

They had organised a large shade tent in front of the stage, but this was packed, standing room only. The performances that we saw consisted of the children who had attended the dancing and drumming workshops performing with the artists. The audience became very restless as much time was taken up arranging and rearranging the children, removing screaming children suffering from stage fright, and desperately trying to get the audience to participate in some way. Those parents with ‘stars’ on the stage seemed slightly more tolerant than the majority of the fan waving, water guzzling crowd sweating under the shade tent.

We decided that perhaps this wasn’t for us and wandered over to Sideshow Paradiso, complete with ‘Tiny Top’ and ‘Odditorium – Sideshow and Freakshow’. I have always hated circus’s and Freakshows, and felt bad that I was displaying my prejudices for my children, but when the giant roving puppets appeared, I think they developed some of their own. The puppets were about 4 metres tall, with faces made out of stocking fabric and old smelly clothes. My daughter commented on the cobwebs and dust covering them. How the people inside these exaggerated puppets were able to see where they were going, I’m not sure, but they knew when to bend over to avoid the power cables strung up between the trees. The small children around us were petrified. They screamed and cried and clung to their parents, but still the puppets chased them, dangling their long dusty fingers through their victim’s hair and over their faces. I didn’t understand why they didn’t respond to these children and leave them alone, but perhaps this was the reaction they were looking for.

By this stage we had had enough and decided to leave. We had to push our way past crowds of people watching the buskers in Rundle Road, blocked off for the event. The crowds were just too deep for my children to be able to see what was happening, and by now they wanted to leave. When I read this back I feel sad that what could have been a great day, turned sour due to lack of space, resources or planning. Maybe next time they can charge a small fee to cover the costs to make this event a truly Fun Family Day.

Elbowskin presents…Comedy Gondola .


Friday 17th March


Who can resist free tickets to a show, especially when they are offered to you by an eager, excited comedian looking at you with pleading eyes, desperate for an audience? I still can’t get over people’s indifference to these performers offering free entertainment and having to almost beg for an audience. We’ve seen all the big names on television, why not try something new? Who knows what you might discover.

Unfortunately, this offering wasn’t going to be a huge discovery, not yet anyway. It was a structured show rather than ‘stand-up’ comedy, but they still tried for audience participation. Tonight’s 18 audience members weren’t going to make it easy for them, despite the performers telling us on numerous occasions what a great audience we were and so much better than last night’s. The audience were mostly 20-30 something females (I think there were 4 males amongst us).

They used a video screen behind the stage throughout their show. It delivered their introduction, showing the two performers sitting in a Gondola musing why they had called the show ‘Comedy Gondola’. They couldn’t come up with any ideas, but suggested it was too late to change the name now. We were then treated to a puff of smoke to create the mood and the performers arrived.

They sang songs, played their guitars and tried very hard to entertain us. They did have a few clever moments and were generally very appealing. They genuinely apologised to a girl in the front row for shocking her with some of their song lyrics and again told us what a great audience we were, but it was clear that these two guys had really wanted to make it as musicians, deciding to try their luck at comedy instead.

They even tried to make us laugh by singing in German, it was much funnier than the English version they sung first. Shapelle Corby entertained us in the breaks, depicted by a shadow puppet of a Balinese woman on the screen, smoking, shooting up and snorting drugs. The puppet jiggled frantically, went out of focus and danced around looking very mellow. This really got the audience giggling, they wanted to laugh, they tried really hard to be entertained.

With some better quality material, these guys could really be entertaining. They had appealing stage presence and sung and played guitar very well. The use of the video was cleverly integrated into their act, especially the ‘music video’ clip to one of their songs.

Womad .


Friday 10th March


It was a warm evening, and I was very excited about attending Womad 2006. If I had had the chance I would have spent my whole weekend here, but finances dictated that Friday evening was all that I was going to attend. I was envious of the people with the ‘all weekend’ wristbands. My red ‘Friday evening only’ one looked sad next to theirs, but I was here and it was 4.30 and I had until midnight. I couldn’t wait!

As I entered the gate, it was like going through a ‘time warp’ or perhaps that should be ‘culture warp’. No ‘Billabong’ or ‘Roxy’ labels here. Everyone was in comfortable, gaily coloured, batiked, tie-dyed or flamboyant clothes, we were anti-nuclear, ‘saving the whales’, ‘saving the rainforests’, boycotting MacDonalds, and declaring ‘Make Poverty History”! These were people who cared about the things that matter, they weren’t being driven by fashion or trends. They were ready to listen to some great alternative music, move their bodies and have some fun. Their outlook was global.

