The sign of a good performance is one that stays alive beyond curtain call because we spend the rest of the night re telling parts to renew the memory. Like collecting confetti from the floor, sweeping it with our hands and wide arms into likes to throw them high into the air. Remember how good this one element was? And the memory of happiness, pleasure, exhilaration gently twinkle down as the thought washes over and through us.
Tonight’s first event was dinner. Paul met Dan and I outside Print Hall where we found some Japanese food. A bit expensive. Mostly tasty. Some over cooked vegetables. But sufficient. It met expectations.
Second on our route was the Limbo performance in Elizabeth Quay. Which feels like it’s set on a paddock of hay as all the grass is dead. Dead and dry and makes my allergic nose twinge.
We were separated on entry; Dan and I had paid extra and had to seat next to the stage. Simon and Lauren found seats with Paul on the other side of stage.
This package was perfect. Not all of the performance elements achieved their potential but enough did. And they were seamlessly mixed between each other, without a narrator or narrative. Narrators always ruin showcases of tricks. They make he audience perceive the trick through the lens of an idea or story or goal. Instead we were just presented with space. With objects. With shapes. Performers encountering objects as obstacles or challenges. Vertical poles became prison bars but were then support for very athletic and breath holding dare. I spent much of the time between the edge of my seat and an inch above it, leaped up in surprise.
Toward the end when the acrobat on a pole reach forward and grabbed my glasses from my face I screamed. How would I see!? How would he get the back? I couldn’t see them to catch them. I’d already planned my
Emergency exit if the building caught fire during the fire eating. And I’d thanked my over insured total permanent disability policy when I thought I would get an eye knocked out by the performer whacking the stage next to my face with hard balls on strings.
From the moment the ripped contortionist opened the performance I was mesmerized. There were dreamlike lulls in energy where a singer would sing and dancers, as the set changed. Each element flowed into the next.
The performance was tight. It had been developed. It was mature.
Later in the night we were in Northbridge to see Club Briefs. This was a very different style, burlesque and a variety show. There was less finesse and more tits. The energy was constantly high, so I became tired and yearned for some contrast. My seat was hard and my back began to hurt. We still enjoyed the show.
Perth isn’t too bad after all. The city is alive tonight. The mood is happy and inclusive. I felt safe to hold my husban’d hand in public. Nobody harassed us. We got home safe.
To our air conditioning.