Axed! (The Rockstars’ Remix) by the Rockstar Storytellers – 4/5

These three storytellers have chops,
and a DJ mixing between stops,
Dave Mondy was scorned,
Rick Reppe forlorn,
and Courtney got killed by some cops.

Concord, Virginia: A Southern Town in Stories by Peter Neofotis – 3.5/5

In a town in old Virgin-I-A
Lived vultures and botanists gay
the writing was clever
and was boring never,
though times, staging got in the way.

My Sinking Ship by Mumble Mumble Productions – 4.5/5

There was an inflatable boat
Within a performer did float
with campy transitions
and few inhibitions
when telling of bats she had smote.

Animal Cracker Genocide by Ben San Del – 4.5/5

there once was a comic named Ben
in humor, a king among men,
at times dorky, then lewd,
not a person who viewed,
will watch golf the same way again.

Pathos, Punchlines and Painkillers by the Nanny Bumpkin – 3/5

there once was a man from Quebec
his love story was quite a trek
his performance was charming
(and smile disarming)
but it felt like an over-worked text.

Squawk by Walking Shadow – 4.5/5

There once was a penguin recruit
Who the army liked ‘cause he was cute.
But then he said fuck it,
I am no one’s  puppet!
My ambition will be resolute!

if you speak penguin, you’d recognize the last three lines as a direct quote from Lt. Faulkland. All other lines translate roughly to “arctic circle, beeyotch.”

The Rise of General Arthur by Maximum Verbosity – 4/5

There once was a camo-clad knight
and a questing beast he tried to fight
like some metaphor
for a misguided war
or something like that, am I right?

I actually don’t know if that’s what Phillip was going for, but I made that connection. And if he wasn’t going for that, well, maybe he shouldn’t have all the mythical creatures have something to do with oil.

Monster by Theatre Pro Rata – 4.5/5

There once was a child named Boyle
Whose actions made others recoil
One man plays 15,
and without any seams,
Like machinery recently oiled.

this review doesn’t really do justice to the creepiness of the show, but such are the compromises you have to make sometimes when you review whole shows in 5 short rhyming lines.

Crescendo by Allegra Lingo – 4/5

Allegra’s a great storyteller,
her prose is rich like Rockafeller,
with a musical score,
you couldn’t want more,
Unless your name is Hellen Keller.

you have to admit, HK really wouldn’t like Allegra’s show very much.

The Gayer Show by The Adventures of Les Kurkendaal and Dan Bernitt – 3.5/5

In fringe there are many shows gay
But one was far gayer than they
Though Les could slow down,
I saw not a frown
From this show, which was so, so, SO gay.

Although, for the record, it could definitely have been gayer. Although, really, any show can always be gayer. Well, except for my idea to act out all of John Waters’ early films as if all parts not played by Divine were played by either Beyonce or Liza Minelli, all done while engaging in gay sex onstage. I plan on calling it “Untitled Duet with Buttplug”.

Winnemucca (Three Days in the Belly) —3/5

There was a town called Winnemucca
For 3 days, there Jonah was stuck-a
The acting was wild
But the script not my style.
But Big Chet was a mean muthafucka.

Death Camp Diaries — 2/5

There once was an agnostic Jew
The death camps, he saw quite a few.
He told of his tour,
I was hoping for more,
And something more personal, too.

Comedy of Errors — 4/5

Two sets of twins parted at sea
Are the subjects of this comedy
The transitions were neat,
The costumes were sweet,
And the cast cracked me up frequently.

GRRL! — 4/5

One thousand years from today,
All but plastic has turned to decay.
Don’t think that it’s dour—
I laughed through the hour,
How great was it? “Quite!” I would say.

Traveling Musicians — 4.5/5

There once was an animal band,
The greatest quartet in the land,
The music was swell,
And dirty as hell,
Now I want a CD in my hand.

(seriously, guys, record that shit.  It was awesome)

Stay tuned for more Fringe Limerick Reviews!

I’ll preface this by saying that if you’re the type of person who hates reading and likes being told what to do, here’s my recommendation:  go see this show and don’t bother reading any further. Also, why are you reading my blog?  Don’t bother answering that, just see the show.

Love Me or Die is a retelling of the turn of the century opera Pagliacci. For those of you who for whatever reason aren’t well-acquainted with late 19th century opera, Pagliacci follows the story of a commedia dell’arte troupe led by a jealous husband and his unfaithful wife (shock!) as they are about to perform in a small village in Italy.  It’s kind of like Noises Off, but with more singing, violence, and Italian people.  Co-writers and directors Laura Lefler-McCabe and Blake E. Bolan have taken this fairly complicated story and further complicated it by switching the gender of the two leads, resulting in some interesting same-sex subplots, and re-set the piece as a touring theatre company (still doing a piece highly influence by commedia, entitled “Love in the Time of Chicken”) traveling to the small town of Inglebrok, where the townsfolk, who serve as the chorus, are completely obsessive in their love of the actors.  The show is staged as an unbelievably high energy piece with a lot of tight movement work.  I was drawn to this show because I have worked with one of the writer/directors before, and know a few of the actors, and because their preview was fantastic.  Also, I have a real soft spot for opera, because I really am that gay.

