Rageboy (or, Rage against the latrine)

Okay, this one's a little late. I think I caught Rageboy sometime last week as part of Melbourne's Midsumma festival; I have forgotten - much like the play.

Big cast; polished production; meandering, meaningless script.

Toby is apparently enraged at life. Struck with polio at an early age, agitated by his father, annoyed by his best friend (oh, hang on that was me being annoyed by her atrocious American accent), cracked onto by his institutionalised grandfather, Toby has a lot to be enraged about. But he doesn't seem to be that bothered. There is something thrown in about the apocalypse by the two (slightly incestuous) JW siblings but it all ends up being rather meaningless.

It is difficult to say that Rageboy was appalling because it is clear that it was extremely well received by the opening night audience. It is true that the show, which began life as a Melbourne Uni production, is very funny in parts. Yes it has a kind of absurdist charm but it was so incredibly episodic that by in the end it felt like a dose of The Comedy Company or Skithouse and was just as hit and miss.

Props to the few characters who managed to imbue their roles with some real, and much needed, charm. The father's blind albino girlfriend deserves special mention. Overall though, apart from the few funny scenes, an extremely disappointing evening.

Run a mile (or at least you should have, it is all over now. Thank SBLJ!)

Car Maintenance, eXplosives and Love @ Gasworks Theatre

Okay, I'm being published again. I'm chucking some reviews the way of The Program, an Australian arts portal focused on repackageing the arts media for the youth market.

My first review went up today. You can check it out by clicking on the text below...

"From the opening, angle-grinding moments of Car Maintenance, eXplosives and Love it is clear that there are going to be more than just sparks flying in this very one-woman show."

Hey, it's a start.

Marching Proud

Look how proud he is! That is because he's spent his afternoon watching the gayest of Melbourne's community groups marching through one of Melbourne's gayest precincts.

I jest. But it is true that the Pride March was a heart swelling event. I prefer Melbourne's march to Sydney's parade. It is less flashy, more grounded. There is a real sense of the GBLTI community thanking and praising the movers and shakers that make out community what it is. Of course there is not as much eye candy (even less this year because of the miserable weather) or music but the general warm glow more than makes up for that.



We headed down after saying farewell to Steff. The tram down Nicholson Street was already crammed full of homosexualists of both persuasions and we got to nattering about Friday night. And the rain fell. Heavily.



Luckily, by the time the parade opened with the traditional Dykes on Bykes the clouds were holding their payloads. It didn't rain on the police, or the lesbians parading their bubs for political propaganda. It didn't rain on the gay Greeks or the gay Italians. Hell, it didn't even rain on those butt-fucking koalas that were censored from the Myer Christmas windows this year.

Even though we arrived minutes before the start, there was plenty of room. Attendance was a little disappointing but it didn't hamper the good spirits. It was great to see a few friends marching and, when the parade had finished parading the crowd that followed along revealed itself to be quite sizeable.



Drinks at the POW afterwards, a supper with Shamil and a brief jaunt to see what was happening in the park and then it was all over. Pity about the weather, it would have been a lot more festive without the wind and rain but you get that.

Bring on Carnivale!

Midsumma Opens

Midsumma is here, though they should have changed the name this year. Not much was summery on Friday night. It was warmish but also very muggy. Not that that detracted from the night. Easily one of the most impressive openings I've been to.

Somewhere along the line they decided to jettison all of the crap acts and replace them with artistically credible performers. It was quite unsettling. There was not a rapping Bette Midler impersonator in sight. I was quite disoriented.

Not that we spent all that much time watching the acts. We were too busy watching the bottom of our plastic Becks cups.


Sam came along and she was in fine form. Somehow she managed to plant herself firmly in the centre of every one of my photos. Not that I am complaining because she is dangerously photogenic.

Before the crowds came we managed to catch the skill tester tent set up by Penny Machinations, who brought us last year's Berina of Mystery. Andrew (not that Andrew, the other Andrew) was proclaimed a level 2 psychic even though he couldn't telepathically collect the image of Margaret Pomeranz or any of the numerous penises.



By the time we were ready to move on, we were well-sauced and ready for a tram ride to the Xchange hotel, home of drag shows, go-go boys and a dancefloor of unmixed Nineties classics.

See:



It was a blast of a night and a fitting opening to what promises to be a Midsumma of fabulousness. (Did I just say that?)

Happy Australian Days...

So, on this very chilly English Australia Day I have received the first pics in of some much warmer Australian days. Thanks Don for all of these. I have put a few up for everyone, you can find the rest at donaldritchie.com (how's that for blatant cross-promotion). On a similar note, other friends are popping up with blogs so I shall post those bits and bobs in the side bar for your perusing pleasure.

So, without further ado...

Let's start with Midsummer at Fed Square. Note the very flat rain soaked hair on yours truly. What a very Melbourne day that was, weather wise!





And it wasn't only raining of course... it was raining GAYS, Hallelujah!!!



Next up we have the dinner at Palate the Saturday night





We haven't got a shot of the Long Island Ice-Tea yet but we do have Kelly with a dessert mo'



And it was all downhill from there...





Then to Blu Bar and the wonderful story of Nerida and her beau...



And me and my alcoholism!



Unfortunately we don't have shots from The Market (not yet anyway) but we do have Nerida yearning for some meat. Thanks to some careful cropping and framing we can now quietly forget the shop attendant's bewildered grin.



Mmmm MEAT!