Hannah Werner

Two women and their aerial ropes, a mirrored-like floor, and with an intense feeling of slight trepidation and intense curiosity, I sat in my seat before the performance began. Trepidation as I noticed a women with exposed breasts restrained by tight ropes, and a strong eagerness to understand what this performance will be about. With the blue spotlight shining down on the spinning aerialist, I knew something intriguing, and possibly visually challenging, was about to take place.

“She sings knowing she has wings”. These are lyrics occasionally sung (hauntingly) throughout the performance of Everything I See I Swallow, performed by the group, Shasha and Taylor Productions. These lyrics, both poetic and powerful, contain the meaning that both understanding and ownership enable clarity and voice. In this performance, this understanding and ownership revolves around the powerful feeling and ownership of beauty, and also dives into the changing dynamics of feminism; both of which are addressed through a unique dialogue consisting of only a mother and her daughter. We grow up with sexual hunger subconsciously being repressed and remaining a secretive conversation topic, and the theme of this performance addresses the absurdity that comes along with a lack of understanding and acceptance of sexual feelings and desire. With this dialogue addressing different standpoints on feminism, I was able to learn the changing dynamics of what it means to be a woman in what sometimes appears to be a sexually driven society. A mother, who works with a group of powerful men, just trying to seek acknowledgment of her hard work and dedication, believes women should not be submissive to the objectifying desires of men, for this gives them exactly what they want and goes against feminism and the idea of equality. On the other end, we have the daughter, Olivia. Originally believing the idea that beauty belongs to those who feel it, she later learns the power of owning one’s body and sexuality through acrobatics. Throughout the performance you see her self-expression in the form of aerial ropes, tying and tangling her nearly naked self into these spider webs just to gracefully and elegantly untangle herself with each spin and flip. Vulnerability, expression, ownership, and the battling between mother and daughter on feminism all come together to form one aesthetically pleasing yet socially challenging performance to push the limits of how sexuality is viewed.

While at times I felt confused by the abrupt scene changes and semi-ambiguous scripting, these feelings quickly dissipated as the performers dove into further detail as the scenes continued. Overall, this performance was beautifully written and provided me with a sense of pride in being a woman. Feeling shameful of or disengaged from our sexuality doesn’t move us even the slightest step closer to empowerment and free expression as a woman. To do this, we must first acknowledge and understand that we have the capability to have wings and fly. To trust in these wings allows us to sing our song, and to sing our song allows us to accomplish the most human thing possible: to love ourselves and to love one another.

Dillon Stein

I enjoyed my time at The Nashville Story performed by Night Owl Shows. I walked in and immediately noticed the very friendly and outgoing cast. They invited everyone to sit as close to the stage as possible. It wasn’t any out of ordinary set or anything extravagant. But a typical stage you’d imagine, from left to right 3 chairs for each performer, the female vocalist, the guitar player, and the male vocalist. There was also a projection screen in the background. It created a laid back and leisurely environment. Simple but effective. Which is where I find great significance in this performance. The performance had a really good flow to it. The screen projector would play some information and history about these famous country legends. For example, Garth Brooks successful “friends in low place” was written on the back of a napkin in the pub. Or that Shaniya Twain looked after her two siblings after her parents were tragically killed in a car crash. Her album “Come on over” remains to be the best-selling country album of all time and the bestselling album by a female artist in any genre. Then, the performers would play one of the artists iconic songs live for the audience. Rinse and repeat. I don’t use “Rinse and repeat” in a negative way but applaud the show for creating an immersive experience, even if it was simple, that’s not necessarily a bad thing. The performers were incredible and did an outstanding job. The audience was fully immersed, and the show went out on a bang as we sang along to the chorus of The Gambler. Simple but effective. It shows that as long as you have quality entertainment to offer to an audience there’s no need to be flashy or over-the top.

