There is practically no turf the artist does not trod upon in his tongue-in-cheek delivery. Satire flows freely and the audience laps it up in loud guffaws. No one is spared: ‘museum’ bankers, mobile companies, neglectful parents, illogical traffic codes, even blokes with their ‘cash converted’ engagement rings and the ubiquitous ‘Australian’ barbecue.

However, there are a few crude spots that tend to be bawdy and some comments that border on the offensive. In this multi-hued comedy, some stabs are thought-provoking also.

The setting is drab with gloomy, black curtains as backdrop and dull lighting enhancing the effect. The artist does not lean on any props, relying solely on his comic stream to lighten the mood, and he is more than successful. The use of creative vocabulary is refreshing.

It is an interactive, intelligent, confident show that is seasoned with spicy jabs. If you like your laughs served sharp and unapologetic, this is the show for it.

The first part of my mission late on a Saturday night was to navigate into the bowels of Trades Hall and enter through the doors of The Police Box into a slightly-larger-than-a-broom-closet like room.

After an epic sci-fi type introduction, the title Wellington WHO started to make sense. Craig Wellington declared his geek past and an obsession with the BBC television series ‘Doctor Who’.

This Melbourne International Comedy Festival show is a comedy journey through Wellington’s life and his ‘Doctor Who’ nerd world. I’m not a ‘Doctor Who’ fan in the slightest, and a lot of the material went over my head.

Numerous times, I was that one person you find in every comedy audience who wasn’t laughing while everyone else was in hysterics. I just struggled a little bit because I really dislike ‘Doctor Who’.

What I did laugh at was the comedy skill with which Wellington jumped in and out of different nerd characters during his story.

This is an absolute must see for anyÔøΩÔøΩ ‘Doctor Who’ fan or sci-fi buff, and judging from everyone else’s laughs on the night, Wellington WHO was a winner.

Combining some great jokes from comedians like Duff, as well as some fun but shocking facts, it was a night of laughs. One of the great attractions of Triple Trouble was the Musical Odyssey’a musical journey of a theme chosen by the comedians and endorsed by the fans. An absolute delight.

The audience was presented with three themes for the Musical Odyssey, with the theme chosen according to how much applause was given. From pop artists taking over the world, to a boyfriend with an unfortunate fondness for his cacti collection, all the topics were great fun.

Triple Trouble is over 18′s only. If you’re in the mood for some laughs, and then some drinks, give it a go.

Starting off with a short film, McCarthy establishes his story and struggle. We meet his fellow 12 steppers and their over zealous facilitator, a man who McCarthy points out is overcoming his own addiction for facilitating groups.

McCarthy uses his caring, sharing, highly therapised tone of voice, which beautifully and quite naturally takes the piss. McCarthy also utilises the 12th step, called ‘sharing your story,’ as the show’s launching pad.ÔøΩÔøΩ He delivers his tales of his foibles with a sense of self-pitying pathos that you couldn’t help but laugh with, and at, which is the whole point.

Ending with a performance from a very lusty song and dance man (I’m not sure what the connection is between a self help seminar and a spot of cabaret.), he was outrageous and the audience loved it.

If there was a down side to this show, it was the laughing hyena at the back of the room. You know the type, the one with the really loud and annoying laugh.ÔøΩÔøΩ I just hope he wasn’t one of McCarthy’s friends. If that’s the case, Trent, you don’t need him.

Clacker is not the only c-word Tammy Anderson lets loose in this howlingly funny but often cringe-worthy tour of the body’s private places and less popular functions.

Yes, there are fart jokes. And ones about childbirth, sex, anal infections and incontinence.

Just for starters.

Anderson already has a great reputation for honest and confronting writing and performance, particularly through her solo show I Don’t Wanna Play House, which examined her Tasmanian, aboriginal and sexually-abused background.

It’s grand to see her now take the stage and have fun: as loud and as lewd as she wants.

Her Dallas-like detailing of the streets where she grew up in Launceston in all its incestuous and internecine inter-tangling is worth the visit to the show alone.

As Anderson says: It’s not just material’it’s ammunition.

But this is a comically crude outing in which Anderson is tougher on herself’and on her body’s inappropriate burps, blasts, farts, leaks and malfunctions’than she is on the wider world.

