Review : Patrick Monahan’s Stories And Fables For Kids That Like To Sit At Tables!

Patrick Monahan’s Stories And Fables For Kids That Like To Sit At Tables!

Phil McIntyre Entertainment

They say you should never work with kids, and I agree, unless you are Patrick Monahan. Effortlessly combating their unruliness, spontaneity, and inadvertent humour by being spontaneous, humorous and imaginative, it is easy to see that Monahan never lost that childish sense of play that is too often discarded as we grow into petulant teens and morose adults.

Set in exotic lands, Monahan’s amusing allegorical anecdotes and repartee caters both for the kids and the parents. Relying as much on the audience’s participation as his flock of sheep as he does on his slideshow of sketches, Monahan transports the older generation back to their childhood, and the younger generation into a land far, far away.

Gilded Balloon Teviot, 7 - 30 Aug (not 17), 1.30pm (2.25pm), £7.00 - £8.00 (£6.00 - £7.00), fpp 14

tw rating 4/5

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Review : The Critic

The Critic
Lincoln Company
The Critic strikes me as a theatrical rollercoaster; not the sort which takes you on a whistle stop ride of excitement and adrenaline, but one where you find yourself queuing for far too long, only to find the slow climb up detracts from the pleasure of the entertaining dips. Excluding an odd dance, the cast had fun with the wit of Sheridan's script, producing some charismatic double-acts while inserting some topical humour. However, this topical humour was hit and miss, and some of the comedy seemed obvious and clichéd which, when coupled with tiresome soliloquies, undermined the merit of the production. With enjoyable scenes marred by dragging moments, The Critic is more of a Log Flume then the Big Dipper.
C, 5 - 31 Aug (not 17th), 5.10pm (6.20pm), prices vary, fpp 189.
tw rating 2/5
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Review : Serate Bastarde (Bastard Nights)

Serate Bastarde (Bastard Nights)
Expresso! Teatro Italiano: Dionisi

Showering in Silvio Berlusconi's spunk and holding beauty pageants for underwear-clad burns victims is not what comes to mind when one thinks of satire; yet satire it was, and bitingly so.

Struggling against strong accents, Serate Bastarde attempted to diffuse today's mad world by going mad themselves, coupling the aforementioned acts with emotive and witty tales. The three ladies blatantly pointed out how numb we have become to the social injustices surrounding us, which could have become grating if it weren't for the constant feeling of unease they simultaneously created.

Serate Bastarde seems to have taken in two clichés – social and absurdist theatre - producing a somewhat stilted performance which, to use a cliché of my own, is an experience.

C Soco, 5 - 31 Aug (not 17), 11.00pm (12.00am), prices vary, fpp95.
tw rating 3/5
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Review : Nik Coppin - Loquacious

Listening to him rant about a bad ThreeWeeks review he once received was the only time I felt slightly awkard during Nik Coppin's set; not sure whether he had amazing intuition or it was just a coincidence. With his desperation to make friends, and his beaming smile - which takes over his whole face - he puts his audience at ease from the outset of his show, which, as its title 'Loquacious' might imply, sees the comedian spending an hour talking bollocks. Not that this is bad; his anecdotes from his travels around the world are genuinely amusing, as is his repartee with the crowd, but it was easy to see that Copin was, in his preview week, still testing what worked

TW Rating 3/5

Review / Opinion / Misc :Last Night I Dreamt Somebody Loved Me

Blindfolded, I entered into the Dreamscape, an alien room where I found myself at the mercy of people I had never met. Terrifying? Not one bit... I was invigorated

My senses sharpened, my curiosity grew and I could not help but follow bright lights and the clicking fingers of the actors around me.

When asked about love and memories I felt no choice but to lay myself bare, spilling all to a room, to a person whose silly french accent transported me to decadent Parisian soirees. He led me by the hand, and placed me in the palm of another blindfoldee.

Without eyes to judge or be judged, my insecurities vanished. We found ourselves exploring each others hands, my rough slightly sweaty masculine palm mutually caressed her delicate feminine fingers, and as the music swelled we had no choice but to dance.

As our body's closed together, a strange sensation hit me. Not knowing anything about this women with her head on my chest, not knowing what she looked like and not knowing who she was - I had fallen in love. And for those two minutes, where we swayed together, hooked in each others imaginations, I was utterly and completely in love.

Is it worth seeing the beautiful things of this world, when they make us so insecure?

