Tucked behind old factory warehouses and a stone’s throw away from Claisebrook station the Jaffa Room, a private cinema, offers a minor escape from the Perth summer heat.  From the outside, the venue is completely isolated from Fringe hysteria, fitting perfectly within sedated suburban streets, an ideal location for a grindhouse theatre.

Yet as I opened the door to anticipate the embodiment of the seedy underbelly of Perth, I was greeted by a party of burlesque dancers. I realized that fragments of Fringe World could appear in every nook and cranny, even in the most unexpected parts of Perth. Dollar Dazzler (the burlesque host) ushered me inside the small theatre to where I would sit for amongst an audience comprised of two people (I assumed the rest of them got lost). From its description I expected Teasing Talkies! to be a showcase of gritty bump ‘n’ grind and Bettie Page style pornography, yet as I saw the Warner Bros. logo projected over a red velvet curtain accompanied with a vinyl recording of a brass band, I assumed I was in the wrong theatre.

Gypsy (1962 dir. LeRoy), a flamboyant musical, was not what I anticipated. For two and a half hours I slouched in my seat dazed by the over-saturated colouring and gratuitous singing and dancing. The film depicts the story of an overprotective and ambitious mother, Rose Hovick, who is determined to thrust her unwilling children onto the stage to become acclaimed Broadway stars.

Admittedly, (as cheesy as the film was) it was refreshing to watch an independent mother caring for her daughters (even if it was smothering) and rejecting the pursuits of any man that attempted to control her. This in particular, seems revolutionary for 1960s Hollywood; taking the perspective of a woman, portraying her as completely manic yet self-driven throughout the duration of the film. Nothing tied Rose down.

Burlesque was finally mentioned. However, it was not the gritty and kitschy striptease I was eager for. It was portrayed as something as far more refreshing. The art form was shunned by conservative onlookers, yet became increasingly appealing to Rose’s androgynous and ‘talentless’ daughter, Louise. As Louise explored burlesque, it was treated with respect; presented as just as legitimate as any performance art requiring vast skill from the performer, rather than involving witticisms of slander and vulgarity towards the burlesque dancers. It is what I would imagine what a Hollywood films today would produce involving nightclub strippers, only today, the account would take a more conservative approach and far less singing and dancing.

Teasing Talkies! runs for one more session on Saturday the 21st of February. You can find tickets via the Fringe World guide here.

I arrived late to Ballpoint Penguins. A trio of black-tied barbershop singers had already begun their comedic performance as I sat down on an uncomfortable plank of wood amongst a clustered audience of sandal wearing over 55’s. I looked around; I was certainly the youngest by at least twenty years. Thus, I thought that I would be well positioned to provide a contemporary perspective on the show I was to review.

The barbershop comprised the three part a cappella harmony of soprano (Colleen Dixon), alto (Kerry Egan), and Tim Fisher covering tenor and bass. They presented a collection of delightful musical numbers covering the bland suburban topics of Ikea shopping and Tupperware. The performance itself graced the satirical comedic style of Tom Lehrer, however, remained on the safe side of politics.

It was clear that the underlying theme to each song was circulated around the cynical view of the baby boomer generation living in modern Australia. They drew reference to ‘70s style dinner parties and being able to ride a bike helmetless down the coast of WA – something you cannot do anymore, apparently. Notably, the song ‘Let’s Thank the Government’ featured lyrics discussing how Australia once was carefree and idealistic, which became a nation of fear and lightning speed information, something the penguins do not approve of. The penguins attempted to appeal to those of an older kind, performing material that the almost-retired can relate to, in which I believe they were very successful: ‘hell’ was replaced by ‘heck’, ‘shit’ was replaced by ‘shite’, and the act of foreplay was replaced with the sexier, vacuuming and washing dishes. This would be something that popular Fringe performers would be amazed by.

The songs featured phrases including, “my kid is 28 and still has not moved out yet” and “we know it’s unpopular to like white bread and iceberg lettuce, but we love it”, each one more old-fashioned sounding than the last. Each song was a witty love letter for the past. As I turned around to look at the audience I realised the penguins brought older folk together as they sat laughing at some joke I might be too young to understand.

Ballpoint Penguins runs from Thursday the 5th of February until Friday the 6th of February. You can find tickets on the Fringe World site here.

