The Apothecary, 1013 7^th St, NW.

Remaining Performances:

Saturday, July 17, 8:15 p.m.
Sunday, July 18, 7:45 p.m.
Sunday, July 25, 4:30 p.m.

They say: “Everyone has a first kiss.  It’s a life changing milestone.  You are one step closer to being an adult and leaving adolescence behind.  Do you remember who were you before your first kiss?  Have you ever gone back to visit that person?  He or she still lives in old diaries locked with tiny gold keys, in black and white composition books and in notes passed between friends during class.  The younger you wrote poems and love letters, maybe even a song or two.”

Sheffy’s take: The runtime posted in the Fringe guide is 90 minutes.  Mercifully, it was a mere 45 minutes; it just felt like it was twice as long while sitting in the show.  The dewy-eyed description above also gave me the misimpression that this show would playfully reminisce about innocent crushes and puppy love.  No, the title is meant to be taken more literally: Lazy B Theatre Troupe acts out stories that just happened to have been committed to paper before the event of writer/director Pamela Leahigh’s first kiss, which, based on the maturity of her writings, I’m guessing was quite young.

To her credit, Leahigh is a very talented storyteller, and she brackets her staged teleplays with very engaging personal stories from her salad days.  But then she contrives some pretense of why we are being subjected to a dejected 13-year-old’s recollection of an episode of 21 Jump Street. Presumably, the acting in this section is deliberately poor, but the production protects the actors’ anonymity through its lack of a playbill.  It was so abysmal, I was just waiting for them to break out in song: “Springtime for Hitler!”

I don’t know if two years of maturity improved the writing for the episode of Doogie Howser, or if it was just my expectations being dulled.  At the time, Leahigh submitted her scripts to the TV studios, but like so many aspiring young writers, her work was not appreciated.  I’m going to give Lazy B the benefit of the doubt — they are self-aware that they aren’t producing Tony Award material, but that they are using the freedom of Fringe to let us get (back) into the head of teenagers through their writing.  At least this show provides a G-rated counterweight to the raunchier shows weighing down the Fringe karmic accounting scale.

See it if: You’ve always wanted to have your 90 seconds of fame in a Fringe show (No joke—audience members are invited to share something they wrote before their first kiss.  I suppose most people carry old sentimental love letters in their pockets just in case they’re invited to read them aloud for an audience of strangers).

Skip it if: Your heart doesn’t instinctively pitter patter when you think of Johnny Depp in 21 Jump Street, or if you can’t remember what Doogie Howser’s profession was.

Studio Theatre – Mead Theatre, 1501 14th Street NW

Remaining Performances:

Saturday, July 17, 7:45 p.m.
Thursday, July 22, 10:00 p.m.
Sunday, July 25, 6:30 p.m.

They say: “Mom (Q) & Dad (P) detest their hairy, sexless offspring (Horrible). In a desperate attempt to rid themselves of the Horrible Child, they call an exterminator (Terrible). But when Terrible meets Horrible, sparks fly and destinies change in this deranged comedy by Lawrence Krauser.”

Sheffy’s take: Horrible Child requires its very own age appropriateness category: Recommended for kids 13 & under and adults.  With stuffed animals, cute bunny costumes, and silly wordplay cheerfully delivered in verse, young children will love it… provided they don’t understand what’s going on (sex, masturbation, attempted murder, child cruelty).  Adult themes notwithstanding, this lighthearted poem spins a fantastical fairytale in which two otherwise loving parents (P & Q) beget an abomination (aka H.C.) whom they need to purge.  How many mothers can say, “The day I evicted you from my womb was the most horrible day of my life.”

The forlorn Horrible Child (Daniel Eichner), on the other hand, eloquently articulates treatises justifying its continued existence. (They tried to check its gender, but there was too much fur, uh, down there.) Parents (endearingly played by Lee Ordeman and Delia Taylor) and offspring may inhabit the same space, but they occupy different universes as they talk past each other.  Even as HC tries to utter its first words to them, they start to cavil about syntax and enunciation.  As P & Q (qua Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum) prattle on — “Talk is the excrement of the soul,” Q says — the exterminator (Greg Twomey, dressed as an ex-Terminator) finally arrives, only three years late.  Is this a show crying out with a message about child abuse?  Nah, I’d no sooner search for deeper meaning in Jabberwocky.

