Last comic laughing
Victoria’s Wes Borg takes an irreverent look inside a comedic life in Ha!
The Times Colonist is reviewing the Victoria Fringe Theatre Festival, which continues in downtown locations to Sept. 6. All ratings are on a five-star scale.
Ha!
Victoria Event Centre Sept. 2,3, 5, 6 Rating: 4 stars
Wes Borg is one of the most recognizable names on Victoria’s comedy scene. He’s the gingerhaired powerhouse responsible for Derwin Blanshard’s Extremely Classy Sunday Evening Program and a host of other hijinx.
Ha!, his solo fringe offering, is a reworking of a show he and Chris Craddock created 15 years ago. It’s the tale a small-town Prairie boy who, rather than taking over his dad’s farm, drives to the big city (Toronto) to become a stand-up comedian.
There are plenty of good — and sometimes great — stuff happening here. Borg’s script bears the acrid tang of authenticity. Ha! is irreverent and funny. And as usual, he performs with sufficient energy to power a mid-sized city.
There’s dizzying highs as the hero, Colin, makes conquest after conquest, eventually making it to the holy grail: a Just for Laughs TV special. (Laughably, Colin lands this one as a fill-in after Gilbert Gottfried dies; his other big break comes when Elvira Kurt bites the big one).
Borg also presents the seamy side of the scene. To score popularity on the small-town club circuit, Colin learns he must lard his shtick with profanity and scatological references. Meanwhile, he and his motley crew of road warriors booze freely, gobble MDMA, snort coke and contemplate sleazy three-way action in a hot tub. It’s funny — and the level of gritty detail makes it seem uncomfortably real.
Borg is superb at instantly switching from character to character in a multitude of snapshot scenes. These include his girlfriend/wife (who writes atrocious jokes), his working-class parents, a gay brother, a gay comic and a risible impression of Gottfried. These are fully-fleshed out characters; the fact Borg brings them to life with a few deft strokes is remarkable.
The narrative is well-structured. The show’s only downfall is a weakish ending. Ultimately, Colin makes a compromise that’s both amusing and understandable. Still, there’s a sense the creators had difficulty bringing the rise and (semi) fall of this young comic to a satisfying denouement.
That said, this is a superior offering from a veteran comedy performer/writer who has not only lived the life, but reflects on it with intelligence, humour and grace.
— Adrian Chamberlain
The Birdmann in Momentous Timing Victoria Event Centre Today, Sept. 3 Rating: 4 1⁄2 stars
Trent Baumann is an Aussie performer who’s become an underground hero on the fringe theatre circuit with his curious alter-ego, the Birdmann.
How to describe the Birdmann? He wears too-tight trousers and tattered tails. His hair is swooped up into a gravity- defying plume. He wears suspiciously shiny black shoes.
The Birdmann stalks the stage like an escapee from a 1920s surrealist movie, exuding amiable weirdness. To one side is his musical accompanist, an egg-shaped woman called Egg, who plays trumpet and melodica.
The Birdmann in Momentous Timing loosely combines two themes: the passing of time and the Birdmann’s ill-fated search for love. Don’t go expecting a linear plot. The Birdmann balances an ironing board on his head; he smashes a cupcake on his face; he walks his “dog,” which is an iron.
Along the way, he dispenses absurdist bon mots.
“I had a time machine,” he says. “It’s a watch.”
And later: “When I get lonely at night I just roll over and hold my feminine side.”
At various junctures, the Bird- mann mimes to Cher’s If I Could Turn Back Time, acting out each line using gesture in a literal manner (i.e. arms moving like a clock).
Beckoning us in with a halfsmile, Baumann strives for bizarre-world humour, outrageousness and a dollop of poignancy. He succeeds absolutely.
Saturday night’s sold out audience loved it. If you want to see this one, go early — the lineups are long. — AC
Icarus Dancing Langham Court Theatre Today, Sept. 4, 5, 6 Rating: 4 1⁄2 stars
Britain’s Rob Gee is another popular figure on the international fringe theatre scene. His new solo show, which debuted here Saturday night, is about a psychiatric patient, Simon, who believes he’s the reincarnation of Ramesses II.
Naturally then, Simon is determined to escape and assume his rightful place as Egypt’s ruler. Gee — bald-headed, bespectacled, T-shirted — takes us on Simon’s wild adventures, which include kidnapping (sort of) a six-year-old girl, terrorizing an immigrant taxi driver and ultimately coming down from a mind-roasting bipolar joy-ride.
Icarus Dancing is the last instalment in a trilogy about mental health. Gee has just the right credentials for such a venture. He’s a super-energetic, uber-likable, highly gifted writer/ performer.
What’s more, he spent 11 years working as a psychiatric nurse in the U.K. , so he knows exactly what he’s talking about.
Simon is presented wacky warts and all. We laugh at his quixotic delusions and misadventures. Yet Gee is careful to present Simon in a respectful, empathetic manner. Yes, he’s a bit of a nutter. However, he’s also a human being. Indeed, Simon is a darned sight more likable that half the “normals” in this show.
One of Gee’s notable achievements is portraying Millie, the little girl, in a non-sentimental, non-cloying manner.
Gee is also a performance poet, so Icarus Dancing offers reams of rich, poetic language from a man who’s in love with words. This a moving, funny, deeply human show not to be missed. — AC
The Times Colonist is covering the Victoria Fringe Theatre Festival, running to Sept. 6. Check online (timescolonist.com/fringe) and in print for daily reviews. All ratings are on a five-star scale.
The Wyrd Sisters
Metro Studio Today, Sept., 4, 5, 6 Rating: Four stars
The wyrd (or weird) sisters are the three crones from Macbeth. The Wyrd Sisters takes this notion of Shakespearean witches with mysterious powers and expands it into a compelling dance-movement piece.
