After an adorable musical opening credits sequence, Cartier takes audiences on a four-act journey through her limber life, from initial fears and fractured heels through desperation jobs and the COVID lockdown, until she learns to carve her own path. As a highlight, she shows off her remarkable strength and agility in a dynamic chair-balancing routine, which she developed at age 17 while performing for celebrities with a troupe of fire-spinning Scientologists.
Between skits, there are satirical advertisements for calluses, MFA degrees and physical therapy — as well as passive-aggressive commentary from a sportscasting shark puppet. Cartier is a genuinely charming storyteller, even if she doesn’t make strong distinctions between other characters, and her clown-like dancing is delightful. However, I was left craving even more examples of her acrobatic talents.
Sadly, as Cartier explains in front of projected X-rays of her numerous injuries, she’s had to say goodbye to several of her hard-earned skills, but the new ones she’s mastered — like slo-mo training montages — help make up for it. Cartier conquers her inner and external critics by embracing her evolving body, as this show delves beneath its silly self-deprecating surface to unveil a surprisingly moving meditation on loss and change that should resonate with any aging athlete or artist.
Orlando Fringe Festival: Tickets and times for "The Curve"