On the plus side, producer/director Jose Carrasquillo has brought us a highly creative and original work, at times very funny, if absurd.  However, due to the intense concentration needed to fully appreciate the carefully crafted language, it could also have been a bit shorter.  I wish I could say there was a happy ending, but alas, there is an unnecessary 15 minute epilogue about death and Alzheimer’s, which for the sake of the pun, I must describe as Horrible.

See it if: you think Disney should hire Tim Burton as their new creative genius.

Skip it if: The Ugly Duckling hits a little too close to home for you.

Tape

The Clinic, 1006 Sixth St, NW.

Remaining Performances:
Saturday, July 17 at 9:30 p.m.
Friday, July 22 at 6:00 p.m.
Saturday, July 25 at 4:15 p.m.

They say: “Media can influence ideas, opinions, and perceptions. A plan is conceived to revisit the past. Someone understands the power of pressing record; others learn playback can be a memory distorted.”

Sheffy’s take: Truth can be a slippery thing… unless it’s caught on tape (just ask Rod Blagojevich, or George Allen, or Bill Clinton, or Paris Hilton).  But who benefits when painful, long-buried truths are exhumed?  In this tight one act (run-time shaved to a lean 60 minutes), characters must come to grips with confronting an old truth and how they dealt with it.  Ten years out of high school, Vince corners his old buddy Jon and former girlfriend Amy in a room (at the Motel 6) and forces them to rehash the fateful event that changed their relationships and their lives.  Without spoiling it too much, would it surprise you that we are talking about sex, violence, jealousy, betrayal, and revenge?

Piercing drama can be hard to pull off at Fringe venues, particularly overheated ones where action is staged on the motel, uh, bedroll (springing for a prop bed would have made it easier to see for those of us not sitting in the front row).  The first ten shaky minutes made me worry that I was in for a heavy dose of college theater with contrived dialogue and stereotyped roles: Vince (Brendan Sokler) “the underachiever” snorts coke in his boxers, while “idealist” Jon (Tyler Herman) harangues him.  However, the plot grabbed hold and wouldn’t let go after some incriminating admissions flip the power dynamic.  Enter Carly Stocking’s stunning and convincing Amy and all of a sudden their situation gets uncomfortably awkward.  Tape was turned into an excellent film in 2001 starring Ethan Hawke and Uma Thurman (in her only good dramatic movie role) yet I thought at the time that the psychological passion would be more palpable on the stage.  The script is very strong and the Fringe actors do an admirable job executing it.

See it if: You CAN handle the truth.

Skip it if: It pains you to see three perfectly good (real) beers opened on stage and then untouched by the so-called alcoholic. If you’re not gonna drink that…

The Shop at Fort Fringe, 607 New York Ave. NW

Remaining Performances:

Tuesday, July 13 @ 10:00 p.m.
Friday, July 16 @ 6:00 p.m.
Saturday, July 17 @ 12:45 p.m.
Friday, July 23 @ 8:15 p.m.
Saturday, July 24 @ 4:00 p.m.

They say: “DEAD ON! IMPRESSIVE!” –DC Theatre Scene. “An uncanny, SUBLIME creation!” –Charles Busch. “This agent’s act is SPECIAL!” –Washington Blade. Spanning the range of standards to stand up, rock and roll to slapstick (sic), an evening with this Special Agent and her boys is one you won’t want to miss. And one that you will tell all your friends to go see!”

Sheffy’s take: Milli Vanilli was the first album I ever bought with my own money, earning them a special place in my heart.  After their lip synching fall from grace, my friends shamed me for continuing to listen. (Oddly, it wasn’t my questionable taste in music to which they objected.) I protested it was still music, regardless who sang it, and come on, they had been fooled, too.  Then there was Whitney Houston’s Superbowl-gate.  Well, Galactica and her Boys not only take the shame out of lip-synching — they elevate it to a thrilling art form.