I feel sometimes performers forget this at the fringe and try to sell you on shock value rather than a good experience. Fellow student Ella Chapman has an amazing and hilarious blog on Well That’s Oz that I think proves my point with a vengeance. She talks about how it takes a familiar franchise like the Wizard Of Oz and simply adds shock value to it. Turning the whole story into a horror event. With a Halloween inspired theme, a dystopian version of Oz, and at some point, our beloved heroes grislily devouring a rabbit. I’m a horror movie buff and enjoy the Wizard of Oz. I think this play could’ve been fun. Unfortunately, it just takes already developed and admired characters and throws them under the bus in an attempt to sell tickets. They could have added something to the story, commentary on society or an intriguing what if scenario of the Wizard Of Oz. Instead they took the lazy route and choose sheer shock value… which doesn’t make for interesting viewing after the first five minutes. To quote Ella “It was low energy, but loud screaming to compensate for it.” Shock value’s not creative or inventive and it’s definitely not worth paying for. As Ella so eloquently puts it “This performance was fucking terrible.” I didn’t see the performance myself and I don’t plan to. I hope I got my point across and I would highly recommend A Nashville story, it was simple, a bit intimate, and fully effective, no shock value necessary.

Written by: Evan Kohne

The best “true” stories are almost always layered with fiction. What is a few embellishments when they entice and fascinate the masses? Orson Welles’, in his 1938 broadcast The War of the Worlds heavily with the truth, deceiving audiences into believing his performance was real. While never actually lying to his listeners (since he had made it clear that it was a performance at the beginning and end), Welles’ manipulated his audience intentionally in order to convince them an invasion was underway. In Rhum & Clay Theatre Company’s production by the same name, fake news and the need to embellish a story is brought to bear on the modern setting of 2016.

We join the story part way into the broadcast of Welles’ reading, showing how actors and technicians trick the audience with supposedly real news interruptions and background noises, amount other tactics. This becomes the underlying plot of the show as the main story is revealed. Meena (Jess Mabel Jones), an aspiring journalist attempts to get her interview with John (Matthew Wells) about his mother’s abandonment onto a radio station to make a name for herself. Rebuffed for the small scope of her story and the need to make it bigger, sexier, and more gripping, Meena travels to find John’s family. This journey leads her to Grover Mill, New Jersey, the site of Welles’ Martian invasion. There she meets John’s estranged family (played by Amalia Vitale, Matthew Wells, and Julian Spooner), only to discover a family divided by lies masquerading as truth.

The War of the Worlds is the story of how easy it is to let lies rule us. As Julian Spooner’s character remarks, “these people just eat it (fake news) up.” Lies make complicated and unsavory moments simple and easy to consume. We, the public, eagerly accept lies that fit our outlook on life, if only to help us cope with an world we no longer feel quite at home in. The cast excellently communicates this through their character’s easy acceptance of their own manipulation of others while becoming enraged at the lies told to them.

What the show leaves is a stage where lies flow like nectar and the truth is harder to swallow. However, what should scare audiences is the question of where does the performance stops? When is a lie ignorance, and when is a lie vicious in its intent? The characters of The War of the Worlds attempt to hide this answer by performing ignorance. When directly confronted, they squirm and do everything to cast blame aside and pretend they aren’t the villain for weaponizing lies. One is always left in the dark about whether the motive is to cause harm or not.

This is the great danger of performance. The ability to inhabit a fake persona so well that many will believe that is your true persona allows for abuse. An “act” can be perceived as real, while the true self can be seen as mere performance. When is Meena’s kindness towards others genuine, as opposed to an act to lure information out of those she interviews? When is the news we read intentionally rigged to enrage us? We like to think we are immune to such trickery. But as the show would argue, we are all eagerly primed for the next big lie.

I Love the Thought of Coming Home to You by Nick Poulos

“Yes I love the thought of coming home to you. Even if I know we can’t make it.” These are the lyrics to Simply Red’s song, “Fairgrounds” playing on a loop throughout the preshow of Sh!t Theater’s production, Drinking Rum With Expats. The actors, while in full face makeup work this desk that they have labeled, “The Pub”. They pour drinks into cups and set them on the desk, but never openly state that the audience can partake. Now, most people don’t ask for something that another person has unless that person offers to share. I am, however, a wizard. The rules of most people don’t apply to me.

