Pity, Ellandar Productions’ re-working of English playwright John Ford’s Pity She’s a Whore, sets the action in a secular world where reason and morality are guided by modern psychology, philosophy and science.

Opening last Thursday in Fringe World’s De Parade Teatro 1, a pop-up theatre in the State Theatre Centre Courtyard, Pity was very funny – for a tragedy.

My initial fear that the play would coast on the twins-in-love gimmick dissolved as the writing and several performances took it out of the realm of amateur dramatics.

The script developed by writer-director-performer Ellen O’Connor with the cast effortlessly marries old English and modern vernacular, highlighting the timelessness of emotion, tragedy and comedy.

Interesting compositions by Jennifer O’Connor and The Men From Another Place complemented the play, but their frequent fusion of classical and current music styles felt pedestrian and obvious when compared with the play’s sophisticated use of language.

The bathtub filled with origami hearts could have easily have felt cliche but became an ironic altar for the action, as well as somewhere clever to pull props from and a literal “blood-bath”.

Christopher Grabski was believable as John, a young man who lets passion overcome then become his reason.

John claims he loves his twin for her soul but admits it is a “matter of matter” – the pair “share the same blood, the same heart”.

I warmed to Ruby Hall’s portrayal of Annabella as the character evolved.

I was initially irked by her over-projection, but her seduction scene, also featuring the talented Iskandar R. Sharazuddin as Soren, and the speech she delivers from the tub were potent.

Comments about girls-like-her being “just pretty” until they are “mad and despicable” marked not only the self-awareness of Annabella, but also the writer of the character.

Sharazaddin shone as Annabella’s suitor and Ellen O’Connor gave depth and omnipresence to Bec, his wise unrequited defender.

Supporting performances by Brianna Stanway and Daniel Buckle as the unconventional couple’s friends provided most of the laughs as Pen and Bon’s reactions often mirrored those of the contemporary audience.

Perhaps it’s a pity John’s claims that “innovation is often rejected” couldn’t convince me incest is acceptable family fun, however Pity was a captivating and relevant adaptation of a challenging work.

Pity runs until February 13 and is part of Fringe World 2013.

Local MC Seasta Chani’s candid, loosely autobiographical, accounts of “birth, death, travel and love” weave together songs that embrace hip hop, country, jazz and folk sounds.

Uncomfortably perched upon the top bench in the wooden Castello tent, I feared that 90 minutes might be a little too long for one performer to hold my full attention.

Filled with stories about sex and love, infused with insights into the human condition, and sprinkled with daggy cultural references, Bows Don’t Go occupies a space somewhere between a cheeky flick through a Cosmo magazine and an honest discussion with a friend.

In bows since they were forced upon her at private school, Seasta tells us of bows undone by lovers, bows around flowers from unrequited suitors, bows used to manipulate strangers and bows tying hands down in moments of passion.

If it weren’t for their careful application to only the most poignant moments, the simple props
and ribbons could have made the production look like a Year 12 Original.

Bows Don’t Go is set in a “moment”-hungry culture where individuals fear not karma, but missing out on experiences.

It is through Seasta’s music that her distinctly female fears and vulnerabilities break through her tough veneer.

Sweet Brown, Seasta’s punchy ode to Aboriginal men was a highlight of the show with featuring the unique line “he showed me an emu in the sky that I’d never seen before”.

Listening to the soundtrack after the show, I gained further appreciation for Seasta’s music, particularly the recording of Black Raven, which made the tidy rhymes I had heard live even funkier.

Tracks were created with a cast of Perth talent including Rob Shaker, Mei Saraswati, Cat Edmunds, Tom O’Halloran and Billie Rogers.

While it probably had a lot to do with the unconventional seating (and my constant quest for the
perfect foothold) Bows Don’t Go seemed to drag out far too long.

Seasta Chani proved herself a brave storyteller and entertainer with a diverse range of talents but cutting out some of the less-essential scenes or changing the pace could have made Bows Don’t Go easier on the audience.

Bows Don’t Go runs until February 5 and is part of Fringe World 2013.

Siren of the Squeezebox Cathie Travers virtuosically weaves through Campari Kid !an L!lburne’s poetic examinations of the human condition. She sighs and sings with her accordion while he sings poetry with his Spanish guitar. Further textures are added by Pete Grandison on mandolin, guitar and assorted frets, Gandharua (Phil Bailey) on bass and Peter Smith on drums.

Noticing no support act, I had wondered how they would fill the three hours. There was a long break part way through the night, which also finished early. This was not detrimental to the atmosphere as the second half of the night felt as relaxed as an intimate gig, despite the large venue and crowd of over 100.

The venue choice nods at L!lburne’s past – he met composer Travers while director of Artrage. The Bakery is hidden amongst shipping containers and eclectically furnished “like something out of Star Wars,” according to Gandharua. This was the first time I had seen candlelit tables and seats on the dancefloor.

They talked and joked with the audience, singing original songs, some from L!lburne’s debut album Ghosts and EP Against the Odds, recorded with Grandison at Shanghai Twang Studio. L!lburne’s lyrics are evocative and relatable, sometimes heartbreaking or darkly witty. His musical influences are vast, from Cohen to Eno, his style morphing with the stories set in fantastic or mundane worlds of iphones and snoring.

Each song was different, from Labyrinth’s dark undertones, to guitar driven The Dancer’s cute backing vocals. Emotions evoked by the images and music often contrasted in a delightful way. The Night was “a song about romance in general” while upbeat Halo Around the Moon described, with tongue in cheek, a “perfect” relationship reflected by television. In Lolita, L!lburne’s adorable homage to Nabokov’s novel, the story’s namesake does not die in childbirth but grows up to become a world-wise soul singer.

L!lburne made a few “strategic departures” for Travers to feature. She played with a sophisticated freedom, expertly and expressively pushing and pulling tempo and dynamics. Her amazing solo piece Playback, created for ballet MANIA, uses a pedal to create swirling layers of polyphony that Travers trills, bounces and walks through. Renaissance featured an expressive solo from Grandison and her “Mafia song” was complimented by Gandharua’s Godfather impression (which earned a few “bravos” from the crowd).

The final piece was an aggressive blues rock song in which L!lburne’s bravely proclaimed “I’m a lonely old man, nobody wants me, nobody needs me.”

Campari Kid and the Siren of the Squeezebox were thoughtful as well as musical. The communication between the musicians was endearing and genuine. The collaboration embraced the talents of two writer composers who are unafraid of experimentation and honest expression.

With such delicacies as beard fondling and strip poker on offer, those used to playing it cool hiding in a crowd and avoiding participation may be challenged.

The 12 works about reaction and interaction, reflection and introspection are split into three programs. I saw program C and B on separate Sunday afternoons.

My first taste of Proximity was sickly sweet. Sweet-Life, by curator of the mini-festival James Berlyn, is playful and dark.

Playing for lollies representing virtues and vices, the participant interrogates the notion of “the Sweet-Life” through carnival games and mind-games.

This work was enjoyable but intimidating, particularly when the sharp and cheeky artist monitored my pulse and pupils as I read mantras.

In the men’s bathroom, I found a Glory Hole just the right size for Jackson Eaton’s magnificent beard.

If you want to see or touch this symbol of masculinity, you will have to play along and veer on the perverse.

The local master of awkward challenges traditional notions of intimacy and identity as he asks “how long has it been since you had beard? Is it the best you’ve ever had?”

Sarah Nelson took me for a ride through the busy cultural centre for some Mobile Moments and quite genuine conversation, despite some scripted questions and the intimidation of a camera.

Then Renae Coles of The Union took me through a complaint form for “small injustices” with an essential listening section.

While seeing professional Coles break out into angry song was a thrilling, it would be interesting to see the mentioned punk band present.

Program B began with Flush, a game of strip poker in the Blue Room bar. The lovely Janet Carter gets you comfortable enough to play to or push your limits and makes the game non-threatening.

Ush and Them is a hilarious little endgame with Nikki Jones an adorable “career usher”.

You end up exploring much of the Blue Room with Jones in the hunt for your “next venue,” learning a little about the theatre and ushering as a vocation.

There are many layers of comedy, from the concept right down to the awkward interaction, little comments and – toilet humour.

I was grinning silly the whole time, pretty much incapacitated from playing the part of the grumpy patron which likely would have lead to further hilarious frazzle from Jones.

I had a lie down while Russya Connor hung from the ceiling and crept around me, sharing a dark bedtime story for How Close Do You Want Me, and I lit Fragmentation 1.2 with a torch.

This mesmerizing and bizarre dance work began with the shocking discovery of Hellen Russo inside a chest with one lifeless arm outstretched.

Afterwards I joined Program A for a meal prepared during Slowfood Sunday, a session in the kitchen with co-curator Sarah Rowbottam.

She told me about some of the growers and producers of the ingredients, who she had tracked down and met with as part of the work.

The dinner was also a good way to talk to some of the artists and hear about the other patrons’ experiences in Program A – private tap dances, three minute showers and sweat tests.