There’s a lot to love about this show; to be honest, it’s easily one of the most charming and endearing pieces I’ve seen at Fringe.  Much credit is due to Ben Mattson, who wrote the play’s immensely catchy score.  Bolan and Lefler-McCabe deserve praise both as writers and directors:  the script is amazingly clever and modern, while capturing the essence of an opera that’s over a century old.  The Xperimental stage is used better than I can recall seeing it used in any other fringe show I’ve seen there, both this year and last.  The conceit of the chorus is hilarious:  the townsfolk of Inglebrok, as they introduce themselves to us explain that each person in town has their own little quirks, including Cork, who can stop time by clapping–allowing them to provide commentary on the scene happening in front of them.  The energy of the piece is astronomical, facilitated by tight movement work and creative staging. The use of props is, in a word, “adorable.” By the time an hour was up, I was blown away by the density of the plot and that it was all fit into that short hour, without feeling overwhelming or confusing.

There are strong performances from almost everyone in the cast, and each gets their time to shine, but a few stood out to me:  Carl Atiya Swanson, playing Cork (the one who can stop time with his hands), is always enjoyable to watch, filling the stage with a spontaneous, crazed, dorky energy. Before I saw this show, I thought it was impossible to fill a space with energy that was not only spontaneous and crazed, but also dorky–since seeing it, I now believe it is impossible unless you are Carl Atiya Swanson.  Bryan Grosso, playing Thatcher, a member of the touring troupe, does so with subtlety and gives us a very earnest and tragic character in what is, for the most part, a very peppy, perky show (albeit very dark).  The two leads, played by Joe Song and Anna Carol, must be commended for their breathtaking voices:  both characters’ solos are outstanding, although my favorite was Anna’s, the rewriting of the only aria from Pagliacci I recognize/know anything about, Vesti La Giubba (Put on the Costume).

The show is not, by any means, perfect.  Perhaps the most major problem I had with it is that the chorus, in several songs, especially their first, were hard to understand.  In addition, I felt that Joe Song, while astounding in his songs, seemed to be a bit uncomfortable in scenes.   Neither of these things, nor any other minor gripes I might have had with this show, kept it from being a spectacular show that was well-written,  brilliantly performed, and beautifully sewn together.

Final verdict: this is my favorite show that I’ve seen at Fringe this year, and I doubt that’s going to change.  See it.  SEE IT.

I’ve been lucky enough to have seen Katherine Glover perform in several different venues, doing storytelling and poetry.  She always impresses me with her sharp, smart writing, her delightfully bawdy sense of humor, and her grounded, conversational performance style. Glover is one of my favorite solo performers in the twin cities; I’ve yet to see anything of hers I didn’t like.

A Cynic Tells Love Stories is a step above anything I’ve seen of her before.  It is divided into four chapters, “the Hopeless Romantic,” “the Cynic,” “the Slut,” and “the Wife.”  “The Hopeless Romantic” starts out with familiar territory for her:  tales of romance, love and loss from her travels abroad and her past.  It features heavily her signature sense of irony and wit, with a healthy dose of honesty and self-criticism artfully woven into the stories.  Of particular note is the story of Lana, where she subtly tells us of her unrequited crush on a friend from high school, deflected by consistently claiming that she doesn’t go after straight girls, and the mix of emotion that followed when she found out the friend was dating a woman.  In “the Cynic,” Glover describes her decision to pursue sexual relationships without emotional attachment, and her eventual realization of the fact that she was hurting those around her, with the poigniant line, “I never thought anyone could care enough about me that I could hurt them.”

It’s in the second half of the show, however, that Glover really excels.  In “the Slut,” she gives us insightful stories of how sluttiness has little to do with how many people you sleep with, recounting her nickname in college, “Katherine, who gets too much ass,” which was applied at a time when she was not, in fact, sexually active.  She tells us of how she came to enjoy the name, and felt a certain power from being a slut, and being able to be sexually active and empowered.  Discussing her bisexuality, Glover drops the amazing line, “I’m so tired of the stereotype that bisexual means the same thing as slutty.  They’re different, and I happen to be both.” And yet, once again, while talking of sexual experiences, she lets her storytelling reveal a deep dissatisfaction, preparing us for the final chapter, “the Wife.”

“The Wife” is the reason this piece feels so different from what I’ve seen of Katherine’s work.  She recounts her short marriage to a man who she loved dearly, but whose paranoia and mental illness gradually caused him to look on his wife’s sexual history with contempt and disdain.  Glover walks us slowly and carefully through the first time they met, up through their divorce, in a segment as deep and emotionally honest as anything I’ve seen onstage in a long, long time.  Without this segment, this show would be good; with it, it’s spectacular.

