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are the first physical example of the mental disintegration she’s experiencing, her perfectly 21st century obsession with control ever more unsustainable the harder she tries to maintain it.
This decline is made vividly, terrifyingly apparent in the perfectly controlled tone and execution of this one-woman piece, made all the more striking by Daniella Isaacs relating a variation of her own story, of the crippling orthorexia (essentially, the unhealthy pursuit of elevate what made them so compelling in the first place, Drake’s magnetic, full-pelt monologuing. Indeed, he’s even somewhat inhibited here, the pace of the show unnecessarily slowed whenever an ill-conceived bit of audience interaction doesn’t catch fire. As per, the plot is a nonsensical thriller, with Drake accused of murdering his girlfriend Kath (Hughes, of regular collaborators Gein’s Family Giftshop), his confession seemingly recorded and damning, even as he struggles to recall the night leading up to her disappearance. But while there’s always been a twisted logic to Goose’s denouements, here there’s barely that, this bloated folly too loose a vessel for what’s essentially a series of entertaining sketches. JAY RICHARDSON a healthy diet) which once controlled and corrupted her life. It’s an honest, insightful and ultimately uplifting work, much like Joanne Ryan’s Eggsistentialism.
In the latter work – also autobiographical – the easygoing humour is played up more, but the sense of fear that Ryan’s body may not be behaving how she’s been told it should echoes Isaacs’ obsession. Approaching middle age, Ryan worries that “I’ll be lucky if I have enough eggs left to make an omelette,” Assembly Roxy (Venue 139) JJJ Any cynicism you might have about this charmingly beguiling show, in which Kiwi mime Trygve Wakenshaw shares the stage with 13-month-old son Phineas, immediately melts when you witness the loving dynamic between them and the warm laughs they generate.
Rather frighteningly, not only can the youngster hold a room spellbound with his unselfconscious improvisation, but he plays to the gallery too, self-aware enough to break into a broad smile on occasion when his toddling engenders a reaction. With limited speech, his father has contrived a series of scenarios in which and her fertility concerns are worked through with recorded inserts from Ryan’s own mother and cartoon presentations on the screen behind her. That this important and relatable story is interwoven with that of Ireland’s recent family planning history also elevates a thoughtful personal piece into something more universally political. DAVID POLLOCK he affects to react to his son’s actions, as when he hands him a little rod, then plays a writhing fish on the floor. Or a circus trainer to Phineas’ mane-sporting lion. Frequently, the boy can’t be tamed and wanders freely about with his own agenda.
The funniest scene involves the pair simply miming through kitchen cupboards, the capricious desires of a child ensuring that Wakenshaw Sr is pulling down tins from everywhere. Phineas’ time on stage is carefully rationed with humane and dramatic economy, featuring regular periods out of the spotlight. Unfortunately, for the elastic-limbed and unquestionably gifted Trygve, you’re immediately anxious to see him upstaged by his son again. JAY RICHARDSON In the guise of his grotesque alter-ego Dickie Rosenthal, Josh Glanc’s Fringe debut is a memorable one. Ensconced in a muscle suit, he’s an intensely focused bodybuilder, hawking protein powder to build the muscles he claims are required to be a real man. He has a very personal investment in the product, believing that the more he inflates his body, the more he can suppress his past as a nebbish Jewish dweeb.
Bouncing on stage to raucous music, his vainglorious, peacock display involves challenging the men in the crowd and insulting the women. Virtually from the start though, he betrays deep insecurities, confiding in a mirror as he struggles to gee himself up. Ridiculously exaggerated, Rosenthal’s mania escalates into attempting a feat of strength that ends in humiliation, his bravado collapsing as he regresses to childhood fears, his pathetic sales pitch stripped away to reveal the real him.
Though initially little more than a grossly absurd caricature, Glanc ultimately makes Rosenthal sympathetic, a potent take on toxic masculinity and a more troubled, nuanced character. And while Manfül is rarely as tight as it could be, he’s skilled enough to ad-lib around his audience’s responses. JAY RICHARDSON Paradise in The Vault (Venue 29) J This play mixes competent shadow puppetry with indifferent (at best) acting and a truly horrendous script for a descent into whimsy. Alex is 21, pretentious and complicated – s/he is played by four different performers, three women and one man, for no better apparent reason than to let the whole cast get some stage-time. Stressed by being on the cusp of adult responsibilities, Alex is transported to a shadow world populated by the creatures of his childhood imagination. It’s an acceptable premise but the extraordinarily tin-eared dialogue has the desperate air of diverse hands struggling to pad out proceedings. RORY FORD