There are few pleasures as great as wandering into a quiet, unassuming black box studio at three forty in the afternoon and, in the company of five other spectators, experiencing an utterly mesmerizing show. Despite (or even because of) the relatively small audience size, Echolalia - which blends clowning, physical theatre, and dance to tell the story of Echo, a perky, buoyant young woman with Aspergers syndrome - never felt anything less than fully energetic.
Over forty-five minutes, Echo attempts to master the rules of normal life and necessary social interaction using a rhythmic, dance-based approach that builds in intensity. Simple actions - brushing one's hair, dusting the house, making coffee - are revealed in all their arbitrary absurdity.
In the play's early moments, Echo's befuddlement at the rules of social interaction are utterly relatable: ’when people come to your house, give them tea’, she reminds herself in a particularly memorable sequence. These moments provide us with a wonderfully exaggerated physicalization of the near-universal conviction that we are impostors in the world, faking our way through the "life skills" that seem to come to everybody else so effortlessly. But as the piece progresses and we gain insight into the extent of Echo's difficulties, high comedy becomes quietly, powerfully, heartbreaking, without ever veering into the maudlin.
As Echo, Jen McArthur is stunningly intense and brilliantly gangly, all loping gestures and jerky enthusiasm (she looks, and moves, like a New Zealand Greta Gerwig). She is at her best in moments of audience interaction, responding deftly to any unexpected interruption. When she kindly informs one audience member who nervously takes an imaginary biscuit out of her full tin that "you're allowed to take a real one, you know”, one wishes that these ephemeral moments could be given a production of their own. She relates to audience members with the gleeful aplomb of a cabaret host, tentatively nudging them out of their comfort zone while remaining fully, joyfully in control.
Doubtless, by the time word of mouth gets around C Aquila will be overflowing with punters here to see one of the Fringe's most promising one-woman show. But at today's performance I felt like I was being let in on a particularly well-kept secret: a secret that, if audiences know what's good for them, won't be well-kept for very long.
