Standing in a throng of fellow Fringe-fiends at Andrew's Lane Theatre, I hear a voice that stops me in my tracks. Warily turning towards the source of the familiar, faintly sinister sound, I see a friendly, beaming actor chatting to the crowd, persuading us to come to the show he's appearing in later on. The only trace of the creepy role that Graeme Edler plays in After Penny was in that voice but it was enough to make me feel uneasy a day after I had seen the play.
After Penny by Richard Bickley (The Basement Theatre, Old New Orleans, Lord Edward St, 10 p.m. until Saturday) comes fresh from the Edinburgh Festival, where it deservedly won a Fringe First for the English company, Veritas Theatre. A monologue delivered by a mild-mannered, self-consciously dull accountant (Edler) to a psychiatrist, it tells the story of how his dream about an acquaintance called Penny prompts him to seek out her company - innocently at first - and then to follow her every move. Unknown to her, he watches for glimpses of her in their small, commuter-belt English town.
The growth of his obsession and the thrill of stalking Penny are convincingly captured by Edler, while the fluctuating audience responses, from condescending pity to sympathy to fascinated horror, are carefully elicited by Tristan Brolly's direction. As well as bringing us into the human drama, and the banality, behind the stereotypes of stalking, Bickley's play has a twist in the tail, which subverts the dramatic convention of the confessional monologue delivered from the psychiatrist's chair. Superb.
Monologues and two-handers predominate in the first week of the Fringe, suiting the no-frills, low-budget informality of the festival. While After Penny demonstrates what can be done with this form, its limitations are easily shown up by weak writing. So far, this week, the performances have been very impressive, often outshining or helping to compensate for uneven material. Sheep Thrills Theatre's Nightshift by Stephen Dinsdale (Bewleys, Grafton St, 11.15 p.m., until Saturday) is a case in point. Sarah Brignall is funny and sharp as Maisie, a gum-chewing, minicab controller, all peroxide and white stilettos, but her script, a monologue, tends towards the obvious.
Looking at the subject of stalking from the other side, that of the victim, the play presents Maisie's night shift at the grotty mini-cab office, on the evening after she has broken up with her latest lover. In the course of the evening, she receives a series of threatening phone-calls. With its use of taped voices and phones, it has the makings of a very effective radio play but the sense of menace that should have been present was dissipated by the flagging pace of the direction and predictability of the writing.
Black Box Theatre's Learning To Drive (Bewleys, 6 p.m., until Saturday) shifts gear many times over an hour and 10 minutes, as the versatile Rita Hamill demonstrates her emotional range. This monologue, written by Sean Moffatt, is a beautifully modulated piece, initially enigmatic as it withholds details about the past of the nervous widow (Hamill), who is tentatively rebuilding her life after the sudden death of her husband. The constraining patterns of family relationships are powerfully evoked as are the confines of the character's life, as well as her gift for deriving fun and pleasure from tiny details and unpromising situations. The result is funny, engaging and poignant.
Also poignant but not for anyone harshly disposed to the miseries of adolescence, is Sixteen (A Sort Of Love Story) (International Bar, 1 p.m. until Saturday). Two anxious teenagers (Michael Wicherek and Lisa Turner) recount the details and aftermath of their fraught sexual initiation, which left them both feeling insecure and confused. Delicately written and performed, to piano accompaniment by Jules Maxwell, this has sufficient charm and wit to compensate for subject matter that might appear to have limited appeal.
There's a lot more sexual angst in Gulp, a hyper-realistic kitchen sink - or, more accurately, bathroom - drama presented by the Cardiff theatre company, Made In Wales (Andrew's Lane Studio, 8.15 p.m., until Saturday). This time the characters, two flatmates (one gay, one straight) and their lovers, are in their mid-twenties, revelling in the frank, freewheeling sexual energy of their lives, until AIDS makes its inevitable entrance.
The five young actors are excellent, individually and in ensemble, in particular Lowri Mae as Susie, the long-suffering fag-hag, and Roland Powell as Mark, the initially timid lover of her flatmate.
Elements of soap opera and sitcom are never far away from this script, which becomes cliched at times and laboured in its determination to show us every single step in the development of the relationships. About 40 minutes could comfortably be trimmed from the whole, especially the tiresome, heavy-handed metaphors about keeping afloat on rafts - delivered in off-side monologues. Whatever about the sex, this is safe theatre. But, for those hungry for more risks, there's another two and a half weeks of the Fringe to go.
The Dublin Fringe Festival information office can be contacted at 01-6704567
Fringe coverage will continue on this page on Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday of next week.