It was only six people that filled the sweat-infested tent. Six people that awkwardly gave sympathy laughs and applauded apathetically on command. Beads of perspiration throbbed beneath the plastic surface of the Black Flamingo, and I sat dazed and confused, eager to let my heavy eyelids drop over my eyes. The chairs position the viewer bolt upright, maintaining a level of discomfort that made it impossible to fall asleep, fortunately assisting me in remaining conscious enough to write this review.

Flying Dreams is a tale of heartache and the pursuit of dreams, brought to life by San- Franciscan street performer Aaron Jessup. His autobiographical monologue presented the struggle of a shy and insecure juggler living on the streets of Europe, and his attempt to earn a living by amazing the public through his passion for juggling. Jessup juggled, at times, five clubs, and flaunted multiple tricks, including spinning and tumbling. He acted several roles throughout the performance and enticed the audience to use their imagination to envision Jessup’s surrounding environment.

However, regrettably, the performance was a tragedy; not only in its narrative, but also in its attempt to successfully perform each trick and to entertain the audience. The narrative itself did not take me through an epic and passionate journey of self-discovery, however, remained brutally realistic, so much to the extent that it ultimately became dull. The juggling acts were impressive with additional twists and turns (unless a mistake was made), however no further talents were demonstrated, allowing the performance as a whole to be anticlimactic. Furthermore, as Jessup was flaunting his talent he was eager persuade the audience to applaud, which became incredibly uncomfortable as the viewers seemed to only applaud as Jessup instructed, rather than if they were inspired to clap by the quality of the performance. The audience seemed uninterested by the skills of a mere street performer- who charged $22.00 per tickets.

Despite the somewhat charming nature of Flying Dreams, I was disappointed by the lack of skills demonstrated and the overall quality of the performance by Jessup. It is certainly one to avoid, as there are plenty of street performers who will exhibit their talents free of charge.

Flying Dreams runs until Sunday the 8th of February. You can find tickets in the Fringe World Guide here.

I thought I had seen the last of The Time is Ripe’s ‘Monkey’. There Monkey performed an unforgettable act of sexualizing the peeling of a banana, an image which now lives on infinitely within the dark recesses of my mind. What I confronted in Briefs: The Second Coming was a performance far more provocative, and as an experience, something significantly more disturbing. Monkey had returned, and this time, the image of what he did may never fade.

Monkey defecated into the mouth of a drag queen.

The award winning show, The Second Coming (yes, pun intended) conjures what I’d imagine the characters of John Waters’ cult-classic Pink Flamingos (1972) would perform on Friday nights in an underground burlesque strip club. A real horror show: at once both petrifying, and yet, mesmerizing. The performance ranged from an adorable hat-juggling act (Louis Briggs) to a mime routine involving a nightmarish Marilyn Monroe figure with obscenely oversized ‘assets’ (Dallas Dallaforce).  As jaw dropping and graceful as the acts seemed, the endless comparison of bananas to penises from Monkey became, once again, exhausting.

Fez Faanana hosted the show, effortlessly breaking awkward silences and deftly injecting some of the more controversial acts with a sense of perspective. Faanana comforted the audience with self-deprecating jokes, stating ‘I’m just a fucking tranny’ (to please the transphobic members of the audience I assume) and to my sheer relief setting a house rule of banning smart phone photography. One certain aspect that struck me from the commence of the show was how Faanana spoke about giving an expressive indigenous acknowledgment (unlike some politicians) to commemorate the land. Additionally, the Australian themed costumes featured the aboriginal flag to signify aboriginal importance in Australian culture and arts. This acknowledgement is the first of all of the Fringe festival performances I have witnessed which I believe is striking. This suggests how two marginalized communities (LGBT and Indigenous Australians) will intersect to form a stronger example of how many disregarded groups are oppressed in similar fashions by the dominant society. This for me made The Second Coming to not only to be entertaining however give humanity and support to Indigenous Australians, which is all to often neglected.

I was watching in awe of the death defying trapeze act and a hoop fire act performed by Monkey that is certainly comparable to the talents of Cirque de Soleil.  The performers produced thoroughly rehearsed individual acts, mistakes where made, yet hardly noticeable. The complexity of the acrobats and the high quality of each performance earns Briefs: The Second Coming five stars.

Briefs runs from Feb 2 to Feb 9; find tickets here.

Why am I here?

These are the words that ran through my head as yet another couple stood up and left. I wanted to join them. Yet, if I had, this review would cease to exist, along with the warning contained within it. The question of ‘why?’ came up frequently during my MINGE WORLD! experience. Why are these performers missing their cue for even the most basic of dance routines? Why are there two vaginas lip-syncing to bad music?

