Troubling portrait of life in post-apartheid Soweto
With Martinson herself playing Thandi, Awoye Timpo’s production of her play exposes a loss of faith, not just in Mandisi’s sullied devotion to something higher, but more devastatingly in Thandi’s wilful self-destruction that is her last gasp for autonomy in her poverty-stricken existence.
With the naturalism of each scene broken up by ebullient bursts of South African song, gumboot dancing and out-front monologues, Martinson, Yusef Miller as Mandisi and Jonathan David Martin as the inspector reveal a moving but no less troubling portrait of a post apartheid South Africa where for some life is still very much on the edge.
In Can I Start Again Please, two women sit formally side by side wearing frocks ornate enough to suggest they’re about to give some polite parlour room recitation.
With pages of text spread out on their laps like a musical score, on one level that’s exactly what Sue MacLaine’s 55-minute meditation on how words fail us becomes.
As MacLaine and co-performer Nadia Nadarajah relate untranslatable quotes from Wittgenstein both in everyday English and in sign language with coded references to childhood sexual abuse peppered throughout, something darker and more philosophical emerges.
Part performance lecture, part unspoken interrogation of the audience and part purging, MacLaine’s piece plays with form as much as content in a production overseen by Jonathan Burrows, described as an outside eye rather than a director.
Provocations on what it means to be silent are punctuated by choreographed hand gestures or else Maclaine and Nadrajah ringing hand-bells that only one of them will hear.
Wry intellectual gags are delivered in precise, deadpan tones. Even the lack of a question mark in the title seems to be a line of inquiry that goes beyond words to get to a stark and mesmeric dissection of actions that speak a whole lot louder.
When a girl with a magic heart meets a boy with stars in his eyes in Fable, the fact that they were brought together in a west of Scotland village by a dating app rather than fate suggests that opposites attracting in such a way might not quite work out.
J is a would-be astronaut grounded by physical limits not of her making. Blair is a small-town boy who’ll never get out of town if he’s not careful, even though he’s too careful by far. Looped guitar patterns played live by Jim Harbourne, who plays Blair, an old-school what-we-did-on-our-hols slides show and a series of spoken-word style monologues from Veronica Hare as J makes Joe Hufton’s production even more charming. All running to August 30 KEVIN J, pictured, isn’t some middle-class drama graduate putting on a hoodie and attempting a swagger. He’s the real deal. In his debut Fringe show, Council Estate of Mind, he describes what it was like growing up on the notorious North London housing estate Broadwater Farm.
The estate is one of the most ethnically diverse regions in the country and Kevin’s best early material centres around being the only white kid in the entire school. Forming a gang proved a tad challenging. Stories of the larger-than-life characters he grew up with and the amazing community spirit that sustains the estate are eloquently delivered.
You can’t help thinking what a top bloke he is and how you’d quite like to take him out for a beer. Unfortunately, you also can’t help thinking that a few more laughs wouldn’t go amiss. The injection of some additional gags here would really up the ante. He shares stories of his stints doing stand-up in Nigeria on the black comedy circuit as well as hosting Tinie Tempah’s Ibiza pool parties. The boy done good. Runs to August 30 AT ONLY 22, Al Porter is Ireland’s new comedy sensation. Armed with sharp gags and an even sharper suit, Dublin’s designated king of council estate camp is making his Fringe debut. From the working-class suburb of Tallaght, or as he describes it, “the brown bit on the Monopoly board,” this former trainee priest flirts his way through a funny confessional show called Al Porter Is Yours. His “man’s man” dad Mick is the target of lots of the early material. Especially when he earns the semi- legendary nickname of Mickipedia thanks to his claims of knowing everything. Al keeps the belly laughs coming with irreverent tales of Tinder dates, being a mammy’s boy and constantly being mistaken for an air steward. Each story is delivered with more innuendo than a box set of Carry On films. With only two years stand-up experience, this is a mature and accomplished performance. Al has just signed up with the same agency as Jonathan Ross and Alan Carr so expect to see more of him. Runs to August 31
Fringe Theatre