Andrew’s Reviews
LESBIHONEST
If you’ve been to more than one Fringe show in your life, then the odds are high that you’ve been to Petit Campus. I don’t like this venue necessarily, but it’s got charm, and I’ve seen a LOT of great shows here, and made some GREAT friends in the space. Sure, it smells like an old bowling alley, but it’s got a decent stage, quality tech, and if you fill the audience, that room fucking crackles. LESBIHONEST’s description reads, “Queer performer Laura Piccinin recounts a lifetime of coming outs in a tell-all comedic stand-up story hour.” This is the most apt description for what Laura brought to the stage, a memoir of a journey of understanding. Understanding one’s self, understanding our identities, and our place in the world.
Laura Piccinin came out swinging. I mean, the moment she stepped on that stage, she had absolute control. The audience was not large by any means. This was a comedy performance at 1:30PM on a Saturday, and while everyone was excited and engaged, they were sober (for the most part) and in the middle of their busy Fringe days, which is a far cry from a typical stand-up comedy crowd. This did not slow Laura’s momentum at all. As she embarked on her tale, she took every ounce of energy the crowd was giving her with gratitude and used that to fill the room. While the space was ⅓ full, Laura had me convinced it was a sold-out audience and everyone was LIT. She carried on with the clever wit of an expert comedian, and a command over the stage like a veteran theatre actor. While the set was non-existent, simply a microphone stand centre stage, Laura took time to create the scenes for us, to use the space and fill our imaginations, as we accompanied her on her journey.
“Lesbians aren’t damaged straight girls,” she tells us with a massive, toothy smile. This, among numerous other quotes I took down, demonstrates Laura’s abilities as a storyteller, taking us from hilarious moments quickly into sentimentality and vulnerability. With amusing tales about coming out (again and again), anecdotes of dating failures, and encounters with generally awful people, Laura keeps the audience close by then offering us some of her true fears and insecurities. She is a force, and her confidence is unmatched. I left Petit Campus knowing I’d just witnessed a very special show, created by a very talented human being, and I felt genuinely inspired. Thank you, Laura.
Once Upon A Time, And Never Again… An Improvised Fairytale
On Thursday evening, after squeezing in a quick Fringe Park session, I walked up St. Laurent to La Ministere to catch the opening night of Once Upon A Time And Never Again… An Improvised Fairytale, presented by Priddy Playful Productions. As a venue for music, this is one of the best. And yet, as a venue for improvised comedy, this was surprisingly ideal. I chose to sit at the bar, as I do, and immediately noticed there was not a bad seat in the room. Excited, eager voices were carried softly through the room among the audience seated cabaret-style. The stage set was minimal, three chairs at the centre, some props stage right, and a beautiful banner stood stage left, with the title of the show, Once Upon A Time And Never Again. In promotional information, this show is described as such: “Using an audience suggestion, the talented cast of improvisers will recreate a well-known fairytale right in front of your eyes... with a twist! This show is 100% improvised which means no performance will be the same, so you can come back time and time again.”
The show begins, and the lighting shifts. The massive benefit of the technical capabilities of this venue becomes immediately apparent. Soft greens and purples wash over the stage as one of the cast members, holding a large storybook, begins the tale. Appropriately, being part of FringeMTL and obviously attracting people less familiar with improv, our narrator quickly outlines the participation needed from the audience to help the story come to life. After some suggestions, the cast chooses Hansel and Gretel, and they’re off. A few introductory scenes introduce us to the cast of characters, as well as the members of the troupe itself, all appearing to be very comfortable and capable within this storytelling format.
As the story builds its first act, I notice how engaged, and amused, the audience are. Of course, due to the participatory nature at the top of the show, people feel more invested in what they’re watching. But that level of focus can also be attributed to the performers themselves. Clever and witty while avoiding the rambling absurdity often found in improvised storytelling, the cast were incredibly inventive, weaving a detailed and engaging narrative. Without an overuse of costumes and props, each performer was able to convey, with clarity, both their character and their objective, never allowing the audience to get lost in the plot. Ultimately, it was a cohesive and hilarious retelling of Hansel and Gretel, received very well by the audience.
The best part of Once Upon A Time And Never Again is every show will be different, every show is another adventure, you’ll never catch the same thing twice. That’s not an easy feat to pull off, but after such a successful opening night, I have faith that Priddy Playful Productions will be spoken about often during this year’s festival.