It was obvious that the performance attempted to demystify female anatomy. They demonstrated the female figure as a body of real flesh and blood, one that can endure physical strain and even be brutal if the situation calls for it. The performers proved this with vigorous trapeze acts in addition to a performance of giving birth, complete with menstrual blood and afterbirth. Another burlesque artist confronted the audience, undressing whilst referring to her sexual body parts in vulgar terms; I assume this was a comment on how the female body is often regarded in patriarchal society.  Following these performances, anyone could leave MINGE WORLD! and believe the female physique is not the delicate porcelain figure that western culture often describes.

As challenging as ‘demystifying’ the female figure may sound, the execution of the performance was difficult to watch. Within minutes of an act the audience began to mutter to one another, and these conversations continued during the awkward silences between acts. Some individuals stood up from their chairs (I assume, to cure their boredom), and walked towards the bar… they never returned.

Every non death-defying act felt unrehearsed, to the extent that they seemed to be spontaneously created whilst on stage. Most handstands were unstable, hula hoops were tossed without purpose, and dance steps were clumsy. I cringed in my seat at the vulgarity of referencing the vagina as an ‘axe wound’, and as performers painted their bodies with menstruation blood; as unfeminist as it may sound, that particular piece did leave me feeling nauseous.  The final act involved awkwardly selecting unwilling members of the audience to be paraded around onstage, revealing their bodies through feathers and tulle netting. However, as lavish the glorification of the female body was throughout the performance, I was puzzled by the way the performers covered their nipples with glittery attachments, as if they were unwilling to let the audience face the reality of the female nipple. From this, it seems we are as a society is not quite ready for that.

MINGE WORLD! runs for one more night on the 3rd of February. You can find tickets here. 

Sitting in the aisle of a Fringe performance can be a petrifying experience, knowing at any given moment you may be dragged kicking and screaming off your chair and into the spotlight, thrust into the possible hell that is audience participation. Monkey and I made brief eye contact — a twinkling exchange. Surely he would not choose me, not with my fearless and disapproving glance. Despite difficult translation from human to animal, physical expression breaks all barriers.

Read my lips, Monkey: three stars at best.

The show ‘The Time is Ripe’ (a fruity pun amongst endless fruity puns) has been crafted over a period of eight years. Details have been tirelessly rehearsed in the hope of producing an enjoyable experience for all. To some, it’ll be worth it, but to others, this will fall very flat. The physical feats are impressive; Trixie’s immense strength for lifting Monkey from a bent back as well as a synchronized trapeze act were certainly entertaining. Although after eight years of rehearsal, it is perhaps worth asking why the show’s creators have been seemingly unwilling to present audiences with something beyond banana themed toilet humor (I was surprised, in particular, at the repetition of drawing attention to the phallic symbol for humor). Nonetheless, it was clear the local audience was amused, even during the disturbing act of Trixie dressing as a sex fortune-teller in a fashion distinctively akin to a traditional Roma woman.

Not a second thought was given as Trixie put on an exaggerated curly wig as well as dressing herself in colourful scarfs and a peasant skirt. Trixie mimicked a heavy Eastern European accent and spoke about having mystical powers and being able to predict an individual’s sexual future. By this, the act became increasingly ‘racy’ (significantly more so than the banana strip tease which it followed) within the context of an additional layer of magical ‘exoticism.’ Trixie’s cultural appropriation (gasp!) perpetuates the prejudice of Roma women (or ‘Gypsies’ as they are often incorrectly called) as a stereotype of highly sexual and magical creatures. To continue the trend of casually appropriating cultures, the trapeze act followed a theme of the Kama Sutra, an Indian study of human sexuality. However, unlike the Kama Sutra, this act excluded any insightful examination of sex. Instead, Trixie and Monkey both simply pressed their index finger on their thumb and contorted their bodies to replicate figures in classical Indian art. This, again, perpetuates exotic stereotypes of Indian culture.

Needless to say, the audience enjoyed the performance. Throughout the show, they would laugh hysterically at the barrage of overused banana jokes; meanwhile I sat with in my seat, mostly cringing. Occasionally smiling, and once or twice coming close to laughter. But mostly cringing…

Trixie and Monkey: The Time is Ripe runs on Monday 26 January and Tuesday 27 January. Tickets here.