Article written by Robert Cushman - National Post

Saturday, February 16, 2008

The new Second City revue, Tazed and Confused, contains only one number that's actually about Tasers, and even that has nothing to do with airports and little with the RCMP. Rather, it's a song for the three women in the six-strong cast, about stun guns being the new approved feminist weapon for self-defence. It isn't one of the stronger items in the show. The second part of the title, though, may be an additional pun; people are con-fused because they live in con-dominiums, and the show has a lot to say about that. At its beginning, its close and immediately following the intermission, the show offers con-dolences (that one's mine) to all those cramped and alienated souls who have bought into high-priced highrises. This recurring theme-- they call it the Condo Con--might be more inventively handled, but it has its moments. One of them involves a male performer saying that he likes the condo life because he's a voyeur, and then yelling at a female performer as to what the hell she's looking at.

I will spare you the rest of my customary rant about the disconnect between Second City's revues and their titles, only pausing to remark that this new edition--a good show, not a great one -- has even less political content than most. As always, the writers are also the performers. They are more consistently excellent in the latter capacity than in the former, which is par for most courses. The veteran in the lineup is fair-haired Jim Annan, who is especially winning as a divorced dad, who's granted custody of his daughter on her birthday weekend and monitoring the video game she and her friends insist on playing. It's called Dungeon Master, and it worries him; though, as he admits on one of his forays into the kiddies' quarters, clad in underpants and mask, daddy and his girlfriend "are playing a similar game upstairs." The Second Citizens are often at their best in sketches that require them, or some of them, to play children, and this is one of their best.

The Dungeon Master himself is Marty Adams, confined to an alcove whence he cackles gleefully, in monkish cowl and with jerking jowl. Adams is, to mince words, an exceptionally plump performer, and his girth is put to use in many scenes, including one in which he seems to be playing a baby and another in which he's an orangutan. Still, the most distinctive of the men is Darryl Hinds, who claims the best moments in the two best numbers. In one, he's Tonto, the Lone Ranger's sidekick, querying both his companion's status ("how can you be the Lone Ranger? We're always together") and his own (though his hurt claim to belong to the First Nations -- "because we were here first" -- is met by the Masked One with mocking incomprehension). He's even more sensational as a victorious football player giving very basic answers to very dumb questions ("What was your strategy?" "I ran very fast and tried to catch the ball") and then flabbergasting everyone with his response to a smart one.

A newcomer among the ladies is Ashley Botting, a brunette who ranges from thoughtful to hysterical and sings unusually well. She teams up with Leslie Seiler, an acerbic blond, to represent the travails of youngish mothers at a playground, comparing their offspring ("I always wanted a little girl, but you take what you get") while keeping a suspiciously distant watch over their well-being. Seiler also does a surprise strip. She and Annan recombine as an elderly couple, who make the brisk decision to forego decay in favour of mutually assisted suicide; this sketch, Waiting for Godot meets The Savages, is not completely successful, but it moves the customary goal posts. The cast is completed by Karen Parker, a mischievous presence who's at her best as a yowling pre-teen, happily traumatized by her Dungeon Master. There is expectedly smart direction by Doug Morency, and unexpectedly (at this address) stylish design by Camellia Koo. We take Second City for granted, but it's a true civic adornment, an asset to Toronto's comic present and -- judging from the way its alumni get around-- the rest of the world's comic future.