Postcards From the Fringe

Was it magic? Mentalist Alain Nu's show, "Circus of the Mind" -- one of many offered during the Capital Fringe Festival -- may leave you wondering. The festival continues through July 30. (Mark Finkenstaedt - For The Washington Post)

It is not a show for the pretentious and unbendingly proper, which may be why Cromie opens with dirty limericks; they're a kind of "moral barometer" to gauge the audience's bawdiness threshold. Expect a guest appearance from a local, such as the Redskins' Clinton Portis or President Bush, by way of mask or puppet. Memo to the White House: Former Eagles player Terrell Owens did a bobble-head cameo at a recent show in Philadelphia. He was decapitated.

Puppet violence may sound weird -- though Cromie swears it's funny -- but Owens's fate speaks volumes: If you can put aside propriety, you'll laugh your head off.

-- Julia Feldmeier

PUNCH'S PROGRESS: A PULCINELLA STORY Friday at 5:30, Saturday at 7:30, Sunday at 4, Monday at 10 and Tuesday at 8. At Flashpoint's Mead Theatre Lab. $15.

Taking Risks on a 'Deaf Musical'

What can you say about a musician who goes deaf, loses his home in the 9/11 attacks (enveloped in the cloud of dust, he feels the explosions in his feet), considers suicide and then rehashes it all in a one-man multimedia show that requires him to sing, play piano and sign as well as speak?

Roll over, Beethoven.

"It's definitely a risk to sing live," admits Jay Alan Zimmerman, 39, the eponymous star of "Jay Alan Zimmerman's Incredible Deaf Musical." (The interview was conducted by e-mail.) "My singing success will depend somewhat on my hearing that day, as it fluctuates, and with the ringing in my head, I never know what I'll be dealing with. If I have a bad ear day, I'll keep the singing to a minimum. This is reality theater, folks!"

The question at the heart of "JAZIDM" is not whether a deaf musician can continue in his profession -- it has been done, obviously -- but why would he if he can't even enjoy his own work? Initially, the onstage Jay compensates for his hearing loss by ratcheting up the volume on the mixing board. As it continues to deteriorate, he tries his hand at film and stand-up and architecture, but no other outlet slakes his passion for music. "It's part of my soul," he says. Eventually, his inner debate turns even darker: "Not just why do it, but why continue living at all? Who cares? And the answer comes as a surprise."

For Zimmerman, being deaf does not mean living in silence. In fact, he says, "it is very noisy. I hear a cacophony of sounds in my head" -- he suffers from tinnitus, which can fling at its victim a furious range of buzzing, ringing, whistling and chirping sounds -- "in addition to real sounds below middle C, like air conditioner hums. So it never leaves me alone."

"It," meaning Zimmerman's deafness, is represented by the video screen, which continually goads him. During the song "Press Play," as he sees his own works on video, he sings:

"Her lips say, 'love' -- I swear I heard / Swear she's caressing my face with the word / And when she's singing now, I'm singing too / Watching her, I remember what to do."