I was surrounded by booths selling wristbands for every cause imaginable, and stalls selling kaftans, belly dancing sashes, happy pants, anti-sweatshop shoes, amazing musical instruments from far off places, things that jingled, things that sparkled, and food from all over the planet. No one was dragging you in to their stall. People were free to wander around, buy if you want. The absence of high pressure selling notable.

A stroll in the other direction led to a ‘healing village’. The massive trees in Botanic Park were decorated with gorgeous lanterns hanging from the branches, lighting the foliage from within, creating a feel of magical calm. It was like a dream.


And then there was the music. I could stay forever and never hear enough. The styles were contrasting yet complimenty to each other. We began with Jalsa Creole, performing their style of ‘Sega’ music originating in Mauritius. Their costumes were vibrant and colourful, their rhythms were addictive. Everyone was up dancing. The girls in the audience were encouraged to ‘shake their bottoms’ like the dancers and shake them they did. From children to ‘Grandmothers’ they were moving to the rhythms. They were feeling the music. It was powerful to watch these people becoming part of the performance.


Some refreshment and it was Sharon Shannon and Friends. The Celtic sounds of Sharon, Jim Murray, Michael McGoldrick and Dezi Donnelly were hypnotic and enchanting. The audience were mesmerised and once again up and moving with the sounds. Darkness was around us now and the various stages where like lit beacons across the park, drawing the revellers towards them, and the entrancing music emanating from them.


Paul Kelly and the Storm Water Boys were performing next on the main stage and what a crowd they drew. Perhaps it was because the crowd was swelling as the evening drew on but everyone around me were enjoying the music. Some tried to stay seated on their beach chairs but the rest of the audience weren’t interested in standing still and soon everyone was on their feet moving to the music. A giant ‘Dancing Sky’ style balloon moved overhead with a girl suspended below. She was dressed in sparkling, belly dancing style clothes and spinning and twirling full of energy and fun. As she dipped towards the crowd, people reached up to her. Her balloon was lit from inside and the glow shone on the dancing girl’s face revealing her brilliant smile. The crowd’s attention to the spectacle was only momentarily drawn from the rhythms pounding out from Paul Kelly and his band. They were called back for an encore, delaying the start for the next performers, waiting patiently on the adjoining stage.


This was to be the highlight of my evening. The wonderful Reggae sounds of Joe Camilleri and Nicky Bomba and The Limestone Project. The crowd throbbed to the enthralling sound of the giant congas, Joe’s Sax and Nicky’s lead guitar. What an amazing sound. I cast my view over the crowd. A middle aged man was clapping out the beat next to his right ear. He was in a world of his own, he was oblivious to others in the crowd. An older lady in a sarong was dancing on her own stage in front of me. She was the main attraction, she was the star, yet she was all alone, she was performing only for herself. Her willingness to let everything go and express her feelings was one of the most powerful images I have of this magical evening.


After this breathtaking performance, we headed off for a drink, but didn’t get too far before we were drawn back by the thunderous sound of the Dohl Foundation. This group of musicians from India and the UK play large, double ended wooden dhol drums. The sound was huge and echoed around the entire Botanic Park. What an amazing sound. I spun on my heel and couldn’t resist being drawn towards them. I could feel the beat inside by body. The throbbing passing through me. To be so close to this sound was captivating and I didn’t want to leave.

The crowd around me as I left were discussing what they would see tomorrow and I was envious of them. But I guess there is always next year. Maybe the ‘leave ‘em wanting more’ feeling enhances the experience.

Nick Sun…..hmmm… .


Wednesday 8th March



Nick Sun’s performance was very raw. I’m not sure if he was ‘in character’ or if this was what he is like in real life, but here was a very angry young man. He bounced between being indifferent to the audience, to ‘grovelling’ for attention/affection. He didn’t want to need anyone, but clearly did. He seemed to be displaying signs of depression, asking what is there to life. He seemed critical and intolerant of others he disliked yet freely admitted his need for acceptance from the audience.

