Review: Student Fringe Shows
Janhavi Gosavi (she/her)
This Is Fine: A Musical
Presented by Theatre of Love
This Is Fine derived its name from that viral meme where an indifferent cartoon dog is encompassed in flames. It’s a COVID-19 allegory: when the pandemic burned a hole into our social lives, Gen-Zers compensated by leaning on the internet. Originally devised over lockdown by VUW students who were in THEA 302 in 2020, the musical navigated the perks and pitfalls of social media dependency.
A fun variety of personalities make up the ensemble, including obnoxious influencer Chelsea Cherry, ambitious wannabe Tahlia, internet troll Ron, and closeted dreamer Baylee. Linda (Ottilie Bleackley) struck me as the underdog of this play. While the rest of the ensemble could fit into recognisable internet archetypes, Linda’s unpredictable character development allowed her to break the mould of what one would consider a ‘cool mum’. A mother struggling with empty nest syndrome, her adventures into the dark web enabled her to break free from her marriage and hilariously pursue a life of underground crime. Linda often shared the stage with her introverted and endearing college-bound daughter Aggie (Phoebe Caldeiro), and the two became my favourite characters.
Aesthetically, this show gave me small-scale Dear Evan Hansen vibes. The set design was clean and effective; hanging phone-shaped frames through which the characters could address the internet. Chelsea would often stand inside the centre frame, and her followers would occupy the surrounding frames, gushing sickening compliments that gave me purposeful second-hand embarrassment.
At times, the writing felt like it pandered to an older demographic who have preconceived notions about how shallow and self-obsessed Gen-Z are. The dialogue occasionally came off as patronising and cringe, which prevented me from fully relating to the characters.
Some musical numbers were hits, others were misses, and a few blew my metaphorical socks off. “Swipe Right” made me wheeze with laughter, as it accurately pinpointed the niche archetypes students see on Tinder. Another highlight was “Social Media Deadlands”, which took place in a graveyard full of irrelevant memes and hit me with waves of nostalgia and repressed memories.
Campfire Calamity
Presented by Ace and Isaac
Campfire Calamity was a show made with good intentions and a lot of heart. An original play, it was written and directed by Isaac Andrews and Stacey Dalziel, who are students at Te Auaha. The show takes place on a high school camping trip, and follows five students as they develop unlikely friendships and reveal their internal struggles in the process.
When sitting in close quarters with actors at a small black box theatre, simple set design works best. A fire glowed downstage and the actors formed a semi-circle around it, facing the audience who formed the other half of the circle.
Upon entry, each character did an impassioned self-introductory monologue. Sox (Ace Dalziel) ranted about using they/them pronouns and fending off fatphobia. Xavier (Isaac Andrews) explored his queer identity while failing to understand the logistics of bro hugs. On the plus side, this coming of age story boldly celebrated queerness in all shapes and forms. However, it operated on a counterintuitive ‘tell-not-show’ model, which didn’t give the audience the opportunity to come to their own conclusions.
The dialogue sometimes felt unnatural and inauthentic to the demographic it was representing. It depicted Gen-Z as an inarticulate generation who communicated solely through profanity, and this lack of nuance prevented suspension of disbelief. That being said, Kyle (Jasper James) made me laugh because he kept referring to women as “females”. It was a subtle way to cement him as a textbook misogynist, yet he wasn’t given as much time as other characters to evolve.
But Campfire Calamity wasn’t just shits and gigs. Xavier was hauntingly beautiful in an intimate scene that discussed self harm, and Sox delivered a powerful retaliation to being repeatedly misgendered. The characters that did blossom proved able to deliver hard hitting truth bombs.
Potluck
Presented by Kiya Basabas
Food is the love language of Filipinos, a point that the original play Potluck drove home. It was written and directed by VUW student Kiya Basabas, who won the award for Most Promising Emerging Artist at this year’s Best of Fringe awards. Linda (Fergielyn Catayoc) was the female protagonist who found out she was pregnant with her Pākehā boyfriend’s child. The audience watched her tip-toe around with this secret as she attended a potluck at her parents’ house, surrounded by family friends.
It was a beautiful creative choice to set Potluck on the backdrop of Matariki. Characters ate adobo whilst discussing the maramataka—a heartwarming amalgamation of Filipino and Māori culture. The men ate their meal gathered around the television, while the women chatted at the table. The women’s dinner conversation topics felt unnatural and contrived—it was the men’s conversations that I was invested in. With the basketball blaring in the background, these grown Asian men discussed mental health and unrealised dreams, and it was refreshing to see them holding space for each other. Kiya understood that, above all, small pockets of intimacy were what made a potluck successful. This not only created visual interest through a split stage, it was an accurate portrayal of the gender segregated dining that is common in Asian cultures. As an Asian immigrant myself, my heart swelled everytime I noticed one of these subtle cultural nuggets that Pākehā audiences might have glazed over.
Potluck boldly catered to its Filipino audience by incorporating a lot of Tagalog and culturally-informed inside jokes into the script. There was a helpful glossary of terms at the back of the programme for non-Tagalog speakers, but I still didn’t get many of the references. I didn’t feel alienated by my lack of understanding; I had received an authentic peek into the lives of Kiwi-Filipinos, and I realised that not everything said on that stage was meant to be understood by me.
Please Laugh
Presented by Danny and Fin
As a semi-regular consumer of theatre, I walk into every show aching for my expectations to be subverted. Before entering a performance space, I usually scroll through the show’s social media posts and have a good read of their programme to prepare myself. Please Laugh didn’t have a programme. It had a Facebook page, but that was filled with vague claims that the audience would “laugh their socks off”, with no clear indication as to how that would happen. I had no idea what they had in store for me, so much so that I didn’t even intend on reviewing this show.
Sometimes, saying less is more. This comedy was written and directed by real life “best friends” Danny and Fin. I say “best friends” because the show was centered around a conflict they had over who was the superior comedian and friend. This through-line was peppered with an array of skits—which were either fully scripted or semi-improvised—that made me want to pee myself. In a good way.
The stage was dressed with a basic living room set up, but they had a live band sitting stage left of the main action, which was a lovely touch. Danny made some questionable jokes that didn't always land. Their “Miss New Zealand” segment was one of many standout skits. Cast members Lucy and Ava performed quick costume changes to capture hilarious female archetypes from various cities. The skit wrapped with Miss Hamilton, who had blood-soaked hands from killing three people outside her local Pak N Save.
Full disclosure: I knew the cast because we went to halls together. Would I have laughed as hard—or at all—if I was not already personally invested in their interpersonal dynamics? Maybe not. But I loved the show for what it was—a chaotic first Fringe show presented by disheveled BA students from VUW.