Firstly, I’ll fess up to being among those at the Fringe preview debating whether they were lip-synching or in fact flawlessly covering “Superstitious” — all I knew was I had to see the full length show.  How does a drag queen and her three boy-toy back-up singers hold your attention for 85 minutes?  By mixing it up with a cabaret of rock, blues, country, gospel, and jazz, and even delivering a brilliant comedy sketch.  They didn’t miss a beat from Stevie Wonder to Stevie Nicks. (Apt lyric: “Sings a song sounds like she’s singing.”)  The crystal-clear acoustics (really, Fringe?!) fed into the illusion of live music.  Before long, I went from trying to catch any s’lip-ups to completely forgetting they weren’t belting it out.  And it really doesn’t matter.  They bring it on with their energy and verve.  The flamboyant choreography sizzled, and the sequined costumes were, well, FABULOUS!

The boys put the flame in Flamenco, but they don’t hold a candle to Galactica’s flair.  Her talents transcend the glitter of her lips: She embodied each vocalist down to every breath and bat of an eyelash.  Her timing was impeccable — when Ella Fitzgerald scats a tune, she gets a little leeway to rest and breathe, but Galactica relives every syllable by heart and doesn’t miss a breath.  (Okay, it may not have been Ella — a song list would have been appreciated).  But like Galactica’s hot pink hair, each irrelevant act was pure cotton candy.

See it if: You yen for an intimate Dolly Parton concert, but are looking for more affordable tickets. You won’t be disappointed.

Skip it if: You like your Galacticas preceded by Battlestars.

Sezze Sun

Remaining performances:
7/24 @ 6:30pm; 7/25 @ 9pm; 7/26 @ 4:30pm

They say: A struggling actor invites friends and family to his parents’ Italian villa for great food, drink and festivities. But he has ulterior motives. Secrets are revealed and covertly filmed in this multi-media exploration of the digitalization and destruction of relationships.

Sheffy says: MTV is filming its 23rd season of The Real World right here in Washington, in Dupont Circle. What’s most surprising is not that the Fringer to your left might soon be a cable TV mini-celebrity, but that this show is still on the air. Who would’ve thought that broadcasting the “unscripted” lives of seven co-habitating strangers would spark a new genre called “Reality TV?” And after Big Brother, Survivor, Jon & Kate, doesn’t the concept ever get stale?

Well how about this play’s angle:  You lock a motley crew of characters in an Italian villa and videotape the unfolding drama without their knowledge. You can probably already guess some of the skeletons that come out when illuminated by the Sezze sun. The conniving mastermind behind the plot is the petulant Ben (Matthew Charles), a British actor-director whose egomania becomes clear in his ranting asides directly into the videocamera.

Toss into the fishbowl his ill-matched American girlfriend, who teaches economics at Oxford, his ex-girlfriend, who’s starting to have success in her own acting career, his patrician mother (played in a standout performance by Karin de la Penha), the flaming hairdresser uncle (humorously played by William Brookes) who mixes his meds and limoncello to set up the requisite gay come-on scene, and, inexplicably, Pete, an American folk-rock legend (Dan Barnhill), whose suave nonchalance reminded me of the Matthew McConaughey character in EdTV (a movie parody of reality TV). Add one more character: the ubiquitous video camera, streaming the action larger than life on the back wall in real time (well, not quite real time—there’s an irritating one-second delay).

To quote the woman sitting in front of me: “The play held my attention, but I’m not sure why.” There wasn’t enough “Drama” to merit that categorization in the Fringe guide, but Sezze earns bona fides for “Experimental,” as the concept was collaboratively developed by the ensemble through rounds of improvisation. That might explain some of the long pauses: were they timing miscues, forgotten lines, or intentional attempts to dramatize reality? Sezze might even get away with “Musical” if you count the ambient soundtrack provided by Pete’s guitar. In fact, the highlight of the show for me was his song, “Recycle newspapers, but don’t recycle your ladies.” The difference between real reality TV and this show: reality TV is more scripted and highly edited.

See it if: You’ve caught yourself making excuses to your roommate about how you were just flipping through the stations, and oh, wait, is this a reality TV show I’m watching…?

Skip it if: You’re part of the real world (and this time I’m not referring to the cast of a TV show).

Cabaret Carousel

Remaining performances:
None!

