No, wait a minute, that’s not a funny person, that’s another fucking cashed-up bogan in a pink polo shirt with the fucking collar turned up who’s part of the audience! WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU PEOPLE AND WHY THE HELL DO YOU LINE UP TO LAUGH AT SOME OF THE MOST BLAND, MEDIOCRE, MIDDLE OF THE ROAD SHITE IN THE FESTIVAL?

Woah, Richard, get a grip. Elitist, much?

Ahem. As you can tell, the Comedy Festival has taken its toll. I think my sense of humour will be the next casualty…

In total, I saw 39 shows at the Melbourne International Comedy Festival; and I lost track of the number of late nights I had; and the amount of alcohol I consumed.

Now that the festival’s over, there’s several more comedians I should review, but to be honest, it’s getting late, I only got home from work at 9pm (lost two days out of the production schedule due to ANZAC Day and moving the office from Richmond to the city) and right now I really should be trawling through the 150 emails in my inbox to plan my radio show for this Thursday. So here, in brief, are the remaining shows I saw at the festival this year:

Fiona O’Loughlin. I definitely enjoyed this alcoholic, trouble-prone, housewife superstar’s show in a low key sort of way. Instead of constant guffaws, she generated constant smiles and regular chuckles, and the occasionaly fervant prayer that she wasn’t my mother. Three and half giggles out of five.

Dave Bushell – Dirt, War and Why I Don’t Eat the Fishies. From Nazi relatives to the death of Princess Di, and zombie cows to Morrisey, this was a joyous, occasionally slackly-paced romp through the major events of the 20th century. Needs to either tighten up his material or write some really killer jokes, but given that this was Dave’s first solo show in the festival, bloody enjoyable, even if the average audience member (who appeared to be aged between 15-18) were too young to get at least half his jokes. Three regularly-spaced hoots out of five.

The So-Called Elite in Once Upon A Coffee Cup. I really wanted to like this show. I didn’t. The John Howard puppet was cool, though. Shame the humour was forced and laboured. Two vague smiles out of five.

Introducing Beau Heartbreaker. The award-winning drag king was suffering from a tummy bug on the night I saw her, so rather subdued but still sweetly funny, in a low-fi kind of way. Two and a half droll laughs out of five.

Josh Thomas – Please Like Me. A 19 year old comedian from Brisbane who reminded me too much of too many semi-autobiographical novels by young authors: you can actually write about things that haven’t happened to you, you know. I went into this gig expecting great things, due to the hype Josh had generated, and got only good things, so perhaps it’s partially my fault for beliving the hype that I was vaguely unsatisfied by his tales of small testicles, schoolies week dramas and MSN messenger stalking. Nonetheless, his delivery is strong, and given time, he should be bloody good. Three ‘oh my god that reminds me of myself in high school’ titters out of five.

The Infamous Spraygeltent. Sadly, because my second show of the night ran overtime, and then I was so exhausted after the previous night’s Barry Awards afterparty, I only got to see part one of this three part show by Glenn Manton and Jim Lawson. What I saw, though, I really liked – although I was eternally grateful that I wasn’t called upon to do pushups or walk across burning coals, unlike some of the audience. If this is what life is really like in an AFL team, I’ll stick to being a spectator!

The Glass Boat. Absurdist theatre that occasionally didn’t work, but when it did, dear god – what superb flights of lunacy! Giant frogs that terrorise autistic children; girls raised by wolves; a bush Christmas that recalls every Australian rural cliche goes horribly yet touchingly wrong; mail-order zombie brides who talk to their suitcases; and much, much more. Deadpan when required, wonderfully exagerated at others. Delicious. Although the performers might want to wash their costumes before the end of their run, next time – they were a bit whiffy! Four strangled shrieks of mirth out of five.

And that, ladies, gentlemen and trans people, was my 2007 Melbourne International Comedy Festival. Well, almost…

This next lot of reviews will perforce be brief, in order to get through several of them in the one post before I head off to the ANZAC Day game between Collingwood and Essendon. Go Pies!

