The Endarkenment: A Pedal Powered Opera

Set in a post-apocalyptic near-future where the lights have been snuffed, the Endarkenment takes shape as a sort of bizarre operatic Mass. Shattered fragments of once-grand technology and dim memories of lives of leisure, LOLs and fast-food have somehow clustered, like debris around an anemone, into a religion, and we the audience are congregates in a nightly ceremony to its god Bullbear.

The show sets the scene with an opening hymn led by High Priest/Narrator 'Bugsy' in a resounding bass. After offerings to iMacdonald and his golden-archangels, we are introduced to the three sinners whose misdeeds led to the endarkenment, and learn that one may be sacrificed (on the Krispy Kremy Krucifix no less!) to pay for our redemption before the night is through.

The story of how we got to these dark days plays out in song as this (literal) threesome of wayward hipsters recount their life before the crash minor economic correction. The relationship between the three protagonists weaves the plot, as their polyamorous entanglement grows ever more complex. The trio each have excellent voices and do a terrific job, bringing tremendous energy to the performance. Much of the humour is driven by the ironic treatment given to (post)modern society, from the addictive MMO 'Corporate Life' to the 1337speak banality of Twitter, or even the subversive use of advertising.

Whilst there are plenty of jabs at consumerism and wage-slavery in here, the message gets a little muddled at times - it's hard to know what to take seriously, and whether the tongue-in-cheek is itself a joke. Couple this with the fact that the plot hangs a reckless J-turn in the final act, when focus shifts from our reluctantly repentant protagonists to the Narrator himself, and it's fair to say that this doesn't emerge as much of a parable. By the end we're absent any message and left wondering a little just what the hell it was all really about.

However, killer music and stellar performances from all 4 leads make this a fantastic and soundly entertaining show, when all is said and done. The fringe opera features a cracking score by up-and-coming talents Angus Leslie (Sex On Toast, Mamushka) and Julius Miller (Combover, The Harlequin Smile), which effortlessly flits between whimsical gypsy, chaotic apocalypso and salvaged (savaged?) TV jingles. With clever lyrics, many laugh-out-loud moments, and such memorable songs as 'Polyamory', 'TechnoNecrophilia' and of course the ante-nostalgic opening number, 'Life was Grand Before the Minor Economic Correction', the music is perhaps the strongest aspect of the performance. This was by no means a one-horse show though, with inventive costuming and stage design (including the titular pedal-powered lighting) and a truly original script.

I wouldn't have missed this show for the world, and it is exactly the kind of show I expect and hope to see at the Fringe. This season at Melbourne Fringe is already sold out! but keep your eye on the performers, and on the Endarkenment blog for other upcoming treats.

The Future Sound of Mime: not the mime of yore

The word mime inevitably calls to mind white-faced caricatures in striped shirts and beatnik hats, walking against the wind. In my generation, words like edgy, poignant, or even funny are not what leap to mind. Lame would be a safer bet.

I too was a subscriber to this grossly unfair popular conception until converted by a performance of 'The Boy With Tape on His Face', a mime-in-disguise exercise in sheer hilarity at last year's Comedy Festival. The truth is physical comedy can bee deeply funny, often in ways that are hard to explain, even to ourselves. So when I read of 'The Future Sound of Mime' my curiosity was piqued. And with the titular hat-tip to old-time IDM favourite Future Sound of London, I was sold.

I was not disappointed. Any vestiges of prejudice were blown away by this show - a brilliant series of four vignettes, each featuring a single performer using their face and body to tell the story and move the audience. Props, sets and themes varied from piece to piece but a consistent element was the integration of sound with what was happening on stage. Incorporating original and popular music, noise, and voice samples, the sound design was very tightly bound to the action, and often served to direct the mood or illustrate the narrative. And true to namesake, many parts of the soundtrack would not sound out of place on a FSOL record.

This first piece, 'Crane Girl', is a story of loneliness at 500 feet, featuring Jodee Mundy as our wistful protagonist. As we entered to take our seats we were greeted by the unusual and innovative set, designed to transport the viewer to any of the thousands of shipyards that dot this globe and ensure the smooth supply of everything we take for granted. Complementing this was the sound, which included a voice-over used to drive the narrative. For a show billed as mime this felt a bit like cheating to me at first, but the expressiveness with which Jodee moved the story soon had me forgetting such qualms and joining her in her solitary existence above the shipping containers.

The other pieces featured no such grand set design, and if anything were spartan in their use of set and props. 'Waiting' is a piece for anyone that has ever endured that long wait after a missed or cancelled train (and thus has great appeal for Melbourne audiences). We see Sam Davison as the harried business traveller enduring the long wait for the next train, and what develops as the boredom becomes too much, and his body decides to take matters into its own hands, arms, legs, feet ... you get the picture. Sam is a delight to watch as seemingly discovers his body and environment for the first time, and begins to explore it little by little through movement, imagined spaces, gesture and dance. The laughs come freely, but somewhere underneath the ridiculousness is something about freedom of expression that we can all relate to.

Interrogation, the most abstract of the four, conveys the feeling of fear and desperation, as the victim (played by Jodee) tries to sustain resistance against some unseen foe. The use of industrial sounds and hostile lighting heighten the sense that she is trapped by we-know-not-what. Finally, 'Walking' rounds it out and against all odds emerges as the longest piece, but the simplest. Here the music sets the pace and a well-known archetype shows us what he's got, in this life-as-walking allegory. The laughs are there to be had again, but by the end we all share this walker's sense of achievement, and leave feeling as though we've in some way prevailed.

The Future Sound of Mime presents a polished, thoughtful and funny collection of performance art. It's clearly been put together by some true professionals, so at $13 a ticket it's a real steal, and I'd recommend it to anyone wanting to discover that physical theatre is more than beatniks in stripy shirts.