What would you expect from a Fringe musical in which two Catholic choir girls find meaning in life in the form of David Bowie? Obviously nothing that takes itself too seriously. In that sense, Bel Canto Bowie delivers much more than expected. Although it is often beautiful musically, the show emphasises its deficiencies over its proficiencies.

As the title implies, Bel Canto Bowie presents bel canto re-workings of David Bowie’s music. It’s exactly the kind of nostalgic stylistic fusion that feels at home in La Bohème. Writer-directors and performers, Natalie Oliveri and Adriana Sturman have beautiful, well-trained voices. Even with only a piano for accompaniment their renditions of old favourites are soaring and enjoyable.

These songs are framed by a flippant, lightly didactic tale in which the choirgirls learn that classical music and 70’s pop are both valuable styles. The fact that Oliveri and Sturman thought it necessary to qualify their synthesis, however, gives the impression that they have doubts as to its value. Of course, the audience already know the value of both styles. After all, they bought tickets to a show called Bel Canto Bowie. As such, the moral of the story seems more for the benefit of the performers then their crowd.

If the plot serves to offset flaws apparent to the artists, then its delivery serves to offset flaws apparent to everyone. The ridiculous acting seems like an indirect apology by the actors for their self-consciousness. Remember the kid in your high-school drama class­­ who, when forced to actually be on stage, played their performance off as a joke so as to distance themselves from any embarrassment? The performances in Bel Canto Bowie are reminiscent of that. The jokes are juvenile, their delivery over the top, and after a time the cast start to relish in this.

Somehow, this spiral of self-consciousness translates into joy. What’s more, it is received with uproarious laughter.  Everything, from the trash devil getting his coat caught on the piano-stool to the perplexingly staged audience intervention, has the La Bohème crowd on the edge of gleeful tears.

Bel Canto Bowie may not be a well-constructed piece of musical theatre. Self-consciousness may not be certain to translate into comedy. But for some reason the audience seem to like it. Regardless, the music is entertaining and the laughs are cheap, if you can get them half price.

Bel Canto Bowie, La Bohème, Mar 5 to Mar 16

As a stunningly high cheek-boned, sinewy blonde walks on stage, dressed in an Adam Ant jacket and ladies trousers, immediately this is like no circus show that I’ve seen this Fringe. This is Idris Stanton, and he is your host for this evening of jaw-dropping feats of human strength, elegance and agility. With his flat Victorian drawl and eye-lined lids, he is reminiscent of Tim Minchin or Guy Pearce in Priscilla, and he has the comedic timing and easy rapport with the crowd to back up those lofty comparisons.

Soon we meet the rest of the cast of Papillon, a show all about transformation; and over this night of debauchery, looks certainly can be deceiving.  These performers completely understand the need for misdirection and surprise that good circus demands and, as a result, Papillon is chock full of gorgeous, scary and hilarious moments.

Take, for example, the pair of women who come on stage resplendent in navy leotards fit for the Russian Olympic ice-skating team. Accompanied by lilting instrumental music, the smaller girl begins to ascend the larger with astonishingly moving ease; at one point even standing on her head. Or, there’s the gorgeous topless strongman whose cheeky antics (dressed as a lion, chased by his out-of-work tamer) are complemented by his grace as he balances, stretched sideways and single handed, on two poles. Musical interludes are provided by the cute-as-a-button Mimi Andrews, belting out pop arrangements and giving the audience a good giggle.

The second half of the show takes on a more dangerous, exhilarating tone, and certainly pushes the boundaries of what modern circus can be. An impressive baton juggling display is conducted by Idris and the ‘strong woman’ from the first act; the fact that they swap in and out of tossing the same batons is remarkable enough, but then they resume with a few extra batons and proceed to switch clothes as well. Subverting the traditional gender expectations of circus is a clear goal for these performers, and I for one appreciated their fresh take. The audience is on the edge of their seats as the acts become more and more perilous – this is circus at its raw, edgy best.

Their run might be sold out for this Fringe, but make a concerted effort to see the next production that Highwire Entertainment bring to town – it is certain not to disappoint.

Papillon, Gluttony – The Peacock, Feb 28 to Mar 15

This is the only true theatre show I saw this Fringe, and if I only got to see one, boy am I glad it was this! A Special Day is everything that fantastic theatre should be: inventive, captivating and thought-provoking.

From the very start of this performance, you enter into a contract with the actors on stage to “pretend we are Italians…in 1938”. It is surprising that this candidness heightens rather than diminishes the experience of the audience – a magical world appears in front of your eyes, and you are complicit in making it happen. It does help that Ana Graham and Antonio Vega are masters of their craft; breathing life into each of the objects and characters that they conjure, their energy and focus are the beating heart of this show that discusses social, political and emotional issues with equal depth.

