Review – Wil Anderson: Wiluminati

It’s pointless to even review the opening night of Wiluminati, which began last week, since what Wil Anderson presented on Monday night is certain to be massaged into something almost unrecognisable by the end of the Fringe. Fresh from the US, jittery with energy, and arriving with a clutch of beers in hand, Anderson delivered a sprawling eighty-minute set that apparently only comprised a third of what he had hoped to get to.

This really was a workshop for Anderson; he set his recorder down on stage to start and at times seemed uncertain, if not where his jokes were going, then at least what route to take and which sights to stop off at along the way. That’s not to say he wasn’t getting laughs – the audience was certainly enjoying itself, though I’ll wager a few people probably exited a little confused by the looseness of it all. He was certainly open about his process from the get-go, teasing the crowd about its preview night thriftiness and, as the set stretched past its designated hour, about the likelihood of them having anything else to do in Adelaide on a Monday night.

And it’s also pointless to try and assess the theme and quality of his material at this formative stage, though Anderson’s recent move to America has certainly provided plenty of easy stories to relate. There was a bit of a schizophrenic streak to his hour, not merely from the lack of structure but also in tone. On the whole his material tended toward the refreshingly intimate, but these bits about illness abutted somewhat awkwardly with the occasional political outburst more in line with his public or television persona.

Part of me hopes he embraces the quieter side going forward, as somewhere buried in it all was a surprisingly personal set about accepting weakness and taking meaning from the meaningless. Given Anderson’s method, though, all this interpretation could prove worthless by Friday. Perhaps I ought to hone this review for a couple of weeks as well.