I’m in a dingy makeshift theatre space below ground, I’ve hardly slept, and I’m watching a man in a nappy full of glitter pretend to masturbate in front of an image of the Brooklyn Bridge whilst a stuffed monkey looks on. I am definitely at the Fringe.
Tenderpits absolutely reeks of fringe theatre. It’s a live art autobiography performed by New York based artist, Anthony Johnston. In the most surreal way possible he takes us through his his family, his sexuality (actually he comes out as a wizard to his parents), his move to New York City to become an artist, and his search for love.
He explodes each facet of his life, twisting it into a surreal and humorous reflection, asking for the audience’s interpretations to fill in the gaps. For most of it he is naked apart from a sagging nappy full of glitter, a comment about the art he can produce – I think.
Your enjoyment of this production will depend on your tolerance for live art, and admittedly it is not something I usually enjoy. I sat observing the manic antics waiting to dislike it, but bizarrely enough I don’t think I did.
There were moments that stretched my patience – the sudden frolicking dances out of nowhere, the needlessly long masturbation – but there is something about the way that Johnston performs the piece that makes it quite tender. It’s utterly bonkers and a little alienating, but honest. When he talks of his grandmother dying from cancer it becomes surprisingly touching, and, despite my distaste for the form, when he found love at the end I realised that I cared.
I do wonder whether this show would be successful with anything other than a Fringe audience. The crowd that were in absolutely loved it and awarded Johnston with a standing ovation, but there were times when I sat bemusedly among the riotous laughter, feeling a little like everyone was sharing a joke that I was not privy to.
There is an innate value in any artist who is willing to explore the most tender elements of his life in such an exposing and honest way, and the production cannot be faulted for that. Although it was not really to my taste it seemed to be a good example of live art, and it gave great joy to its audience. It needs to be experienced to be understood, or not understood as the case may be. It’s certainly got me thinking, this bonkers, tender, confusing, honest, surprising, alienating, heartfelt little show.