Standing in the dark tunnels of the monument outside the Rehearsal Room, you could feel that the first day of the festival was really starting to breathe life.
Tutu'ed ballerinas rushed past the queue of excited people bundled into their winter warmest to watch UKZN's production of Pretty Rubbish for the Student Theatre Festival.
Greeted by some scattered bodies swallowed in trash, the performance opened with chocolatey-voiced Farai Gwaze narrating the story of a South Africa totally run by men and with no space for the fairer sex. His interludes included humorous explanations of the country's new rules implemented by the DIC (Dudes Independent Country), which nimbly paralleled former apartheid laws. We were then introduced to four archetypal women, who exposed hints of their past as they attempted to negotiate the wasteland they'd been exiled to.
Russel Henstock's creation is an interesting exploration of female identity that entertains without allowing the humour to sugar-coat the serious issues. While there are some disjointed moments, the show is clear and clever and its message is an important one.
On a far lighter note was acclaimed performer, Andrew Buckland, who delighted the audience in his performance of Crapshoot as part of the High Street Jazz programme. Buckland twisted his unique brand of physical theatre between the skilled sounds of Ric Van Heerden and Random Planet.
It was an exercise in absurdity, with Buckland arriving on stage from behind the audience cursing the random nature of the jazz on stage. He then settled into a writhing set of random sketches himself, skilfully laced between the music.
Other than his brief lip-pursing moments pretending to begin playing the trumpet and never actually getting around to it, the interludes included a sign language explanation of insurance policies, a lesson in becoming a deceit warrior and a lyrical poem on (ahem) toilet floaters. As he said, you should have been warned by the name.
Buckland's style is nothing short of masterful as he brings as much physicality to the words he drops along the stage as to the contortions of his body. His performance was matched only by the superb musicianship of Van Heerden and Random Planet as they polished the madness with their instruments and tried to hide their smiles as they followed the antics.
And then, just as quickly as it started, Buckland was interrupted by his "cellphone" and left the stage sunken in conversation while the audience sat aptly wondering whether it was all over or not.
Only at the festival