One of my fellow patrons’ faces when they recognized a particular beard was priceless.

Proximity is a festival for the curious and brave who want to be more than a witness to a performance.

Communications with strangers, those we are close to and even ourselves cannot always be trusted. Deceits reveal themselves in ugly but entertaining ways in Ellandar Productions’ A Night of Deceit, directed by Ellen O’Connor and Iskandar Sharazuddin.

Five shorts set in the 1940s are introduced through cabaret and woven together by a beguiling omniscient emcee played by Bonnie Coyle. She sits in, judges, smirks and shares her own experiences with us. Her engagement with the audience and rendition of ‘is that all there is’ is exemplary in its depth and humor.

Our first short, William Albridge, pulls us into an interrogation chamber at Scotland Yard where two jive-talking conmen attempt to outsmart each other. Asides give glimpses into the motives of the two and this fast dialogue driven scene is very funny and clever, saving the reveal of a neat little deception on the audience until the end.

Our guide then takes us into the home of a mafia couple in New York for Thieves and Foxes. Pony ‘the brawn’ thinks he is deceiving Kat ‘the brains’, however she is not letting on all that she knows. While the accents could be a little abrasive, the drama is well executed and juxtaposes nicely with its predecessor.

Next up is an absurd comedy Gravy Train that could almost be set in present day Perth. When a businessman defends an oddball at the train station from a working class Australian, an energetic argument about class and motives breaks out. The businessman’s reception of the alien, played by Kym Bidstrup, when the worker is not there proves some criticism is warranted. Three skilled comedians invite us to examine the ways we deceive ourselves and strangers.

Conscience is the story of a London prostitute, the policeman who murders her and his scapegoat. Timothy How is notable as the policeman who swings from cocky interrogator to man obsessed, to a weak man fighting conscience while praying for forgiveness.

Our emcee gets us in the mood for the more upbeat vignette Erectile Dysfunction with some word repetition. As the sound of music from an adjacent space occasional filtered into the hall I wonder if the audience’s cries of “penis” were overheard. In this final short we enter the office of an eccentric sex therapist, characterized by Nick Pages-Oliver. A game of word association with a sexually frustrated housewife backfires and with the arrival of a surprise guest, the patient is forced to confront her taboos and become the therapist’s therapist. The euphemism-filled script and the melodramatic daytime-serial feel towards the end enable the play to tackle awkward topics in a very hilarious way.

Despite being tightly packed into the warm Treasury Mess Hall, the audience seemed impressed with the excellent cast and production.

Marcel Lucont approaches the microphone to his own French voice-over and poses weightily on one of his bare feet with a sardonic expression, a glass of red swirling in one hand. Debonair in a turtleneck and blue suit, he proclaims himself France’s premier misanthropist and lover. “It is an honour… for you to have me here.”

Initial crude spontaneous banter in a thick French accent reveals Lucont as a misogynist cynic, yet his handsome arrogance and nonchalance are swoon worthy. He targeted several audience members including a girl in the front row and a French expat, who he conversed with in French, confusing the majority with little knowledge of the language.

Lucont offers his advice through cheeky one-liners. Rather than a bundle of joy, he warns that children might be a “bundle of hate,” the very worst of each parent. Lucont includes several wry local observations on pedestrian crossings, bogans, Rockingham and staying chic in the hot weather.

Placed on a small table beside the raconteur is a red check tablecloth, corked bottle of wine, his memoir Moi and “self-award winning” publication What We French Think Of You British And Where You Are Going Wrong. Lucont frequents both bottle and book during the show. His list of “50 ways to leave your lover” ranges from “walk” to “fire yourself from a cannon into a pool of nude women.” Lucont gives the audience their pick of surprisingly sophisticated graphic poems about sex in restrooms, “brittie titties,” or erectile dysfunction. Coolly delivered excerpts from his memoir include such delightful similes as “suicidal snowflakes” and a joke about Amy Winehouse.

While his song 15-love was clever, it seemed to drag out and was far less effective than his poetry and the punchline to the artist companion’s presence was not quite worth the suspense.

It is British comedian Alexis Dubus’ clever anti-jokes, turns of phrase and witty observations as Marcel, rather than his caricature of a Gainsburgian Frenchman, that truly impresses.

Encore runs until the 6th at the Metcalfe Playhouse and Marcel Lucont’s Cabaret Fantastique runs until the 4th at the Spiegeltent at midnight. With such a witty compere and such outlandish talent as Perth’s own Tomas Ford, I’d recommend only the brave take front row seats for this showcase of some of the best acts at Fringe World.