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Fringe 2010 Reviews (5)
Reginald D. Hunter – Trophy Niggah
Pleasance Courtyard.
***
The UK-based American comedian Reginald D Hunter is a firm favourite with Edinburgh audiences. Even on a Monday night at the start of the Festival, he fills out the appropriately-named Pleasance Grand with fans, many of whom seem to be regulars at his gigs.
This year sporting dreadlocks, Hunter delivered a more diffuse set than usual, riffing rather than settling on any single subject for too long.
Now aged over 40, Reginald D Hunter may have mellowed a little or merely reined back a degree or two. While there are odd fierce attacks on defenceless minorities such as Nelson Mandela and his own people, this set will probably be seen as far less offensive than some of its more controversial predecessors.
Trophy Niggah builds relatively slowly as our star amusingly goes back over favourite topics such as his family back in Georgia and his relations with the opposite sex.
It really hits top gear in the last quarter of an hour, as Hunter begins to consider the value system of Conservative voters, symbolised by a man near the front called Dave, who on reflection might regret some of the views that he admitted to.
Reginald D Hunter is always good value and for once, although the language is fruity and topics adventurous, the vast majority of the audience will leave smiling and unoffended (unless they are big fans of Mr Cameron and his policies).
Philip Fisher
Suspicious Package
The Fifth Wall in association with The Brick Theatre, New York
C too.
***
The 1947 film noir Lady in the Lake, based on Raymond Chandler's hardboiled detective novel of the same name, is shot entirely from the detective's perspective. The camera smokes, gets kissed, punched and shot at, the idea being to translate the iconic first-person viewpoint of the detective novel to the silver screen. The viewer is meant to feel like he (or to a lesser extent she) is the detective.
A similar intention lies behind Suspicious Package, and the technology of today's audioguided performance is much better equipped to achieve it than that of 40s cinema. With the help of four video iPods loaded with instructions, four participants every hour become a detective, a tough guy, an heiress and a showgirl in a boilerplate noir mystery.
These are instantly recognisable genre archetypes, easy to ham up regardless of the participants' acting ability. Be aware, however, that cross-gender casting can occur and that all participants are required to wear their identifying costume pieces out and about on the Grassmarket.
As well as cueing actions and dialogue, the iPods supply both the laconic internal monologue (via audio) and flashbacks (via video) that typify noir literature. Reading lines off the screen limits engagement with fellow participant-performers – other similar practitioners deliver dialogue aurally, with more success – but onscreen maps eliminate the problems associated with aurally delivered directions (like people's different walking speeds) and free up the audio track for more character-establishing internal monologue.
As for the plot, well, it's at least convoluted enough to sustain interest for the necessary 45 minutes. Whether it's satisfying or rewarding depends entirely on the level of investment and commitment from the participants, and while it's hard not to commit to a character whose innermost thoughts are running loud and clear through your head, constantly referring to the screen for lines does make it difficult to remain in character.
Matt Boothman
The Call of Cthulhu
Hill Street Theatre.
****
Talking to yourself is the first sign of madness, so what better way to reinterpret H P Lovecraft's classic horror story than as a dramatic monologue?
The style allows the indescribable horrors of the ancient god Cthulhu and his sunken citadel, R'lyeh, sensibly to remain unrepresented except as oblique hints and references, subtly sketching silhouettes and squamous details in the audience's imaginations – just as Lovecraft's story does.
In portraying five very different men each driven mad by forbidden knowledge, Michael Sabbaton cycles from commanding through unsettling all the way to full-on disturbing, but is never short of captivating. Fog, dingy lighting and a superb soundscape – incorporating off-kilter alien rumblings and the many moods of water, from gentle rain to raging surf – conjure an atmosphere of oppressive, gloomy, creeping dread.
Anyone not acquainted with Lovecraft's Cthulhu mythos will have to work hard to keep up with the plot, which writhes and recurves through a disjointed series of flashbacks and one-sided conversations. But as a meditation on madness and the impossibility of un-learning knowledge, however unpleasant – that is, as an attempt to capture the essence of the source material – The Call of Cthulhu is potent indeed.
Matt Boothman
The Crying Cherry
Hartshorn-Hook Productions
C Chambers Street.
***
Two Dutchmen in shellsuits sending up Asian culture and traditions, armed with mime-katanas and a borderline offensive pidgin Chipanglish semi-nonsense language? This is what the Fringe is for: the shows you just couldn't get away with anywhere else.
So there's a prophecy and a destined battle and so on, but that's not especially important. In fact, the plot is so unimportant that it's provided nearly in full in a helpful explanatory pre-show pamphlet, so no one gets to grump about not being able to follow what's going on.
What is important, at least to performers Ian Bok and Maarten Heijmans, is the way it's told: with conventions lovingly harvested from Noh theatre and kung fu action cinema and equally lovingly processed through the parody mincer.
Dignified, ceremonial chants and processions are undermined by Heijmans' strained, bulging eyes, or by their application to such banal tasks as eating a banana. The inevitable showdown is a (mimed) splatterfest of horrific (mimed) injuries and implausibly macho (mimed) recoveries. It's gloriously silly and arguably meaningless; there's no better place for it than the Fringe.
Matt Boothmane
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