Words by Brianna Bullen
Question: Do you believe in love?
Bron Batten has spent months in the lead up to Fringe dating across Europe “for research purposes,” and the results are “bleak.” Centuries of evolution and courtship rituals have been swiped left as technology mediates ‘love’ (okay, unexpected flows of oxytocin) through a screen. A bit lazy for thousands of years of evolution, all things considered.
Batten’s entrance is colourful—quite literally, as she walks through the audience decorated in neon glow-sticks, a bizarre lizard/cockatoo hybrid looking for a mate. I appreciate that she’s not afraid to look a bit silly. The lead-in is delightful, as she details her reasons for conceiving the show with painfully hilarious personal anecdotes, roping in an audience member to describe a terrible Tinder date involving sushi and ‘darkest sexual fantasies.’ Batten gives a crash-course in cultural-historical courtship rituals (Austrian apples under armpits? Like warm apple pie indeed) and male animals that procreate at their sexual peril (did you know deep-sea angler fish fusing to females until they become nothing more than a pair of sperm-spouting testicles?). Bit icky, but you just know some of this information is setting up something special for later.
Batten selects her date for the evening from pre-show audience questionnaires given to those who were up for participation. From a full audience, only three women braved the challenge. Within minutes I’m feeling both regret and relief that I didn’t fill out the questions. Bacholerette number one, Hannah, was an absolute gem. Sitting at a table onstage with champagne, Batten picks out questions—famed intimacy psychologist Arthur Aron ‘guarantees’ these thirty-six questions, will cause connection, and Batten hilariously tests this hypothesis. These certainly keep the conversation directed and flowing, despite my initial worries it will stilt the show. “Would you like to be famous?” “Not really. Maybe B-grade famous.” “In what way?” “B-grade as in on-stage in a Fringe theatre show.’ Moving on: “What famous person would you have as a dinner guest?” “Ozzy Osbourne,” Hannah replies, causing Batten to nearly choke on champagne. “I’m not even a fan,” Hannah adds after a beat. I almost choke on my laughter. But this ‘date’ comes to a close after: “I’m having a great time. But I’ll be up-front and say I’m not into girls.”
A new wooer is selected. Bacholerette number two, Rachel, is just as switched on, although it takes her a while to warm up. One game of Twister, beers on the couch, ALDI chocolate (“don’t actually eat that, I need it for the other shows”) and a fold-out bed later, and the pair are hitting it off quite well in this hilariously awkward onstage context. Helped, of course, by the questions hidden in every prop. “Complete this sentence: ‘I wish I had someone with whom I could share …’” “A bed.” “A bed? I was just thinking one of those buckets full of chicken from KFC.” “I’m sorry; I don’t eat birds.” “I’m getting some mixed signals from you,” Batten quips. “I’m sure there are other things in the box.”
It’s fast-paced fun, awkward in its intimacy, and sold through Batten’s wit. Audience participation glues it all together. Batten has crafted a well-paced, well-structured masterpiece, which thrives on spontaneous responses. Consistently hilarious, and surprisingly vulnerable, Batten’s bravery would win over even the most cynical of audience members.
