bo svoronos, film buff's forecast, globe aerostatique, hernan palacio, letters to isaac, lygon street, mcdonalds, melbourne cup, melbourne fringe festival, paul harris, roxby greenstone, rrr, small change theatre, theatre, wigs for cats
Several weeks ago I was listening to Film Buff’s forecast when one of the reviewers (the delightfully voiced Simone Ubaldi) was describing an upcoming interactive arty ‘piece’ that the good folk at the Small Change Theatre Company were to stage in the Melbourne Fringe Festival. The normally unflappable Paul Harris was lost for words as he tried to comprehend the very nature of the beast that was to be Letters to Isaac, and justifiably so. I too have had difficulty in describing what it is/was to my friends and more often than not just simply show them one of the texted letters from my mobile phone and let them figure it out for themselves.
The basic premise of Letters to Isaac is somewhat Swiftian in it’s style and setting. Our protagonist is lost in foreign lands, not unlike Gulliver himself, where he is held hostage or just up to no good. He sends a series of letters back to his school yard chum, Isaac, and it is through these letters-sent to via mobile phone or facebook account- that we learn of his travails and adventures. One letter a day is sent, culminating in a live performance with the final letters acted out in front of our very eyes.
The first 100 signed up disciples were invited to attend the event and being one of the selected few I brought a friend along and had a thoroughly good time. I will not go into the intricacies of the storyline because I wouldn’t be able to do it justice and would end up tying myself in narrative knots for my troubles. I would suggest that you click on the link here or the link up there near the top of the page and start with the first letter. When you are done I’ll be down below yapping on about the after show party.
I will however point out that one of the actors portraying a libidinous Zagame, a rather statuesque Argentinian by the name of Hernan Palacio, was endowed with the most grotesque and monumental appendage that would make a Melbourne Cup winner blush, which had the ladies in the audience quite excited and giggly. I think it was his thrusting motions towards Roxby which were responsible for much of the womens’ hysteria.
The show itself lasted less than an hour but gave me hours of amusement during the preceding 2 weeks and then entertained for another hour as we mingled with the cast and crew at the after show bar. It was at the bar while availing of the cheap glasses of Schampoo that I encountered the misguided and unrepentant Roxby Greenstone himself.
I am generally not the type to get my picture taken with actors or popettes but now and again I will break with family tradition and indulge my common self. I might add that I add previously consumed a near half dozen glasses of Hoegaarden as well as a brace of Jameson’s on ice which had the effect of making me rather jovial and somewhat brazen in my approach to Mr Greenstone who is really the much talented and modest Bo Svoronos, the writer and creator of the show thingamyjig.
Throughout the evening myself and my companion had pleasured ourselves with the lazy and voyeuristic art of people watching and the pot pourri of assembled Arty Farts did not disappoint. I always marvel at the body language on display at such events and the cast glances are a joy to behold when spotted in mid flight. Of particular note was the general level of homosexuality and lesbianism on display, not unusual for the arts, and the usual preening and chatting up of unsuspecting victims.
At one stage I was given the eye by a lady who could scarce afford to considering she only had one eye on show as the other one was covered with a classic black pirate-like patch. I will add that she was not in buccaneer costume but normal arts precinct wear with the customary red jacket or shoes and a knitted berret/beanie yokeymajig.
Elsewhere this week I was treated to the sight of several of Melbourne’s graceful ‘globe aérostatiques’, or hot air balloons for the non-francophiles amongst us, as I drove to work down Lygon street. This is not an uncommon occurrence but what pleased me was their proximity to my back yard and local coffee shop. Luckily for me I was stopped at a set of amenable traffic lights and had the presence of mind to have my camera on hand.
This week I have been working in Ascot Vale so my drive to work has taken me along Brunswick rd, the glorious globes were seemingly aware of this and followed me to work. Ah, the simple pleasures in life.
In the days before the Politically Correct brigade of fecking eejits started interfering with people’s lives it was not uncommon to see products like this:
or on a different note:
but instead we are responsible for the following highbrow pursuits:
and this, all the McDonalds stores in America at night: