Grab your Vitamin Water and Cliff Bars and tough up your butt bones - the Fringe Festival is nigh! The 11 glorious, sweaty days of performance presented in 60-minute nibblets starts *gasp* tomorrow! It's like band-camp for theater geeks. Except it’s inclusive…all the way down to those who harbor only a little geekitude way down deep inside. And if you find yourself making-out with one of said theater geeks, the plus side is that you're unlikely to get your lip snagged on any headgear. Everybody wins! I am, sadly, not performing this year (damn you, evil democratic lottery) – but will still be screaming "watch me!" in print, right on this here blog. It’s true! In keeping with the theme of The Greenroom as it stands, yet emerging from my narcissism-disguised-as-shoptalk, I will spend the next ten days seeing a wheelbarrow's worth of shows and writing about everything in between the successes and failures of productions. I am not a reviewer, nor do I plan to act like one for the next ten days. My goal is to set judgment aside, observe, engage, and then publish it for all the world to see.
In all seriousness, I'm going to do everything in my power to unearth the driving force behind the audiences and actors and techies and volunteers who participate in this controlled chaos. I want to ask, and try to answer, larger questions about the role this festival plays in the Twin Cities and the U.S. as a whole. Mostly, I want to offer insight to folks who might attend the Ordway, but fear the dirty, unwashed, small-theater masses. Because we may be dirty, and we may be unwashed; but no sir, we are not small.
Let the wild rumpus begin!