The staging of this performance is integral to its success: a desk, two chairs and a smattering of other household furniture are enclosed by three walls that are daubed in chalkboard paint. Carrying a piece of chalk on them at all times, the actors can create a lamp, a phone, a window against the blank walls; furnishing their apartments in the audience’s mind much more vividly than could be achieved with more tangible props. The two main characters live in opposite apartment blocks, but A Special Day eschews traditional boundaries and has both acting in the same space, as if their apartments were superimposed upon each other. It sounds like this would be a stretch for the audience but again, this innovative technique works exceptionally well, thanks to the commitment of the actors.

Not only is this performance wonderfully executed, but it deals with issues that still resonate loudly today: loneliness, social exclusion and the dynamics of power. Although it is set in Fascist Rome, the persecution that faces each of our main characters could very well apply in the present day. A chance encounter brings them together to form a tender, heartfelt relationship over the course of a single day, and through this bond they come to gain insights into themselves and each other. By focusing on the mundanities of life, we are told that life goes on, in spite of the political upheavals that happen around us. After all, is Fascism a “political regime or a state of mind”?

If you only see one theatre show this Fringe, do as I did and make it this one. You won’t be disappointed.

A Special Day, Holden Street Theatres – The Arch, Feb 13 to Mar 16

Reviewed by Annie Waters

As ‘Fox’ and ‘Lark’ appear on stage and climb into their nest (elegantly constructed from paper mâché twigs), it is apparent that this is not your average tits and tunes cabaret. These two women are here to strum pleasantly on their ukuleles about the inanities of life.

The opening number, ‘Sometimes’, sets the tone for the show, with a back-and-forth dialogue constructed in which the pair admit to occasional faults (“Sometimes I pee in the shower…c’mon, doesn’t everybody?”). Blessed with equally powerful voices, Juliet Moody and Catherine Crowley compliment each other well, harmonising joyously in this indie girl power delight. With quirky humour and obvious chemistry, they sing a dozen original songs as a variety of characters; each one funny, but with a more serious undertone musing about what it is to live today, especially as a woman. Ranging from the lovesick desperation of Sarah from Accounting (who moons over ‘Brian Taylor’) to the respect and admiration shown for ‘Mothers’, these are two worldly women who are sharing their experiences openly and warmly.

The origin of their unusual name is derived from the hardy nature of the sparrow, as they explain in ‘A woman is like a teabag’ (…“if you put her in hot water, she gets stronger). From the trivial to the political, this duo addresses the audience with refreshing wit; while they may talk about adult issues, this show is so far from smutty as to be laughable. Even their risqué finale, ‘Naughty nuts’, had the audience in stitches as they gently sent up pop-erotica (imagine that Robin Thicke music video) with class.

Funny, intelligent and sweetly sexy, Sparrow-Folk are one pair of birds that will warm your heart and gently make you think.

Sparrow-Folk – Nested Confessions, The Producers Bar, 4 Mar to 16 Mar

Reviewed by Annie Waters

This is a one-woman show about unrequited love…and unrequited death. Lucy Gransbury’s debauched Dorothy Parker is gearing up for one hell of a last night on earth, and you’re invited.

With her acid wit and believable New York drawl, Gransbury launches immediately into her grizzly subject matter – that is, the imminent suicide of her morbidly depressed character, Dorothy. In a resonant alto voice, she croons original songs in early 20^th century style, all absolutely fixated on the banality of life and the toxic allure of death. Based on the life of a real writer, renowned in the 1920s for her acerbic sense of humour and black poetry, Dorothy Parker comes to life again (the last thing she would have wanted!) in the tiny Angaston Chapel.

Despite the rather depressing themes of the show, Gransbury manages to keep the crowd ticking along with quick asides and well-timed audience participation. Her insidious glares couple nicely with her sardonic one-liners (“Life isn’t plain terrible. Life is fancy terrible.”) and it is easy to see that Gransbury is very at home inside this gloomy character. By far the highlight of the night is her vicious dissection of a ‘Winnie the Pooh’ story, as she strips all the fun from the child’s tale and reveals its inanities. For me, this summed up her character perfectly: a woman who could find no joy in a story that is meant to appeal to the child within us all.

After several healthy measures of gin, we begin to get to the bottom of Dorothy’s despair. At this point in the evening, the mood becomes more sombre, as the audience begins to realise that there is real pain behind the flippancy with which death is dealt in this show. Singing a cover of ‘That’s all’, made famous by Nat King Cole in the 50s, Dorothy brings tears to the eyes of many in the house. Perhaps her crazed death-wish begins to seem not so crazy to some.

You know what they say, third time lucky; but does Dorothy succeed in her quest to hear those “three little words…RIP”? You’ll have to get along and see.

