The broad themes of the show explore loneliness, alienation and failure, and it is precisely this ability to mine the darkest aspects of humanity (or not) that make Randerson’s work undeniably unique and compelling. Past works have included her brother shooting her point-blank with a rifle, and a gypsy washerwoman dipping McDonald’s fries into the bloodied crotch of her baby daughter’s corpse. Understandably, this kind of material does not always generate laughter, but often it does, which can be very surprising - both for Randerson and for the audience themselves.

Randerson seems fascinated by the audience reaction to her borderline humour. As noted before, her material bombs outrageously as often as it succeeds, plunging Randerson into depression and causing us to doubt her sanity in subjecting herself to this kind of failure. Yet she persists, never diluting or compromising her work but delivering it raw and uncensored.

If any label can be applied to Randerson’s weird, perverse, and wildly variegated comedy, it’s that elusive word ‘cult’. Randerson’s work is ‘cult hit’ material if ever there was such a thing, and she has already established a small, baffled and bemused following among Melbourne audiences. Whether amused, confused or genuinely amazed by her material, people seem compelled to come back for more.

Troubling and difficult it may be, but Randerson’s work is also very intelligent. She has a swag of aussie plaudits to attest to her brilliance’a Golden Gibbo for Carry On Randerson (2004) and ‘Best Comedy Melbourne Fringe’ for Cracks in the Garden (2003). She has several strings to her bow besides performance, including two published volumes of short fiction (The Spit Children and The Keys to Hell), and a sideline career as a registered marriage celebrant. She recently collaborated with eminent New Zealand physicist Paul Callahan for ‘Are Angels OK”?a Victoria University lecture series pairing writers with scientists.

What drives Jo Randerson is uncertain, but one thing is clear - her comedy is unlike anything else on this earth.

Quite obviously aimed at an audience of children, the show is also highly entertaining for adults. Especially enjoyable is watching the front row squirm and shriek as they are covered in eggs, flour and other food explosions (Aprons are supplied, but not required.)

MAN the MYTH is all about initiation into manhood, be it through beer, bongs or ‘bombs’ (the kind that splash water over people, not flaming bits of debris). It’s essentially a rites of passage show, where Grant recalls tales of his misspent youth and connects easily with the testosterone in the audience. As a female, I was able to appreciate the characteristics of the Aussie male, but I couldn’t laugh with the same intensity as the boys. I also found some of the material dated and predictable’has there ever been a time in history when comedy hasn’t mined the differences between men and women?

On a more refreshing note, Grant sends a quiet but clear message to his fellow man: don’t be afraid to visit the prostate doctor. It was a gentle reminder that in between the bottle shops and boxing rings, life can grip a man by his you-know-what. I applaud Grant for broaching a sensitive issue with an overtly masculine audience.

The reason Jimeoin’s observation comedy is so successful is because he illustrates a condition of insecurity that is common to all of us. He is a master at picking up on the self-conscious habits that people adopt when they think they’re being watched. Who hasn’t parallel parked badly when there’s a crowd of onlookers? Who hasn’t fluffed their dance moves in front of members of the opposite sex?

There are shades of stand-up Seinfeld to Jimeoin, with universal truths being thrown under the microscope and studied though a comedic lens. Jimeoin isn’t an energetic comic; unlike other highly strung Irish comedians, he delivers his material in a style that suggests he may have a hammock strung up backstage. The crowd seems to reflect his laid-back attitude, laughing in friendly outbursts rather than machine gun hysterics. Although he’s not a must see on my list, Jimeoin’s lyrical charm still had me smiling and shaking my head.

Text messages range from gushy sentimentality (’I am the coral to your ocean, darling.’) to pointless everyday observations (’I'm having a sore boob day.’). It’s an excellent formula for improv, which requires random themes to intersect with random characters in an unscripted narrative. The comedy lies in the absurd storylines that unfold, as well as the cliched and flawed nature of the ‘instant’ characters.

As a long-time fan of improv, I’ve seen enough shows to differentiate between an average performance and an awesome performance. Unfortunately the caliber of this year’s cast fell well short of last year’s, but that said, the audience had no such yardstick and laughed solidly for an hour.

With a rotating cast of eight, 160 Characters includes Monique Dykstra, Joshua Lawson, Brett Wood and Geoff Paine. Keyboard accompaniment is provided by Gep Blake, whose atmospheric music helps to underpin the mood of each sketch. If, like me, you’re tired of ’staged’ spontaneity and would like some genuine improvised comedy, Umbrella Revolution is the place to find it. It’s also a fine place to catch a cold (as I discovered) so rug up now or drug up later.

