The Truth About Fairytales.

I tip my hat to anyone who dares get up on stage to perform on their own. Anyone who has ever done it knows how terrifyingly exhilarating it can be. I am also always especially thrilled to have the opportunity to see young performers taking to the stage of Melbourne’s cabaret gem of a venue – The Butterfly Club. Here, in spite of its glittering façade, welcoming bar, utterly charming staff, and a fascinating and enviable collection of bric-a-brac, is a stunning little cabaret room and tiny stage that forgives nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Deceptively compact, The Butterfly Club presents a huge range of obstacles to the less-experienced performer. There’s the question of audibility when the piano (and the pianist) shares the stage with you in startlingly close proximity. Then there’s the question of acoustics, diction and projection – both of character and lyrics. There’s also the glaringly obvious and incredibly necessary stage presence – and even though it is a tiny space, it’s a space that demands to be filled. And it becomes very obvious when it isn’t.

Australia is also blessed with astonishing range of cabaret and music theatre talent. And now, with some further dedicated and determined vocal training, we can add one more – Sharon Kirschner. The premise of Ms Kirschner’s self-penned The truth about fairytales is faultless. Bursting into the room and bounding onto the stage as a wide-eyed, hyperactive children’s storyteller, Ms Kirschner confesses that she can’t stand regurgitating folklore from yesteryear, and before long, we depart on a delightful journey as Little Red Riding Hood and friends are deconstructed, reimagined and retold. It’s a marvelous conceit, and Kirschner is always in complete control of the telling. Her doe-eyed line in comedy is never less than divine and utterly engaging. Her Facebook Stalk You lyrics (sung to Everthing I do, I do it for you) is the unquestionable highlight, as is her proficient and delightfully self-deprecatingly humourous handling of a cute audience participation moment with a script-reading likely suitor.

The truth about fairytales is also a refreshingly Sondheim- (ironic given the luxury of material in Into The Woods) and Kander & Ebb-free zone. Instead, Michael Jackson’s Smooth Criminal is brilliantly adapted to the story of Goldilocks, while Sleeping Beauty tries desperately to get back to sleep (Pills, Pills, Pills) after waking to discover her Prince Charming is a complete dud. Poor old Cinderella deals with her Prince’s tendency for Premature Ejaculation, while dramatically, the highlight was when the Rapunzel story took on new light with a marvelous rendition of Maybe I like it this way. This was also this point at which Ms Kirschner’s considerable acting training came to the fore – and throughout the potent, perfect stillness of her performance, you could have heard a pin drop. Here, and in fact throughout the entire performance, Mr Jones was the perfect accompanist, and the timing of his sly and witty vocal interjections was equally good.

Ms Kirschner (a NIDA graduate) has the makings of the perfect ingénue, even though her light, lyrical voice – at this point in her development – lacks range and power. Most of the early efforts to reach notes in her lower register were unsuccessful and the notes in her upper register were clearly an effort. I actually wondered why it all hadn’t been transposed into a more suitable key. While she was most obviously comfortable in her middle register, that on its own is never enough to take on a popular and/or music theatre repertoire of any description. There is also the issue of direction, which solo performers in any performance form, ignore at their peril.

But when you find yourself reaching up to catch glittering fabric hearts, tossed joyfully into the air and literally buzzing about the charming, effervescent performance for hours afterwards, you know you’ve experienced something special. And Ms Kirschner is certainly that.

Geoffrey Williams