THE PEDICAB SHOW
Anyone who’s ever wondered what most actors do for a living should check out Kevin L. Burrows’s autobiographical The Pedicab Show. In an hour or so this self-described actor, writer, and mystic not only discusses his lifelong “quest for the perfect odd job” but also reveals something of his personal philosophy, most of it derived from various Taoist writings. Unfortunately, Burrows seems to have taken to heart the Taoist belief that “the way that can be spoken is not the true way”–hardly the best philosophy for a storyteller.
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Instead he fills The Pedicab Show with lots of superficial, albeit entertaining, digressions. Burrows won’t tell us anything about his brother except that he once owned a 1972 purple Gremlin, but he’s willing to stop the show in its tracks to imitate (amazingly well) the badly dubbed kung fu movies he loves. He doesn’t spend a microsecond on his travels with the Second City Touring Company, but he’s willing to spend three minutes or so playing a mean blues harp and singing the praises of coffee, a routine that climaxes with a caffeinated parody of the Lord’s Prayer: “Our Mocha which art in Cappuccino, Espresso be thy name. Give us this day Cafe Au Lait.”
Even more damning is what a Peter Pan Burrows seems, fleeing from emotional commitments–at one point he even breaks off a romantic encounter because he can’t figure out where to park his pedicab safely–and refusing either to grow up or fully experience his life. Moreover the chronically unreflective Burrows seems blissfully unaware of this problem. Without a hint of irony he romanticizes his marginal existence, stating that “Pedicab drivers are all dreamers . . . kind of like hoboes and cowboys . . . stubborn and independent,” and yet the life he fleetingly describes seems no freer than any other life.
These ambitious routines demand far more of a writer and actor than BrewHa-Ha is prepared to deliver. Some sketches, like “DaDa Dinner Theatre Preview” and “World Cup Poetry,” fall flat because the writers don’t know Dada or modern poetry well enough to lampoon it. Other bits, like “Balletmania” and “Kabuki [Three Stooges],” fail because no one in the troupe really knows how to imitate ballet dancers or Kabuki actors. Still others, like the extended scene poking fun at family Christmas gatherings, flop because the BrewHa-Ha actors don’t yet understand that the surest way to ruin a joke is to telegraph the punch line.