If you saw the Easter Monday Short Film Festival screening (plagued by projector issues, disgruntled audience members and rapid exits) you may have been underwhelmed. However, the Awards Night screening was blessed with a sense of pomp and ceremony. Our most convivial host, Brian Nankervis, did a sterling job of warming the crowd up and helping the event flow smoothly (if only he had been at every screening). There was also a sense of Melburnian pride, adding to the receptiveness of the audience, and the backdrop of the Yarra through the stunning BMW Edge ‘walls’ certainly didn’t hurt.

Whilst the 16 films showed very different approaches, here are the reactions in order of screening: giggles, existential titters, raucous laughter, snickers, guffaws, chuckles, concerned amusement, hysteria, sniggers, hoots, cackles, gasps for air, gross out noises, chortles, belly laughs and, finally, awkward silence. The very respectable judging panel certainly had their work cut out for them!

The faux Oscars-style 1980s retrospective of comedic shorts, used in lieu of ‘waiting music’, added a rather amusing touch of class to proceedings.

Congratulations to all the prize winners:
Losing Face: CAE Encouragement Award
Carmichael and Shane: The People’s Choice Award & Nova Cinema’s (Runner Up) Award
Jonathon Livingstone CEO: The COMEDY CHANNEL Best Picture Award.

Let’s hope this fine event continues to support and encourage all film-makers who have the guts to get out there and do their thing to get punters laughing.

There is a real sense of conversation to this show, as though you’ve just met Fiona at the pub and she’s decided to confess her most humiliating moments to you. The audience can really relate to O’Loughlin’s awkward situations but breathe a collective sigh of relief that she is the one who has, in fact, lived them. Throughout her performance, O’Loughlin keeps the audience at a constant giggle level, which is regularly interspersed with big laughs.

She posses quite a unique delivery that despite the gravity of some of her topics stills keeps the humour present and alive. The audience is taken on a journey through Fiona’s experiences from Alice Springs to Rome and from infant race relations to a grandfather with roving hands. All these varied topics are delivered with the same unabashed honesty that leaves Fiona playing the fool. I look forward to next year’s show to see what embarrassment and humiliation Fiona has put herself through during the course of the year.

I walked out pleasantly surprised but for different reasons. It would be misleading to approach the show expecting some of the world’s finest comic talents.?? Instead, you’ll meet an assembly of talented - and bizarre - street performers, like a young man from a town called Penguin who learnt how to swallow swords over the internet (Is there anything you can’t learn over the web?).

The show’s linchpin is the seasoned comic and magician Nick Nickolas - think a slightly steadier Ozzy Osbourne plus magic - who, as the master of ceremonies, gives each performer their deserved rev up. Nickolas is a natural showman, as dry as sticks but undoubtedly beguiling.

The rest of the show is a bit of hit-and-miss. The best of the nine acts find a balance between tricks and quips, such as New Zealander Tony Roberts and Philadelphia lad Tim Motley. The others try but don’t stray too far from their comfort zones; that is, what most of us might find, excruciatingly uncomfortable (lifting beer kegs with one’s nipples, for example). While moments of head scratching marvel and stomach churning nausea do punctuate the show, the laughs rest firmly with Nickolas.

Coney Island Comedy has its fair share of potential. But if Coney Island Comedy is their goal, then more practice with the microphone instead of the juggling pins should be on the cards.

This concept leans towards comedy that is even less structured than its closest comparison theatresports, and this is both a blessing and a curse for the show. When it works it’s hilarious stuff, bizarre and risqu‚àö?, but when a joke flounders the whole show can potentially grind to a halt. This is of course the nature of improvised comedy, and half the laughs can come from how a comedian deals with a joke that falls flat. And the Scrabble Unscripted cast do a fantastic job, making the most of the scenes that work and plowing through the ones that don’t with admirable self-deprecation and grim resolve.

Each comedian shines at different points in the show, but the real show stealer was Jordan Raskopoulos (’The Ronnie Jones Half Hour’) whose quick wit and energetic characterisations often rescued a scene from floundering and brought the laughs.

Scrabble Unscripted is a must see show for fans of improvised comedy. It’s free wheeling nature lends it infinite potential and a very good chance of becoming one of the surprise hits of the Festival.

Sure, there was a fair amount of sexual innuendo, the seemingly obligatory imitation of a gay man and a couple of fine bogan impersonations. Refreshingly though, politics was not on the agenda. One act even used flash cards’quite a treat.

There could only be one winner though and this year’s champ was Hannah Gadsby from South Australia.

The show was truly a smorgasbord of the nation’s young comedic talents, with a side helping of the comedy stylings of Wil Anderson and Dave Callan, who himself won the first Raw Comedy Competition some 11 years ago. This was the perfect show for anyone wanting quick snippets of stand-up, the chance to get their face on the telly, and the ability to claim, in a few years time, that they were there before the winner was famous.