Kim Hope in Rollercoaster. An entertaining night of stand-up with an edge. Hope’s delivery is never less than sharp, incisive and hilarious, and even as the show takes a turn into darker territory, dealing with the vagaries of alcohol and depression, this laudable comedian keeps the laughs coming with her intelligent and audacious comedy. From pitch-perfect evocations of 1970s dinner parties to a hyper-animated discussion of ways to pick up men, Hope’s show is not always hilarious; the London-based section of the show could be a little tighter; but when she hits her mark she’ll have you in stitches. The greatest problem with this show was that the brave material (and I know that’s a cliche but in this instance its fucking appropriate) is not always suited to what is essentially a fairly mainstream festival that attracts a very suburban crowd. Performed in the Fringe Festival, Rollercoaster would be winning greater acclaim and attracting larger houses. I definitely recommend it. Three awed silences followed by shrieks of mirth out of five. (Portland Hotel til April 29)

Alison Bice in The Wizard of Bice. A Moosehead award-winner, Alison Bice’s festival show this years shows real promise – Bice has a wonderfully dry delivery and stage presence – but overall fails to work for two main reasons. Much of the material is structured around her interaction with pre-recorded video segments, during which, partially for timing reasons, all the energy drops out of the show. She’s also too caught up in in-jokes about other comedians, and if you don’t know who they are, or about their reputations, then too much of the show is going to leave you scratching your head. A worthy but largely unsuccessful production. Two forced laughs out of five. (Town Hall til April 29)

David O’Doherty is my name. Yawn. Another bland international Irish comedian whose middle-of-the-road humour was lapped up by a sychophantic crowd. To be fair, the night I saw O’Doherty he was getting over the flu, so had little energy in his performance, but even then the majority of his material left me cold. When he sat down to sing his twisted little songs I started to enjoy myself, but these only punctuate his material sporadically, and his actual standup struck me as tedious, in all honesty. Two and a half occasional chuckles out of five. (HiFi Bar til April 29)

Thank god for someone like Sam Simmons in the Sex and Science of Boredom. In a sea of middle-of-the-road stand-up, his surreal, unpredictable humour had me in stitches. Exploring the versatility of bread, how to maintain your inflatable pool, and bringing new life to lint and slideshows, Simmons is definitely not everyone’s cup of lukewarm tea. Given that I hate tea of any sort, I adored this show, and definately recommend it to anyone seeking more challenging or creative comedy at the festival this year. Three and half howls of laughter out of five. (Bosco Theatre @ Federation Square til April 29)

Alan Brough in Top Town. A one-man show set in Helenville, a small town at risk of being downgraded to a village if anyone else moves away, in which Brough plays every character, from the lady Mayor to the most eccentric of townsfolk. The plot sees Brough roped into making a promotional film for Helenville (which welcomes visitors with a sign reading ‘If you don’t stop, no hard feelings.’), which he ends up releasing on YouTube.

While likeable, and scattered through with some moments of genuinely inventive comedy (such as Brough’s embodiment of the THX sound system movie ad, with which he opens the show), this show sadly didn’t work for me, mostly due to the fact that I never felt at any time that the characters Brough was playing were real. Too two-dimensional to be convincing – and without them and their internal lives, the drama fell flat and the laughs felt forced. Additional flaws, including laboured exposition and overly drawn-out script elements, also detracted.

There is a real poignancy to some of the show, which references Brough’s father’s death last year, but even these scenes, coupled with a (forced) moral about the compassionate nature of small towns, failed to save the production. “Was that supposed to be funny?” asks a Helenville resident after the premiere of Brough’s promotional short for the town, three-quarters of the way through the show; a question which I found myself asking as the house lights came up… Two and a half occasional giggles out of five. (Town Hall til April 29)

Russell Howard. This charismatic, quick-witted and queer-friendly young Englishman, who demonstrated an adaptive, positive and slightly goofy take on stand up during Thursday night’s performance, rattled through a show exploring threesomes, relationships and dreams, pretending to be a fish, fox-hunting and much more, and which provoked constant laughter. While his regionally-oriented jokes didn’t always translate for the Melbourne audience, his engaging personality and hyperactive energy more than made up for the occasional blunder. Managing to mock local accents and attitudes yet also appear awed and delighted by what we say and how we say it, Howard rapidly ingratiated himself with his audience, who responded with undiluted joy. Restlessly inventive, spontaneous and fucking funny. Four shrieks of mirth out of five. (Town Hall til Sunday 29)

