If I tell you that this is comedy offered via the medium of the written list, you might get the impression this performance is formulaic and dull.

If I try to counter this by mentioning that it encompasses a semiotic analysis of an obtuse comedy sketch, the licentious touching of a drawing of Margaret Pomeranz and anthropomorphised fruit, you might get the impression that it’s affectedly “zany”.

Off-beat might be a better description of The List Operators’ tenor, and their website blurb describes them as the “darlings of the underground Melbourne comedy scene”. Thankfully this isn’t a euphemism for smut and obscenity; quite the opposite. With its genuine originality, gentle absurdity and underlying intelligence, the show is simply a little bit outside the mainstream.

The duo have created two immensely likeable characters who complement one another well. They take it in turns to address the easel of butcher’s paper which takes centre stage, frantically scribbling lists based on their own and the audience’s suggestions.

It succeeds in no small part because the show is interactive without being unstructured – it’s democratic without being a free-for-all. While audience-members’ list nominations often got the biggest laughs, there was never any suspicion that the performers were diverting too far from the script. To me, it’s this happy medium between control and disorder that makes for the best comedy.

If it sounds outlandish, that’s because it is. It defies definition, but ‘absurd’ would be one of the few words that is applicable. ‘Unconventional’ is another.

Presented with exceptional energy, the show demonstrates Oldaker’s live performance skills while constantly subverting the conventions of comedy and circus, withdrawing the predictability to offer a genuinely unique Festival experience. The faint hint of social satire is a welcome, if subtle, inclusion. Can I recommend it to you?

I came out of Trades Hall wondering how on earth I would convey my thoughts on the show in the form of a review. At the same time, I had a nagging feeling that I had enjoyed it, without knowing quite why. I liked Oldaker as a performer, despite the fact that this was a show that didn’t get me laughing.

That might be the best way to choose whether this is for you or not:

• If you’re looking for traditional stand-up with consistent laughs, Live Flavor may be one to forego.
• If you’re not so concerned about your giggle-to-minute ratio and seek an alternative to standard gags-into-a-microphone fare, it’s very well worth a look.

Best of luck explaining it to your friends, though.

Dowdeswell is a nice guy. It’s obvious within minutes that this isn’t a persona manufactured to base a show around, and his indisputable likeability makes the subject material all the more enjoyable. It also makes it easy to believe (in fact impossible not to) that the stories he’s telling are true, allowing the audience to invest more in them.

An English comic who has been living in Melbourne for a period of a few months, Dowdeswell really excels when touching on his time in Victoria. He has already developed an admirable familiarity with the city and its streets and uses this to give his performance an extra dimension. There aren’t many comedians who can genuinely nail the home town gag.

If I had a complaint, it would be that some of his material lacks edge. It’s never mundane, but there’s a fine line between gentle and tame, which isn’t always successfully negotiated. That said, this is a show that I can highly recommend.

Herein lies the very substantial problem.

Never in my 20-odd years of live event attendance have I been exposed to a more disgusting accumulation of people than the one that slithered into the covered area of the Queensberry Hotel beer garden on Friday night. To call them an audience would degrade the word – this was an impromptu gathering of human weeds intent on creating a unique brand of excruciatingly tedious mayhem.

Half a dozen fuckwits – old enough to vote, drive and probably have mortgages, and yet capable only of nasal squeaking as if their voices hadn’t yet broken – sat at the back and immediately began to disrupt. Without exception, their verbal interventions were inane, puerile and often nerdishly absurd. Most were imbecilic non-sequiturs, but some were ultra-childish responses to Morley’s unrehearsed performance.

In reply to these, Morley descended to their level.

It’s difficult to know what else he could have done. The obnoxious group made up nearly half the crowd and so weren’t going to be shouted down by others. They also couldn’t be ignored. Worse, at the front of the crowd one of Morley’s friends – drunk and apparently bored – was encouraging the prepubescent thirty year olds to continue with their vulgarity.

So Morley had little option but to get them back on side.

His faltering anecdotes turned into a story about dildos, genitals and mentally retarded children, and even then the lowest common denominator needs of the cretins at the back couldn’t be satiated.

So he descended further and his finale involved the threat of a texta being pushed up a nerd’s anus.

Who knows; maybe tomorrow night’s show will be intellectually-stimulating genius.  That’s the risk you’ll take.

There is such a yawning divide between the marvellously creative Akmal/Akmal conversation, and the Sydney comic putting a fluffy piece of material over his eyes, standing for a moment, and realising he hasn’t got an adequate line, but both unquestionably work. In between, Joel Ozborn’s 20 minute routine is solid, while Akmal’s thoughts on the Cronulla riots, religion and anything else he happens upon during his time on stage are pretty steadily at the Extremely Funny end of the comedy spectrum.

Grant admitted that Faking It was her first stand-up show at the Festival in five years; a remarkable fact given the ease of her delivery. She has found a comedy niche that seems to suit her ideally – the personable, young auntie-figure who can tell an amusing yarn without ever crossing into nasty or embarrassing territory – and carried it out with an effortless professionalism. On the Wednesday night that I saw her, she admitted to having a cold. While other comics might have let it get in the way, Grant quipped about the whiskey she was hiding behind the lectern, took a sip halfway through the show when she was ‘getting snotty’ and continued on as if in good health.

Her repartee with the audience is natural and fun and, while she doesn’t have the brilliant timing of some of her peers, she makes up for it by creating a buoyant, comfortable atmosphere.

The Wrong Night is held every Saturday night of the comedy festival and features different ‘guest comedians’ each week, so it’s difficult to make definite judgements about its comic value. The first night, though, was a disappointment. Swearing and toilet humour can be funny, even hilarious, if delivered with sufficient cleverness and verve – Billy Connolly is arguably the funniest man alive and an ideal case in point – but they can just as easily fall flat and in this case they did. This is not to say that every act was of a poor standard – indeed, the show’s main problem was the disparity between its best and worst.

The opening monologue by the night’s host, Justin Hamilton, was genuinely very funny and contributions by Sammy J and Eddie Perfect were also of a high standard, but they were overshadowed by seemingly never-ending songs involving bodily functions and sketches that seemed to have no purpose or direction.

At its best: entertaining and uproariously funny. At its worst: almost unbearably crude.

Wilson, a New Zealander who saw her first game of football in 2003, finds a happy medium between the potentially tedious extremes of dismissive ‘I don’t get AFL’ jokes and hardcore-supporter anecdotes. Her affection for the game is evident, but she is by no means a ‘tragic’, and consequently her observations (many of which apply to Australian culture, not just Australian Rules) come across as both fresh and un-self-conscious. One or two jokes covering well-worn terrain droop a little, but Wilson is such a likeable performer that they can be easily overlooked. Much more prominent is her energetic style, perpetually cheerful (and cheeky) manner and the successful incorporation of audio snippets throughout – mostly funny musings on the game from fans and the odd star footballer.

I admit, having seen her on ‘skitHOUSE’ and ‘Spicks and Specks’, I went into the show already a little bit in love with Cal Wilson and came out a little bit more.