Dorothy Parker’s Sweet Release of Death, Angaston’s Old Union Chapel, Mar 6 to Mar 8

Reviewed by Alex Sutcliffe

Contrary to how it would seem, life in western Sydney goes on after the election. Beyond Bidwill sets out to raise awareness about the lives of young people in one of the area’s most impoverished suburbs. The documentary follows a group of teenage boys on a pilgrimage of sorts through the Tasmanian wilderness. This amateur, though heart-warming, coming-of-age film ultimately aims to spread a message of charity.

The production is sometimes sloppy; the footage has, unashamedly, been edited on iMovie. Moreover, the soundtrack seems to have little in the way of a unifying theme. Electro-pop is hardly a fitting genre to express the profound beauty of Tasmania’s peaks. Despite this, many of the shots do capture this beauty. Considering that young director, Josh Wyatt, was working under difficult conditions this is particularly admirable.

The lack of production values can perhaps be overlooked, as the artistic component in the filming of Beyond Bidwill was secondary to giving the featured young men a life altering experience. The film was produced, above all, to raise awareness for the work of the BidwillUnitingChurch. To this end, the learning curve of each young man becomes core to the film. Their growth is a testament to Bidwill Uniting’s cause. The other major success of the film is the genuine jocularity of the boys. Their unyielding humour provides a voice of laughter and hope for the youth of Bidwill.

This focus on young men is the most pressing problem with praising Beyond Bidwill’s cause. There is no discussion of any equivalent programme, or lack there of, for young women in the area. Obviously, lack of funding for such a programme is systematic and so cannot be ascribed to Wyatt.  However, this is still a saddening absence from a documentary that aims to promote awareness.

Beyond Bidwill may have a number of flaws that could be ironed out, but the people and the wilderness it portrays give it purpose. Despite its deficiencies as a piece of film, it does manage to capture humour, beauty and spiritual growth.

Beyond Bidwill, Experience Cafe, Mar 12 to Mar 15

Reviewed by Annie Waters

These guys are weird; really, really weird. If you don’t think you can handle two extremely weird guys, don’t bother reading on; this show is not for you. Still here? Well then, let me elucidate. Adelaide duo Gravity Boots have put together a show that completely eludes classification.

Beginning with camp fireside torchlight shining up into the faces of two overcoat clad men, this act seems to (loosely) take the structure of a Brothers Grimm anthology. The two performers, Michael Cleggett and James Lloyd-Smith, inhabit a diverse mix of characters; from lascivious, scheming spiders to two soft-toy teddy inmates on Death Row discussing dessert and execution across their cell wall via rat phones.

I’m not sure whether Can You Believe We’re in a Forest? is supposed to amuse or disconcert. It does both, in about equal measure; I spent most of the show with my mouth agape, a confused (and at times, horrified) look upon my face, punctuated by bursts of incredulous laughter. For the duration of the performance, you climb inside the minds of two abundantly abnormal gentlemen and rattle around in there for a bit, trawling for the most esoteric references, influences and ideas that you can find. Fans of Garth Marenghi’s Dark Place and The Mighty Boosh will froth over these guys and their macabre brand of bizarre comedy; but honestly, it’s like nothing you’ve ever seen before.

With minimal props and basic costumes that resemble calico versions of boys pyjamas, the actors flit through seven or eight sketches, each of which creeps further from reality than the last. The writing is clearly intelligent, and at times the audience is scrambling to keep up. There seems to be an obsession with the feminine, as well as death and the fate of our souls – but this heavy subject matter does not detract from the bizarre hilarity of the show. Rather, we see that the intellect behind this performance is highly attuned to the balance between the truly absurd and the merely inconsistent that marks this show in a class apart. I laughed a lot and came out feeling pretty strange myself.

This show is surreal as all hell and probably a little bit more besides. Go along and see it if you think you can cope.

Gravity Boots: Can You Believe We’re in a Forest?, Tuxedo Cat @Raj House, 14 Feb to 16 Mar

Reviewed by Sarah Gates

The Coffee Pot is a small, captivating venue. Audience members climb a rickety wooden staircase to emerge into a bar, the design of which is preserved from its operation in the 80s and 90s. After being cordoned off with red tape for years, Cassandra Tombs and Bryan Lynagh (responsible for award winning Fringe venue, Tuxedo Cat) have taken over the nostalgic space above James Place to put on intimate theatre.

Venue staff gather the audience from oversized booths and small stools, leading them up another staircase and into a room no bigger than your average bedroom. The space is filled by a desk covered in K.A. Appelgate’s book series, Animorphs, and related paraphernalia. In a one man show, Simon Binns reminisces about his love of the children’s novels and relates stories of his nerdy childhood. He muses upon whether later discovering that his favourite character might have been an offensive racial stereotype, or that many of the 54 books were ghost-written, detracted from his enjoyment of Animorphs.