Gerard McCulloch is Gerard McCulloch sees the affable Melbourne comedian dropping the characters and narrative structures that have informed previous shows such as Uncorked and Gerry of Arabia, returning to the roots of comedy to deliver an hour of somewhat basic stand-up. On Wednesday night, with only seven of us in the audience (not counting the two Auslan interpreters who left after about 15 minutes when it was clear their services weren’t required) the show ran short, and in truth limped across the finish line. Less people means less laughs, resulting in McCulloch having to hammer through his material rather than pause for a breather while the audience rocked in paroxysms of hilarity. There were certainly laughs generated; and McCulloch’s stories of playground accidents, explanations of why cabaret is shit, and the difficulties of writing for television were solid; but overall – even taking into account his struggle to work an almost-empty room – the show lacked magic. When you know that a comedian can do better, it’s dissapointing to see a show that feels so under-developed. Two and a half chuckles out of five. (Town Hall til April 29)

Michael Chamberlin – Buddha & Bluey and Me. Later that night, up the road, down a laneway and upstairs, Mike and I caught Michael Chamberlin’s latest show, a homage to Chamberlin’s lifelong friendships with two mates, Buddha and Bluey. With only about 20-25 people in a venue that could comfortably seat 100, Chamberlin might have struggled. Instead, he proved himself an adroit, engaging and charismatic performer who more than rose to the occasion. While this wasn’t an exceptionally brilliant night of comedy, Chamberlin’s stories of childhood misadventure in the Christmas pagent, inciting a schoolground rebellion over a confiscated football, and a ballet dancer’s testicles raised plenty of laughs. Three happy chortles out of five. (Alley Bar until April 29)

When last we met, dear reader (why am I channelling a Victorian novelist this morning?), it was Saturday night and I’d just walked out of the last five minutes of Anthony Morgan, as he ended his show by strapping on his guitar and inviting three other guitarists up on stage for a song. The first musical minute left me underwhelmed, so rather than lose the good humour he’d bestowed on me with his set, I strolled out onto the mezzenine of the Victoria Hotel for a quick bevy. Ten minutes later I was back in Vic’s Bar for my third show of the day…

Mickey D – Shame 101. This engagingly chaotic, barefoot comedian hails from Adelaide, and possesses a cheeky charm which he puts to good effect in this show, the focus of which is on banishing guilt and shame. To this end he talks about serial masturbation, colonic irrigation and other subjects frankly and cheerfully, in a manner that comes across as cheeky rather than crass or crude. On the night I saw him, Mickey D became so distracted by a couple of latecomers whose mobile phones went off that, after taking one of the phones in question and using it to call a mate in England, he briefly started the show again from the start. Later, clearly enjoying himself, he had Marcus, one of the front-of-house staff, buy a drink for the bloke whose phone he’d used, himself, and given that I was sitting in the second row, me (now that’s the way to win over a reviewer!). By no means a brilliant show, but the lack of focus and Mickey D’s infectious charm guaranteed an extremely enjoyable time. Three consistent chuckles out of five. (Victoria Hotel until April 29)

Josie Long – Kindness and Exuberance. One of the few international acts I’ve seen at the festival, and not one I did justice, I’m afraid. About 10 minutes into this gentle English comedian’s show, the fourth I’d seen that day, I hit a wall. My lack of sleep caught up with me, and meant that instead of being endearing, Josie’s gentle, observational humour, faux-nae’ve persona, and quirky, lo-fi presentational gimmicks rapidly started to give me the shits. Worst of all, I was stuck in the corner right at the front of the stage, so the only way out was to grit my teeth and suffer through it. Consequently I walked out hating every minute of her show. In retrospect, Kindness and Exuberance wasn’t that bad, but I suspect that even if I’d been wide awake and raring to go, it still wouldn’t have been my cup of tea. David Witteveen had a very different perspective of the show. Two gentle chuckles out of five. (Town Hall til April 29)

Which brings us to Sunday…

The Receipt. This superb show is one of my undoubted highlights of the festival so far, and I urge you, nay, implore you, to go and see it as soon as you can.

