Fettuccini sweat dries up and the pace slows. Nerves are on edge and there is a fixation on the eyeballs. Beautiful and entrancing. No socks from the outset appear magically at the end, pulling up on their aqua tones.
David Callan stars in National Security and The Art Of Taxidermy. An hilariously observant one-man rant-fest from the brain of a racist taxidermist, still raw from the loss of his Alsatian, Uzi Nine Millimetre.
Tirades about poodles, the government's terrorism package and forgotten hotline feature. As do a whole set full of dead animals; their heads and organs swilling about in jars of brine or some other solution. Those not mounted on the walls between the framed pictures of Jesus and Mother Mary.
Solid and sharp, playwright Mary Rachel Brown delivers a whipping snap at the dying art of taxidermy. Not escaping the firing line, neighbourly civilities and paranoia of other races and religions.
Finer details of taxidermy, with actual slicing and breaking of bones, are left out. Those looking for absolute gore will be a little cold. Laughing more than warms the spastic diaphragm.
There is loss after all.
Soon Van - Monday, 26 September 2005 - 02:12
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