Noonan, in this set, uses the audience as “guinea pigs” for her new album. She is appreciative of the reception “the new stuff’ has received so far, and has this audience equally transfixed. She is a true soprano, and this set showcases her ability for soaring heights and melancholy lows. The music is masterfully constructed, as if Noonan had a predetermined vision for her art, and in its execution the music is complex, layered and have, like a good book, many chapters apiece.

She races through the tracks, concerned for the time constraint the hour set limits. Towards the conclusion we hear more from her, including some cheeky banter, talking us through the future of her music, the development of her new record, and her experience of Adelaide so far. She warms the audience towards the pinnacle of the set, performing crowd favourite and highlight, her new track, “Time.” Encapsulating her new and developing style, “Time” incorporates electronically generated vocals, layered over pulsating and grinding bass, moving as a crescendo towards the emotional crux.  We then see her softer side; the track “Silence” is just her, the piano and electronically generated vocal harmony. She has the room in awe, motionless and reflecting the track’s name.

Noonan is a graceful, generous performer and executes her songs with such precision, it’s hard to believe they are being performed live. The show is technical, but allows enough space to digest the spontaneity a live act brings. Her soprano is far from piercing, it is delicate, restrained and perfectly compatible with the masculine dissonance the hard hitting backing band provides.

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.

For anyone familiar with Glaswegian comedy, then Dean’s style should come as no surprise. He has a laddish manner, revelling in the roughness and exoticism (to us) of his Scottish accent. This roughness extends to his jokes—don’t expect him to hold back when describing his first sexual encounter.

The oddness of this particular story comes in two parts. Firstly, for the method Dean uses to (ahem) excite his female partner. Secondly, because Dean is gay, if the title of the show didn’t already give it away. He explores his coming out at 24, bravely making fun of the unequal responses from his friends (fine with it) and family (flatly refusing it).

On the whole Dean’s comedy is funny, as he rattles through jokes about Hindley Street, a Catholic upbringing and his total failure at being a gay man, that is if your perception of homosexuality has been shaped by Will and Grace. There are, though, a couple of uncomfortable priest/paedophile jokes that didn’t sit right. Fortunately, he also shows an acute awareness of the current political climate, both in the UK and Australia, which is missing from too many white male comedian’s routines.

The intimate nature actually lends this show an aura of cosy friendship. Dean regularly chats with his audience, creating jokes out of awkward interactions. It’s so relaxed it almost takes on the air of a group of friends meeting up. Dean turns the difficulties of being a small comic in a small city to his advantage. He puts in a lot of effort, and it shows. Dean is a fantastic comic.

Its premise is certainly one-of-a-kind, but, unfortunately, its realisation leaves a lot to be desired. In a technically-absent show, the power of the performance is made up entirely of these three characters. The improvised nature results in uneven performances, historical inaccuracies and lots of silence. This is, of course, to be expected. Improv is a gamble. But it also works if the actors present work as a unit, and the three actors—Catherine Crowley, Ruth Pieloor and Lynn Peterson—regrettably do not support each other as well as they should.

Of the three women, Peterson is the best, pulling herself eagerly into her role with a sense of old warm charm. Crowley and Pieloor are technically good, but left on their own, or playing scenes opposite one another, they do tend to dissolve into silence. More often than not, Crowley, with the lion’s share of scenes, is left sputtering at questions posed by her fellow actors, and no attempts are made to pull the scene out of these mires.

Put simply, there is seemingly no narrative point to the proceedings. The scenes seem to merely exist to evoke a time and place, a flavour of the past. There is no drive or reason to care about what is happening. You simply have to go with the flow, and hope that things reach a satisfying conclusion (and, being improv, there is no guarantee of that).

This is an era of history that deserves to be dramatised. The stories of women at the front of the home war effort is, after all, so rarely explored. But, based on this performance, improvisation is not the place to do it in.

Staged in Tuxedo Cat’s Mayall Room (upstairs in a renovated office building—there has been charm bestowed here upon an otherwise utilitarian space), The Sound of Nazis mixes the musical with history to great effect. No stone is left unturned, and every aspect of the movie classic is mined for its comedic worth, all to ask the question—why does Austria have a navy?

With strong performances, strong songs, and fantastic jokes, the world of 1930s Austria just…appears. Familiarity with The Sound of Music is desired, but not necessary to enjoy the absolutely rollicking good fun of this show. The jokes are so thick and fast, it is impossible to laugh and appreciate them all—and this is a good thing.

The music and performances are thoroughly enjoyable. Florence Bourke as a South African Mother Superior and Leisl von Trapp is excellent—her accent leads to one incredibly funny moment. The highlight of this show, though, is Hayman Kent, who takes on the role of Maria with an absolute awareness of what funny is. From her entrance, screaming in terror about the hills (who are alive, quite literally), she makes an indelible mark on the show. Her facial expressions are on point, her mannerisms even more so, and her delivery of each killer line and routine is pitch perfect. Seemingly channelling the spirit of Audrey Hepburn (a really clever move), she moves with grace and a little bit of clumsiness.