A dystopian comedy akin to Terry Gilliam’s Brazil, The Receipt is an superb exploration of urban alienation and the malaise of modern life, told from two perspectives: as an archeological examination of contemporary society presented by a dispassionate narrator; and as an unfolding drama concerning the rapidly unwravelling life of the show’s Everyman hero, Wiley, an office drone. Both roles are played by the Perrier Award-winning Will Adamsdale. To the side of the stage, and interacting with Adamsdale by interjecting, and generating sound effects and a live soundtrack, is the other half of the show, its co-creator Chris Branch. Through a simple but magnificent use of everyday objects – a filing cabinet, a chair, another filing cabinet – the pair not only invite you into their fictional world, but they create it on-stage before your very eyes, mapping out the streets and skyscrapers of a frighteningly familiar city.

The gently-paced story of Wiley’s retreat from bureaucratic hell into fantasy, sparked by his discovery of a crumpled receipt on the street which is his one tenuous link to another real person, may not provoke tears of mirth in its telling, but if it’s rich, subtle, thought-provoking comedic theatre that you’re after, then this gem of a show is definitely for you. Don’t just take my word for it, either; go here, here and here for further proof that The Receipt is one of the most inspired shows of the festival. Four jaws dropping in amazement out of five. (Malthouse Theatre til April 29)

The Pitch. More magnificent mirth and mayhem on stage at the Malthouse, but this time a play that both celebrates and satirises the mindless excess of the Hollywood movie. Written and performed by Green Room Award-winning virtuouso Peter Houghton, this 70 minute show concerns Walter, a scriptwriter still dealing with his girlfriend recently leaving him for another man, as he prepares to pitch his screenplay to three influential international producers. One hour before showtime, Walter is fine-tuning his pitch – and his screenplay – according to the Four Rules of Film-Making as laid down by the cigar-chewing American producer, Sid. The resulting hilarity entwines Walter’s personal life and his preperations for the meeting with the deranged plot of his increasingly ludicrous movie, which stars everyone from Sean Connery and Catherine Zeta-Jones to either Russell Crowe or Clint Eastwood in the lead role – and Houghton plays every bloody role impeccably. Although I would have liked to have seen this play cut back by about 5-10 minutes, it’s still bloody wonderful, piss-funny, and another must-see. Four hoots of mirth like a gibbon on heat out of five. (Malthouse Theatre til April 29)

My final show for the weekend was We Are Klang invite you to a Klangbang. Definitely a good show to see late at night when you’re half-pissed and already semi-hysterical, this outrageously crass, over the top show will appeal to anyone who was a fan of shows like The Young Ones in all its spotty student glory. Several people I know have hated it. Others have loved it. Certainly on Sunday I was a little distant and aloof in the early stages of the show, but over the course of the next madcap hour, after witnessing talking buttocks, the creative exchange of some wicked insults, a dancing horse, and hilarious things done with grapes, I was in fits of mirth. Wonderfully wrong fun. Three and a half shrieks of nauseated mirth out of five. (Victoria Hotel til April 29)

Amelia Jane Hunter is Keith Flipp (the Girl from Belkondowns Flat) is a darkly comic show bording on drama or Fringe theatre, and while containing elements of character-based stand-up, was clearly confrontational for some audience members the night I saw it, who didn’t quite seem to know how to handle either the show or Hunter’s larger than life character.

At first glance Keith Flipp is a drag queen, but we soon learn he’s not a man pretending to be a woman (or to be precise, a woman playing a man pretending to be a woman); he really is a man, trapped in a woman’s body – his sister’s body to be precise. Amelia was an 8 pound baby girl who grew into a 7yr old boy. In scientific terms, she’s a chimera – also known as vanishing twin syndrome – a person whose body contains two different sets of genetic material as a result of one fetus being absorbed into the other in utero. In this instance though, the two personalities have survived in the one body, with startling results.

Keith is only let out for one week every three months by his sister, during which time he takes drugs, fucks around, and moonlights as a drag queen in a grungy queer bar. What happens, though, when Keith decides he no longer wants to play by his conservative sister’s rules?