Sadec 1965: A Love Story
I hadn’t been to O Patros Vys in a few years, and when I walked up the steps to the venue above Bílý Kůň I was pleased to find it much as I’d left it. The small stage on the right, the bar to the left. The audience had already begun to assemble on the chairs in front of the stage as I made myself comfortable at a table behind them. Billed as “Motorcycle Diaries” meets “Eat, Pray, Love”, Sadec 1965 tells the story of a woman’s journey riding a motorcycle across Vietnam in search of herself, and her father’s origins. It’s a deeply personal story about understanding, forgiveness, and love, shared with us by the creator, Flora Le. There have been times I’ve felt the stage at O Patros Vys was too small for a band, but for a one-woman show, the space was nearly ideal. Aside from an amp and some monitors, only a black stool with a glass of water on top stood on the stage.
From the start, the lighting was dim, a soft orange glow. Flora Le took the stage wearing leather pants and a brown jacket, immediately mounting an invisible motorcycle, placing the (literal) vehicle for the story front and centre. The story contained multiple threads, which Flora wove together into a rich tapestry. At once, she’s talking to a friend about her upcoming trip, while at another moment she’s on her bike, overwhelmed by the traffic in Hanoi. As the story progressed, the lighting would cleverly change to muted blues, greens and purples to indicate a shift in the story, a different scene. Flora was alone onstage for 70 minutes, which is no small feat, but the well-written script was a solid and trustworthy foundation capable of maintaining audience engagement. Taking into account this being her first full-length production, Flora’s text is confident and capable, effortlessly demonstrating her storytelling abilities.
Unfortunately, for someone with a soft and gentle voice like Flora Le, O Patros Vys is a difficult venue. She is subtle, but dynamic, retaining the audience’s attention throughout the entire story. (I do recommend sitting closer to the stage.) While much of the piece was stand-and-deliver, Flora’s vulnerable, not-entirely-linear storytelling kept everyone in attendance rapt until she skillfully brought the story to a sad, yet hopeful, end.
HYPERSENSIBLE
Having been to La Ministere the previous night, I was excited to return, this time for a one-woman performance called HYPERSENSIBLE. This is described as an intimate solo performance about what it means to live with Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD), starring Sabrina Auclair, a writer, actor, director, and multidisciplinary performer. As someone with Bipolar Disorder, and a Swiss Army Artist myself, I thought this show might be my favorite of this year’s festival. There was a comfortable white wash over the stage. A microphone stand was downstage centre, with a music stand next to it. At the back of the stage were two black milk crates, filled with soon-to-be-seen props. The show began with a grinding electronic soundtrack with elements of industrial noise. Sabrina entered from a door off-stage, wearing a spiky gold mask, transparent plastic, and caution tape wrapped around her body. Her movements added to the discomfort of the opening moments, disorienting the audience (in a beautiful way). Once she took the stage, Sabrina removed the costume, and the show began with her dragging her milk crates of props to the centre of the stage while introducing herself.
A simultaneously fortunate and unfortunate side effect of Fringe festivals everywhere, really any multi-venue festival, is sometimes shows and performances are placed in a venue that may not provide enough space or tech support. Alternatively, some productions find themselves in venues where the space and tech are more than the performance warrants. This was evident only so much as the action rarely left the comfort of centre stage, creating a considerable void around the performer. Thankfully, the lighting at La Ministere is excellent, helping to fill the stage where the story couldn’t.
I was told that Sabrina was multi-talented, and I wasn’t disappointed. The piece is a 40 minute monologue recounting her mental health experience from diagnosis to the present, with clever and meaningful moments of miming, dance, and poetry used to add texture to this deeply personal memoir. Being a french show in a predominantly english festival is difficult on the best days. The anglo audience betrayed themselves when they were called upon to interact with the piece. Passing around a basket of paper, Sabrina encouraged the audience to ask her questions about her mental health (or anything, really). Noticing that her audience was majority anglo, she switched to english quickly to convey a few important parts of the story that may have been lost in translation. I don’t consider myself to be fluently bilingual, and I was concerned going into HYPERSENSIBLE that I might miss some of the import of the story, but I can assure every english speaking Fringe goer that Sabrina Auclair’s telling of her story transcends any single language.
How To Take A Shower
This piece should contain multiple content warnings, including graphic sexual content. It does not, and I found myself wanting to leave within the first five minutes as a middle-aged man ran his hands all over his body, slowly, moaning into a microphone.
As a queer artist, I am all-in on making the audience uncomfortable. However, I can not, in good faith, review How To Take A Shower. The piece was unfinished, unprepared, and the overall experience was unprofessional, to say the least possible.
