Big guns: Robert Cole’s ‘The Thought’ arrives at Fort Fringe.

Ah, ’tis truly the Fringe season: The performances haven’t started yet, but the newest round of Button-bitching has!

Also the griping, especially among the city’s more established actors, about CapFringe’s tight schedules and sometimes improvised technical setups.

(We’re not naming names, and we can’t link it ’cause it’s on a non-public Facebook page. But trust us when we tell you that one performer’s recent status update went like this: “[Name] is still hoping the folks at Fringe will pony up answers to the technical questions they were asked BEFORE Thursday’s 2 hour (yes TWO whole hours, folks) tech [rehearsal].”)

I’m tempted to respond with a big, sarcastic “Waaaaah,” and to point out that as recently as Monday, festival exec-direc Julianne was posting Facebook photos of her crew working sweatily and swiftly to finish half-built venues. I mean, like we (sorta) said last year, it’s Fringe, folks: How they gonna answer a tech question if there’s no tech installed yet?

On the other hand: If I were that actor, with that reputation, doing that punishingly tough show? I might be a little jumpy, too.

So yeah, welcome back, celebrants and critics and carping perfectionists alike, to the mild insanity that is Capital Fringe. The public crazy starts tomorrow, with first-show honors split between repeat-offender Titus X (first produced in D.C. way back in 2002, I think) and Cover Me In Humanness, a brand-new show inspired by a Degas ballerina and a Kevin Bacon movie. (They’re both in tomorrow’s 5 p.m. slot.)

While Julianne & Co have been hoisting the giant sculptures into place — word is that installing some public art might help grease the skids for that keep-the-tent-open-’til 1-a.m. request that’s still pending with the city — we’ve been mucking about behind the scenes here on the blog.

We’ve welcomed some returning guest bloggers and indoctrinated a few new ones into the cult of Fringe & Purge. (Item One in the catechism: Try not to arrive smelling of beer, leave the theater early, and then trash the show — it will annoy the Fringers.)

In a minute: The first of many introductions from the voices you’ll be hearing here at Fringe & Purge this year.  For now: A hat-tip to one of those voices — returning blogger Brett Abelman, who’s done me a solid by putting together a ridiculously comprehensive quick-take on this year’s shows.  In four (!) parts. Starting with a handy seven-part (!!) taxonomy of Fringe Show Types.

(Brett, seriously: You have too much free time.)

Happy Fringing, everybody. See you at the opening-night bash — Thursday night, from 8 until whenever. I’m told there will be banjos.

So it’s been a while since I did anything other than write up a show, eh? And surely you all, no matter how high-minded your approach to Fringe, expect a certain amount of trash-talking here at Fringe & Purge. 

(I’ve got an excuse, involving my sister, my nephews, and a beach house on the Isle of Palms. Hope y’all had a similarly good week.)

But I’m back in the Fringe groove now, so let’s address that dish deficit. 

Speaking of which, we’ll get all up in Julianne’s business in a minute. But before we throw stones, a note about our own glass house: 

Performance-Us Interruptus - One of Fringe & Purge’s guest bloggers ducked out partway through a show earlier this week, then panned it royally here on the blog. A certain number of the commentariat was outraged — as was one of the show’s cast, who sent me a tart e-mail.

Among the bullet-point complaints (certain paraphrasal liberties have been taken) in that note:

• Ditching mid-show is disrespectful to the cast, the crew, the Fringe Ideal, and anyone who sat dutifully through Hot Feet.
• Other festivals insist that reviewers/judges ”stay until the bitter end of any assigned show — no matter how bad.” 
• Dude complained in his review that the show had no story — but he had left before the story “really had a chance to begin.”
• Y’all should really send somebody else to re-review. And maybe fire the putz.

Now, while we’re sometimes flippant here at Fringe & Purge, we do take this stuff seriously. The City Paper once dismissed a contributing writer who filed a review without telling either her readers or her editor that she’d left the show at intermission. I don’t see why a similar standard ought not to obtain here.

But our contributor did disclose that he’d bailed — disclosed in the review itself, in fact. 

And while I’m open to argument about whether it’s kosher to complain about the weakness of a show’s bones when you haven’t stuck around to assess every last metatarsal, our blogger reports that he stayed for 40 minutes of a show that runs an hour and ten. Which doesn’t strike me as outrageous.

Also: I’m of the belief that respect for the artists or no, it’s within the pale for a critic to leave a show that’s not going well. It’s hard to say when it’s justified, and it’s not something I’d do every week. But bottom line, if you’re convinced that no amount of basting is gonna save a turkey, it’s OK to hit the Eject button. (Not to mix a metaphor, or anything.)

Should our guest blogger not have filed a review at all? Not entirely my call. Blog editor Brian Reed has this to say: 

“I thought it was a very funny and particularly honest review (that he discloses his early departure both earns him all this flack but also espouses a certain integrity), and therefore didn’t worry too much about posting it.  Since then, as you know, several people have responded either with outrage or their own appraisals of the show.”

Indeed: By my estimation, Power House has now gotten more attention on this blog than 9/10ths of the other Fringe shows. And you know what they say about publicity, no-such-thing-as-bad department.

As for the re-reviewing: Without wishing to suggest that the show was owed a second look, I draw your attention to the comments section of the original post. Brett Abelman, who’s one of our other guest bloggers, also took in a performance, and he’s offered up his thoughts in a longish comment.  Which we hope the show’s other partisans will also feel free to do.

One last pair of observations: Dan Owen, the offending guest blogger, strikes me as a smart, funny guy. Works for a big honkin’ international-development organization, has traveled the world, seems like a no-bullshit sort.

But I also know that Shawn Northrip and Shirley Serotsky, the writer and director of Power House, aren’t just f–cking about. They’ve been Fringe heavies since Year One, and between Titus! The Musical, Lunch, The Musical and The Many Adventures of Trixie Tickles, they’ve done their share of entertaining, button-pushing, balls-to-the-wall work.

So I’m inclined to chalk this one up to chacun à son goût – and to point out that taking a chance on shows that may not appeal to your taste is, after all, what Fringe is all about. 

Rehearsalus Interruptus – Heard a hilarious story one night under the Baldacchino: Apparently the Fine Wine Players were rehearsing in a vacant Capitol Hill townhouse, and something about their enthusiasm alarmed the neighbors. Who called the cops. Who — according to the version I heard — arrived with guns drawn, thinking they were responding to a domestic-violence incident.

Fine Wine’s Charlene James-Duguid didn’t mention unholstered weaponry (of any sort) when she called me back to confirm the incident. But she did commend the MPD on their diligence.

And she said that when she explained to the boys in blue that her troops were prepping a show for Fringe, the centurions didn’t miss a beat: “Well, we’ll have to see that,” the officer reportedly said. 

Naked-ness Interruptus - As you may have heard, one early performance of The Naked Party ran a touch long. So long that Fringe staff turned up the house lights and shooed everyone out.

As one Fringe-goer tells us:

“So now you have these actors, on stage, nude. And they immediately break character. The women covered themselves with their hands and then ran for their clothes …. The men stood a little like a “deer in the headlights” …. 

Ironic, that, in a show that uses nudity as a metaphor for vulnerability — and that seems to be at least partly about overcoming shyness.

I got a call that night from an outraged audience member — a DC lawyer friend, whose response was along the lines of: “Dammit, we were just getting to the denouement, and I want to know what happened.” That Fringe-goer, who titled her e-mail “Best Fringe Incident Yet,” alerted CP arts editor Mark Athitakis a couple of days later.

I’d have blogged about all this earlier, but y’know, beach house and all.  

Still, I checked in with Julianne, who pointed out that based on the show’s tech-rehearsal timings, they were on target to run over by about 20 minutes — and that other shows were lined up to load in at that venue.

“Think of the poor venue manager,” Julianne pleaded. “The show after this we would have had to hold, and the one after that. That would have made more people pretty pissed.”

Then she noted that all Fringe fests have similar don’t-blow-your-time-slot rules, chiefly to keep the trains from running completely off the tracks.  And she noted in LARGE letters that that night’s audiences were offered refunds. 

For his part, Naked Party writer-director Jason Schlafstein did a double-back mea culpa with a half twist. 

He and his cast had rehearsed with an invited audience, he said, but never with a real one — and crowd reaction added time. And there was apparently a miscommunication with Fringe: the festival staff had booked x minutes of time, and the Naked partiers were under the impression that they had x-plus-five.

(Forgive the algebra, he was talking fast.)

Schlafstein stresses that he takes full responsibility, that he was mortified, and that he and his gang aren’t sticking any pins in their Julianne doll. 

(Anymore. No, no — I said that, not him.) 

That very night, he says, “I went home and sent out a bunch of cuts to the actors.” Took 10 minutes out of the show. And since then, they’ve been playing to ”pretty much universally positive reviews.” 

And near-sold-out houses, Schlafstein says — so if you’d like to see it, you might want to book your seats now. 

Happy Fringing,

Trey

The phone is ringing again, here comes Julianne.  Someone else offers to get it, but she won’t have any of it.

“Don’t worry, I’ll get it, I’m on a roll.”

When she isn’t on the phone–mostly answering inane questions about tickets from chaperones of very large groups of Christian children and the like–Julianne breaks various bits of exciting news to her staff as it comes in on her computer.

