Sam Rabinovitz and Sara Bickler in HAMLET REFRAMED, which won Best Drama at the Pick of the Fringe Awards Sunday night.

We did not review Grain of Sand Theatre‘s Hamlet Reframed, which won the Best Drama award. Exchange forgiveness with us, noble Hamlet Reframed. Oh, wait: You haven’t done anything to us that warrants penance. Anyway, we hope this video with (in order of appearance) cast members Sara Bickler & Kelsy Meiklejohn, director Carl Brandt Long, and actor John Stange will atone for our sin-of-neglect against you.

We didn’t review iKilL, either — well, I sort of did — but that is the haunting, morbid, noh-and-Kabuki-inpsired piece upon which Capital Fringe Executive Director Julianne Brienza and Producing Artistic Director Scot McKenzie chose to bestow their Directors’ Award. Writer/director Izumi Ashizama vanished before I could find her with my camera, but I spoke with cast members (from left to right) Nick Horan, Vanessa Noland, Raechel Noland, and Jason Glass.

Moving on, then! Right here you have Allyson Harkey, Karen Lange, and Toni Rae Brotons of Pinky Swear Productions discussing their Best Musical winner, CABARET XXX: Les Femmes Fatales. The Fringe and Purge Action News and Commentary Squad’s Emery Uwimana observed, “This show is a big middle finger in the air to anyone opposed to four confident and sexually liberated women who repeatedly ask the audience, ‘What’s wrong with being a slut?’” They’re all a nice, demonic shade of crimson in this video, which only seems appropriate.

Priscilla Dreams the Answer was voted Best Comedy. I spoke with director/coproducer Emily Todd and co-producer Aubri O’Connor about the show that the FPANCS (pronounced “shield”)’s Ian Buckwalter praised as inventive, skillful, balletic and quirky.

Don’t forget to read Rebecca J. Ritzel‘s fine investigation into the near-total disappearance of dance entries from the Capital Fringe Fesitval. This is true: Until like a week ago, Bec thought Han Solo was named Hans Solo, which is why she writes about dance. She has not seen the final film in the globally beloved Gary Potter fantasy series yet.

For our last stop on the Fringe Festival venue tour, newly-shaven producing artistic director Scot McKenzie tells us about Apothecary, a former pharmacy and retail store devastated by fire in D.C.’s Civil Rights-era riots. Today the space is host to art galleries, fashion shows, and—with the help of an improvised sprung floor—Fringe’s more dance-oriented productions.

Insect Factory

Fringe & Purge: You’ve been playing guitar, and a little bass, with Arlington art rockers Plums for a while now. What does flying solo offer you that a full band cannot?

Insect Factory: I’ve been playing with Plums now for almost three years, but they have a history dating back 10. By design, Insect Factory has a lot of space. There are some parts that are very composed, but not in the traditional way. I usually have a point A that I start from, and a point B where I’d like to end up. I know that somewhere in between, I’m going to stop for some coffee. And then I’ll stop to have lunch. If I’ve hit those two stops en route, I’ve satisfied the compositional needs of the piece. There’s also a lot of room for improvisation, but to continue my metaphor, if I stop and have breakfast early on in the journey, I’m not going to be able to stop for lunch later—full belly. And that’s OK. As a solo performer, I can explore while retaining overall control. Even if it’s a new detour, I’m still responsible for the choices I make.

I’ve played in bands for close to 20 years (I’m 35 now), and I’ve never had people celebrate my odd-choice notes and chance-taking in the way that my Plum family does. They’re all such an encouraging bunch of individuals. Half of what the Plums do during practice is talk and listen to records. Our music is an extension of that; we just turn our equipment on and play. So Plums offer me a chance to listen to what other people are doing as the music is happening, which is different from listening to what I’m doing as a solo performer as the music is happening. But it’s not terribly different.

F&P: Other than a Sonic Circuits gig at Pyramid Atlantic and a handful of Velvet Lounge dates, your Insect Factory is still pretty much a one-man larvae—at least live. What are the challenges of recreating your act on stage, and have they changed since you first started playing out?

IF: I’ve been doing this for a while now, and I’ve gotten my setup (electronic loopers and such) down to the point that I’d consider it a direct extension of my instrument. It’s like my instrument itself is another limb, so that I can translate ideas through it without having to stop and get too cerebral about the whole thing. The specific challenges are getting to know the room that I’m playing in. The room is the true collaborator at all my performances. Do I want to play through amps? Do I want to play through the PA? That sort of thing.

F&P: In the Capital Fringe Fest program book, all of the stage shows offer a quick blurb about themselves to try and lure the squeamish aboard. I’m not asking you to sell me on your music, but since I am weary of any and all kinds of bugs, might you do the same?

IF: Quick blurb: Solo guitar playing that builds layers of sound into something hypnotic and atmospheric.

F&P: To that effect, how do you see what Insect Factory does fitting in with Fringe at large? I’d venture that some of the sounds you capture might be on the fringe itself of what most consider “music.”

