Ottawa Fringe Festival
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By Type
- Awkward
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- Musical
- Nudity
- Parody
- Physical
- Play
- Puppet
- Romantic Comedy
- Sci-fi
- Sexuality
- Singer/Songwriter
- Sketch
- Solo
- Stand-up
- Storytelling
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- Unclassifiable
- Verbal-Bouffon
When performer Jess McAuley steps onstage sharing tales of cheating between two boyfriends and other misadventures, she sets a tone of self-mocking goofiness. But as she delves into stories of prom and her encounters with men go from awkward to invasive, it becomes clear that under every lightweight joke is seething frustration and fury, slowly simmering until it comes to a boil.
McAuley is a master of the single-person confessional format, walking through a child’s life experiences with an adult’s perspective and gradually revealing a common thread of abuse and sexual harassment woven through every troubled experience she shares. She finds exactly the right weight for each anecdote, initially assuring the audience that she’s laughing too only to indicate at the midpoint that the laughter is more a security blanket for herself than for others.
The only shame is that the video clips and image projections often don’t seem as well timed as McAuley’s jokes. But her performance is effective, carefully transitioning from comedy antics of giving up university ambitions to stick with a lover to a two horrific nights with men who abused her trust, and the shift is so gradual it’s unclear when This is Step One shifted from comedy to comic trauma.
There’s an impressive balance in the show where the audience is invited to be amused, and their laughter makes it easier to digest the more disturbing aspects of McAuley’s story. There is a frightening darkness at the core of all these recollections, held at bay in order to allow both performer and audience to function without ignoring injustice, cruelty and worse. And there is a quiet, steady resolve as This is Step One notes that recovering from the bad and the worst is not a large scale event but a series of incremental advancements.
– London Fringe (2018)
When performer Jess McAuley steps onstage sharing tales of cheating between two boyfriends and other misadventures, she sets a tone of self-mocking goofiness. But as she delves into stories of prom and her encounters with men go from awkward to invasive, it becomes clear that under every lightweight joke is seething frustration and fury, slowly simmering until it comes to a boil.
McAuley is a master of the single-person confessional format, walking through a child’s life experiences with an adult’s perspective and gradually revealing a common thread of abuse and sexual harassment woven through every troubled experience she shares. She finds exactly the right weight for each anecdote, initially assuring the audience that she’s laughing too only to indicate at the midpoint that the laughter is more a security blanket for herself than for others.
The only shame is that the video clips and image projections often don’t seem as well timed as McAuley’s jokes. But her performance is effective, carefully transitioning from comedy antics of giving up university ambitions to stick with a lover to a two horrific nights with men who abused her trust, and the shift is so gradual it’s unclear when This is Step One shifted from comedy to comic trauma.
There’s an impressive balance in the show where the audience is invited to be amused, and their laughter makes it easier to digest the more disturbing aspects of McAuley’s story. There is a frightening darkness at the core of all these recollections, held at bay in order to allow both performer and audience to function without ignoring injustice, cruelty and worse. And there is a quiet, steady resolve as This is Step One notes that recovering from the bad and the worst is not a large scale event but a series of incremental advancements.
When performer Jess McAuley steps onstage sharing tales of cheating between two boyfriends and other misadventures, she sets a tone of self-mocking goofiness. But as she delves into stories of prom and her encounters with men go from awkward to invasive, it becomes clear that under every lightweight joke is seething frustration and fury, slowly simmering until it comes to a boil.
McAuley is a master of the single-person confessional format, walking through a child’s life experiences with an adult’s perspective and gradually revealing a common thread of abuse and sexual harassment woven through every troubled experience she shares. She finds exactly the right weight for each anecdote, initially assuring the audience that she’s laughing too only to indicate at the midpoint that the laughter is more a security blanket for herself than for others.
The only shame is that the video clips and image projections often don’t seem as well timed as McAuley’s jokes. But her performance is effective, carefully transitioning from comedy antics of giving up university ambitions to stick with a lover to a two horrific nights with men who abused her trust, and the shift is so gradual it’s unclear when This is Step One shifted from comedy to comic trauma.
There’s an impressive balance in the show where the audience is invited to be amused, and their laughter makes it easier to digest the more disturbing aspects of McAuley’s story. There is a frightening darkness at the core of all these recollections, held at bay in order to allow both performer and audience to function without ignoring injustice, cruelty and worse. And there is a quiet, steady resolve as This is Step One notes that recovering from the bad and the worst is not a large scale event but a series of incremental advancements.