His persona didn’t seem to have much of a life to talk about. I imagined him spending his days lounging on a couch in front of the television. I tried to understand what it was about him that created this image. The image he portrayed was that of a dishevelled young man, down on his luck financially, yet lacking motivation to do anything about it. I was really curious to know if this was ‘the real him’. He talked about only being able to afford half a sandwich and staying in backpacker style shared accommodation which made me ask myself why is he doing this, he doesn’t seem to be enjoying it much.

The flyers for his show caught my attention, and after seeing him perform added another dimension to this man. The front shows a picture of him sleeping/eyes closed. You can see his ‘wild’ hair and the word ‘hmmm…’ is displayed across the top. I heard a radio interview with another comedian who was asked about the name of their show. The performer replied that they have to submit a name months before the festival and are stuck with that name, it can’t be changed. I wonder what Nick Sun was thinking when they asked him – ‘hmmm…’

His flyer also shows a (bad) photocopy of a review with most of the words blacked out so it just reads:

“….he’s…..wild…..Nick Sun has…..success…..There’s really good…..material…..fluency and audience management…..mature…..He’s game…….Try it…”

and extra ‘stars’ are glued messily next to the original stars awarded in the review. On the back are favourable comments/quotes, yet a closer look has them supposedly said by ‘Nick Sun’. I found the flyer very clever and appealing. It made me want to see this show.

I didn’t find him very funny, but others in the room did. He didn’t use the audience much. He seemed intent on delivering his tirade of injustices, or indifference to situations he finds himself in, with a ‘what’s the point of caring’ attitude that I found sad and lonely.

Daniel Townes and that..! .


Wednesday 8th March


I chose this show from browsing the flyer table at the FringeTix Box Office in Fringe Alley, bought tickets, then was surprised when I was offered free entry from the comedian himself out on Rundle Street. I was taken aback to see the guy pictured on my flyer in the street looking for an audience. To me performers are these ‘untouchable people’ on stage who you don’t normally come in contact with in real life. Perhaps I need to ‘get out more’.

The free entry included the show before so I was already at the venue before Daniel Townes’ show. We had been seated at tiny wooden chairs in front of the stage for the previous performance, at their request, to help them feel like they had an audience, and now moved back to the comfy couches for Daniel’s show as his audience was considerably larger. This, of course, was fodder for the comedian and at once we knew that we were here to be poked fun at.

He used the audience for his entire show, unlike the previous comedians who appeared to have prepared their performances. Was this due to his apparent greater experience/success or just his style? I don’t know as I had not seen any of them before. The bigger crowd probably also helped with his engagement with the audience. There was one lady at the back of the room that laughed at absolutely anything he said which would have helped him considerably I imagine. There was never any ‘dead air’.

The audience was predominantly younger, 20’s and 30’s, and very keen to join in. Two girls in the front hung off his every word and kept interrupting his performance by chatting to him. I had never seen anything like this before. Another large, semi-intoxicated man was sprawled over one of the couches lounge room style and seemed very comfortable taking mobile phone calls throughout the performance. Daniel tried to include this brazen behaviour into his performance but I think the man was a little too far gone to be co-operative. It didn’t have a bit impact on the performance though, just a bit annoying.

At the end of the show, Daniel had hit a bit of a lull with a joke not even the groupies found funny and began searching for something he could use to go out with a bang. Obviously, this was an important way to finish a performance – ‘leave ‘em laughing’.

Fables, Chuckles and a Bohemian Dragon .


Wednesday 8th March



“Want free tickets to a show?”
“Yeah why not? Thanks”

This was how I chose to see this show. It promised it was “Showcasing the hottest new talents in stand up comedy!” How could I refuse? The free tickets also included entry to the show I had just bought tickets to only minutes before, so I didn’t feel as guilty accepting free entry to the other show. I recognised the comedian handing out the tickets as the guy on the flyer of the show we had planned to see, and wondered if the likes of Jimoen or Dave Hughes would be out on the streets almost begging people to come and see them. I think not. Ahh…to be famous. I suppose the famous were here once.

Arriving at the venue, I entered the building and there wasn’t a soul in sight. Did I have the right place? Right time? As my eyes adjusted to the gloom I saw someone directing me to a spiral staircase. It was so dark I had trouble making my way up the stairs and found my self at the top looking at an equally deserted room with couches around the walls and tables and chairs in the middle. Where were all the people? Anyone? Hello…Someone appeared behind the empty bar and asked my group to take a seat. Settling on one of the couches we waited for the rest of the audience to arrive, and a few minutes later they did, both of them. This was such a weird sensation. An audience of five people. I felt conspicuous. This was going to be stand up comedy. With only five people to direct the jokes at, I began to think this was going to be very uncomfortable.

We were introduced to the first comedian, Tommy Dassalo, and asked if we wouldn’t mind moving to the tables and chairs in the front so the comedians felt like they had an audience. This request didn’t seem unreasonable so we moved, just as a few more groups of people arrived and took our couches. Wow, we were eleven now, and a bit miffed at losing the comfy couches to the late comers. Tommy was really struggling to make us laugh. He was very young and didn’t appear to be able to improvise that well, but the flyer for the show said he was “Raw Comedy Runner up 2005” so maybe he was having an off night. I felt somewhat relieved when his time was up as his non-connection with the audience was uncomfortable.

Enter Justin Lodge. I have not laughed so much in a long time. Obviously this guy was delivering my kind of humour. He poked fun at us and I didn’t mind, he poked fun at others in the room and they didn’t mind and he poked fun at himself and he was hilarious. He delivered his humour with a sense of innocence and light heartedness, without the smut I’ve come to expect with the average stand up comedian. We were told that he had a 'Bohemian Dragon' backstage, hence the name of the show, but funnily we never got to see it. He linked the end of his performance with the topic he began with generating a sense of coming full circle and completeness, and left us laughing. I felt this guy deserved his own show and an audience much larger than the one he was playing to.

The final comedian entertained and engaged the audience, which was beginning to swell now due to the next performance scheduled at the venue. He returned to the smut and sexual innuendo common to stand up performances but was funny and entertaining. Perhaps the larger crowd helped him to engage the audience and I began to feel a bit sorry for the first guy, with such a small, un-warmed up crowd to work to. This brought my thoughts back to the flyer and his previous accolades and made me wish he would come back now for another go. We discussed this amongst our group and wondered if these three comedians took turns going first or if Tommy just happened to draw the short straw when they planned the show. Then I thought about the famous comedians who don’t have to hand out free tickets to their show and wondered if they ever had to ‘go first’. It seems a tough way to earn a buck, but then I don’t think that is what drives these people. They seem to crave the attention of an audience.

Il Cielo che Danza – The Dancing Sky .


Saturday 4th March


“…dancers appear from the heavens, emerge from the river and traverse the parkland, some suspended by Baroque, hand-painted, helium-filled spheres, some clothed in dazzling crinolines, some racing skyward along the river banks. A beautiful lightshow accompanied by exquisite music captivates audiences as performers spin and dance above their heads with flying ships, dizzy skywalks and material and ethereal icons floating across the sky.”

This was the Dancing Sky. A spectacle never seen before over Adelaide. We had seen the like of it at the opening ceremony to the Turino 2006 Winter Olympics, but to watch it happening over your head was quite an experience. Where were the safety nets?!!! Was it real? Where had all these people come from. Surely they were all here last night at the opening. Adelaide is too small to support a crowd this size for two nights in a row. Then there is tomorrow night, what will happen then? Everyone was excited, anticipating something different, something new. They were waiting to be impressed. I’m not sure they all got what they wanted. One man to my left stood up at the end and said “Bloody awful, terrible!”. I don’t think he did. The small children were looking around, seeing things the adults didn’t. They were too busy focussing on the river and the cables strung across above us.

The performance was preceded by the ringing bells from the cathedrals and began with the traditional Kaurna welcome and an introduction from Mike Rann. All around me were crying babies and crunching chips. I heard voices around me speaking different languages, German, something that sounded Danish or Swedish and others lost in the crowd. There was a multicultural feel and I felt that there were perhaps many visitors to Adelaide in the audience.

I was intrigued by the house shapes lanterns floating around, then noticed the house on the river and people floating, flying above. The dramatic music drew my attention away from the annoying conversation going on behind me and towards the smoke coming from the house on the river. The crowd were waiting for something to happen, waiting. The anticipation was building, they were restless, when the house collapsed to reveal a piano. There were gasps as another piano with a ballerina atop floated across the sky. The stage was in the sky, a huge arena arching above us. More complaints about the poor view from behind, but it was happening above us, I didn’t understand why they were complaining!!!