There are so many tales that relate to this girl’s ‘moom’ that you almost expect it to be a co-performer but thankfully it kept silent.

The rapturous crowd went wild over Anderson’s fart impressions’based on what you had for dinner the night before.

It’s a powerhouse production from Ilbijerri under Kylie Belling’s assured direction, and Tammy Anderson is a strong, brave, deadly performer.

Jon Williams is superb as the maniacal Brigadier General Ripper who torments Group Captain Mandrake, played by Kip Williams. Think comedic versions of Kurt and Marlow stuck in a small room with a six-barrelled machine gun. The things Ripper gets up to with that gun will have you in stiches.

Oliver Wakelin plays the amorous General Turgidson, whose passion for nuclear warfare is pitted against pacifist President Muffley, played by Toby Truslove. Like Ripper and Mandrake, this pair is also stuck in a room. Instead of a machine gun to play with, they have a sexy Russian ambassador, another trigger-happy general, and the Stephen-Hawking-cross-Jim-Carey figure of Dr Strangelove.

The ticket master warns that the unpaid actors might steal patrons’ alcohol ‘ well, all I can say is there was enough vodka onstage to supply the entire audience.

Stand-up comedy acts are a dime a dozen, but a full cast of talented actors in a really affordable stage production is a rarity. Strangelove the Musical is without doubt one of the better acts at this year’s festival. And you know a comedy show’s going to be a winner when it’s been given the thumbs-up from the cast of The Chaser.

Stephen K Amos has done some brilliant work’brilliant enough that I’ve got tapes of his routines from various comedy festivals, including his set for Melbourne International Comedy Festival’s Great Debate in 2005, which I also saw live. The topic was ‘Does God have a sense of humour?’

Unfortunately, this just means I have video proof that Amos’s routine this year was peppered with stale material. His latest set contains a good handful of religion-themed jokes lifted from the 2005 debate.

I know that all comedians recycle stuff’sometimes a joke is too good not to repeat’but this is two years after the fact. I expect a little more effort from an A-list comedian like Amos. He is, after all, a great talent.

Several jokes from this year’s set had me cackin’ me pants, as he wove tales of his childhood with observations about race and culture and ruminations on religion. And, like a true seasoned performer, Amos knows how to interact with an audience.

When he brought up football, a man in the audience shouted out, ‘Eagles!’

Quick as a flash, Amos said, ‘Penguins! What game are we playing?’

Now that’s skill.

I’m an Amos fan. I always have been. I think he’s a clever, snappy fellow. But he ought to avoid those live repeats.

Less shocking and humorous is how a group of middle-aged men wearing women’s clothes recreated The Sound of Music for stage. This drag show wasn’t unfunny, just more wacky funny than ha-ha funny.

I’ve seen The Sound of Music, and its awesomeness casts a shadow over my impressions of this production.

I don’t know much about drag. Before the show, I’d never seen a man mime singing, or mime gouging another man’s butt-hole.

I found the performers playing up their gender-confused appearance made the energy and momentum ‘drag’. I’m not sure if this gender bending is meant to challenge, but it bores.

When the performers forgot about the pink elephant between their legs, so did the audience, and the show became something special.

Miss Jessica James’s subtle portrayal ofÔøΩÔøΩMaria made this musical more than a freak show. She’s the only character who’s recognisably human, alienated from a crowd of deformed and menacing creatures.

At the nunnery where she starts out, MariaÔøΩÔøΩis scolded by heartless nuns who look something like the Gatekeeper from the video game Nightmare. As she tries to fit into the von Trapp family, Maria is sexually molested by the children and farted at by the Captain.

It’s a definite spectacle. I can’t say I understood it. I liked the shiny costumes and the dance routines. They were pretty.

But Sean Hughes has a very important message: don’t go drunk to a charity auction.

His main prop, seated on the chair at stage right, is sober testimony to his latest life lesson.

The London-born Irish comic has been missing from the stage for some years, gleaning laughs through TV, film and novel-writing.

So it was a decidedly well-fed Hughes who declared it was ‘great to be back in Melbourne’ and riffed on eejit things in print, relationships and himself.