IF: Definitely a fair assessment. When I’m explaining what I do to people I work with, or family and friends, I tell them that 95 percent of traditional musicians probably wouldn’t consider this “music.” But in context, I think that what I’m doing is much more pop than it is noise, or even experimental. I think that Insect Factory is like taking a pop song and slowing it way down, so that a second lasts for 20 minutes. You can hear all sorts of details in the sounds and the spaces. There aren’t the melodies of traditional pop music, but it’s still highly melodic music, and the different notes collide with each other and usually create a melodic, consonant experience. I enjoy that; that is my way of being “fringe.”

F&P: Speaking of captured sounds, you recently released a stellar 7-inch (b/w New Zealand guitarist RST) on your own Insect Fields imprint. How did you hook up with RST’s Andrew Moon, and more importantly, will we be able to capture the wax, ourselves, after the show?

IF: I just wrote to Andrew years ago, as a fan, and we’ve kept in touch. We’re both DIY artists. We’re also interested in living full lives – we have jobs, Andrew has a family—and we weren’t in a rush to get the record out. We both had tracks ready a few years ago, but I got busy with working on my masters degree, and it was delayed. Then, just one day I wrote him and was like, “Okay, I think I’m ready to go to press.” It’s not a very exciting story, other than to say that this world of people doing what we do is very small, and the people are kind. I couldn’t have written to one of my heroes if I was in a rock band, asking Thom Yorke to be on a split 7-inch with me.

F&P: I’ve heard tale that you’re back in the studio working on even newer Insect Factory material. Is there a plan for an additional single, or maybe even a full-length proper?

IF: There’s not a plan for a new single, although I really like the format. It was such a gloriously inappropriate format for the long-form music that I make. I welcomed the challenge. I have a second full-length recorded and ready to press. I’m not sure if it’ll be a vinyl release.

F&P: Is there any Fringe show or performance you’re especially looking forward to catch this year? Washington Improv Theater’s The Audio Files sounds right up your alley.

IF: That one definitely seems interesting. It all seems interesting. I don’t have just one or two things that I’m looking forward to. It seems like a great collection of work.

F&P: Finally, I know you’re a beer guy first, but will you be trying any of the Prosecco on tap here at the Tent? I’ve heard good things.

IF: I’ve never had it, but sure, I’ll try it! Is it hoppy?

F&P: Um…not exactly.

The Baldacchino Gypsy Tent is right next door to Fort Fringe at 607 New York Ave. NW. Janel and Anthony, and Plums, open at 10:30 p.m.

Once an antebellum print shop dating back to the 1830s, the spooky, airy Wonderbox now serves as a good backdrop for post-apocalyptic fantasies. Navid Azeez — venue manager, 9:30 Club lighting director, and emcee with local band Whole Damme Delegation — tells us a little about it.

Shot and edited by Matt Bevilacqua.

In the upper recesses of Fort Fringe is a room where Jack Torrance could have very well hacked someone to death with an axe. So naturally, the good folks at the Capital Fringe Festival saw it as an ideal space to put on plays.

Shot and edited by Matt Bevilacqua.

Behold The Shop, the newest of three stages located inside the Fort Fringe complex. Though fatigued after two sleepless days of prep, producing artistic director Scot McKenzie agreed to talk to us about the theater-in-the-round once used as a storeroom for salsicce.

Shot and edited by Matt Bevilacqua.

Give Them Vagina is the culmination of over a decade of work as a standup and storytelling starlet (You may have caught her at a local SpeakeasyDC performance), but, as you might expect, an incendiary title like this one has helped Nathan attract a whole new audience.

Washington City Paper: With a show title like Give Them Vagina, you’re bound to attract some odd attention online.

Vijai Nathan: I did have one stalker who proposed marriage. It was my first Facebook proposal and I have to say that I was tempted, because he said all the right things, “You’re so beautiful and so talented.” But he was desperately crazy to be with me, so that didn’t happen. I feel kind of famous now that I have a stalker.

WCP: What was the inspiration for the show?

VN: This is my third solo show and my previous shows talked a lot about growing up and childhood. This show is me right now being in my thirties, single, and trying to date. I’m finally at this age where I let it all hang out; I’m not as worried about what people think of me. I really wanted to write a show that was funny and didn’t necessarily show the best side of me, but was relatable.

WCP: What does your family make of the young woman that you’ve become?

VN: They have been along for this ride as much as I have. I started doing standup in 1997 and everyone thought I was a little crazy. I quit my job as a journalist at the Baltimore Sun and cancelled my engagement to become a standup comedian. I’d always been the responsible one in my family and done the right thing, because I’d seen how much my sisters fucked up. I went to a good school, had a good job, had a good fiancé, and was miserable, miserable, miserable. When I started doing standup, I felt like I had finally found what I was meant to do. When my parents first came to see me, I’d been doing it for a while and they were able to see how much the audience liked me. And they were like, “Oh, this is something she’s good at. And when an Indian parent sees that their child is good at something, then they’re like, ‘If you’re good at this, then you must become the best. You must get a masters in standup comedy.’ Which is something my dad actually wanted me to do. They don’t always understand my comedy, but they love that the audience love me. They’re very proud of me. My father always tells me that no one ever asks him what my sisters the lawyer and the doctor are doing, they ask him what the comedian is doing.

