Remaining Performances:
Saturday, July 25 @ 11 p.m.
Sunday, July 26 @ 2:15 p.m.

They say: “It’s back! The war on terror takes a hilarious turn as Irish authors from the ages are kidnapped by terrorists of every stripe. Expect no victims in this wicked romp that lampoons beloved writers and hated terrorists, or vice versa.”

Hilary’s take: Perhaps—given this show’s 2003 premiere at the Washington Theater Festival and its 2006 stint at the Warehouse Second Stage—it wouldn’t be fair to the newer, unvetted Fringe acts to hail J.T. Burian Theatricals’ IAHH as the most brilliant (in the ‘cross the pond exclamatory sense) production of 2009′s fest. But in an era held hostage by relics of Dubya’s terror-mongering, “fair” is so last century. Besides, Oscar Wilde (John Morogiello) had me at “I don’t care what you do to me so long as it’s BEAUUUUTIFUL!”

Playwright/actor Morogiello is a comic genius and IAHH the product of his literary sensibilities (okay, nerdiness) and disgusting talent. In less than 90 minutes, Morogiello crystallizes nine of Ireland’s most famous scribblers in caricatures based on astute textual interpretation. Ridiculous though Samuel Beckett or Frank McCourt (both skewered to perfection by Terence Aselford) may be onstage, Morogiello’s subjects are only as absurd as their scripture allows. I really wouldn’t put it past McCourt, author of interminably depressing memoir Angela’s Ashes, to get into a pissing contest with a Somali pirate over whose tortured childhood was indeed more torturous. Sorry Frank, but I think subsisting off half-eaten sandwiches left by documentary film crews beats gobbling garbage and sipping cabbage tea.

Don’t know diddly about James Joyce or Brendan Behan? Unfamiliarity with pub scrawlers is not a huge problem; in the best program I’ve ever read, J. Thaddeus Burian provides a brief, Swiftian rundown of the play’s authors for “the less intelligent members of our audience.” Such patrons may also find enjoyable “International Terrorism: The Game!” located just after the educational bits in the pamphlet. (Hint: The answer is “Power.”)

Sure, the hostage sketch done nine times over may sound like a bore, but Morogiello mixes it up with sub-plots and a recurring tormentor (played gamely by Terence Heffernan). Ninety minutes came and went, and only then did I realize I could hear the music from The Apothecary downstairs in the sweltering Bodega. Nothing else I’ve sampled at Fringe can touch IAHH‘s the trifecta of lacerating wit, flawless delivery, and superb performances from the entire cast (Morogiello’s recurring Yeats was a highlight, as was Lori Boyd’s turn as Lady Gregory). You haven’t Fringed until you’ve seen Wilde clutch his chest at the sight of a “dark, rugged” jihadist bent over in prayer.

See it if: You have $15 and you’d love to know what really kept everyone waiting for Godot.

Skip it if: Belly laughing makes you nauseous.

Remaining Performances:
Jul 19th 12 pm
Jul 25th 3:15 pm

They say: You didn’t even know we existed. But now? Now. You do. A new play that tells the spirited stories of four ‘juvie’ girls living on the inside

Suzyn’s take: “The Girls Inside,” Leayne C. Freeman’s new play about teenage girls in juvie, is memorable and exciting from the first moments as the four girls run around in darkness with flashlights, soon getting caught by the police.  The much-maligned Bodega, with its stifling heat and peeling paint, is the perfect venue.

This is not so much a play as a 45-minute slam poem, and the directing—the best I’ve seen at the Fringe Festival this year—is more like choreography.   There are snippets about the girls’ lives; one girl deals with the drug-addicted mother she adores, another was essentially made to sign adoption papers that she couldn’t read.  But mostly there is a sort of anonymity to the characters that the girls play, which allows lines like “The world didn’t want us the first time, so why would it change its mind if we got out?” to speak for everyone.

Jo Higbee brings a bit of dark humor in imitating the adults the girls must deal with.  Her performance is particularly adroit in that she doesn’t seem to be playing the adults so much as playing what the adults look like to the girls.

Perhaps the most haunting moments are the bits of girlish glee and teenage innocence woven throughout the piece.  As much as these girls seem like hardened criminals, when they laugh, they are teenage girls again, particularly Adena Goode, who at times seems hardened and innocent simultaneously.  At one point they form a chorus of wishes and desires: they want a new trial, they want a do-over, they want their mothers, they want a new iPod, they want to go to prom.   When Ayena Hardy’s character talks about losing her virginity in the eighth grade and how it made her feel beautiful, there is a sad sweetness to her performance that is almost unbearable. Several members of the audience cried. Zurin Villanova has a beautiful voice and a real gift for movement.  When she pantomimes getting a cavity search from an invisible person, it’s impossible not to squirm.  Yet she imbues her character with a deep sense of hope.

This is a brilliant show.

See it if:   You want a vivid, emotional, memorable experience and are willing to go through hell with these girls to get it.

Skip it if:  You need a storyline to really get into a play.   There are only characters in the loosest sense and in many ways this show is far more about evoking a sense of place than about the development of characters or the movement of a plot.