For example, lots of press for the Fringe today (Express, Playbill, and City Paper for starters).

And then there’s the DC Theatre Yahoo group, whose moderators have had to limit the number of posts per Fringe production because they were too inundated with the stuff.

“I think that’s great–they have to make a policy because of us!” Julianne laughs.  ”That’s so cool!”

She says that for every email she reads, she gets about 4 more in her inbox.  I’m going to email her a link to this blog post right now from across the room, just to be annoying.  And supportive. Annoying and supportive.

First, the bad news: In its third year, the Capital Fringe Festival will have to get by without Courtney.

Ah, Courtney. Courtney, whose outré outfits, brassy personality, and shameless sidewalk busking helped draw audiences in droves to her one-woman shows.

Courtney, who last year successfully sent up both Barbarella and Cosmo in a single solo evening.

Courtney who, in the Fringe & Purge confessional at the 2007 opening-night party, cheerfully told the camera about a Fringe fling she’d had the year before with local theatergeek … oh, let’s leave him alone. It was a confessional, after all.

So a moment of silence, if you please, for the dearly departed Courtney, who’s not returning to Fringe — and whose last name we will tactfully omit here — because she’s apparently found domestic bliss in the Twin Cities. God bless her.

But fret not, Fringe devotees: Chocolate Jesus is back, presumably because one sold-out Fringe run in 2007 makes a fringer hungry for another one in 2008.

Slash Coleman is back, apparently looking a lot like Jesus, with an honest-to-God grew-it-himself beard and a show whose title involves the phrase “Big Matzo Balls.”

The indefatigable Hilary Kacser is back, marketing a new show “from veteran Capital Fringe hitmakers” — which, you know, more power to you, sister. It’s nice, in a town that didn’t have a fringe festival until 24* months ago, that we’ve got veteran fringe hit-makers to call our own.

In all, 40-odd Fringe acts are repeat offenders. And 40 percent of this year’s 104 acts call the District of Columbia home. Another 20 percent hail from the Maryland and Virginia suburbs.

Those are numbers that CapFringe Executive Director Julianne Brienza rattles off without hesitation — she’s efficient that way, to the point of being a little scary sometimes — and with a kind of pride.

More stats Brienza seems pleased to pimp:

- Fringe is nearly 30 percent bigger, up from 84 presenting artists last year.

- Permanent year-round staff is 30 percent bigger, too, up from 2 to 3. Total festival-month staff: 37, including production management, box office personnel, venue managers, an uber-venue manager to wrangle those ven

- The festival spans 18 days this year, July 10-27, up from 11 — and even if you discount the two Mondays and two Tuesdays when Fringe will take a breather (unlike in past years), there are 14 performance days. Again, almost a 30-percent increase.

Also: One two-year lease on Fringe’s first-ever semi-permanent home. Which was infested, in true fringe tradition, with what Brienza likes to describe as “fierce, man-eating rats.”

(No, seriously: They were so mean they fought back when staffers poked ‘em with sticks. So big and so numerous they reportedly unnerved even developer Doug Jemal, whose company controls the property — and when a D.C. landlord thinks twice about a building tour, you know you’ve got vector control issues.)

Fort Fringe, as Brienza & Co. like to call it, is in the old A.V. Ristorante building at the corner of 6th Street and New York Avenue, NW, behind a gaudy new Fringe Festival awning and next to a towering white marquee that’s been dubbed the Baldacchino. (That would be the fancy white thing in the picture above.)

That tent’ll be an open-air venue and bar, home to some of the festival’s louder acts (they’ll be competing with traffic noise, after all) and to Thursday’s opening-night bash.

Indoors at Fort Fringe: a newly built black-box space, in what apparently used to be an olive pantry, that’ll be available for rent to performing artists all year round.

As for the art? Well, it’s Fringe, so who the hell knows? “Unjuried, risk-taking, independent,” and whatnot. That’s the accentuate-the-positive approach, anyway.

If you’re looking for real-time guidance, I’ll be weighing in — along with several City Paper collaborators and a select cadre of guest reviewers (you’ll be meeting them shortly) — here at Fringe & Purge.

We’ll serve up quick-hit reviews, explainers, reminders, last-minute news, video interviews, and more — in fact, you can already watch highlights from last week’s boozy Fringe Preview night at RFD.

So visit early, visit often, and don’t be afraid to chime in. It’s Fringe, after all: Unjuried, risk-taking, independent — and this year, as user-generated as we can make it.

*Originally that said “48 months,” but I was thinking “two years.” No, really, I swear. C’mon, I’m an arts critic: Math hurts. Back to corrected sentence.

Next: Of Buttons, Rules, and Other Possibly Annoying Fringe Phenomena

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