What: Burnt at the Steak
Where: Langham Court Theatre
When: Aug. 30 to Sept. 2
Rating: 4 1/2 out of 5
Carolann Valentino's onewoman musical-comedy Burnt at the Steak throws into sharp relief what should already be common knowledge: While dining out, never mistreat your servers.
In addition to spitting on your foie gras, disgruntled waiters, many of whom moonlight as creative types, might later roast you in their art.
Valentino has done just that. Burnt at the Steak recalls her time as a highly paid manager at an elite New York steakhouse, a job she held while pursuing her dream of performing on Broadway.
During the 75-minute romp, the Texas-raised writer, singer and actor oscillates between playing her beleaguered former self and 18 other personalities, most notably the cast of cretins she encountered during her tenure at the ritzy resto. The caricatures range from her greasy, dictatorial boss, to a randy, boozed-to-oblivion customer, to a coquettish Brit who had a taste for wearing short skirts and, perilously, "no knickers."
It's remarkable how dramatically - and how quickly - Valentino shifts her voice, gait and facial expressions to assume each over-the-top impression.
Adding to the hilarity, she periodically belts absurdist show tunes about her former workplace. A fake instructional number about how to assess how well a cut of meat is cooked - set to the melody of The Sound of Music sing-along Do-Re-Mi - was a definite highlight.
A warning for sheepish theatergoers: Valentino occasionally ropes audience members into her gut-busting charade. If you're picked, she'll embarrass you, to the audience's delight.
But unlike the lowlifes she skewers, you'll at least have the benefit of being in on the joke.
-Cory Ruf
What: Borg, Cranny, Delamont: Comedy Fun Pack
Where: Langham Court Theatre
When: Aug. 30 to Sept. 2
Rating: 3 1/2 out 5
As its name suggests, this soirée of standup comedy is a mixed bag, both in terms of the quality and the style of its acts.
Victoria-based comics Wes Borg and Morgan Cranny each purvey a distinct take on well-trodden comedic territory. While strumming his acoustic guitar, Borg sings satirical songs about the doldrums of relationships and the hypocrisy of self-righteous hippies. More closely resembling a classic standup routine, Cranny's bit relies too heavily on comedy clichés, including his allegedly lacklustre sex life and the travails of raising children.
This isn't to say the two opening acts failed to inspire hearty laughs. They did, at times. But their sets paled in comparison to Mike Delamont's, the true highlight of the night.
Appearing comfortable and loose on stage, the nowToronto-based funnyman is a master at weaving together weird, disparate topics - from outmoded playground equipment, to his attempts to lose weight, to the popularity of wilderness camping - together into a seamless comedic package.
Just how talented is he? Let's put it this way: If you think a treatise about which species of bear is most deserving of human protection is bound to be unfunny, prepare for Delamont to prove you wrong.
-CR
What: Significant Me
Where: Downtown Activity Centre, 755 Pandora Ave.
When: Aug. 30, 31, Sept. 1, 2
Rating: 4 (out of five)
Can't find a suitable soulmate? Well, why not settle down with someone you truly love - yourself?
This notion (reminiscent of Woody Allen's famous masturbation quip from Annie Hall) is the comic premise behind Significant Me, a new solo show by Toronto's Christel Bartelse.
Her character, Caroline, is a 1950s-style "hostess with the mostest" who, behind her bright and brittle exterior, seems a little lonely and lost. After a string of failed relationships, she decides to tie the knot with herself.
Naturally, being a perfectionist, Caroline attempts to excel at married-lady-type activities, such as driving kids to school and making delicious meals for dinner parties - which no one seems to attend.
The being-married-toyourself idea does yield some comic fruit. Caroline, seemingly split into two people, often chides herself in the manner of one partner scolding another. When she gets drunk one night, she says: "I asked myself where I had been. And I couldn't remember."
That said, over 60 minutes the premise wears a bit thin. The script is clever and well structured, but not always outrageously funny. What saves the day are Bartelse's superior performance skills. Her extensive dance training surfaces in Caroline's wonderful physicality. The character is continually twirling, moving in a crisp, precise manner that jibes perfectly with Caroline's June-Cleaver-esque aspirations. And Bartelse, a skilled comedian, is clever with facial expressions and comic timing. The show's look is also terrific, from her retro dress (decorated with seahorses!) to boldly painted props of martini glasses and mixing bowls.
- Adrian Chamberlain
What: Jem Rolls: Ten Starts and an End
When: Aug. 30, 31; Sept. 1, 2
Where: St. Ann's Academy (835 Humboldt St.)
Rating: 3 1/2
As the audience waits under dim lighting for the action to start on stage, a voice booms from the back of the theatre: "In the beginning, there was the word."
From there, Fringe favourite Jem Rolls unleashes an arsenal of proof that the word still runs rampant. Covering everything from neverchanging cycle of intergenerational warfare, through a "100-kmh" recitation of as many Canadian places as possible in the space of one minute, Rolls returns with his trademark high-energy performance poetry.
There's no obvious theme unifying these 11 pieces of poetry - among them is one about he bills as "the nicest thing anyone's ever written about Toronto," while another is about the worst birthday present he ever received. But there is some kind of post-modern self-awareness throughout. He injects the voice of a child into one piece: "Mom? When's he going to start?
He's just talking."
It can be a bit exhausting maintaining the consistent attention required to follow the web Rolls spins at rapid speed - and the sometimes avant-garde nature of performance poetry means it may not please everyone. It also may not be the strongest collection that the cheeky Brit has offered to Victoria audiences, but it is nonetheless an imaginative one.
- Amy Smart
What: Redheaded Stepchild
When: Aug. 30, Sept. 1
Where: St. Ann's Academy (835 Humboldt St.)
Rating: 4
There's being bullied and then there's learning about a Facebook group called, "Let's Beat Nicholas Like He's a Redheaded Stepchild," with five of your classmates already confirmed to attack you.
Few people know the feeling of being a redheaded stepchild like Nicholas, who carries the title in a literal sense. The 12-year-old, performed by Toronto's Johnnie Walker, is the kind of kid who wears Stratford Festival T-shirts, listens to Gilbert & Sullivan records and counts Rita Hayworth among his idols. He doesn't quite fit in. To cope, he turns to his fabulous alter-ego Rufus Vermillion, who is the kind of guy who uses words like "boudoir," and after taking a bit sip from a juice box declares, "Hair of the dog! Am I right?" While the show is silly from the start, it develops a heavier weight as the root of the bullying is revealed and Nicholas's make-believe confidenceboosters show signs of weakness.
The show's only real blemish is the similar way Walker performs each role - Nicholas' cigarette-smoking, track-suit wearing stepmother isn't too different from Vermillion or Nicholas himself, but for a gasping laugh. But the storyline is forgiving, since that may be attributed to Nicholas himself, rather than Walker - he is the one assuming each role to tell his own story, after all.
- AS
