Review: socially [un]acceptable (Big Mood, GM Fringe)

Wednesday 24th July 2019
Studio, King’s Arms, Salford

This year’s Greater Manchester Fringe runs from the 1st-31st July. I’m reviewing a selection of shows from the festival programme for this blog and for North Manchester FM, and the next show I saw was Big Mood’s socially [un]acceptable, which was on in the Studio at the King’s Arms on Wednesday 24th July. You can hear the radio version of this review on my Tuesday show on North Manchester FM, but here’s the blog version…

socially [un]acceptable is a one-woman show written and performed by Laura Desmond that addresses the subject of sexual assault in a raw and confrontational way. It’s an autobiographical piece, told through a series of vignettes that present Desmond’s experiences of sexual assault and rape. As the title suggests, the narrative focus is on the types of abusive behaviours that are considered socially acceptable (by some) or expected (by others).

Desmond arrives at the Studio in her underwear, with a pint in her hand. Nodding to the audience, Desmond raises her glass, cheers the Fringe (woohoo!) and asks if anyone else is drinking. She seems like she might be kinda tipsy already. Of course, this is a key part of the show’s engaging but unsettling style, and the introduction sets the audience up for a distinct challenge to their perceptions and preconceptions.

In her introduction, Desmond explains (as if her accent hasn’t given it away) that she’s from Adelaide, and that her hometown has a problematic drinking culture. She gets the audience to sing along with a campus drinking song, for instance, that reduces women to inanimate objects, useful only for sexual activity. Sadly, the picture she paints of Adelaide student drinking culture will be relatable to many in the UK (and elsewhere) as well. This culture creates an environment where ‘crossing the line’ or ‘trying your luck’ in terms of sex and consent is viewed as an acceptable and ordinary part of social interaction.

Alcohol plays a key role in socially [un]acceptable. Not only does Desmond drink throughout the performance – sometimes gesticulating with her glass to emphasize a point, as though she’s an inebriated friend recounting a bad experience – but the stories she tells also all involve heavy drinking and hangovers (which, as she states early on, is probably something a lot of people can relate to). With an objective eye, it’s hard not to be impressed with Desmond’s control and skill here – she plays drunk (even sloppy drunk at points) convincingly, without losing the beat of the monologue for a moment.

However, Desmond’s drinking stories develop into accounts of sexual assault, coercion and pressure – sadly, this is probably also something a lot of people can relate to. Beginning each account with a burst of a pop song (sung, rather than played) and dressing herself in a new outfit, each story begins with a feeling of hopefulness. Desmond is – just like many other young women – getting ready for a night out, a party, a fun time. By the end of each story, she is stripped back to her underwear, describing things that have been done against her will, with a strident anger and antagonism.

It’s in this anger that the real bravery of socially [un]acceptable lies. In standing – stripped, belligerent and (apparently) drunk – before the audience, Desmond offers a direct challenge to perceptions of victimhood. There are moments in the show where Desmond appears to almost be inviting blame (or shame) upon herself, but then pre-emptively knocks it back with a definitive statement that firmly sends the blame back in the correct direction. (Although at times, in the snug confines of the King’s Arms Studio, Desmond’s direct delivery and disarming eye contact makes it feel almost as though some blame is levelled at the audience, or at least at our preconceptions.)

socially [un]acceptable is not an easy watch. Strikingly, there is absolutely no humour in the piece. While Desmond begins with a faux joviality (and I have to admit, for non-Aussie audiences, her accent is a bit of decoy), there are no jokes here. There is no levity to the anecdotes. Instead, we’re presented with the raw and unfiltered pain of the victim. Desmond modulates between rage-filled and wounded, confrontational and vulnerable.

As well as the lack of humour, there is also no comment on healing here. This is not a piece about recovery from trauma, and there’s no suggestion that Desmond is ‘in a different place’ or ‘a different person’ at the end of her narrative.

This is important for the (openly stated) aims and intentions of the piece. socially [un]acceptable is about laying bare – often in quite a visceral way – the impact that supposedly ‘acceptable’ behaviours can have on the individual on the receiving end. I keep coming back to the word ‘raw’, as this feels like the most appropriate adjective to describe the performance.

It’s hard to criticise a performance like this, which is so invested in the autobiographical and the personal. Desmond does an excellent job at sustaining the pace and style for the whole hour, giving the show an incredible atmosphere of intense authenticity. My only criticism, then, would be that – in a couple of places – narrative clarity is sacrificed to that intense authenticity. One anecdote, in particular, is so heavily invested in the ‘reality’ of the relationship being described that I found it a little bit difficult to follow. While this is authentic – student relationships are notoriously convoluted and overwrought – I wonder if some poetic licence might have been advisable to make the overall message clearer. This is a difficult criticism to make, admittedly, as socially [un]acceptable is an unashamedly personal narrative, and I’m a little uncomfortable suggesting someone edits their own autobiographical account.