For a time now, I have felt that eyesight is the strongest sense, especially in theatre, where we specifically rely on it. However, it limits us - when we see things they become real, and when they are real they are rarely magical - and isn't that what theatre should be - magical?

We judge through eyes - sight is a decisive tool, but when judging how entertaining

a piece is (for we are all critics) we are limiting our own capabilities of being entertained.

Take theatre off the stages - return it to the mind - let us implode it with our fantasies!

Remove the eyes from theatre - Viva l'Squat!

(Inspired by Belt Up theatre, who led the Dreamscape and created the space which is the Squat)

Opinion : Harriet Harman tries to ruin politics.

Today, I read this article; http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/uk/8180195.stm

It upset me.

I often tread the line as a misogynist and hold little sympathy for aggressive feminists who seem that they are intent in creating an all-female society or simply destroying men. But, rather than being because I feel my gender is superior to women, or that I have little respect for them, it is simply because when I look at a person, I do not see their race, gender or disability, I see another human being.

I also believe men and women will never be equal. But this does not mean that I believe men are better at life than women or vica-versa. As two different genders, men and women are wired differently, they approach different tasks in different ways, and as such are better suited to certain tasks. While men, who harbour an instinctive drive to hunt, will find it easier to shit on other to accomplish their tasks, women are better at managing compassionately.

However, and this is a huge however, I am talking in stereotypes. Every individual person, regardless of gender, race, or sexuality, is tuned in a different way. We all have our talents and our weaknesses, and this is what we should be judged on rather than, what categorical boxes we tick.

It is for this reason that I am so angry, that Labour allows such naive, short-sighted and apparently crazy MPs like Harriet Harman, not just into its party but into the cabinet. Positive discrimination, is still discrimination, and discrimination is wrong, on any level. So why in the most progressive modern country in the world, do we find it acceptable for her to suggest that the Labour party should change its rules so that a women should always be in one of the top two party jobs regardless of the skills possessed by other candidates for said job. Moreover, why have we allowed her to let businesses have "a legal right to discriminate in favour of female candidates"?

When men and women have worked to close the gap on gender inequality for the last seventy years, why has she seen fit to open it up again, creating resentment and divides?

Politically, I have always viewed myself as independant, judging every issue on its own merits, rather than which party it came from. However, after reading this article, I can safely say that Labour has defiantly lost its way as it allows discriminatory people like Mrs Harman to flourish under its wing. While she is an MP for them, I will never vote Labour, for I will not give my vote to a party who advocates sexism, discrimination and judges people on their natural attributes which they cannot help rather than their self- crafted talents

Misc : My train-friend/potential stalker John

Here follows a guide for making friends with mentalists on trains.

18.03 I boarded the train from York To Edinburgh

18.05 The guy across the aisle says words to the effect of "Hello, nice to meet you!" Surprised by the friendliness of normally mute commuters I reply and strike up conversation

18.08 After countless repetitions of: my name, "have a good time at the fringe Tom" and "you're nice Tom" occasionally peppered with "I hope you have a nice life Tom" I start to get worried about this old Aberdonian especially as when the conversation naturally ends he restarts it with said phrases

18.10 My worries are confirmed when he asks for my number, I give it to him but I switch digits. I feel bad

18.20 He finds out I am going to the fringe, he says he will come down and visit me.

18.40 I feel bad for bitching about him on Facebook, Twitter and here, as well as giving him a false number so I give him a bun.

19.05 He moves across the aisle to sit next to me, as I type about him. He doesn't notice, but asks me to send a Happy Birthday text to his friend. I do so, but after sending realise that his "friend" will now have my number

19.15 He sings hymns

19.20 He repeats "there is a God"...to himself.....loudly. Damn Christians!

19.28 He offers me his blackcurrant juice...nice gesture but I feel it could be drugged. I decline, but wonder if I am being too harsh on this man

19.30 He pulls what appears to be a child's picture book out of his bag and starts to read about princesses. This could be the basis for a poem...

20.20 We pull into Edinburgh and thinking that he may follow me off the train, I leave the seat early. It is good that I do so as he delays me for five whole minutes, shaking my hand and telling me how glad he is to have met me, and how I am his friend. Scared, and worried that the sweat dripping from my hands might moisten his palms and give away the fact that I've lied to him for four hours, I politely smile and nod my head. He also reminds me that he will be coming down to visit me - repeatedly, and tells me to ring him any time I want to chat. He could be such a nice man if he wasn't clearly mad.