Hunter, a trained actor, brings real pathos and intensity to this Lynchian scenario, as well as confronting humour and some truly delightful and memorable scenes. Not a show for the easily offended, but defintely one to see if you’re at all interested in catching a remarkable performer in a complex and well-rounded production. Three and a half knowing laughs out of five. (Town Hall til April 29)

Next was Adam Rozenbachs in Wrong Way, Keeping Going, whose show is aptly named. While a charismatic performer with some genuininely funny material, this was Rozenbachs’ debut solo performance at the festival, and quite frankly, he doesn’t seem ready. His material was too patchy and sporadic, lacking a connecting narrative or means of smoothly seguing from topic to topic, and also was too blokey for my tastes, bordering on outrightly offensive in places (such as joking that Indosnesian customs officers must have been surprised to discover that Bali Nine member Renae Lawrence had a vagina when they strip-searched her; – congratulations, Adam, you managed to be crass, misogynistic, borderline homophobic and just plain wrong simultaneously). Given that I was sitting near the front, I get the feeling my body language conveyed my disapproval, because he pretty much stopped making eye contact with me from that point on. Two occasional chuckles out of five. (Portland Hotel until April 29)

I ended my weekend by catching up with Josh and heading off to see UK performer Daniel Kitson in It’s the Fireworks Talking at the Athenaeum Theatre. You won’t be surprised to know that this was a great show – by turns surreal, whimsical, delightful, hilarious and touching. In a rambling, wide-ranging show that embraced childhood memories, staying up all night, friendships, relationships with parents, nostalgia, death-bed memories and much more, Kitson kept the majority of the audience in the palm of his indeed. Not everyone though – when two people walked out having complained that they hadn’t laughed once, he seemed to thrive on the challenge, lifting the intensity of his performance up another notch despite his jetlag.

The show ran for two hours – half an hour over its alloted time – and save for the first 15-20 minutes when Kitson seemed to be underwhelmed by his own material, this show was an utter delight. Four wiping the tears from your eyes laughs out of five. (Athenaeum til April 29)

Then Monday I had to go to work ’cause I have a newspaper to put out. Bah humbug.

First off was Aaron Keeffe’s It’s Not You, It’s Me, upstairs at English theme pub the Elephant & Wheelbarrow. Not somewhere I’ve been often, not being a fan of English beer, although I did once have a lukewarm parma there once. Speaking of lukewarm, let’s talk about the comedy… or rather the lack thereof.

Keeffe’s poorly structured show was matched by a rushed, awkward delivery, a distinct lack of stage presence, and a virtual absence of jokes. The concept was what drew me in: the bloke set out to survey his ex-girlfriends to see why they’d broken up with him in the first place. Sadly only two of his 11 ex’s had actually responded. Equally sadly, the funniest line of the night was written by one of Keeffe’s ex-girlfriends about him, rather than by the comedian himself. One pained grimace out of five. (Elephant & Wheelbarrow until April 28)

After dinner and a restorative glass of wine, it was time to see Andrea Powell in How Do You Like Your Eggs? Perhaps best known for her monstrous harridan Ethel Chop, this simply staged show saw Powell ensconsed on a chair before an unfortunately small audience. Just as unfortunate was the fact that we decided to sit in the front row, resulting in Lisa and I being roped into the audience participation segments of the evening. If you’ve ever seen me trying to salsa, you’ll know I provided several moments of utter hilarity for those present…

Exploring the ins and outs of modern dating, including where to meet men, RSVP.com and speed dating, Powell’s barbed wit and measured, precise delivery were a delightful tonic after the previous show we’d suffered through. While I could have lived without the intrusive plug for Ethel Chop’s book, over all this was a strong, sharply observed and well-structured evening of stand-up, complete with restrained use of audio-visual (keep an eye out for Andrea’s pussy – it’s a hoot!) and a fewly deftly presented minor characters to keep the narrative moving.

While the show’s middle third needs some tightening, and saw the energy drop a little, and Powell’s humour occasionally borders on the almost too savage, overall I’d heartily recommend this production. Three braying laughs out of five. (Town Hall til April 29)

Last up for the evening was Sydney comic Daniel Townes. A charismatic, laid-back bogan (or Westie to be more apt, as he’s from Sydney’s Blacktown) Townes swears like a trooper, grins engagingly, and regularly tiptoed along the border between crude and offensive without ever crossing the line. I was enjoying his performance so much, despite the small, claustrophobic space he’s been programmed into, that I forgot to take notes, so I can’t really go into detail about his act save that part of it centers around his recent deportation from the USA, and he also talks about bedbugs. The rest you can find out for yourselves. Three stoned giggles out of five. (Portland Hotel until April 29)

Adam Richard X sees the gay Melbourne comic best known for regular appearances on FOX FM’s Matt and Jo Breakfast show celebrating his 10th year in stand-up with a brand new show. Not surprisingly, much of the material covers familiar ground – celebrity gossip, Kylie Minogue, Bindi Irwin and the delicious vapidity of pop culture – essentially the same topics that Adam addresses on radio, and also on his Channel 10 apearances. Rounding out the material is a hefty dose of queer culture, which for some audience members on Friday night didn’t seem to sit entirely comfortably, judging from the odd squirm and the nervous expression of the cute boofhead sitting in front of me.