I approach the desk and am immediately greeted warmly by the actors as they offer me cheese and a drink. Both of which, I happily accept. Slowly, most people in the audience begin to realize that there is, in fact, free booze on the table for them and they join me in grabbing a drink. The show begins, as the actors rely heavily on the humor of excessive drinking throughout the show. No, maybe not humor, maybe escapism.

They begin describing people that they interviewed from Malta, people who are referred to as “Expats”. Muts, mongrels, immigrants that don’t quite belong to England, but also don’t quite belong to Malta. These people convene in The Pub, drinking and sharing their stories of how Oliver Reed passed away there after drinking eight pints of lager, fourteen shots of rum, and half a bottle of whisky. The Pub mourned his death by printing t-shirts and putting his face on a clock.

The plot of the show primarily follows the actors as they cover the death of Daphne Galizia, a journalist from Malta who managed to piss off both sides of the “wide” political spectrum by digging deep into issues such as immigration. Primarily, why legal immigration is near impossible to obtain. Unfortunately, Daphne was never able to publish that story, as she was killed by a car bomb for informing the public of the truth.

Sh!t Theatre constantly breaks from the truth, distracting the audience by drinking, crowd surfing, playing loud music, and dancing. This is exactly the same vices that distract most people from seeing the truth. I am, however, a wizard. No, I don’t fully believe that statement, but believing that I am, in some way, special, has saved my life. It is here that I see that my way of coping with the ugliness of the world, isn’t by drinking. It’s by playing by my own rules, by making up fantastical stories and laughing at both the chaos within myself, and the chaos within our world. But coping mechanisms only last for so long until you are forced to see the truth. In reality, I understand that I am, in fact, human, and that I should try to create change in the evils that I constantly see within our society.

It’s just like Jekyll and Hyde, too much of the truth becomes depressing, demoralizing, and sometimes makes me suicidal. Too much of the wizard becomes blinding, ignorant, and a crutch that will only leave me worse off then before. It certainly is something that could kill me if I go too far, just like alcohol, however I do it anyway for the humor. No, maybe not humor, maybe escapism. It’s like Simply Red says, “Yes I love the thought of coming home to you. Even if I know we can’t make it.” While I’m still not sure how to balance the two sides of my personality coin, thanks to Drinking Rum With Expats, I’m excited to try.

Nitasha Borchert

With child was an experience to say the least. I started the show with confidence I knew exactly what was happening, to find out by the middle of it I had absolutely no idea what was going on. Starting with the question of what was the exact story-line here? Of course, by the end of the performance I had figured out the point she was getting across. Or at least what I seem to think she was working towards.

Starting with the fact that I truly had to focus on what she was doing physically and not just listen to what she was saying to us verbally. There were four different stories throughout the show. All good, and decently short. Although the fact that I did not catch on to her being a different person with a dissimilar life experience roughly until the third story-line it was still very good. That could have been poor research about the show With Child on my part or maybe it was the way she set up the show herself.

I will have to admit this performance had some great comedy. She laughed, danced, and truly showed sides of women that we all know to be true but do not always point out, recognize, or simply talk about. Some sides are known to be the ugly truth about us women, other parts to me showed what women on a day to day basis unfortunately must put up with simply for being a lady.

Of course, without quite spoiling anything I can say she was “pregnant” for the bit she performed for us, although I am almost positive, she was not actually (which is just fine) it was sort of hard to follow where that bit came into play. Until it dawned on me. Us women must carry so much on our shoulders. A part of being a woman is someday possibly carrying a child just so you can be a mother. In the beginning it reminded us that not all woman is able to conceive the way we would all like to. Some must adopt, or do IVF, and some are lucky enough to carry their own (if that’s how they wish to start a family) I would like to mention everyone has different ideas of what they would like. Of course, we cannot forget about the ladies who are just fine without even being a mother.

Generations behind us women were treated much different than we are today. It is almost as if we did not have a voice even just thirty years ago, but now there is no way anyone could have the audacity to try and quiet us.

