HONEYMOON ★★★★★ SAM MULLINS ★★★★
With this love-gone-stale tale, British solo performer Gemma Wilcox offers a storyline that’s far from original. Yet the way in which she tells it absolutely is. The Honeymoon Period Is Officially Over is a superb show that reaches a dizzying standard.
It’s the story of a young English woman, Sandra, who becomes engaged to — and then marries — a man called Michael. Right from the start the relationship seems to have entered a cul-de-sac.
The couple can’t help annoying and disappointing one another; what used to be right has gone desperately wrong. However, when an old boyfriend shows up one evening, Sandra’s joie de vivre is reignited.
What makes this 65minute show a transcendent effort are Wilcox’s outstanding skills as a writer and performer. She plays 20 characters, shifting from one to another with jaw-dropping deftness and speed. Each is well-defined. Various British accents are delivered impeccably; her use of gesture is razor-sharp.
When the going gets maudlin, the atmosphere is leavened with humour. Wilcox plays talking chickens, hamsters and cats. This might sound corny — it’s not, thanks to the irreverence and acuity of her portrayals.
This performer’s mastery of movement is something to behold. For instance, when Wilcox plays a regal peacock spreading its wings, it’s breathtakingly beautiful — like a unforgettable moment from a contemporary dance piece.
There’s something both heartening and scintillating about seeing any live performance — be it theatre, dance, music — that achieves a top-notch level. It’s energizing and thrilling. In 2008, the University of Victoria’s theatre department staged a very bad play called Lionel the Miracle Man. It’s about a four-foot-four tenor who transforms into a giant. Critics gave it the “Thank God They Were Comps” award at the end of the season.
In The Untitled Sam Mullins Project, UVic theatre grad Sam Mullins (who’s now a successful performer and writer) recounts his experience acting in this show. He had the role of Sunshine, a black character. Because Mullins is white, he was instructed to wear blackface — something he was highly uncomfortable with for obvious reasons.
The show was a disaster. But Mullins’ recollections of his stomach-churning uncomfortableness in this situation are an absolute hoot.
This solo comedy show is built on the premise that Mullins will recount four revealing “truths.” We hear about the first time Mullins truly falls in love (it didn’t go well), his battles with panic attacks and the time his dad gave great advice to baseball player Josh Hamilton. The latter is the most interesting tale — Hamilton was a hot young prospect who lapsed into drug addiction and then, against all odds, became a baseball superstar.
Mullins is a tall, gangly fellow with Buddy Holly glasses who’s terrifically likable and, more importantly, is able to convey that to an audience. He’s a fine storyteller, too, offering wellcrafted tales that benefit from his clear delivery and use of gesture.
These tales are poignant, funny and honest. Offering monologues that explore one’s personal history is a tricky thing — something that seems profound and fascinating to the narrator might seem less so to the listener.
The best ones are not only confessional, they say something interesting about the human condition. In this case, the baseball story does — the others don’t quite match its depth and universality. That said, The Untitled Sam Mullins Project is superior fringe fare well worth seeking out.
I Can’t Tell You is a collection of sketch comedy bits loosely built around the theme of lying. The humour is collegiate, occasionally funny and often hit-andmiss.
Two theatre-school grads, Caitlin McFarlane and Vincent Leblanc-Beaudoin, energetically zip through skits about hipster poets, Car2Go hijinx, stealing food, job interviews gone awry and more. The pair have talent and potential; however, the writing isn’t always topnotch.
At one point, they select audience members to come up on stage and (coached by the performers) deliver risqué dialogue. Despite my best efforts to avoid this, McFarlane collared me — my line had to do with nipples and buttocks.
I promised to give her show an extra star if she would release me and select another volunteer. She did. And so I have.
Wisely, McFarlane and Leblanc-Beaudoin ramp it up at the end with oodles of audience participation, creating a festive atmosphere with party hats and confetti. While not life-changing, I Can’t Tell You is fringy and fun.