The Promethean Theatre, an Edwardian era Church, one time Liquor Trade Union Hall, now a gothic grey and plush velvet performance venue, is an excellent and intimate location for a witty night of bad German accents and cabaret.

Supported by the virtuosic Berlin Cabaret Micro Orchestra (read three piece jazz ensemble), Gerhardt, Lux and Rudi play up to every hokey hun caricature straddling the Weimar era and period of Nazi ascension.

Gerhardt was the charming, crooning Master of Ceremonies for the evening, with plenty of bad-but-good puns and blue banter. Lux is the resident alcoholic lush, strutting the stage in fishnets, corsetry and wine bottle belting out her particular penchant for American jazz numbers. Overplayed to the max, but then I think this is a necessity (even if her German accent seemed to be sliding at times into Slavic territories like all so many invasions of the era).  Supporting act, the Tin Can Alley, are an extremely talented and ageing decadent duo who specialise in catchy cabaret – from well known standard such as “Non, je ne regrette rien”, or more obscure Indian show tunes about oversized tomatoes (in Hindi!)

The gangly, shy and awkward Rudi, however, steals the show.  One minute delivering operatic overtures with Wagnerian largesse, next (un)dressed as ol’ Adolf himself in a fetching negligee.  His voice is either angelic or infernal as the tune and context demands. Glorious stuff.

I’m not sure what it is about this particular company of performers, but the average age of the audience was closer to 60, which I found curious – but maybe the “classic” form of Weimer cabaret holds an appeal for the older set that differentiates them from the new generation of neo-cabaret. At the very least it demonstrates that the cabaret and vaudeville arts still hold a broad appeal across many generations, and that the Fringe is not just for the young and tragically Boho.

The Berlin Cabaret have two more performances this Fringe – alas all sold out. But keep an eye out for them at other events such as the Adelaide Cabart Festival.

Bogan’s are funny. And so are Catholics (thanks Tony Abbott). Regional centres where the world is as big as the town limits are will always be funny as long as it is mixed with a dose of nostalgic & affectionate pathos.

Make it into a musical gala and you have WrongTown.  Think of the Andrew Sisters after a drug binge. Performing in an outer suburban Westfield. Outside a Supré.

But oh, these girls can sing.

Why a musical tribute to the Snowtown Murders in the form of the Beer Barrel Polka (aka Roll Out The Barrel) has not been done before is beyond me?  If tour buses can now stop at the infamous disused bank in Snowtown so tourists can sniff under the door, then I say enough time has passed for us to laugh through song and wimsy at one of the more recent episodes in Adelaide’s Bizarre Murder Capital scrapbook of infamy.

Of course the mid-North Coast’s very own “Summer Bay” with industrial slag & drag, Newcastle, is not forgotten.  And if it wasn’t for the fact that Jetstar has tricked many a passenger flying to Melbourne, by taking them to Avalon Airport instead, well, would anyone know that Geelong existed?

But far from the industrial and residential wastelands often portrayed, these places are hotbeds of intrigue, with a song in the fractured heart of all these places: married mothers discovering lesbianism, Catholic schoolgirls in need of confession, burgeoning drug cultures amid Americanisation of white bread rural youth and suburban murder tales worthy of their own ballads.

WrongTown is your town. Admit it –  you grew up, got trapped, maybe escaped, and possibly returned to places like this. And when you can acknowledge that, WrongTown will stay in your mind for all the right reasons.

The promise of music, magic noir, comedy, escapology and modern vaudeville drew me to this performance held at Live on Light Square.  I came away feeling like a promise had not been quite fulfilled.

I would like to emphasise though the ability of many of the performers cannot be faulted. The first magician, Jamie, while being a bit of a nervous chap was very adept, and certainly his confidence and projection carried increasing weight as his performance progressed.  Consuming a banana full of razorblades and a classic escape from a straight jacket was well executed adorned with some quite witty banter.

Matt the Mentalist came across quite reserved and shy, but this is part of an act where the harmless introvert unexpectedly proves an uncanny ability to dig into the unsuspecting mind, innocently read body mannerisms and reveal that which is hidden – or have an unwitting audience member perform some quite dangerous acts.

Then came Dan the comedian.  Billed as confronting and politically incorrect, frankly he was a bore who told dirty jokes that related modes of transport to sex acts with a complete absence of comedic timing and delivery. This was the evening’s achilles heel if anything.

Concluding the evening was the most debonaire MC/magician Kamal who delivered some nicely delivered comedic moments amongst some quite simple but impressive trickery. If the whole performance can infuse a good lick of his delivery and savoir-fair in future it will solidify the dynamics for their next performance on the 12 March 2010.

I must sympathise with the performers though, in that the venue decided to start the doof doof music of its neighbouring dance club before the performance had even finished – rather bad form I thought.