From being shown different relationships between her boyfriend (or husband), her friends, and even her Nanna she opened our eyes to the many perspectives people have on women. Even women who believed in different lifestyles than other woman the same age as her. Some might think it is not OK to wear those pretty red lace panties, yet other may not give two damns whether the whole world knew or saw that’s what them was underneath those perfectly fit jeans that made your butt pop out even more. I would watch With Child again but with the hopes of coming up with a better understanding.

Written By: Maddie Christensen

On day 3 of the Fringe, I received the chance to go see the performance of Everything I See I Swallow by Shasha and Taylor Productions. At first, I was a little hesitant to go to a production like this because it talks about feminism. I get rather uncomfortable and usually keep to myself if this gets brought up. I don’t know enough about it to be able to fully grasp this type of performance. But I was able to understand some. Also, it was shown in the form of an Aerial performance. An aerial performance is performed with ropes and the performer using ways with the rope to twist and turn; sit and stand.

This performance got me out of my comfort zone with how much nudity and explicit language there is. It tells you that you can be in control of your body, feel comfortable talking about it, and the ways that you practice loving yourself. That is how the feminist theme takes place throughout. It tells us that you should be in charge of you own body, rather than having the people who THINK its beautiful have free reign over it. If they do, you need to change and help others love themselves as well. Just like what the daughter did to her mother. The mother wasn’t in control of her own body and it was driving her mad inside at what the daughter was doing in order to love herself. But eventually they patched up their relationship through Japanese bondage and aerial swinging.

The actresses did a really good job at performing their characters, but they were jumping around a lot. When it came to the daughter, she was happy with herself one minute. And then hating herself the next. Then it jumps to the mother being angry with her. What the actresses don’t really do is explain whats happening during the transition. Some other parts of the performance were confusing as well. Many times during the performance, they would go to the microphone on the left, and say their own monologue. The monologue would consist of them saying their own thoughts. But it seemed like their thoughts were way past the point they were trying to make happen in the previous scenes. So it made me think that I might have missed something.

I would definitely go see it again and recommend to others who feel that they need to get back the control of their own body and be comfortable with themselves. I think that this performance really matters and targets our younger girls who are out there with low self-esteem and people telling them what they should do with their own body. It can even older women fighting their own battles with self-esteem. A key phrase that I remembered was, “anybody can identify as anything in order to be a feminist”. I think that’s true for anything that you want to be in general. It doesn’t have to be being a feminist.

There was a song that was sung at the end by both of them, “she sings knowing she has wings” Everyone is allowed to say what they need to say, and spread their wings, knowing that they can do it. We sometimes just need someone to listen to us.

Written By: Evan Kohne

The underdog is our favorite role in performance. The underdog is the character who, against all odds, triumphs over adversity and wins the day. Who Cares, a play by LUNG and The Lowry, asks the hard question of “Who cares about the real underdogs in our community?”

Who Cares is the product of two years of interviews with young carers, youths who have a relative that they care for in the home. These carers, located in the impoverished city of Salford, face the daily battle of being both a child and an adult, but never quite able to inhabit either role. They are children, but their every minute is consumed with worry over their loved one in need. They are adults, but they are underestimated and disregarded by the grownups in their lives. The duality of existence strains every facet of their lives. The haunting words from the interviewed carers is brought beautifully to life, making their words all the more powerful and impactful.

In their performance, the cast made sure that they showed the intimate details of their situations, while also showing how each child in their position has many of the same struggles and obstacles. By having all three characters say certain lines in unison, the meaning is extended to all three, demonstrating how that certain feeling is felt by all on stage. This is further heightened by the interwoven style of their lines, cutting off or stepping into each other stories to continue their own, tying them together even though they could be told separately with little issue.

