Review: Retro Futurismus

By Maxim Boon

Sigh. The world isn’t looking too good of late.

Every mongoloid brained misogy-racist’s tangerine dream, Donald Trump, is inexplicably one NRA rally away from the White House. The tragicomedy of the UK’s Brexit debacle has duped a nation into accepting legislated xenophobia. Across Europe, altruistic multiculturalism is less acceptable than a dead Syrian toddler washing up on a Greek beach. Every news bulletin seems to be filled with terrorist and homophobes and racists, oh my! And closer to home, the grand-high, halal-hating, Hitler-ette herself, Pauline Hanson, has gone and won a seat in the bloody senate. Please pass the cyanide.

Thank fuck, therefore, for the cleansing tonic that is Retro Futurismus’s New World. Bizarre, brilliant and often batshit, this post modern, pre-apocalyptic, electro-queer vaudeville offers quirky escapism with the faintest whiff of satire. Inspired by the futurists of bygone decades and their glistening, kitsch visions of moon-bases, flying cars and silver lamé for all, it’s got circus, burlesque, cabaret and performance art, unified by a Leigh Bowery-meets-Barbarella aesthetic. But for all its weird and wonderful curiosities, this show also manages to have a sense of artistic credibility and thoughtful curation. Some segments are headscratchers, some are just plain nonsense, but when moments of unexpected poignancy occur, the effect is surprisingly powerful.

The company’s five collaborators – Anni and Maude Davey, Anna Lumb, Gabi Barton and Teresa Blake – are supplemented during their four week season at Fortyfivedownstairs by a series of locally sourced guest artists, each with a unique talent ranging from avant gard acrobats to space-age chanteuses. Sure, the world’s a pretty shitty place right now, but at least a show like this gives us something to smile about.

Kooky, uplifting and escapist entertainment like this is a must for anyone who needs a distraction from the drudge and dread of reality.

Don’t miss it.