The translucent bubbles being pulled along the river by blackened speedboats intrigued me as well, the dancer’s silhouette just visible inside as they tumbled and rolled around. Fascinating as this was it seemed to go on a little too long, as if the dancers were waiting out the end of the piece of music. There was only so much tumbling they could do inside the bubbles.

As music from Swan Lake played, filling the air with sound, swan ballerinas appeared, suspended from cables strung taunt between cranes. The ballerinas moved effortlessly, flying, swimming as if in water, floating, free. Their shadows were projected onto the roof of the Festival Theatre, but then the crowd were becoming restless again. Only so much tumbling they could do, free yes, but restricted in their scope of movement.

More red smoke, then a child behind me calls out “Look, jellyfish!!!!” According to the story, these were street lights, but they did look quite a lot like jellyfish. Unfortunately the child’s caregiver felt the need to suppress this enthusiasm and correct the child, informing them that they were street lights. Is this how the wonder of childhood is converted to the staidness of adulthood?

Giant women in huge dresses floated past on the ground. These bizarre characters filled me with fear as I was taken back to a fairground experience in my childhood. I was happy when they left. People on bicycles appeared from everywhere. On the ground, overhead, frantically flying along to “The ride of the Valkyries” Then the ‘planets’ arrived. Huge illuminated balls suspended from the cables accompanied by women in long flowing dresses. The balls were beautifully decorated, some with baroque paintings, some resembling planets with craters or raging storms. Two balls were suspended together with a dancer in between and I found myself concerned for her well being, that she might be crushed between them. As the performance progressed she appeared to be having fun knocking them away as they came near. The dancer’s shadows were reflected on the balls, enhancing the illusion of them floating freely.

There were eight balls in total floating above the river, but the ball that gained the most attention was the one suspended over the crowd. How was this ball held up, there didn’t appear to be any cables over the crowd. The suspended dancer was spinning and twirling and reaching down to the crowd who eagerly reached back up to her. The ball dipped her towards the crowd and everyone was captivated. How was this happening? I finally worked out how as I saw the tethers being held by two people walking through the crowd, but the illusion of the dancer freely floating was captivating.

The music was classical and the feel was somewhat ‘old fashioned’ yet delivered as a contemporary performance with respect to the illusions being created and the unique style of the arena/stage above us. These ideas seemed, to me, to conflict and created a confusing performance. I had trouble following the story as I found my attention constantly drawn back to the spectacle overhead, but I am not sure that the accompanying story was hugely important to the enjoyment of this incredible sight.

‘The Good Body’ by Eve Ensler .


Friday 3rd March


“Eve Ensler takes an inside look at the outside, exploring the cultures of beauty, food and desire” Adelaide Fringe 06 Official Guide

The setting was intimate. Strange mirrors on the back wall. By the end of the show I was able to recognise body shapes in the mirror pieces, but this hadn’t been obvious to me at the start. I had noted that it was probably a permanent structure and nothing to do with the show. The audience consisted mainly of females in their 30’s or older, some accompanied by a male partner, but mostly in ‘girls night out’ groups. Everyone was chatting, enthusiastically greeting new arrivals into their groups. They were ready to be entertained.

The front of the room was decorated with a couch, an exercise ball and various other seats, a white towel and a red scarf. The audience were very close to the couch and so I assumed it would be an interactive performance, with comment sought from audience members, but I was wrong.

Eve Ensler, played by Leah Purcell, entered as the lights dimmed. When the light came back on, she was sitting on the couch reading from a diary or journal. I was a bit disappointed at this time because I thought she was going to read the whole performance. Again, wrong!

She introduced her performance by way of the diary and at once I felt empathy with her desire to be ‘good’, but finding herself more in touch with her ‘badness’. Her obsession with parts of her body she didn’t like was oh so familiar, both in myself and the majority of the female population. Funny it isn’t apparent in men, but maybe I am not in tune with the messages men put out about their body image. Unless they are very overweight, they appear to have better things to worry about. Certainly society seems to put much less pressure on men to ‘conform’ to an ideal body shape. Or is it women who put this pressure on themselves? With the audience predominantly female, I felt a silent ‘Yes! That’s me!’ around the room.