The stories of young carers needs to be told. The struggle of caring for a relative is one no child should have to undertake, certainly not without the support and love of others. But to just read their words is not enough. Their interviews, personified on stage by the three actors, give breath to each sentence. Each emotional build is visible on their faces, and one cannot help but become lost in the carer’s ordeal. To read is to miss the crucial components of the performance that give depth and character to the faceless transcripts. Only a performer can show the hollow expressions, aged by years of worry and strain, or the pain on the child’s face as every inch of ground gained towards recovery is rolled back and worsened.

This is the tragic beauty of Who Cares. Each performer embodies the multitude of emotions that come from a body in limbo, a child asked to play parent before they are even 5. The words, brought into this world by the interviewed children, trace the path that these carers navigate, struggling between bullies, teachers, vulnerable relatives, and ignorant friends.

If there is one thing to take from Who Cares, it is that we can perform roles in life that aren’t normal for us to enact, but that we should not be surprised when it changes who we are. The carers play adults, but it is clear from their words and the performer’s portrayal that they are still partially children. They yearn to see their families back together so the pain will stop. Their lives are contorted to help their relative, but this makes them lose out on the life they could have had. The longer they are forced to take on the roles of caretaker, the more separated from childhood they are. To expect them to be the same child as before, as many of the other adults in there lives seem to expect, is to ignore their changing life and the extraordinary circumstances that they exist in. Their performance of adulthood becomes real, while their childhood becomes the performance that they put on to hide from the world. If we are incapable of recognizing performance and seeing through it to the real person underneath, then who does care who any of us are?

Hannah Werner

Guilt. It’s a powerful emotion that not only causes the worst stomach aches, but also an emotion that may prevent imperative social action from taking place. Through the use of vivid and compelling storytelling, Alanna Mitchell self-discloses her experiences which lead to her strong desire to advocate for climate change action. This performer, a journalist just “breaking the rules” by performing a one-woman show about herself, presented the artistic side of science, which seeks understanding of the knowledge pursued through the act of science. With nothing but a sense of nostalgia for the Canadian Prairies and her fine-tuned skill for asking questions, Mitchell takes you through her journey to explore the changes in the ocean’s climate that have been changing as a result of increased carbon dioxide in the atmosphere. Ultimately, Mitchell explores how we can change the end of this story we call “global warming” through the forgiving nature of our own guilt.

In this performance, Mitchell stood alone. Almost like a conversation, Mitchell disclosed her lack of experience in both science and performance, yet still establishing a sense of trust within the audience as she stood before us announcing her experiences. With each passing scene, a new one began with a change of spotlight in color and location. A circle drawn on the ground around her, in a way representing our view into her personal bubble and her desire to share with the audience. The room was small and intimate, foreshadowing some intimate confessions and serious discussion. Throughout the performance, I was never disengaged nor disinterested in what was about to be said. Mitchell’s convincing attitude toward global warming was enough to give rise to many goosebumps just peering out to hear more.

With a major in meteorology and a minor in communication studies, I have a huge fascination in how communication plays a role in science and the major impact it has on social action. This incredibly thoughtful declaration of Mitchell’s perspective on this critical topic sparked my interest and inspired a burning fire to further understand the role that storytelling has in contemporary issues. This performance was unlike any other that advises social action to improve our climate in a way that is honest, educational, and even slightly comedic! This is an important issue that not only needs to be addressed and talked about, but it also needs action. Like, now. Time, yet a another concept mentioned in Sea Sick, is running out to recover from the damage that’s already been done. So, accept the past, forgive yourself, rid the guilt that prevents us from rewriting our ending, and start by seeing this performance!

Dillon Stein

Coma was intense. I had a feeling this performance was going to be a unique experience due to the facial expressions of those who were leaving the play as I entered. I saw one of two looks, 1: a smile. 2: a look of confusion/fear. I even witnessed a woman seeking comfort from her significant other via hug. The second I walked in I knew I was in for an immersive experience. The performance took place in an empty shipping container, which created a completely isolated environment. To the right was an old-fashioned coffee machine. As I walked through the aisle, I saw beds stacked on the left and right three beds high. It made me think of the sleeping conditions a sailor on an old cramped boat might be familiar with. The bottom of the aisles was lit with a yellow light. The audience shuffled through and began to lie in a bed of their choice.