They say: Blues and Broadway, Latin Jazz, Bohemian Pop and Bossa Nova, our rotating carousel of three cabaret evenings features soulful songs from DC’s Fringe finest: Sally Martin, Richard Tappen, Detra Battle, Stanley Webber, Cecilia Esquivel, Tara McCredie, Pam Ward, Dani Cortaza.

Sheffy says: Monday night is traditionally the night theaters go dark. At the Source, though, one Fringe light was shining for Cabaret Carousel—and that light seemed to attract all the Fringe fanatic moths. For those expecting an old fashioned concert with no skits, dancing, or story, the music did not disappoint. Here, carousel refers to the constantly rotating program from Blues to Bossa Nova to Broadway music over the nine-performance run—really three shows under one marquee. I attended on Broadway night and was treated to 21 numbers performed by talented vocalists Sally Martin, Tara McCredie, and Richard Tappen and accompanied by pianist Alex Tang.

While listed in the Fringe program, this show was also a part of (or a promo for) the Source Theater’s In Series: a mix of music, word, and dance performances by D.C. artists. Yet, fittingly for Fringe, this cabaret had an edgier feel courtesy of Brecht/Weill, Kander/Ebb, and Sondheim. From their namesake Cabaret, they performed “Two Ladies” a playful song about two gals and one guy shacking up. Despite their other namesake, Carousel, Hammerstein’s cheerier tunes were left off the program.

Hearing Broadway songs out of context (and performed without dancing), you start to realize how ridiculous and nonsensical the lyrics can be. This is made even more obvious when McCredie sings a song about a serial killer, “Mack the Knife” (somehow co-opted by McDonalds in the ’80s for “Big Mac Tonight”) or one about her “Sex Appeal,” during which she wore the same sweet expression you might expect if she were knocking on your door to sing Christmas carols. (Though her operatic voice and clear vibrato were delightful.) After two seasons entertaining Fringe audiences, D.C. Cabaret was missed this year, but it’s nice that the In Series picks up the slack for those who like their cabaret less than CooCoo.

See it if: You can travel back in time to one of their nine performances…otherwise, wait for the InSeries opera Cosi fan Tutte Goes to Hollywood in mid-September.

Skip it if: You resent surprise $5 surcharges for purchasing your tickets at the door.

Goodbye Love, Goodbye Joy, Hello Travis McElroy

Remaining performances:
July 23 at 9:45 pm; July 25 at 11:30 am

They say: You make your living pretending to be someone you’re not. Goodbye, love. Everybody else’s entertainment is your job. Goodbye, joy. So is it possible to work in Hollywood without your life turning into a sitcom? Hello, Travis McElroy.

Sheffy says: Jellybeans?! When staging a play gushing with stereotypes, the blubbering young woman who just lost her boyfriend medicates with chocolate ice cream. Even I know that. And there is plenty of blubbering (and jellybeans) in a play about three female roommates in Hollywood fighting over clothes, movie gigs, and men (meow!). There’s Kelly (Kristen Egermeier), the beautiful self-centered actress who’ll do anything, or anyone, to get her big break; Jessica (Teresa Spencer) the out-of-work actress who doesn’t seem to understand how to play the game in Hollywood; and then there’s the sweet Linda (Megan Dominy) with the big heart, yet sans boyfriend.

Thanks to one of the wonderful miracles of alcohol, Kelly awakes one morning to find in her bed the pathetic Travis McElroy (David Dowell). She promptly dumps him on her roommates as she slips out to pursue her career (er, allowing herself to get used by a sleazy, egotistic movie producer who promises her a part). As Travis cluelessly waddles after Kelly, Linda is attracted to his naïveté. Will Travis-the-romantic go for the pretty face, or the big heart? Well, what would happen in Hollywood? I could find no moral in this story, but Hollywood isn’t known for its morals.

The movie producer sums up Hollywood: if you get a big name actor, add some big tits, the script doesn’t matter. Apparently, 10th Muse Productions doesn’t put much stock in scripts either. For example, in what world do these ladies even end up with such a loser as Travis (with internet video gaming providing a venue for dorks to totally avoid social interaction, do people even still play Dungeons & Dragons)? OK, they were aiming for sitcom (without a laugh track), and they do elicit a few legitimate chuckles. But the one-dimensional writing is just tolerably redeemed by some engaging comedic acting. I credit director Patrick Torres for putting together a humorous show that could easily have defaulted to “college theater.”