Her despair was apparent in her failure to change her shape with one diet after the other. She longed for guilt free bread. What a humble symbol this represented. One of the most basic ancient foods of life, denied to her by her obsession to conform and be considered attractive both inwardly by others. She had the attention of all the women in the room, they were mesmerised.

As she moved between the different characters, she made use of the minimal props to define some aspect of that character. Towel around the neck of a gym junkie, over her head hood style for the New Yorker, head scarf, sarong, sari, wrapped around her hips South American style to name a few. Her ability to portray the character using this simple method was ingenious, but would have worked equally well without the props due to her fantastic characterisations. These were augmented with background music suited to each character or situation.

There were some loud noises from outside the theatre at one point, but no one seemed to notice, their attention was focused on Leah. This, however, waned as the performance went one. At about the halfway mark, the audience were starting to wriggle about a bit and become restless. One man got up and left, perhaps the call of the UniBar outside the door was too great. Moments later, no doubt encouraged by the first deserter, 3 more men left, leaving their partners to enjoy the show.

She discussed the impact negative body image had on the life of some of the characters, and tried to define its origins. One character’s mother was obsessed with her own ‘perfect’ body and was constantly disappointed in her daughter. Another character’s father’s disapproval led the character to promiscuity and stealing. Another resorting to body piercings and provocative clothes to gain the attention she so craved, but was denied, as she didn’t ‘conform’. “Piercings make you appear complicated” declared this character.

Then we came to ‘The Botox Lady’. This character effected me the most. She was scary, powerful, commanding attention, everyone was locked onto that face. The effect of the facial expressions and powerful voice was electrifying! She spoke fast, demanding, determined, she was angry at what she had been denied - the right to be herself. She had had enough of conforming, “trying to do everything, be everything to everyone”, yet by ‘botoxing’ she was creating a mask of conformity. Behind that mask though was someone who rejoiced in the fact that no one knew what she was thinking, she could finally be herself and everyone better watch out!

My favourite character, besides the bizarre appeal of the Botox Lady, was the wonderful calmness present in the African woman, with her ‘back to nature’ feel. She discussed the contrast between Africans and Americans. Africans are desperate for food, whereas Americans will either eat everything or nothing. They see their bodies as pictures whereas Africans see their bodies as a tool. Africans live in their bodies, love their bodies, celebrate everything their bodies are. She asked Eve to compare two trees, how can you say one is prettier than another? You’ve got to love your tree.

Her boyfriend could not cope with her insecurities and left. She was unable to do anything about it, declaring that “the programming runs too deep”. I can really understand how she feels. I can also see how her boyfriend would not be able to appreciate how powerful that programming is if he had never been exposed to it, especially the way most woman are from childhood.

At one point in the performance she appeared to be staring right at me, lingering for a fraction longer than I would expect. Was she now going to include the audience, was I going to be the first victim? Was she going to ask me to highlight my own figure flaws? Panic, fear rose up in me, and then the gaze move on. Yes, I am programmed too.

As she finished there were many audience members who watched her leave as if she had delivered them from the shackles of conformity. Others were looking forlorn. Perhaps they thought she was going to provide some answers, the recipe for a magic potion. I believe in some she did, but not the answer to how to conform, but the strength to accept and celebrate who we are.

Lost Babylon .


Friday 3rd March


On the 3rd of March, I had the privilege of being part of the audience of Takeshi Kawamura’s “The Lost Babylon”. I had read a review printed in the Adelaide Advertiser describing the performance as “depicting a theme park where idle well-off youth play virtual killing games. Disenfranchised youth are employed to play the targets of these wealthy game players. Kawamura was inspired to write the play by observing society’s increasing trouble discerning between reality and fantasy.”

I was excited about being one of the first people to view this performance. As I was helping out ushering at this session, I was able to view the pre-performance arrangements, with people rushing around putting the finishing touches to the auditorium. The audience entered with looks of curiosity and anticipation on their faces. The start had been delayed by about half an hour so they were keen for the performance to begin.

I felt the excitement rise in me as the stage was filled with smoke, lit orange by light coming from grills on the floor. The unfortunate ‘targets’ were standing over these grills, lit from below, generating an eerie atmosphere. The actors where conversing with a video ‘big boss’ character displayed across the back wall, interviewing them about their job. He was wearing an eye patch and surrounded by cigar/cigarette smoke, creating a very ‘cloak and dagger’ feel to the scene. The use of the video, with occasional distorted transmission, made the character seem ‘untouchable’ with a sense of ‘power-over’. I felt very sorry and sad for their desperate situations – poor, homeless, older, no family, illegal immigrants, alone. At the time I noted that they represented a group of people that had been let down, dismissed, prejudiced against, rejected by society.

