AC Arts is producing dancers and choreographers who can embrace and execute concept with a piercing lack of pretence. Patches of Society weaves together three separately choreographed approaches to identity performance within social groups. Paris Whitridge creates a witty take on the 1950s wholesome but sanitised personal ideal. Social and physical rigidity are used to adeptly ridicule the structure and false celebrity of social media. Cayleigh Davies’s choreography around cohesion and belonging is the most thematically weak section of the performance. Somewhere between 80s music video and an internet risk awareness presentation, this section is uninspiring and loses the audience’s attention. Alex Charman re-engages the crowd with an upbeat and grungy piece exploring binary gender dynamics. Though reductive, the primal physicality of the work was thrilling and sometimes funny. Patches of Society needs a more unified concept and in this form is less than the sum of its parts.

Personwhowatchestoomuchtelevision adapts the work of local poet Rhys Nixon into a chilling and hypnotic technology induced breakdown. Choreographed by Mieke Kriegesvelt, Tyson Olson, Ellen Worley and Greta Wyatt with conceptual input from composer Dan Thorpe, personwhowatchestoomuchtelevision unflinchingly illuminates the frenetic rituals that compose urban life.

A rhythmic voice-over invokes sardonic poems about Nixon’s social anxiety. Four dancers edge onto the stage in a tight group, disconnected but together as the solemn words are drowned out by grating live guitar and cello. The claustrophobic and unsettling tone makes this a sensory experience. The audience are viscerally aware of their own bodies blinking and breathing and broken by barks of laughter that can’t ease the discomfort. This work is physically and conceptually synchronised, it shows the audience a rare beauty that can be found in a scathingly accurate depiction of bleakness.

sitting in a lounge room looking at the television

sitting in a lounge room watching the coffee table

change the channels

order books online (Rhys Nixon).

Adelaide needs more dramatic and dance productions that feature young local performers and writers and Rip, Drag & Ruminate shows just how valuable that can be. While Patches of Society is charismatic, personwhowatchestoomuchtelevision is the highlight of this production and should not be missed.

Performer Emma Hall establishes a contract with the audience to substitute the social contract the show breaks: only she is allowed to speak. The truths she states are harsh and unerringly critical but Hall carves out a space to express them anyway. The content ranges from the confronting and contentious, to the petty and personal. The performance is surprisingly funny at times but the tone rapidly shifts. It is rare to passively engage with another person’s opinion; the work is provocative but Hall makes this an introspective experience.

There is a sense that the performer is leading the audience somewhere dangerous and they must trust her guidance. The realisation that our beliefs have consequences is a difficult pill to swallow. This is a challenging work but it has a strong enough structure to make it palatable. The progression from fact to opinion to belief, accompanied by a symbolic use of lighting to illustrate different qualities of truth, helps to quell the audience’s growing unease.

We May Have To Choose is an ideological mission statement that shows the value of coherent and remorseless opinion. Some may struggle to remain quiet when faced with uncompromising opinions but the audience is rewarded for it. This performance will make you more aware of where you stand and the importance of knowing it.

Fraser is a talented storyteller but that gets lost in the messy execution of her ideas. The character of David, Fraser’s former boss, is distinct and intriguing in transcripts from her time at “the firm” but the material is under-developed. There isn’t any humour in the overwrought scenes of Fraser’s miserable law career. The angsty and personal dimensions dampen the entertainment value rather than reinforcing the story. The more deliberate jokes were surprising and occasionally insightful, with a refreshing use of “sunk cost fallacy” as a punch line.

The strongest parts of the performance were the narrative and the traditional stand up. The more theatrical elements and pre-recorded voice-over seemed out of place. The audience couldn’t find a frame of reference for what to expect. As a venue Pigtails is just a crude tent at the back of Gluttony and the discomfort and noise was a distraction. The conversational tone also invited a lot of input and heckling from the audience that seemed to encourage Fraser but sidelined the rest of the crowd. Despite calling out privilege early in the show there were some uncomfortable racial impressions, stereotypes, and cringeworthy stories that showed a lack of self-awareness. Fraser admits to being racist but that doesn’t excuse the content.

Alice Fraser has a lot of potential as a writer but Everyone’s A Winner doesn’t have much to offer. The disjointed format doesn’t do justice to Fraser’s ill-fated law career and the moralising conclusion feels insincere considering some of the problematic jokes. Despite her raw and self-assured stage presence this performance was ultimately underwhelming.

The audience is led barefoot across an earthen path to surround the performance space. Performer Gareth Hart lies foetal on a pile of earth strewn across the concrete rooftop. The figure rises spasmodically to silhouette against the skyline as the sun begins to set. This venue is arresting: throughout the performance the sun drops to illuminate the CBD skyline, the hills, and finally the clouds. As the performer’s motions become smoother the final wisps of pink fade from the sky, until finally the audience is alone, contemplating the chilly CBD landscape.