Overall, socially [un]acceptable is a powerful, intense and thought-provoking piece. Desmond’s performance is sustained and assured throughout, and the piece offers a confrontational intervention into conversations about sexual assault – which the audience are encouraged to carry on, after the show is over.

socially [un]acceptable was on at the Studio, King’s Arms on 24th-26th July, as part of the Greater Manchester Fringe. To see the full programme for this year’s Fringe, visit the festival website.

Review: Why I’m No Longer Talking to White People About Rice (Christopher KC, GM Fringe)

Sunday 21st July 2019
Moston Small Cinema, Miners Community Arts and Music Centre

The Greater Manchester Fringe runs from the 1st-31st July, and as you may know by now I’m reviewing a selection of shows from this year’s programme for this blog and for North Manchester FM. The next show I saw was Christopher KC’s stand-up show, Why I’m No Longer Talking to White People About Rice, which was on at the Moston Small Cinema (part of the Miners Community Arts and Music Centre) on Sunday 21st July. I’ll be playing the radio version of this review on North Manchester FM on Tuesday, but here’s the blog version…

Christopher KC is a Glaswegian comedian, twice nominated for the Scottish Comedy Awards Best Newcomer, who brought his debut show to the Greater Manchester Fringe ahead of performances at Edinburgh in August. It was a bold move – as the comedian himself pointed out, he doesn’t really have a Manchester fanbase! Nevertheless, he attracted a decent audience to the Miners for his Greater Manchester Fringe performance.

Why I’m No Longer Talking to White People About Rice is the first stand-up show I’ve reviewed at this year’s festival – in fact, I think it’s the only one I’m seeing this year, and so Sunday’s show made for a refreshing change of pace for me. I must admit, this is one show that I went to specifically because of the venue (I love the Miners), and I’m not used to writing reviews of stand-up shows. (I’m not Chortle and I won't pretend to be, and so forgive me if this ends up reading a little bit like a theatre review.) However, even though I chose this show for the venue, I certainly wasn’t disappointed by the act. Given that this is probably the only stand-up show I’m seeing at this year’s festival, I’m happy I made the right choice!

As the title suggests, Why I’m No Longer Talking to White People About Rice is a show that takes a (often darkly) comedic look at race and culture, and examines aspects of Christopher KC’s own identity as a British (specifically Scottish) Chinese man. An early bit about gate-crashing a party sets the tone of the show – it’s a deadpan mixture of perplexity and anger at the way white people respond to people of East Asian heritage, and to the stereotypes that underpin that response.

The show combines personal anecdote and broader cultural observation. In terms of the former, the party-crashing story sets a high bar for pointed, but slightly absurdist, stories of micro-aggressions and racial insensitivity. However, the show’s real strength lies in Christopher KC’s dissection of the latter. Aided by PowerPoint slides and a few video clips, he takes the audience through a variety of race-related topics, from the eponymous problem with rice to John Wayne’s performance in The Conqueror.

A highlight for me was a virtuoso take on the stereotype that all Chinese people are good at Maths. Using slides outlining an increasingly complex mathematical argument, Christopher KC rattles through a series of proofs at a frenetic pace. Staying just the right side of silliness, his argument builds to a crescendo before offering a sly call-back to an earlier joke.

Another strong bit of the show was his searing assessment of Hollywood whitewashing (for instance, in the casting of Tom Cruise in The Last Samurai) and its precursor, yellow face. Mickey Rooney’s portrayal of Mr Yunioshi in Breakfast at Tiffany’s gets a fairly thorough treatment here, of course.

However, although the show is a direct and unashamed condemnation of racist stereotypes and behaviours, there are also occasional asides about other topics – most notably, the problem of steam for people who wear glasses. While much of the rest of the show draws on Christopher KC’s Chinese heritage and identity, his unexpected burst of anger at the existence of steam is hilariously Glaswegian.

Less successful, for me, were the shorter quips and one-liners. I’m not sure whether that’s a reflection of my taste or Christopher KC’s performance style, but personally I thought the longer, more involved bits worked much better and offered more opportunity to draw out absurdities and frustrations with the mix of anger and bafflement that characterized the show as a whole.

Why I’m No Longer Talking to White People About Rice is a new show, which Christopher KC is developing for a full Edinburgh Fringe run. As such, there was a sense that the water was being tested with some of the material. That’s to be expected, though, and to be honest it gave the whole performance an enjoyably relatable and personal feel – for all the biting critique of colonialism, orientalism and contemporary micro-aggressions.

Why I’m No Longer Talking to White People About Rice is a funny and acerbic show from an up-and-coming comedian. Slideshows and PowerPoint might be rather fashionable in stand-up comedy at the moment, but Christopher KC’s distinctive use of visual aids to highlight and dissect reveals a promising talent for identifying the absurdity of the seemingly trivial. And he’s absolutely right about steam.

