RIOT: glitter is life-changing
7 Jun 2018

by Drew Rowsome - Photos by Cylla von Tiedemann

Life is for creating, not consuming
Artists are dissidents. All we need is a stage.
You do realize that you're wearing a mankini you made out of glad wrap?

And our bones are made from the minerals originally contained in exploding stars. And glitter is the gay solution to everything.

If the Irish are blessed with the gift of gab, and if that gift was obtained by kissing the Blarney Stone, then the writers and cast of RIOT - undoubtedly egged on by Panti Bliss - must have deepthroated the Stone, swallowed the ejaculate, and absorbed it into their souls, their star-filled bones, and their glittery mellifluous voices. They are that entertaining. And that sexy.

Describing RIOT is impossible. It is a riotous mashup of cabaret, circus, dance, spoken word, comedy, '70s variety shows, '80s pop music, disco, clowning, political satire, surrealism, self-empowerment, and glitter, glitter, glitter. Mistress of ceremonies Panti Bliss struts on stage and promises not only entertainment but also a life-changing experience. The entertainment explodes onto the stage and while "life-changing" will depend on the audience member, two "routine"s that close the show (one of them Miss Bliss's) are so powerfully moving that the edges of most seats are now stained with tears as well as the results of over-excitement and surprises.

There is a shift in consciousness, of physical mood, that can only be achieved by the visceral magic of a circus, and RIOT applies it to their cabaret hybrid with extraordinary results.

The individual acts, slickly striding on and off stage and functioning as organisms within the supportive collective troupe, could each fill an evening on their own. The Sirens sing and dance with the synchronized skill of the Ernest Flatt Dancers mashed with the New Christy Minstrels. Up and Over It take Irish stepdancing to places Riverdance never dared to imagine. The Lords of Strut are sexy wink-wink physical comedy in a funhouse dance studio's sacrilegious mirror. Kate Brennan commands the stage with a rap/spoken word hybrid that is much more compelling and melodic than that moniker sounds. Ronan Brady is a dazzling acrobat and an attention-whoring self-aware cocktease. 

Holding it all together is Miss Bliss who has the confident swagger of a veteran drag queen, full of quips and tongue-in-cheek - with the blatant implication that that tongue has been very many other places - asides, just assumes the starring role. And then proves it. Following a dazzling set-piece on the state of the universe by Megan Riordan, Miss Bliss launches into a towering monologue about "Farrah Fucking Fawcett" that places herself, and all of the audience clutched tightly in the palm of her manicured hand, at the centre of the universe. It is riveting. And quite possibly life-changing.

With so much going on and slightly grating continual appeals for audience engagement, RIOT barely holds together as a coherent piece. But the slapdash slickness is endlessly appealing and the overall effect is ecstatic. There is no reason why a Lord of Strut being piggy-backed onto the stage by a giant rabbit to the strains of Enya should be uproariously funny. But it is. Maybe the loose ends and the let's-put-on-a-show feverish energy is the point. Brennan notes that we live in not only "interesting times" but "fucked-up times," and the only way to cope and affect change is through art as performed by dissidents. And lots of gay glitter.