The controversy surrounding the political incorrectness of this show is somewhat justified. The Hitler parody—unsubtly named “Mr H” and played by Kel Balnaves as if possessed by the still-alive ghost of John Cleese—garners a semi-hostile reaction from the audience. The laughs are few when the attempted genocide of a racial minority is put to song and dance. It would be fine if the Nazis were the only ones getting whacked with the parody cudgel, but there are a couple of uncomfortable Jew and Italian stereotypes present as well. It’s all for laughs, yes, and the jokes are strong, but it is still uncomfortable to watch.

The Sound of Nazis is unbearably funny—a full hour of comedy gold.

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.

Being an impro show, each performance is unique, demonstrating the artists ability to engage the audience without a script. Before the show starts, audience members undergo an interrogation spree by the actors. They are asked anything from “what’s in your backyard” to “where was your first kiss?” The answers were placed in hats to be drawn out throughout the show, each answer giving the actors the next clue to where their performance was heading. This process works well and involves the audience.

Based loosely off of Law and Order, the show takes us down the well-trodden path of a whodunit mystery. Using flashbacks the murder is quickly solved and the audience sees the perp get taken to court where everyone is subjected to a lie detector test—even the detectives.

Saturday’s show followed the discovery of a murder in a gym alongside three murder weapons: a bloody chicken, an egg slicer, and a bowl of custard. Spellcheck (Josh Rice), Kooper (Amy Sincock) and Vicky (Jack Jennings) certainly deserve praise for combining the weapons into a murder scenario.

Spellcheck was certainly a favourite, his easy going attitude and enthusiasm for riding velociraptors was very engaging. His acting was great, always seeming to throw in a twist when things were getting a little too smooth.

While there were some mistakes throughout the show, they were embraced and because of that, glossed over. At one stage, Spellcheck and Vicky were discussing openly whether the bloody chicken, one of the murder weapons, was alive or dead. The combination of excellent improvisation, audience participation and too-many puns made the show very enjoyable and kept the audience engaged throughout.

Ben Noble portrays every character in this show, and he is a wonder, taking on the multiple voices with ease. He effortlessly glides between each story, adding something special to each one. At one point he is a midwife, bringing Johnson into the world and simultaneously seeing his death, the next he is imagined as Johnson’s killer, bristling with menace. There is obvious emotion in his performance. His passion for this project is palpable, resulting in real tears and real pain.

This show is perhaps a case of too many cooks in the kitchen. The multiple voices of each story are appropriately distinctive, but they do not flow successfully into one another. The monologues are handled effectively by Noble, but without any guidance for the audience and with no sense of time or place, the narrative becomes flawed and confusing.

The use of music to knit scenes together is inspired, but is not executed well. Noble’s voice is adequate, but the songs are not especially memorable. They do not even seem inspired by the source material at all, coming across as average love ballads. Although there is one disco song in the middle that is very good, helping set the scene for a 1980s Sydney scene.

There is something incredibly noble about this show. Its dedication to the truth of its material seeps into every scene, imbuing them with a pulsating heat. There is no doubt that a lot of well-placed emotion and rage has gone into this production, however the discordant effect created by the jarring scenes and use of music goes against the power of the show. Its lasting force is in its message, not of tolerance, but of anger. The Reckoning goes a long way to rile the emotions of its audience in its stirring portrayal of a homosexual man’s life, cut short. It wants you to be angry about the injustice of Johnson’s death—and if this production has done its job, you will be angry.

Every night is a different show and Saturday’s show followed the story of Jane (Jakelene Vulasinovic) as she tells her son Daniel (Ben Watts) the truth about his father. Jane’s decision to keep her son’s paternity a secret goes on to affect Daniel, his girlfriend (Coby Yolland) and her mother (Amanda Knights) as well.

At one point, the actors muddled up the plot. They seemed confused about who Daniel’s father figure is. At first he was a piggish uncle and later he somehow transforms into a stranger. It was a confusing and all too obvious mistake.

The best thing about the show was Coby’s reading of Enid Blyton in a put-on posh English voice. She was a very realistic and sarcastic character, giving perhaps the best performance of the lot. Together, she and Amanda made a great mother-daughter team, showing a realistic, if somewhat clingy, relationship.

A Butterfly Effect was completely improvised and on that front, well done. The performance flowed well and all the characters seemed to pick up the thread and produce something realistic with the premise.

Ben and Coby both demonstrated great improvisation skills and were able to channel the emotional reactions that the situation needed. Unfortunately Jakelene and Amanda were not as convincing. There were often too-long pauses between speeches which could have been either dramatically or emotionally effective but in this case they aren’t. One can only hope that Saturday’s performance is the product of exhaustion from many nights on stage. It failed to captivate the audience and, overall, was a disappointing performance.