After everyone was situated the lights turned a dark red and the performance began. A male voice began speaking over the intercom. In a calm but rather unsettling manner. The bed was a white mattress and on the bed was a pair of black headphones and around 30 seconds after I got comfortable… the lights cut out. Immediate and complete blackness. Then the voice made its presence known again, imploring the audience to take the pill (there was pill that was offered, I missed it but was told that there was one and fellow audience members took it) the voice assured everyone that it would have no side effects and does absolutely nothing. Then the voice counted from ten, In the meantime background noise started to fill the headphones. A nurse started to call for a Jacob. The scent of coffee started to fill the room. This was really unique! It really set the stage and made me feel as if that room was alive and I was there smack in the middle of the performance. The darkness led to complete reliance on sound to convey the story to the audience. This was done damn effectively, so effectively, at a certain point I felt around just to make sure someone wasn’t actually there. Something was wrong and there was no going back. For maximum impact I will keep the rest of this thrilling experience shrouded in mystery in hopes you’ll go out and experience it firsthand.

Darkfield (performers of Flight) continue their tradition of using a shipping container as a stage. While also pushing boundaries and successfully created a collective sense of vulnerability. Stripping the sense, we arguably rely on most: sight. I have never experienced a performance where the audience was put on to an even playing field. If you’ve a fear of tight spaces or darkness this performance may prove too effective and I would not recommend this to you. Even I started to get antsy to escape back into an open space. The performance left me quiet for a while, pondering on the experience I just had.

After spending yet another day at the Fringe, I have learned to get into the groove of prepping myself before I see a performance. First: read the description of the performance. Second: Figure out what kind of performance I’m seeing so I know how to respond as an audience member. Third: Go in with an open mind. Now, after completing all of these things, I walk into Sea Sick. There is a chalkboard (which automatically speaks educational undertones to me) and a glass table with a pitcher of what looked like water and a glass of water right next to it. My mind is trying to piece together the symbolism of the glass table and the relationship between the glass and water in the space they share. Also, what in the world is this folk music doing playing overhead? All of these things circulated in my mind until the performer, Alanna, emerged and started speaking. She had a very solid voice, but a twang of nervousness as she skipped a few periods and forgot to enunciate the ends of her words. Despite this, her actions spoke louder than her words with her deliberate movements, careful lighting, and the well-placed scene changes.

Whenever I see a performance I always try to pinpoint the exigency of it. Some are harder to pinpoint than others. But, when that woman walked in and was honest with the audience saying she would rather us not know the side of her she was about to tell, it resonated with me. If not now, when? If not here, where? We are the vessels that carry the stories. And in this performance, carry we did. Alanna took our humanity from us and molded it into a more compassionate, loving, and forgiving essence; then, she gifted it right back.

Science.

Art.

Storytelling.

Performance.

How can these things possibly find equilibrium with each other? In Alanna’s performance, they do through curiosity and exploration. She takes us on a journey across the world and down into the depths of the ocean. Typically, anything scientifically related can confuse one who doesn’t study such topics. However, Alanna does it in a way that is engaging, and artistic. She leads us on her exploration through the horrors of climate change, what happens when the ocean becomes too acidic, and to quote her directly, “warm, breathless, and sour.”

The Fringe likes tackling political, social, and sexually charged topics. Who is there to advocate about the planet? This is the moment Alanna strolls in with Bob Dylan and Neil Young on each of her shoulders, ready to give us a lesson in forgiveness. Not a lesson in how to reduce our carbon footprint, but a lesson in forgiveness.

Often, advocacy gets locked away in that hidden box. You know the one! The one that has those old pictures of “the one that got away” or if you are like some, locks of hair once had. We get too scared to advocate for ourselves that we lock the tool away and only pull it out when remembered. Performance is the key to unlocking that box. Performance is advocacy. A storyteller’s story is never quite finished, neither is an advocate’s. To quote Alanna, “The truth lies not in the facts, but in the way we tell the facts.”

Tell the story.

Be the advocate.