Lola Rose Wood
Disclaimer: In the spirit of ‘Think Less, Feel More’, what follows is a stream of consciousness to capture the feeling of watching this show. It is therefore an extended piece to suit this expansive form.
I’m scared. Someone is handing out ponchos and protective eyewear – and everyone’s taking them. Tonights show will have ‘projectiles’.
A puppet theatre stands centre stage. Two actors with thickly inked eyebrows pick up their puppet alter egos: a pale, male, stale puppet will be hosting tonight’s show: a symposium on gender. Another eyebrow maniac cowers over a cat shaped keyboard in the corner – I take it they’re in charge of sound.
The Girlbossification of Moby Dick opens the show. All I remember from Punch and Judy shows of my childhood is that there is a lot of domestic violence, with slaps and kicks going both ways. I’m not sure what is specifically satirically girlbossy or gender-swapped about this version, other than there is a woman on board too and she is licking the hell out of this whaling ship. Woohoo! Women can kill whales too!
Our well-intentioned white male puppet recites a quote from Moby Dick – something about obtuse oysters. Cue said Obtuse Oysters – more beautifully homemade puppets – who berate our host for having only read the classics by white men. This stand-up comedy shellfish duo pepper the show with terrible one liners throughout. Luckily, I find their bobbly eyes endearing.
Is that a Magic Wand with googley eyes? Hell yeah. Not just any magic wand – a magic wand determined to make its owner cum. I wish I had a talking magic wand that cared this much about my orgasmic potential. The face acting from Mel Carter and Gail Bennett above their tiny puppet bodies is so over the top and expressive one can only commend them for committing to the bit.
OH MY GOD THIS PUPPET HAS AN ANATOMICALLY CORRECT AND BEAUTIFULLY DETAILED, HAND-KNITTED VULVA. These are the most spectacular puppet genitals I’ve ever seen – flaps and all! – we are a long way from the smooth, sexless groins of man-made Barbie Dolls. This is a puppet designed for pleasure.
Male pale stale puppet is back to inform us he has now read some classics – by women! At least he’s trying. But alas, as the Woke oysters point out, only by white women.
What is this horrifying creature in a burlap sack before my eyes talking in rhyme? There is something uncanny and sickening about its giant false lashes and puffed up lips that look more like a ball-gag than something to speak through. Is this TRAD WIFE DRAG? Or a cow being held hostage in the body of something pretending to be a loving mother and wife?
Oh God please no – please don’t make me drink raw, unpasteurised milk from your burlap sack breasts. So many breasts! So many milky teats! I think I might be sick. What if I’m the projectile? A very brave audience volunteer, who I can only assume must be a friend of the cast or clinically insane, crawls onto the stage to suckle questionable liquid from one of this creature’s many swinging udders. This is audience interaction Level 10000.
Our Host is back with a tote bag proudly proclaiming ‘The Future is Female’. Everyone loves a straight white man with a tote. But who said the future is female? Elizabeth Stanton, the American suffragette who fought for women’s right to vote. For white women’s right to vote. Because she thought white women were superior to all black people. White feminism!
The rotting ghost of Elizabeth Stanton haunts the stage with her racist rhetoric. This show is doing a stellar job at tracking the psycho-political journey from the ignorant bliss of white male privilege towards white feminism, but I’m not sure where it’s reaching towards. Intersectional feminism feels like a leap too far for this sixty year old man acting like he was born yesterday.
Now we’re in… hot dog bun heaven? Who the hell has made these puppets? They are a thing of absurd beauty. Wow that’s a lot of sauce. Relish. aggressive saucing. Ew. TOO MUCH SAUCE!
A shadow puppet show of an IUD insertion – not something I ever thought I’d live to witness. This show is wildly imaginative and has so much FUN with such serious topics. The woman next to me is laughing and hollering at how relatable this is, as we watch things that should never go inside a vagina go inside a vagina.
Our poor white man doesn’t know what to do with himself – nothing he says is ever right. He does the only logical thing left: chops off his own penis. I am literally beside myself, I am doubled over and CRYING with laughter – I can’t stop. He throws his dismembered member into the audience but I can’t see through my tears enough to catch it. Either my sense of humour is men chopping their cocks off (probable) or Mel Carter is learning exactly how to turn horror into hilarity.
The ending image of the show is one of the best I’ve seen at the festival – a larger than life uterus smokes a cigarette and throws her unwanted eggs at us. The actors have sweated their eyebrows all over their faces.
I leave reeling. Head spinning. Still giggling. I’m not sure what the ‘main message’ or ‘central question’ of this feminist NSFW puppet show is, exactly – I don’t even know why it’s called B*tch Eat Dog. There is so much theory and so many sketches in this show, it’s easy to get lost in the overwhelm.
Apparently the sound board broke half way through the show – I didn’t even notice. The improvised noises seemed like an integral part of the show’s humour and DIY charm. I don’t mind it’s anarchic, messy energy because I feel I’ve discovered an exciting new talent tonight, an uncut gem of a show, even if it doesn’t yet know which way to focus all of it’s brilliant light.
Recommended Drink: A lager. Something simple, to counterbalance the show, whilst pairing well with hot dog buns.
Catch B*tch Eat Dog at Greenside @ George Street from August 7-29 at 22:00 (50 mins). Tickets are available to book through the Ed Fringe Box Office Website.
Em Tambree
Issy Cory