The scene changed to a screenwriter and an action movie director who were working on a movie about the theme park. These characters had previously been in a relationship and throughout the performance, we are shown aspects of this relationship and traumas suffered by the screenwriter. It becomes apparent that due to her relationship with the director, she had been assaulted, but ‘invented’ a sister to project her suffering onto rather than dealing with it herself. Through this we are exposed to her sister’s ‘ghost’. I was initially unaware that this character was not real as she is seen her through the screenwriter’s eyes. As I became aware that she wasn’t real, it generated a feeling of realisation with bits of the puzzle started to fall into place. My mind was racing ahead, making assumptions about what was happening, and what had happened in the past, based on this new information. I found it a very powerful moment as things became clearer.

The director had been kept in the dark somewhat about the nature of the theme park and the movie they were going to make. He asked if it was going to be a prehistoric theme park, and is told he is close. Was this suggesting a sense of ‘uncivilised’? Is this why the play is called ‘The Lost Babylon’ as Babylon was considered the epitome of ‘civilised’?

Certainly the wealthy clients were frantic in their lust for killing, taking out their revenge on society and anyone they could blame for anything bad that had happened in their lives. Their hunger progressed the more they killed, wanting more realistic ‘deaths’, automatic weapons and hostages, glorifying their kills. All the while they were justifying their actions as ‘it’s okay because it’s only a game’. In the real world, they are ‘good citizens’. They do however feel there is a need to be prepared, ‘just in case’ they need these killing skills in the real world.

Upon discovering that they were acquainted with one of the ‘targets’, one of the clients begins to generate a class distinction between himself and the less fortunate, rejecting his peers plea’s to let the target become one of them. At this point, the people playing the targets begin to fight back, robbed of their rights, sick of the abuse, the breaking of rules and the attempts to ‘put them in their place’. Gone is their compassion also, with one of them tricking a client into releasing him, then turning on her, telling her how stupid she was for freeing him. All bets are off, everyone is running scared. Now there are real bullets out there and no-one can distinguish them from the blanks. There was off screen action involving more violence. The characters on stage viewed it via security cameras, but didn’t know where the images were coming from and were distressed at being unable to rescue those being harmed. This medium created a sense of being inside a large compound, and I felt the characters helplessness and fear.

They blame their exposure to violent movies. They have been taught through this medium how to exist on the streets, they aren’t prepared to take responsibility, they say society has forced them to defend themselves.

I was fascinated by one scene where the director and screenwriter were arguing about the script. The screenwriter was developing the action by typing the dialogue into a computer. To the left of the stage we saw a convicted killer discussing with his analyst why he killed, acting out what the screenwriter was writing as she was typing. The screenwriter wanted the killer to understand it was his exposure to violent movies, the director wanted him to blame his mother for leaving his father. The director jumped in and typed it the way he wanted it to happen and the actors acted out his version, the two writers now swapping back and forth changing how the actors perform. I loved how the actors changed from one script to the other, halting as the writers swapped places. It was a fantastic effect, brilliant!

However, the final scene was the most intriguing part of the performance. I came out confused. Why did the analyst tell the killer, now dressed in army greens, that he could choose any weapon he wanted, it was okay?

I discussed this with one of my peers, who also attended the performance, for most of the afternoon, trying to find an interpretation that would fit the original idea that society was having trouble discerning between fantasy and reality, right and wrong. The message I have taken from the last scene is that society is appalled by the violent actions of street gangs yet says it’s okay in movies because it’s ‘not real’. So where does the violence of war fit in with our sense of right and wrong? How does it now become okay to ‘shoot to kill’ in the real world if it happens within a war zone?

Post Script:

Wow, what a moving performance. I was buzzing for days, thinking about it, analysing what I had seen. Changing my views and ideas about how I had originally interpreted aspects of the play. Some I spoke to didn’t like it. Others ‘didn’t get it’. How do I know if I ‘got it’? I do know I was moved by the experience, and I think everyone takes something different away from every performance. Surely your life experiences will determine how you react to something as confronting as this.