I can’t imagine a better way to wait out a monsoon then to watch the graceful interplay of these gorgeous women; the slow, delicate contortions alternating with the stacatto raga stepwork. Shalini Goel Agarwal’s flirtatious, mesmerizing gaze itself is reason enough to see this show.

Of the “A.D.” items listed in the description, the emphasis should be placed on “attention deficits” and “anxiety disorders”. There are American dreams and artistic differences, but I didn’t see any afternoon delights. Instead, A.D. is a frenetic, one-woman monologue dash through multiple personalities that weave in and out of neurotic introspections to outward frustrations.

One of the great perks of a show with so many credentials is that the playbill is large enough to use as a multi-page fan. And heady credentials they are. These are some classically trained maestros slumming it for us heathens who probably wouldn’t make it out to the Kennedy Center on five-cent beer night. I mean, they have a musical ombudsman listed in the credits for crying out loud.

So here we have Billy the Kid: A First Exhumation, a storytelling experiment that delves into the fight-or-flight mentality. Intertwined with the stream of consciousness re-enactment of Billy’s life are modern tales of revenge and revenge fantasies. Threats punctuate dream sequences while a tense Western gunfight-strum plays in the background. The characters are there only to mock and threaten each other. It’s a satisfying theater of cruelty.

When Theo is forced to wear proper clothes at work, and Megan, played by Ariana Almajan, is repeatedly told her fiancée is a terrible person for reasons unknown to the audience, I wished the cast had mutinied right then and there against the rampant sexism in the script. There’s little redemption that all of these horrible things were in any way justified so we could see some fantasy software being made.

Of all of the shows in this year’s Fringe involving female swordplay (three so far), The Fifth Musketeer just happens to be the one without nudity. Must be tough on publicity! Think about it: given the option, would you go see a.) female swordplay or a.) naked female swordplay? Of course, that might be the same as asking if you would rather see bowling or naked bowling. Sometimes nudity doesn’t have the additive property.

In which your trusty Fringe bloggers disclose sundrie facts — some of which may prove revealing — about their sensibilities. And their sordid pasts. In this installment: Llewellyn Hinkes.