I’ve hit the wall.
And that means, I’m not hitting the wall, I’ve crashed into it and shattered myself upon it. I am broken, my body openly rebelling against me for the 3-5 hours of sleep (drunken) per night I’ve allowed it in the last 6 days. I can hardly concentrate, and all I want to do is slip into a nice, REAL coma for a few months. Which is why I did the unthinkable.
I skipped a performance. Only three shows tonite. Yes, I’m that fucking weak and I expect you all hate me now. I know I do. I deserve your scorn.
I staggered into the fringe half-awake, raindrops slowly teasing themselves out of the grey skies above in anticipation of a blanket of downpour that seems oddly comforting to me. I imagine myself staring up into those sundered heavens screaming out my exhaustion to the elements, and being baptised in the primal waters of the world.
…Did I mention the wicked cool hallucinations all this sleep deprivation is giving me? They fucking rock. And I’m still not sure that my first show of the night, THE DUCK WIFE, wasn’t one of them. Put on by Inertia Productions and rock band Grub Animal, this epic retelling of an ancient inuit folk tale hits Godzilla-levels of cool within seconds and never god-damn well stops. Brilliant (to my untrained eyes, at least) choreography, awesome tunes, a heroic adventure to rival any of the classics…and rightfully, this SHOULD be one of the ‘classics’. The DW gang offers printouts of the legendary story at the venue, as well as merch to buy, and I’m thinking I’ll get me some so I can be one of the cool kids. I met a few of the performers a day ago outside SAW, and they seemed like righteous folk. I’m so glad I saw this show, as its energy gave me some of my own again.
Enough at least to brave the rain and meet my Jammy in the courtyard, where karaoke was getting underway…we stayed long enough to one of Wayne’s many faces belt out the first tune of the evening, followed by Phone Whore Cameryn Moore and others, until we had to go for our next show. Thankfully it was a short trip to the SAW for the delightful DALE BEANER AND THE TURTLE BOY, a two-man comic tale from Connor Thompson and Devon Hyland. It plays like an extended SNL skit…one of the good ones, don’t worry…with the two of them filling all roles in the oddball story of a child star and a turtle-ized freak trying to take control of their lives at the MLB All-Star game. The lads are well comfortable in the spotlight, as well as pretty fucking funny, and they have the rather charming habit of occasionally cracking each other up, much to the audience’s enjoyment. And I am of course too modest to comment about being name dropped in CUPCAKE CREW 11: THE RETURN OF GUMBALL KEVIN, tho I suspect they were just sucking up for a good review (it worked).
We high-fived the Crystalline Entity on the way out, and the Jammy made her way home as it was a school night. I stuck around and got a ticket (barely) for 7(x1)SAMURAI, a show by one David Gaines , a man who literally possesses the title of ‘Professor of Mask and Movement’.
It’s his retelling of the classic 3-hour Kurosawa epic film SEVEN SAMURAI, except all on his lonesome, using nothing but his own body, two masks, and a shitload of clown training. In one goddamn hour.
…later on, while I was participating happily in his standing ovation, I made the following vow to myself…the next time I hear some loudmouth, thickneck, or even just your typical dummy/drone incapable of original thought, telling me that they ‘hate mimes’..? I’m kicking them right in the nuts (or the canoe, because I am NOT sexist), on behalf of professor D.Gaines. You’re welcome in advance, prof. And seriously…SERIOUSLY. Seeing this show was nothing less than a privilege. At least once each Fringe, I see something that makes me reel and think, ‘I didn’t know you could DO that, with just a body and a stage’. I’m only now starting to slowly realize that maybe, just maybe, there actually IS nothing you can’t do…
…Except, maybe, see 4 shows on the sixth night when you’re dog-tired. I thought about it…I had a couple things dog-eared that COULD see…but Samurai was SUCH a high point to go out on, it was pretty easy to convince myself. I ended up wandering to the beer tent (go home, you fucking idiot!) , and spent some time with Alison, director of Kurt Fitz’s great LAST STRAIGHT MAN IN THEATRE, and her hubby. In which I got to see Lindsay Sutherland Boal sing opera, hear a terrifying tale of bats gone wild, and the rest of the usual shit that happens in the courtyard after dark. I went home at midnight, and hopefully I will wake up in the morning. By the grace of whomever, am I right..?
Oh, and that ‘Saucy Jack’ guy..? Odd looking dude. All I’m saying. Nice hat, tho.
See you tomorrow,
(…whose real name is ‘Kevin’, that’s why that earlier joke works. You all got that, right..?)