Weston Studio, Wales Millennium Centre, Cardiff Bay
Thurs 22 July
★★★★☆
The aged, thinning crowd at the Weston Studio tonight tells me that Bourgeois and Maurice aren’t that well known outside of the London cabaret scene. Maybe it’s just a blip this evening – an oversight on behalf of Cardiff’s arty, young things – but I cannot understand why more people wouldn’t want to watch the maudlin Maurice and twiggy, vivacious Bourgeois peddle their brand of subversive cabaret and celebrity satire. Bourgeois And Maurice essentially consists of a bunch of comedy songs spliced with film, audience interaction and dark vignettes, but it hinges on the dark personae of Bourgeois and Maurice – characters so nuanced and well developed it’s fun just to watch them pause for breath.
Disappointing, then, that for the single most fabulous, surreal show the Weston Studio’s seen in months, the average audience member was about 50 with a spouse, a house, and a lousy sense of humour. I’m not hating on your parents. It’s just that I was the youngest guy in there, and under no circumstances should that have been the case. Cardiff’s young, arty community should have been flocking to the Weston Studio like a pack of voracious jackals stalking the hip, bitchy bambi Bourgeois.
Anyway, professionals that they are, Bourgeois and Maurice were unfazed by tonight’s turnout. In fact, I think it spurred them on. The show thrives on audience interaction, so they hijacked the awkwardness for their own devious ends. I actually felt sorry for the guy who was pulled out of the crowd and serenaded by the smitten Bourgeois with an ode to his beauty. Although their victim hadn’t exactly been trounced with the ugly stick, there was more than enough irony to make for the most awkward, hand-over-mouth, stiflingly funny three minutes of the evening.
The venue wasn’t right, and the audience was bewildered, and the monosyllabic Maurice is a bit of a clichéd foil to the loquacious Georgeois Bourgeois – but who cares when the cabaret they conjure up is this good? The theatrical equivalent of donning a straitjacket made out of four dozen Kermits and submitting to a spanking from Winehouse’s beehive.