See it if: You felt that Carrie should have married Aidan in season 4 of “Sex and the City” or you even have an idea what I’m talking about.

Skip it if: You think “Sex and the City” is a porn movie.

So please explain to me why the Fringe beer police start grabbing cups out of your hands at 12:40 a.m.!  Last Saturday night, my friend got up from our table to make room in her bladder to finish her beer, and when she got back at 12:45, her beer had been confiscated—against our protestations.   This Saturday night, after being harassed every 5 minutes by said beer police, the editor of this City Paper blog had his nearly full bottle swiped from under his nose at 12:48.  We were informed that Alcohol Beverage Control has been cracking down (they don’t like ‘em theatre-types, I reckon).

Look, I’m not trying to get Fringe in trouble with the law, but I think I can finish my beer in 10 minutes.  I mean, I made it through college.  If Fringe is really concerned about the law, then change closing time at 12:45.  Otherwise, let a guy drink his beer in peace.

Thou Shall Not Kill

Remaining performances:
July 17 at 9:45 pm; July 19 at 2:15 pm

They say: “A collection of stimulating and comedic one-acts asking the question, ‘Can’t murder be innocent?’ Join a variety of imaginative characters portraying how naively one’s mind can contemplate murder. This show will challenge your own morals and leave you wanting more!”

Sheffy says: Remember how much fun you had in your Philosophy 101 class debating questions like: Is it ethical to kill someone in self-defense or in war? What about assassinating Hitler? If you could prevent someone from being killed, are you culpable if you don’t? Now imagine listening to that debate rehashed for 120 straight minutes. I get it, every scenario is unique, but to make your point, do you really need to beat it over the head with a brick (uh, literally)?

The cast does an admirable job keeping the audience’s attention, particularly the charismatic female actresses, who unfortunately only appear in two of the acts. However, instead of some serious editing, the show opted to save time by skipping an intermission and having the actors talk fast (though otherwise their Southern drawls were convincing).

If the playwrights seriously wanted to engage the audience in a moral debate, the scenarios would have to be grounded in sociological motives for real murder—say, passion, money, revenge, or maybe some juicy sexual infidelity. But by staying in philosophy class, they never transcend a cartoonish view on why someone might be driven to murder. Although they retread ideas from Crime and Punishment (killing just because you can get away with it), the writing just ain’t Dostoevsky.

See it if: You’ve ever watched a murder unfold on CSI and thought to yourself, “I could have done it better!”

Skip it if: You can’t conceive of a two-hour dialectic on murder that doesn’t even mention Kant. Or, you’ve never actually contemplated killing someone: by Act 3 or 4, you just might start looking around for someone responsible to kill.

Here are the Fringe & Purge reviews from last year. Note:  Dates, times, and locations in the last year’s reviews have changed (duh!) so please see times posted below.

Bargain Basement Game Show–Warehouse Next Door, 7/16 @10pm, 7/18 @1pm, 7/24 @6pm

Children of Medea–Bedroom at Ft. Fringe, 7/16 @8:30pm, 7/17 @8:30pm, 7/19 @4:30pm, 7/25 @2:30pm

Diamond Dead (OK, I’m not sure if this is, ahem, a reincarnation, or the sequel)–Baldacchino Gypsy Tent, 7/18 @6:30pm, 7/19 @5:30pm, 7/22 @6, 7/25 @7:30

McSwiggin’s Pub–Goethe Institut,  7/18 @12:45, 7/24 @8pm, 7/25 @10:30pm

Dizzy Miss Lizzie’s Roadside Revue: The Oresteia–Church St. Theater, 7/17 @11pm, 7/18 @11pm, 7/19 @7&9pm,  7/24 @11pm, 7/25 @11pm, 7/26 @7&9pm

Revolutionary: Isadora Duncan’s Words, Music, Dance–Mt. Vernon United Methodist Church,  7/15 @7:30, 7/25 @11:30am

Sorry if I missed any, but I’m sure you’ll let me know…