What is this thing called burlesque? Polly Rae tries to answer this in a cleverly philosophical setpiece involving a fantasy in which she's at home and a window-washer peering in her window, while soaping her double-glazing, strikes up a conversation along the very lines of that vexed question. In practice, burlesque seems to have become something rather narrower than its literal definition would have. The word, after all, harks back to Italian: burla; meaning mockery. While Polly Rae's creativity is certainly mocking, it falls into that naughty, playful niche that preys on more than our minds; it toys with our capacity to reconcile the aesthetically pleasurable with raw desire. Burlesque is interesting, if not downright captivating, in this respect alone. Are we meant to feel aroused and desirous? Or is it illegitimate to succumb to essentially irresistible hormonal urges? Is it merely a guilty pleasure? What is burlesque trying to do?
I've no answers. And, in any case, Polly Rae herself kind of avoids such difficult questions by arguably stepping well beyond the confines of the form, into pop, cabaret and fullblown comedy (why, the Benny Hill theme even gets a guernsey). Ms Rae and troupe have made quite a name for themselves in the West End, via Soho, with The Hurly Burly Show, distinguished by a good deal of art, craft and wit. As well as the fact that much of their performance calls upon their vocal, as well as other, talents.
The spectre of Marie Antoinette, in full regalia, attended by handmaidens, sitting regally, decadently, surrounded by dainty tables groaning under the weight of cakes and other fancies, intoning Material World, is as delicious and potent a parody of the allegedly profligate and promiscuous queen as any, as well as bitingly satirical insofar as the whole, self-indulgent, bacchanalian epoch of which she was an almost unwitting part (having married so young). And it's not so very removed from our obsessive-compulsive consumption, either. I don't think I've ever known burlesque to be so sociopolitically savvy.
Another head-and-shoulders highlight was a complete reworking of Michael Jackson's Bad; a brilliant arrangement that dragged the tempo back to a sultry, sensuous, provocative pace, while PR made suggestive, but sophisticated allusions. It was the kind of rendition the song's been crying out for, only I didn't realise until I heard it.
The aforementioned are exemplary expositions of attendant high art in costume and set design; of a calibre not generally affordable in the genre.
Unfortunately, while the above production values pertain throughout, performance standards vary. Polly Rae, in the window-washing piece, explains to the pervy tradesman that it's not about the strip, but the tease: it's in the eyes, carriage and moves, not tits or arse. But only one or two of The Hurly Burly Girlys engage effectively with the windows of their souls; the others seem to lack the confidence of that level of intimacy. And while fillers are almost inevitable, to allow for multiple wardrobe changes, there are numbers that are just a little too cynical and throwaway; ironically, more strip than tease and a little bit Playboy mansion, if not outer suburban RSL. Yes, I'm afraid slickness and sophistication, while often in evidence, aren't always; the show and performers are inconsistent and uneven, betraying the promise of the reputation that precedes them.
There's a Hurly Burly bloke on-board too; albeit more burly than hurly. A slice of tattooed beefcake named, I think, Ari, he performs like an aerial Chippendale, or chimp, on the ring. But while some of the poses and feats are spectacular, even breathtaking, the routines lack elegance, choreography, grace and style. Is it Ari, or the producers, feel that to be fluid would make it too 'feminine', or effete?
A feather-fan dance is another lofty moment that seems to reference their theatre work more than their time at the former Raymond Revue Bar, a rather infamous nightspot that boasted full-frontal nudity. The Hurly Burlys have come a long way (from what's now known as The Box, in Soho, to extended seasons at the Leicester Square and Garrick theatres) and now conceal their tidbit, albeit barely. This elevation had more than a little to do, one supposes, with Kylie Minogue cohort, director William Baker and his team taking charge of production.
The selection of music tends to focus on the here-and-now, or not far gone, which is fine, since it's a thoughtful repertoire: after all, if you can suspend any prejudice exacerbated by gossip mags, even Britney's Toxic is, under all the banal controversies of her personal life, a sensational song.
While the hype would have us believe we're getting the greatest show on earth, and leading us to believe it's the most fun you can have with few clothes on, critiques in the mother country haven't always been unanimous in their praise. Michael Billington, for example, contends it doesn't qualify as burlesque and has even been so historically fascistic as to claim the only real burlesque held sway in the USA from 1900 to 1935. At the same time, he admits that flourish was characterised by strip and double entendre, both of which are here in abundance.
At the end of the day, I don't think we can apply the kind of high-minded, high-handed, academic benchmarks to glamourous gowns (well, bits of 'em), unadorned flesh and a gaggle of girls wearing dildos on their high heels. Above all, after all, it's fun and games. Even Shakespeare indulged in that. While polish hasn't been applied to every facet of the show, there are enough ideas here to make for some very interesting theatre. It's well-written, quite well-sung, quite well-danced and, much of it, charismatically executed.
Polly Rae has panache and so, sometimes, do her girls. It's Madonna meets Monroe, in an epistle on the subject, principally, of the female form. Well, ok, not so much epistle as French letter.
AN EVENING WITH POLLY RAE & THE HURLY BURLY GIRLYS
Venue: Factory Theatre | 105 Victoria Rd, Marrickville
Dates: 5 – 15 January 2012
Times: Thursday – Saturday 8pm
Ticket: $69 + bf, $62 pp for groups 4+
Bookings: www.hurlyburly.com.au | (02) 9550 3666
Visit: www.factorytheatre.com.au
STRICTLY 18+
