Review: Bli$$ at Motley Bauhaus

Review by Greg Gorton

Lilith was the first woman ever created. The first partner of Adam, the first creator of music, an independent woman. Now she is a has-been pop-star, under house arrest in the Red Sea, full of spite and rage, and still denying that she gave the apple to Adam’s submissive second wife, Eve.

Luella Fitz’ Lilith is one part Britney Spears, one part Elle Woods, and Lorelei Lee. She might come across as a ditz but she knows what she is doing - at least, sometimes. Through a few dance moves, a few fingering of keys, and a brilliantly-constructed monologue, we are not only told the story of her past, but also of her days now. She wants to date her social media algorithm, but first she has to get off Reddit. She could never be the submissive partner Adam wants, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t still want him.

The stage is simple, as you expect at Fringe: a smaller stage, with two steps out front, all covered in artificial grass. While a sequined backdrop makes for a terrible projection screen, the bedroom pile of paraphernalia that is used through the night is an effective solution to prop management. All in all, it sets an expectation of what most Fringe shows are: rough around the edges, even when enjoyable.

I struggle now to decide: was this intentional, or not?

The first thing the audience will notice about Luella Fitz is that she is fully in control of the room from the moment she walks on stage. A shrug of Lilith’s shoulder says to her crowd “look at me being a silly girl”, “but you know I’m putting this on”, and “please like me” all at once. Every bow, twist, wink, and bounce is layered in a way you rarely see in comedies, and the work Fitz and director Ella Crowley put into the careful choreography and timing really pays off.

The humour in this show is wide-ranging. Besides clever physical jokes, pop culture references, and well-timed puns, there are more classically-created jokes about bro-culture, sexism in fashion, and body image. What really sets the humour in Bli$$ apart, however, is the biting comedy that is “thrown away” because it can be so much more effective when you don’t tell the crowd to stop and look. I had to examine myself about what point I stopped laughing at the demons presented in this show, and that sort of self-examination is always welcome in the comedy I enjoy.

It’s not just the humour that works in this show, though. The writing as a whole is on another level compared to ordinary Fringe fare. While we know the story we are dealing with as the play starts, it is hard to predict the places that Fitz is willing to go in her exploration of feminine power, the patriarchy, and love. In this show Lilith cannot avoid admitting jealousy, cheating on Adam, and wanting to both hate him and love him at the same time. The detour into social media as brain rot isn’t preachy or superficial, but is deeply intertwined with the character we are presented with. There is a conversation with The Snake that could be one of the best interrogations written for stage, and the final lines bring new meaning to the first in a beautiful bookend.

Bli$$ is a comedy that owes itself to Gentlemen Prefer Blondes, Legally Blonde, and the real life struggles of female celebrities throughout history. In time, I hope repeated seasons of this will cement the show as part of that same important history.

Image Supplied