Biochemically speaking PITY PARTY is a huge wallop of serotonin and warning must be given! The energy alone will make you feel woozy, then there’s the queasy watching of the lemon squeezy and there’s the feely feely of the likely lads and a willy nilly of silly string to hit the stomach enzymes and blood platelets thereby inducing sero overload. Hilarious therapy by dinosaur and dapper strapper. Thank God though there is no farty in the arty of party. But there are tits! Tits reclaimed!
Sweaty Pits are a pair of women on a fucking mission to pussy whip you into seeing the world with their unique brand of chaos and teach you a fucking thing about equality on the way. Frances McNair and Miriam Slater are riotous and rebellious and they just don’t quit during this hour of standup that doesn’t stand still.
MILFs are Mission Ground Zero. They’ve seen their husbands’ search histories and these babes know what to make themselves into. Their cry for help will make them love themself and we are along for the sneaky leaky ride to the violently aerobic MILF Camp makeover. It’s an impressive start and the impression is … supremely well-rehearsed, intelligently crafted with dynamic physicality and dancing, costume choices of obscene silliness and some cracker music choices. And a biology voice-over recording that is so well scripted it would stand alone as a monologue in a … progressive… drama class. But I digress from the ludicrous. The head shaking, hands over eyes, breath-escape whaat of watching these nutcases as they morph from the MILF with costume aforethought.
Sweaty Pits will present quite a few pairs of characters, each with their own charm, lack of insight and disturbed way of seeing the world. Using costume and context, with no hesitancy or loss of flow, new people, and a doomed dino and meted badly meteor, just keep arriving. McNair and Slater might bemoan the lack of throughline and smooth transition in the only quiet whisper of the show and to Thomas the Techie but there is a firm hand at work in the creation. And as the characters blossom and grow and drop off the twig our system gets flooded with enough tryptophan to fling us out into the light still tittering and laughing and, let’s face it, hyper as buggery!
We have been sweaty pitted and we have reclaimed the tit, had a bloody good crack at cracking the shell of the patriarchy and filled our hearts with laughter and craziness and the joy of watching skill ascendant being hurled in our direction by a duo who are just plain funny. And clever!
PITY PARTY from Sweaty Pits [Facebook] has now finished its run at the Sydney Fringe but will play in Melbourne soon. Send friends! Serotonin this good should be shared.