This show is best for a niche audience, those who grew up reading Animorphs. Much of the enjoyment of Binns’ anecdotes comes from thinking and feeling the same things over the years. For those that loved the books, you will love the show too.

However, even if you didn’t read them, Binns’ gradual transformation into a rabbit is worth going for. The end result is brilliant and unexpected. When he claims he will prove his ability to morph, most reasonable people will doubt his promise. But Binns combines the art of comedy and clever theatre to produce an astounding transformation, to conclude a show about childhood, naivety, imagination, and nostalgia.

Woodcourt: Animorphed, The Coffee Pot, Feb 15 to Mar 8

Reviewed by Alex Sutcliffe

The Helpmann Academy Graduate Exhibition and the Fringe both celebrate Adelaide’s art scene. However, where the Fringe revels in everything from amateur to established acts, the Helpmann has a singular, important aim: to showcase emerging visual artists. The works presented deliver formally and conceptually, and highlight the potential of Adelaide’s fledgling artists.

The Helpmann is comprised of select works by students graduating from Adelaide Central School of Art, Adelaide College of the Arts and UniSA. Presenting works from three very different institutions as a unified exhibition would be inherently difficult, but the Helpmann is not about curatorial continuity. Instead, it exists to shine a spotlight upon Adelaide’s emerging artists. Viewing the exhibition as a series of individual works proves much more rewarding than supposing a cohesive journey.

As it is an exhibition of students’ work, many of the pieces draw heavily from the styles or ideas of established artists, but this is a necessary by-product of an artist’s formative experience. In their own right, most of the works are both visually and intellectually pleasing. The installations and sculptural pieces prove noteworthy; John Blines’s ‘The Impossibility of Perception’ being especially striking.

There is one piece that draws this (inevitably disparate) exhibition together: Cheryl Hutchens’s installation ‘The Inside is the Outside: Alimentary Canal’. A vivid red thread running from the ceiling to the floor in the centre of the room, it provides the Helpmann with an identity and a focal point – fitting, as the work explores the role of the body in determining one’s identity.

Even without this work the Helpmann Academy Graduate Exhibition 2014 would still function as intended. It aims to showcase Adelaide’s emerging artists and, in this respect, the lack of a common theme is positive. The concerns of the artists here range from the environment, to identity, to the practise of art itself. From this alone the future of South Australian art looks exciting.

Helpmann Academy Graduate Exhibition 2014, Drill Hall, Torrens Parade Grounds, Victoria Drive, Feb 14 to Mar 16

Reviewed by Annie Waters

Stuart Bowden is a man with very impressive eyebrows and a vast, and sometimes disturbing, imagination. This one-man show features a range of characters who deal with love, loss, new beginnings and the nature of humanity.

Beginning on stage, conspicuously dressed in a white sheet, Bowden shuffles forward, singing eerily and playing a repetitive tune on a tiny, barely concealed keyboard. Awkward chuckles grow into out-and-out laughter as he loses the sheet and starts prancing absurdly around the small stage, working his eyebrows and the crowd with considerable aplomb. The laughs continue as he begins to outline the setting for the show: it is 2040 and everyone in the crowd is dead. “You’re dead. You’re dead. You’re definitely dead”, singling out members of the audience and describing their horrific demises in between bouts of his melodic chanting. Surprise, surprise, the only person left alive after the calamitous floods and fires is Bowden himself, comatose on his air mattress after an evening of drinking, mourning his separation from his girlfriend, Veronica.

Watching this from above is the “alien lady who looks like a robot man”, Celeste, who has been orbiting the earth for 25,000 years, observing the goings-on of humanity like her very own afternoon soap opera. Switching between the two characters, Bowden does not attempt to disguise the fact that this is a one-man operation; his scene changes are just as amusing as the scenes themselves. Each character has particular tropes and tag-lines that become all the more funny as the audience began to predict their appearance; I heard one group yelling “SEE YA” as they left the theatre, mimicking Celeste’s oft-repeated exit-line as she moved slowly towards the wings.

As well as portraying all of the main characters (and miming many others), Bowden is his own sound tech, and the music choices vastly contribute to the bizarre feeling of the performance. Using ethereal instrumental tracks that sound like they belong on the Triple J late night show ‘Sound Lab’, Bowden creates an other-worldly atmosphere. This minimalist approach is continued when it comes to props and costumes, with at most one key piece being incorporated in each scene. The driving force in this show is Bowden’s energy and dedication – you leave the performance space entirely won over by his characters and their endearing story.

As much an analogy for one man’s recovery from a break-up as it is a reflection on our wilful destruction of the planet, She Was Probably Not a Robot is a heartfelt, amusing and inventive show.

Stuart Bowden: She Was Probably Not a Robot, Tuxedo Cat @Raj House, 20 Feb to 2 Mar