Six performers offer abstract and intriguing interpretations of spooky segments from some of the Bard’s greatest hits. The witches, personifying the supernatural, appear throughout,
There is the “beware the ides of March” sequence from Julius Caesar. There’s puckish trickery from A Midsummer’s Night Dream, Hamlet’s encounter with his father’s ghost and the “thrice the brinded cat hath mew’d” spell-casting scene from Macbeth.
The Wyrd Sisters offers snippets of dialogue; however, it’s primarily a dance piece. Lively choreography by Nicola Whitney-Griffiths (who plays one of the witches) is energetic and sometimes acrobatic, featuring two-person backflips and somersaults, for example. The performers, all University of Victoria students or recent graduates, are not all trained dancers, yet they do justice to the movement.
Carl Keys’s score — a recorded soundtrack — is wonderfully evocative: ominous basso synth figures, strange tickings and exhalations, peculiar bleeps and gurglings.
To fully appreciate The Wyrd Sisters you have to be familiar with the plays it references. That being the case, the piece doesn’t quite stand on its own. Nonetheless, this is a powerful, primal work that easily holds one’s interest over 45 minutes. On Sunday it received a standing ovation.
— Adrian Chamberlain
Camel Camel
Metro Studio Today, Sept. 2, 4, 5. Rating: Two stars
Camel Camel starts off promisingly enough.
Two pairs of stockinged legs are seen from underneath a giant fan. The legs dance. The owners of the legs then appear — two brim-hatted, fake mustachioed vaudevillians. They introduce themselves as Herbert and Gerbert. Their top halves are male; their bottom halves are female.
“We’re gross, we’re sick and we just can’t help it,” they declare.
Fair enough. This is fringe theatre, after all. However, the pair soon metamorphose (or rather, devolve) into the buck-toothed Camel Sisters. And things go steadily downhill.
There’s plenty of kooky dressup of the “what’s-in-Grandma’ strunk” variety. There’s singing and dancing of the “this-is-so bad-it’s-good” variety. Only, it’s not really that good. Physical comedians Janessa Johnsrude and Meghan Frank may aspire to Beckett-esque absurdity or Euro-weirdo profundity. Unfortunately, the writing is uneven and the performances on Sunday night were merely so-so.
— AC
The Untold Tales of the Brothers Grimm
Metro Studio Sept. 3, 4 and 5 Rating: Three stars
Disney would have us believe fairy tales are all about beautiful princesses, handsome princes and happy endings.
Those familiar with the Brothers Grimm know differently. These German story-tellers had a taste for the macabre and frightening (try reading their disturbing version of Bluebeard).
Chimera Theatre, a young troupe from Kamloops, knows this. In The Untold Tales of the Brothers Grimm, they explore some of the brothers’ lesserknown-fare.
There’s a tale about a poor soldier who makes a grotesque contract with Lucifer. Another yarn details a devilish deal in which a man believes he’ll be forewarned about his death, but to his horror, misunderstands the portents. There’s one about the wise daughter of a peasant who outwits a king. And there are two others.
Chimera has opted for an approach intended to appeal to adults as well as children. The Brothers Grimm and the fairy tale characters make winking asides about the action. A father, for instance, speaks of “my dear children, who I often treat like property rather than real people.”
Overall, the concept is a good one; it’s refreshing to see lesserknown tales explored. But on Sunday uneven acting (clearer articulation and greater projection were needed) weighed down the action. As well, the script needs trimming. Five stories is too much — the last was related at speed-freak velocity, likely because the allotted time was running out.
If you do bring children, be advised this is most suitable for youngsters aged eight years and older. — AC
For Body and Light Presents: Bear Dreams
Metro Studio Sept. 3,4, 5, 6 Rating: One star
After a long day of fringing, Bear Dreams was my final show. It’s about a young couple who find each other and then go searching for the “heart of winter.” At least, that’s what the program says.
This dance-recitation from Montreal featured a bearded, middle-aged fellow in a touque strumming his electric guitar. He solemnly ruminated, sotto voce, about Canada, the wilderness and so forth. Beside him lay a young couple, eyes closed and heads on pillows, apparently in deep sleep.
“I’m feeling this dance down in my belly,” declared the guitarist. The couple gamely commenced rolling around.
The guitarist said some things about the God of Creation and Sheba dancing on his belly. He appeared to be playing only two chords over and over. This continued, more or less, throughout the show.
The couple — a bearded, longhaired man and a woman with wild, curly hair — were now dancing. Then the male dancer started dancing with an enormous light bulb hanging by a cord from the ceiling.
The light bulb went round and round in circles, appearing to chase the male dancer like a giant firefly. He seemed disturbed by this. The guitarist intoned something about a “molecule chain.”
The woman started dancing solo. The male dancer lay down on his pillow, taking a well-earned kip.
The pair reunited. Then the female dancer got badly twisted up in some parachute fabric. She went underneath the parachute and started writhing about animatedly. There were storm sounds. The guitarist spoke gravely of walking through the woods on a cold winter night. The dancing couple were now underneath the parachute, doing something with small battery-powered lights.
Then another woman (she operated the hanging light, making it go up and down) entered the audience, inviting them onstage. A gaggle of theatregoers gathered with the dancers under the parachute, now suspended so it looked like a yurt. They all had coloured lights. It looked festive and fun. I wondered why I wasn’t invited into the yurt, being in the front row and all.
The guitarist began talking about a bear settling into a deep sleep. I glanced at the man beside me, whose head drooped in a pose that suggested either deep rapture or hibernation. Or perhaps he was having bear dreams.
After 55 minutes, it was over. Walking outside, I was overcome with a feeling of tremendous elation and began musing on the transformative power of theatre.
— AC