Week three introduces the macho school of theatre reviewing: flagging? moi? Glancing around at the faces that are becoming more familiar than those of my loved ones, there are plenty of red-rimmed, staring eyes in the audiences. So, come on then, surprise us, impress us . . . All those with jaded palettes should join the queue outside Temple Bar Gallery to see Big Bad Woolf (9 p.m., until November 1st), performed by The Corn Exchange, under the direction of Annie Ryan. A frenetic, heightened version of an already almost unbearably intense play - Edward Albee's Who's Afraid Of Virginia Woolf? - this will satisfy the expectations of all those who enjoyed this company's Streetcar at last year's Fringe.
In a deliberately histrionic, expressionist style, four actors in painted masks face outwards, while all their gestures and movements are controlled by the staccato rhythm of drumbeat and music. This is a very demanding technique, which needs to be rigidly disciplined in order to work. On Monday night, it was sharply focused, with electric ensemble playing from the two couples: the older, snarling pair (Andrew Bennett and Annie Ryan) and the unfortunate young victims (Robert Price and Clara Simpson) whom they invite back for (lots of) drinks.
Clara Simpson's performance, as the simpering young wife of the newly arrived lecturer at a New England college, is riveting, as she brought out the full emotional and comic range of her role, in an absurd Sindy-doll wig and pink-cheeked make-up. For the spectators of this adapted commedia dell'arte mode, our frequent laughter is spiked with feelings of painful recognition and repulsion; the danger is that laughter becomes too easy a substitute for them.
The contrast could hardly be greater between Big Bad Woolf and the muted miniature, delicacy of Life: A User's Manual, [Dublju] Theatre's adaptation of snippets from George Perec's playfully puzzling novel (International Bar, 1 p.m. until Saturday). Three young actors from this London company (Daisy Cockburn, Sinead Rushe and Karin Heberlein) use simple visual conceits, minimal props - a coat hanger for a radio, a tiny slide projector throwing lines of text onto the blank pages of a book - and physical gestures to try to hold a moment in time and create a definitive image of a particular place - in this case a Parisian apartment.
Through litanies of verbs of household movements: to wash, to scrub, to clean, etc, played on a soundtrack, the process of inhabiting a space is enacted. This piece demands patience, and there are a few longueurs, but it is an original and witty attempt to render abstract ideas about perception in concrete, deliberately mundane terms. It lingers quietly.
The Fringe Festival information number is 01670 4567.