Why I’m No Longer Talking to White People About Rice was on at the Moston Small Cinema at the Miners Community Arts and Music Club on Sunday 21st July, as part of the Greater Manchester Fringe. It will be on at the Gilded Balloon at Old Tolbooth Market on 31st July, 1st-11th August and 13th-25th August, as part of the Edinburgh Fringe. To see the full list of events on at this year’s Greater Manchester Fringe, visit the festival website.

Review: The Joy of Cam (Down the Rabbit Hole Theatre, GM Fringe)

Saturday 20th July 2019
Theatre, King’s Arms, Salford

This year’s Greater Manchester Fringe continues throughout July, and I’m continuing to review a selection of shows from this year’s programme for this blog and for North Manchester FM. The next show I saw was The Joy of Cam by Down the Rabbit Hole Theatre, at the King’s Arms Theatre, on Saturday 20th July. You can hear the radio version of this interview on North Manchester FM on Tuesday, but here’s the blog version…

The Joy of Cam is a one-act, one-woman show about Jess – or is it Aurora? – a young woman who works as a webcammer (or camgirl). Jess performs sex acts on webcam in the persona of Aurora, and the show explores the trials and tribulations of her particular career choice. The show is performed by Gemma Davies and directed by Chloe Patricia Beale, who collaborated as co-writers on the script.

I had mixed expectations going into The Joy of Cam. The premise certainly had potential, and the blurb stated that the writers had conducted research and interviews with current webcam models in order to reflect real-life stories and experiences. However, I couldn’t help but wonder how the show would compare to the 2018 film Cam (with script by Isa Mazzei, based on her own experiences as a camgirl). I really enjoyed Cam, so I was curious to know how The Joy of Cam would compare (especially given the former is a horror/thriller, but the latter appeared to offer something rather more light-hearted).

The Joy of Cam opens with Jess sitting on the stage, filing her nails and fielding phone calls. In between short phone conversations with clients, she begins to explain to the audience what her job entails. The show’s opening is notably for its casual, conversational tone – Jess addresses the audience directly and with light humour, and breaks off only to perform briefly (and in a somewhat non-committal way) as Aurora on the phone. The only slight shadow that falls over the scene comes when Jess is interrupted by a call from her father, which is in turn interrupted by a client checking in to her chatroom. However, this confusion is played for laughs, and the audience is given to believe it isn’t a serious problem.

I had some misgivings about the early part of The Joy of Cam. While Jess’s casualness about her job isn’t a problem, she isn’t immediately engaging as a character. Filled with the arrogance of youth, Jess makes a series of pronouncements about the world of work that grated a little in their naivety and the knowing style of their delivery. She is at such pains to explain to the audience that she has made a sensible career choice that it’s easy to feel a bit annoyed by her overconfidence.

More problematic is Jess’s mocking and dismissive tone when she touches on experiences of abuse. As she offers to tell the audience how she got started in sex work, Jess describes a coercive and controlling relationship she experienced as a teenager, before laughing and saying that it’s not true. She does acknowledge that some camgirls have this sort of story, but then airily states that she doesn’t. I was uncomfortable with the way this was played for laughs (complete with a ‘dodgy uncle’ punchline at one point).

In its marketing, The Joy of Cam insists that it is concerned with telling stories that are not usually heard. The problem here is that, when it comes to cam work, the only voices that are currently heard are those of young white girls who grew up in comfortable family homes and chose camming of their own volition. To make jokes about the possibility of abuse or coercion actually serves to further silence those with less of a platform, and this part of the play felt rather insensitive.

Now, while I do have reservations about the first half of the play, I found the latter section much more interesting. As things start to go wrong for Jess, the play matures into a more thoughtful and compelling piece, which ultimately reaches a refreshing and thought-provoking conclusion. Dropping the arch performance style of the first half, Davies finds her feet in a more conflicted and complex characterization in the second, allowing her to explore the nuance of character more.

These later scenes don’t simply present ‘bad things happening’, but rather develop the narrative into a more thorough examination of Jess’s reality (for good and bad). Not only does this allow Davies to show a greater performance range, but it also reveals some sophistication of writing and direction, as the pace and tone become more textured and considered.

The play takes place on a bare set, with props rather than backdrop creating the scene. One aspect of the staging that I thought worked very well was the way the camming itself was evoked. When a client enters the chatroom, Davies steps into a spotlight and looks up above the audience’s eyeline. Beale’s direction here is understated and effective, as it creates almost a genie-in-a-bottle effect, which sets up a subtle claustrophobia that undercuts Jess’s confident narration. As the pace picks up in the second half of the play, this atmosphere is heightened to good effect.

Overall, The Joy of Cam is a play that grew on me as it developed. While the first half has some weaknesses and missteps in characterization and tone, the second half is much more assured in terms of both performance and narration. This is Down the Rabbit Hole’s debut piece, and it certainly shows some real promise. I’ll be interested to see what the company produces in the future.

The Joy of Cam was on at the King’s Arms Theatre on the 20th and 21st July, as part of the Greater Manchester Fringe. To see information about all the events at this year’s Fringe, visit the festival website.