One of the reasons the last segment works so well is because of the incredibly conversational, informal style that Glover uses onstage.  If it were overly presentational, or stylized, both things which can work very, very well for certain performers and pieces, it would not carry the same emotive resonance.  The way she performs this piece makes you feel like she could be talking to you personally, you quickly start to relate each story to your own experience in a deep way.

I was also impressed with Glover’s physicality and use of the space.  Augsburg is a large stage with a wide, spread-out seating arrangement–both things that can make it very hard to perform a personal, intimate storytelling show.  However, she travels the space and uses the limited props she brings with her onstage in a way that helps establish a seperate space for each of her stories.  In the great storyteller war of music stand vs no music stand, she comes down in the middle, choosing to use the music stand at strategic points in the performance, especially in the final segment, where it accentuates the massive change of tone and content.  She integrates physical comedy into a number of her bits in ways that are campy and fun.

The final verdict: see it.  This show is exactly what a storytelling show should be–well written, well performed, well directed, an intimate, personal look at the performer’s life that is entertaining, relatable, and enriching.

I’ll start by stating that Joe and Sara Scrimshaw are both wonderfully talented performers who can command an audiences’ attention well, and they’ve put together a very entertaining show with Mansion of Dust.  The husband and wife duo plays competing European cleaners:  a haughty, disdainful French butler and a upbeat Swedish maid.  When I saw their preview at the first Fringe-for-All, my immediate thought was, “that was great–but is it really going to be an entire hour of them dusting in accents?”  Luckily, it was not–the plot quickly turns from their one-upsmanship to a ghost story centered around messages received through a haunted typewriter.  As they try to piece together the mystery and make sense of the cryptic messages, we are led through some clever and witty dialogue, and several choreographed dance scenes.

The Scrimshaws’ characters are very well put-together and performed.  Joseph’s butler is delightlfully snide, playing well off Sara’s chipper maid.  Their comic timing is spot-on, and there are some killer lines in the script, such as “I am French, we never surrender!.. we compromise,” or the follow-up on that, when later asked if he can play an onstage drum kit, exclaiming, “Of course!  I am French! I can do anything.”  Sara’s part acts in the script mostly as a foil to Joe’s character, but she plays it well.  The show exhibits Sara’s dancing skills well, she has several long dance solos.  In addition, there’s one backed by some impressive drumming by Joeseph.  Oh, and a vicious bunny attack, which everyone likes.

So why only 3.5/5?  Well, as entertaining as it is to see these two perform onstage–and it is entertaining–the show came off to me as a strong concept that never really fully formed itself into a play.  The characters are both stock, which at times makes the show feel very predictable and the plot sometimes seem forced, especially towards the end of the show.  Moreover, some of the dance sequences were poorly integrated into the rest of the show, such as one moment where the introduction to said dance is, effectively, ‘I am very superstitious, I must dance now.’  I have to admit, this is one of my own pet peeves–I’ve seen dance used in plays to great effect, but often times, there is a situation like parts of this show, where it feels like two different things are going on, and it gives the performance a very disjointed feel.  Overall, the total effect, for me, was that while I was entertained by the show, it left me unfulfilled at the end.

The end verdict: this is a great piece of entertainment by two great entertainers.  However, it doesn’t carry an audience in a meaningful way through the piece.  I’d highly recommend seeing it with kids, it’s a great show for children.  For adults, it’s definitely enjoyable, and if you have the time to see it, you won’t be dissapointed–but I wouldn’t put it on my “do not miss this show” list.

Welcome to eat.sleep.theatre, a new theatre blog started by Ben Egerman! I’m a writer/director/actor/etc living in Minneapolis, working at Bedlam Theatre on the West Bank. The reason I’ve started this blog is to highlight some of the incredible shows I go to, perhaps occasionally pan a piece or two, and generally, engage myself (and hopefully you) in thinking critically about the work I see.  I’m starting with the Fringe Festival, which is a wonderful opportunity to see a lot of great shows,  a lot of not-so-great shows, well, a lot of shows in general.

A quick note on the title: I think that a lot of people, especially during Fringe season, can identify with the sentiment that theatre pretty much sucks up all your life.  Due to the fact that I work during the day at a theatre, then have my own rehearsals  generally going on at night, I feel that a lot.  Hence, the title.  It’s a great problem to have.

One more note, on the subtitle: you may have noticed that I am quite proudly asserting that eat.sleep.theatre is not, and never will be, written by robots.  I just want to clear something up–I’m not saying that any other reviewers ARE robots, I’m just saying that I’m not.  And that I don’t know, maybe they are.  Who would you trust–a friendly human reviewer, or a robot who wants only to trick you so that it can eat your human eyes for sustenance? Thought so.

Oh, and that picture?  That’s me, from a show I recently put on with Questionable Company Theatre, called Panda Sandwich Sketch Comedy.