Sound design by Edward Willoughby adds emotion and focus to the dance, driving the rhythm of Hart’s movement. Three screens are set up at the foot of the performance space intermittently displaying sepia images, but their purpose is unclear and only adds anxiety to the work. Symbolic gesture and identity making is a key part of the performance, offering catharsis to the character. Occasionally Hart utters indistinct phrases that hint at a deeper meaning the audience can’t quite grasp. The performance is beautiful, well planned and emotive but Hart seems insecure about his work, providing too much information for an experiential piece.

Excavate is a unique opportunity to view the Adelaide CBD anew but the dance and venue should be allowed to speak for themselves. For those with an open mind it is a very rewarding experience that stands out amongst this year’s Fringe offerings.

Gillian Cosgriff has the confidence of a seasoned performer but the content doesn’t deliver. Each song is prefaced by a lengthy explanation that exhausts any potential humour in the music. The performance is insincere: Cosgriff’s personal stories are not funny and the only punch lines come from recounting other’s wit. The songs are meandering and the humour is derivative. Cosgriff simply does not understand the comedic art. Her skill as a musician is not enough to carry this show, but it is clear that she would excel as a performer if not a writer and composer.

The problem with this show is that it lacks insight. Cosgriff casts herself as exceptional but gives painfully banal examples. The audience indulges Cosgriff’s self-congratulatory display but there is no pay off, only ego. In fact the audience is nearly forgotten in the claustrophobic venue. She emotes into the aisle with nothing visual to engage the crowd. The impression is that everyday life is more entertaining than the show.

This show feels like a pleasant conversation with a co-worker: polite, incidentally witty, but not aimed to entertain. Ultimately, the hollow content and under-developed theme made this a disappointing performance. Whelmed is predictable and repetitive but Gillian Cosgriff is energetic enough to charm.

This is a great show for virgins to burlesque: it’s engaging and, uh, hands on without pushing the boundaries. Pianist Pete Saunders, and performers Vicious Delicious and Scarlett Belle handle the audience with ease, playing up the venomous rivalry between the young beauty and bitter grande dame. Some opening numbers struggled to build up momentum but by the end the performers had the crowd in the palms of their hands. The quality of the singing is a bit uneven, but all three performers belt it out and the intentionally rough front bar atmosphere and witty compère keep the performance moving even though (trigger warning) a couple of rape jokes fell inevitably flat. Nonetheless, the comedy was the most consistent part of the performance and was often edgier than the striptease.

Hotter Than Hell is a satisfying entrée, even though the main course never arrives. Blues and Burlesque are also presenting Happy Hour upstairs at La Boheme, which may offer some more titillating content. The thrills and costumes might be cheap and glitzy, but Vicious Delicious and Scarlett Belle certainly give it their all. This is a saucy and rollicking front bar show with a few obligatory diva moments that is sure to spice up an evening.

Seeing this performance I was expecting an educational and uplifting experience, but it turned out to be a tedious 110 minutes of monologue and somewhat improvised live cello. As a performer Olam is ambitious: she attempts many things and as a result is unfortunately spread too thin. She is dedicated to the work which is necessary for such a long show, but Olam’s passion for her subject prevents any realistic examination of Tahíríh and needs to be reigned in. Olam brings an intense sincerity to the various characters she portrays, but they blur together because the characterisation is so one-note. One reprieve is that the multi-artform work doesn’t always demand the audience’s understanding and encourages an experiential appreciation.

The set design and costume is minimalist and manageable for a single performer, however that makes it difficult for the audience to distinguish between the different characters and timelines. The depiction of Tahíríh’s execution is unnecessarily graphic. Olam continues to beseech the audience when they are already won over and after the first hour the crowd became bored and resentful of the performance.

This show is exhausting. Mercifully the music was beautiful and defused some of the dramatic plot’s intensity. The Baha’i Centre of Learning is a wonderful venue and for those interested can offer more information about Tahíríh and the Baha’i faith. With more rehearsal and a shorter running time Just let the wind untie my perfumed hair… could be a worthwhile performance but in its current form, it cannot be recommended.

This show is joyful and affirming. Pacquola gives the impression that she’s having as much fun as the audience: chatty without any forced participation. Her mattress impersonations and calls for snap judgments of her life choices engage the audience without being intimidating. Celia Pacquola feels personally likeable, someone to “get off your tits” with. Her jokes are sometimes confronting but there’s an honesty to her performance that takes the sting out. She is judgemental of herself, while letting the audience off the hook for whatever weird stuff helps them get through life.

The use of props was inventive and tied the show together thematically with some good callbacks. There were a few first-performance sound and lighting hiccups but Pacquola was able to keep up the momentum. Some jokes seemed anticlimatic, but that was fitting for a show about uncertainty. Pacquola makes light of not having all the answers, not having a simple truth to offer the audience and yet this show is a transformative experience.

Celia Pacquola’s stand up is the best I’ve seen at the Fringe for years. She is macabre, unintimidating, and has a wild command of puns. Her compassion and enthusiasm for the characters she plays is charming. You will feel awkward about how realistic and honest Pacquola is, but whatever your failings, at least you don’t have crystals in your bra.