Piccolo Tales

Vashti Hughes’ charming, heartfelt embodiment of Kings Cross luminary Vittorio, of Piccolo Bar fame, is a brilliant conceit. With the man himself perched and lit in the window-seat of the cafe (a large blush of Poinsettia ‘staining’ his white dress-overalls, Chinese fan wafted as a prop) Vashti-Vitto exchange quips, barbs and rolling commentary on a life lived in the belly of the city. Our octogenarian hero is roused into passionate outbursts, (whether scripted or spontaneous is sometimes difficult to discern) when faced with the spectre of patrons past.

Also inhabited by Ms. Hughes is a roll-call of saints and villains who have crossed the threshold of this venerable Roslyn St institution (the wailing junky is a particular delight). She revels in evoking the mostly degenerate behaviour of this motley cast, also finding time to rail against a litany of urban crimes, from bum-cracks, mobiles and developers, to the colour beige. In a disconcerting apparition, it appears Hughes plays Vitto better than he does himself these days.

With only 10 seats in the cafe and 10 on the footpath this is an intimate yet proudly democratic affair, with the sounds of the city providing part of the ambience. As in life, Vitto gets all the best lines, showing his sometimes scabrous wit to punters: “Maybe you’re just boring. Nothing can cure that.” (DP)