WCP: Is there any material you’ve ever not shared with your family?

VN: My first one woman show I was hesitant about, because I was transitioning from pure standup into long-form monologue. I did this story about losing my virginity, finding these porn magazines my father had, almost getting caught, and then lying about losing my virginity. I did this show ten years after all that happened and I was scared how they were going to react to me sharing my own secrets and our family secrets. I didn’t know if my dad was going to be thrilled that I was telling everyone that he had a stash of Playboy magazines and sex books. But after the show, I asked my father what he thought and he thought it was hilarious. He loved all the sex stuff! My mom then asked me what golden showers are. (laughs)

WCP: Do you think this show will shatter some Indian stereotypes, or give rise to some new ones?

VN: (laughs) The super slut? For me, I needed to write from the perspective of a single American woman in my thirties. There is that aspect that I am Indian–because that’s unavoidable–but I don’t think the show is focused on my background as much. I’m hoping to widen my audience, because I don’t want to be seen as a performer that’s only for South Asians. I want more whores at my shows, because South Asians just aren’t slutty enough.

WCP: Do the men you date worry about showing up in your material?

VN: I can only promise that it takes me a little while to process, so you won’t show up right away. Maybe because I’m a comedian I don’t get asked out a lot, because guys might be intimidated by that. All my stuff is based on everything that happens to me, so if you’re in my life, you will end up in my material.

WCP: Of all the shows at Fringe this year, why should people go see yours?

VN: (laughs) Because I will give them vagina!

Give Them Vagina: Tips from Mom, Dad & COSMO plays at various times and dates at Chief Ike’s Mambo Room, 1725 Columbia Rd., NW. $15. (202) 332-2211.

Remaining Performances:
Saturday, July 19 @ 8:30pm
Wednesday, July 23 @ 6:30pm
Saturday, July 26 @ 3:30pm

They say: “What the hell were they thinking? The delightfully perplexed characters in this trio of one-acts cope with the unintended consequences that ensue when the INS investigates illegal trafficking in undocumented genies, the Devil issues an RFP for a consultant, and an agenda-less retreat ends improbably, yet inevitably, in romance.”

Glen’s take: The laudable mission statement of the recently formed Senior Moments Theatre Company (“To encourage and support emerging dramatists over 55″) probably had a lot to do with the demographic makeup of Unintended Consequences‘ Sunday afternoon crowd, which, I merely note, skewed a bit more, ah, Applebee’s-five-o’clock-dinner-rush than Fringe audiences generally do.

Look: I get that satire is inherently pushy. It is, after all, just Funny With Something to Prove. But the trick of it — the way you get audiences to swallow your pill — is to spend more time worrying about the Funny than the Something to Prove. Satire goes wrong when its makers are so keen to poke you in the ribs that they neglect to tickle them.

Take the first two playlets in Unintended Consequences, both of which suffer from being overwritten and broadly performed. That, as it turns out, is a near deadly combination, because by insisting so shrilly and laboriously on their central satirical premises (Genies = Illegal Immigrants and Consultants = Satan), both plays reveal how little value they place on things like character, dialogue and recognizable emotion.

But as soon as the third and final one-act starts, something happens. Something surprising, and really kinda great. Even though its satiric premise isn’t particularly fresh (just some familiar pokes at meeting facilitators and org-speak), even though it’s written by the same guy responsible for the genie comedy you sat through earlier, that last play hits you like a revelation, for two reasons: Karen Lange, as a hopeful Arts Administrator, and Washington Improv Theater regular Stuart Scotten, as a hesitant meeting attendee. These two performers concentrate on creating characters — rounded, funny, utterly believable characters — and allow themselves to find the script’s jokes, instead of lunging at them.  Scotten in particular offers a master class in what offhand, unforced comic timing can do for a production; as a result, precisely 33.3% of Unintended Consequences is easily the best thing in Fringe I’ve seen so far.

See if if: You are possessed of both a Zen-like patience and a fondness for jokes about media consultants.

Skip it if: You’d rather catch Scotten at WIT.

The Button, in economic terms, is a transfer of wealth. Specifically, from you to a Fringe performer. The Button costs five bucks, or roughly 5/7ths of the cost of a warm domestic beer at Nationals Park. The money gets divvied up among all Fringe artists.

And The Button Is Required.
For Everyone.
At All Times.

Or Julianne Will Send Your Ass Home.

The basics: You must buy The Button. Even if you’ve bought tickets. Even if you’ve bought a pass. (Though one Button comes for free with some passes. You may still need another Button if you’re using a pack, though.)

Your ticket, it is no good without The Button.

More in the video.

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