I HUNG OUT WITH GEN Y [and all I got was this lousy facebook account]

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Generation Vexed, Why, Tagged

Raksha M. 

Bedroom Philosopher fans would love this hour-long tidbit of a double bill. Aptly staged in painfully hip Fitzroy at Vibe on Smith, I Hung Out With Gen Y...and all I got was this lousy Facebook account showcased the combined writing talents of Eloise Maree and Lucie McIntosh. 

The action dives right into an absurd fight between A and B, two opposing characters separated on stage by a fence of cubes.  Neurotic A is obsessed with maintaining the order of life, the universe and everything, whilst revolutionary B blithely revels in chaos. The two thrash out their issues with the implied 'they' who make the social rules and must not be angered, almost like a bizarre Tweedledum and Tweedledee on xanax who come to the conclusion that perhaps they aren't really sure what they are fighting for or against. Actresses Lucie McIntosh and Sophia Robinson make an admirable effort at stylized movement, complete with costumes wonderfully apt for the absurdist skit on cult hipster discourse between the independent rebel and the unthinking prude that reveals both are just pretentious as. 

Perhaps the transition between pieces could have been smoother, where tinny gameboy music fades into the deeply emotional Breathe by Cinematic Orchestra (a cult cry-along fave!) and a spotlight of Maree aka Molly hanging from the ceiling. Perhaps the props shouldn't have collapsed on the actresses while they changed. But the romp and pomp of Mad as Molly was hilarious because it was true, and you could see it in the rueful grins of recognition in the audience. It was an uncanny mimicry of the quintessential vapid and insecure Gen Y princess, Ke$ha-like and complete with overusing her 'like totes brill' vocabulary, facebook addiction and binge-drinking. Eloise's well-rehearsed caricature effortlessly pulled the audience through most of the show with her hungover musings and recollections after a wild birthday party. The first bit was a riotous combination of slapstick interpretive dance (to a nostalgic Bardot's Poison) and a broadway-style song and dance number from the inside of a giant strawberry soda pop bottle (personally, my favourite bit), after which she ironically bubbles up to the top and finds her way as a thirty-something assistant salesgirl. Believable and poignant at parts, Molly faces the reality of growing up too late (Romy and Michelle's High School Reunion, anyone?) in a sharp but still loving mockery of apathetic Gen Y slut ho's and their many accessories. Oi, is there a Like button on this thing?