Susan Gets Some Play

Written (by Adam Szymkowicz) to show its star Susan Louise O'Connor to neurotic-adorable advantage (on that score, it mostly succeeds) this hour-long play is set in motion when one of Susan's friends gets the idea to pretend to produce a play in order to hold bogus auditions: how else will dating-discouraged Susan meet guys? The slight, brief comedy seems intended as a silly, goofy lark, but even a lark has to have rules and this one, by design, keeps changing them up. Once guys seated in the audience started to take the stage to audition (following one that entered from the wings) I knew that investing in Susan's dilemma was useless: the play, thick with theatre in-jokes and aggressive fourth-wall breakage, is more interested in mildly goofing on itself than in Susan's man problems. That's never more apparent than at the play's climax, when Susan - previously and self-effacingly oblivious to interest from guys right under her nose - wanders into the audience to deliver an earnest monologue promising to change her ways and her attitude. This personal growth moment is unearned and out of nowhere: we didn't see Susan do any work.

Also blogged by: [Aaron]

The Shattering of the Golden Pane

Photo/Kymm Zuckert

The Shattering of the Golden Pane needs to be more shatter, less gold: too much of Wilhelm's script is gilded with repetition that endlessly delays both actions and development. Even the few poignant moments--like Verta's frantic attempts to save parasite-infested fish--are related as numbing anecdotes, and until Caleb's appearance late into the second act, the show gives us nothing greater than a flimsy ghost to keep our attention. There's potential in the unrequited loves of all four characters, and there is much creepiness in the way David and Verta openly use each other for sexual solace by pretending that they are different people. But these Goths and punks are too closed off for any of this to be more than the sort of chatter that's only meaningful when drunk.

Drop Six: Mister Lucky

This hour-long Fringe Festival show, written performed and maybe even a little improv'ed by a talented sketch comedy troupe called Drop Six, has only the slimmest concept to hold it together: nearly every skit is in some way about male-female mating. The troupe is comprised of guys and one gal, so the gal (Alicia Levy) has the most to do: luckily she has a variety of well-honed comic skills and she doesn't wear out her welcome. The show is far more hit than miss: except for a running gag in Amish dress that I didn't care for (it depicts the guys all excited over the gal's over-sexual butter-churning) the troupe's bits of broad physical comedy are the most distinctive and funny segments of the show. It was easy to warm up to these performers, and if they make it to New York again I wouldn't hesitate to have another look.

Sodomy & Pedicures

****

Fringe Festival


Though this was your standard "Hi, I'm me!" one person coming-of-age format complete with the deconstructions of one's own self doubt and the obligatory mom and dad impersonations, the story that the lovely Jeanne d'Ork tells is pretty damn absorbing. In a brisk 60 minutes Ms. d'Ork maintains clear focus on one of the primary struggles of her life: how does one remain a credit to their gender and still secretly want to get held down and done in the butt? Climbing all over a fuzzy red couch she told hilarious stories of being denied barbies and lipstick by her hardcore feminist mom and communist dad. The blessed result of their rearing is that we have here a a very hysterical, surprisingly well-adjusted woman who performs one person shows that I think her parents would be very proud of. And though we have enormously differing sexual boundaries (give me Tony's phone number, I'll gladly let him hold me down) she has definitely earned this sodomite's respect. Favorite line: "Get the fuck `outta there! I've got to save something for my husband!"

PB&J

PB&J must be made from that chunky kind (which makes sense, if the secret ingredient is penis), because Tara Dairman's script is dangerously uneven. At times, it works as a satire of our careless consumerism (along with the emasculating consequences), but more often than not, it just dives into dick-based humor (care to guess what our reporter hero, Dick Longfellow, is blessed with?). Ultimately, even though Cyndy A. Marion bolstered the jokes with Viagra-efficient staging, PB&J fell a little short.

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FRINGE: Bukowsical

Photo/Lili Von Schtupp

Spencer Green and Gary Stockdale aren't as ambitious (or as timely) as Mark Hollman and Greg Kotis (of Urinetown fame), but their crude, lewd, and toe-tapping musical, Bukowskical! plays pitch-perfect to anyone who's ever picked up a pencil. From the advice of that good to the last drop muse, Sweet Lady Booze ("Take Me"), to the instruction of masochistic parents ("Art is Pain"), to the down, dark, and dirty advice of Faulkner, Plath, Williams, and Burroughs ("Writing Lesson"), Bukowsical transforms hardship into hilarity, and though it veers way off the path of Bukowski's life (even more so than its metadramatic presentation as a backer's audition), it only does so to squeeze in a few more debauched jokes. Bukowski (Brad Blaisdell) makes the jazz is downright lascivious on "Love Is (A Dog From Hell)," and Fleur Phillips, who plays Buk's One True Love, is the perfect coloratura contrast on songs like "Chaser of My Heart" or the contrapuntal duet of "Remember Me"/"Elegy." I had a wonderful time, got blown away by all but one of the cast (Ian Gould), and seriously recommend this to everyone.

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