Let’s face it, people. This is some full-contact theater, up in here. Yes, the venues are hot; we’ve all watched drops of persperation fly from performers’ noses every time they turn their heads, describing graceful, albeit funky, arcs over the footlights. But that comes with the territory. Herewith, we honor those who’ve given their lives, or at least their ability to thumb-wrestle for a while, to Fringe.

Roth is on to something, here; she’s created some interesting parallels between father and son. She’s still pushing them at us, rather than letting the us find them — which is why, I think, that scene in which one of George’s dementia-fueled WWII memories combines with Andy’s Nam flashback feels as needless and over-the-top as it does.

Last night, 23 Fringe groups converged on a makeshift stage in the backroom of RFD’s for the fourth annual Fringe Previews. (Video, methinks, forthcoming.) The beer was abundant, the crowd somewhat rowdier and less attentive than last year’s, and the performances less…well, performative than declarative. That is to say: it was a lot more tell [...]