Adam’s musing on beats, one night stands and Gaydar profiles was entertaining, but lacked a certain spice required to really give the material zest; although that could perhaps be explained by the fact that the show was still really finding its legs, and didn’t flow as smoothly as it no doubt will later in its season. Consequently it was billed as a preview, with ticket prices discounted accordingly. As Adam himself said, “You get what you pay for, people!”

On the plus side, there were some touching observations about death and funerals rounding out the material, in which the usually bitchy (in a good way) comedian showed a tender and vulnerable side; and some hilarious riffing on a reality TV show Adam appeared in (appeared being a more appropriate word than starred) called Celebrity Dog School – notable for its distinct lack of celebrities, and ex-footballer Robert ‘Dipper’ DiPierdomenico shouting “I’ve got a bloody Brownlow medal, I shouldn’t have to do this shit!”.

Adam’s schtick won’t satisfy everyone, and if you know his style, you basically know what you’re in for with this show: it’s entertaining without being innovative, and consists largely of a series of well-aimed barbs seasoned with buggery and leavened with a dash of mortality. Two and a half ‘I can’t believe he just said that’ giggles out of five. (Melbourne Town Hall til April 29)

Following a quick walk to meet up with Josh, next on the bill was Adam Hills Joymonger, in which the host of the popular ABC TV quiz show Spicks and Specks proved himself to be delightfully endearing,very funny, and really, rather sweet. From his engaging banter with latecomers that reveals a quick wit and genuine warmth; to more structured elements of the show that skim through a range of weighty topics (including racism, human nature and the perils of bureaucracy run amok) without seeming either didactic or facile, Hills is an absolute delight to watch in action.

I could criticise the infectiously optimistic and charming Hills for being so nice that he’s a little bland (he said ‘freaking’ instead of ‘fucking’ at one point for example, as if not wanting to offend some of the older audience members present) or for failing to address some of his material with the satirical bite it could have warranted, but really, to do so would not just be missing the point of Hills’ “lets make the world a nicer place” philosophy; it would also be rather churlish. Who needs anti-depressents when you have Adam Hills? Four delighted hoots out of five. (Forum Theatre til April 29)

Finally, after an invigorating champagne in the Peter Cook Bar with Mel Sherridan, my lovely editor at Beat magazine, it was off to see another local comedian, Charlie Pickering in Impractical Jokes. After the traditional start spent padding out the wait for latecomers with some easy laughs generated by jokes about lawyers, ninja and accidentally fighting for the Taliban, Pickering got stuck into the show proper, which celebrates his love for his father, and specifically, his father’s love of eleborate practical jokes.

Thence followed a long – overlong, judging by the anxious and slightly irritated expressions on the front-of-house staff’s faces at its conclusion – series of stories about practical jokes, counter jokes, and a state of virtual warfare between, ‘Two households, both alike in dignity… from ancient grudge break to new mutiny.’

Sadly, unlike the familiar story of Shakespeare’s Montagues and Capulets, there really wasn’t enough material to sustain Pickering’s admittedly well-timed retelling of what are essentially amusing family anecdotes for a full hour. While acknowledging that this was a preview show, and so of course Pickering will gain a stronger grasp of his material over time; and that it is well-constructed both thematically and in terms of its narrative, the show felt padded; perhaps more suited to telling over the dinner table or a few beers than on stage at the Comedy Festival. A lowpoint in which Pickering segued into an aimless, clearly improvised conversation between himself and a parking meter was a clear indication that charismatic as he is, the toussle-haired Pickering needs stronger material if he’s going to live up to his reputation. Two and a half wry smiles and an occasional chuckle out of five. (Town Hall til April 29)