The ‘adult’ Hughes, at 41, still has all the zest and cheek that won him the prestigious Perrier comedy award at 24′the youngest ever recipient’but the tone is darker and probably funnier.

‘I thought I’d be married with kids by now,’ he says. ‘Or at least be divorced with weekend access.’

Much of the material is about being older, no wiser, watching your parents shrink and dating 25-year-olds.

Being a pet-owning singleton is not all joy: ‘I got so pissed off with myself last night, I slept in the spare room.’

He paces the stage, sips from a wine glass and shuffles through his print props. It’s good to have him back and enjoying himself in a smart and amusingly rambling encounter.

Oh yeah. And there was one other message: don’t take ecstasy before a visit to the Holocaust Museum.

Sitting in a room jammed with people, where the person beside you is as a consequence now your new best friend, a lab coat clad Ben McKenzie immediately captures your attention with his surprising use of a matchstick, glass beaker, pinch of salt and an egg.

From there, he launches into a tirade about the conspiracies surrounding TV commercials for meat starring Sam Neil, debunks the forensic methods used in CSI and enlightens his audience to the science babble used in ‘Star Trek’.

Although the hard science Ben uses to set up the punchlines is both informative and intriguing, it can at times become tedious, causing the routine to fall into a lull until the next punchline kicks in.

However, Ben’s satire of science is subtle, intelligent and delightfully unpredictable; his use of PowerPoint is simple and originally funny. To top it off, he has an impeccable sense of timing, a witty self-effacing humor and a presence on stage that commands your attention.

You don’t have to be a science buff to enjoy this show but if you are, you’ll enjoy it a whole lot more, possibly to the point where you’ll cackle like a kookaburra throughout most of the show as one lady did!

The genius of this show lies in its ability to present the banal in weird terms, like a pool maintenance video that is feeling under valued, or ‘Family Feud’ and its (in)ability to function as a point of connection between a man and a woman. It is a trip inside the head of a bald guy who is looking for love in strange ways while receiving in depth psychoanalysis from his sofa. Add to this a few moments of Pavarotti-style opera, and the result is an experiment in pushing the boundaries of the absurdist tradition, with unbounded energy and confidence. Favourite moments for me were the split seconds after a weird joke when he cringed as if to say, ‘What the hell am I on about?’

It is a wild ride’ but if you are looking for something different, look no further!

Despite being a rambling drunk, after ten awkward opening minutes, Morgan soon warmed up and proved himself a hilarious comic, fond of tangents and humour so biting he’d take your nipple off if he were licking your breast instead of asking the audience to remind him what point he’d just been making.

From satirising the US invasion of Iraq by suggesting we abandon the Arabic numerals we use everyday (A joke I think went over the heads of at least half the audience, for whose edification I present the following: these’1,2,3,4,5 etc’are Arabic numerals, these’I,II,IV, XIX’are Latin numerals, and this is binary’011010′which equals 26.), discussing the provenance of the phrase ‘innocent unless proven guilty’ versus ‘innocent until proven guilty,’ to talking about his haircut, Morgan rambled, regaled and seemingly delighted the majority of his audience.

For the first minutes of his show, I was singularly unimpressed. Once he’d warmed up, there was not a doubt that Anthony Morgan still had that old magic. It was just a little diluted by the amount of alcohol in his veins.

Although the portrayal of other cultures, including German, Scandinavian, Japanese and Moroccan, was fairly stereotypical, the audience welcomed such comparisons. Mark Wellington’s portrayal of each character, as described by Kristilee Ransley through song and sketch, was convincing. Ransley showed off her tremendous singing skills.

The performance seemed over-rehearsed and tense at times. There were a few forgotten lines, but they were covered well with cleverly improvised humour.

Wellington’s piss-take of a bad British comedian performing in an Aussie-themed bar in Dresden was brilliant, and the portrayal of a Scandinavian ‘air bass’ player was also very impressive, both in the retelling and the performance.

There were a few too many cheesy one-liners during a Casablanca sketch, such as an American tourist saying exactly what you’d expect, ‘Play it again…’ And the rendition of the Titanic theme during the Scandinavian cruise scene was a little unpalatable.

Saying that, I think anyone who enjoys hearing travel anecdotes will be amused by Ramblings: Second Movement. Think of this show as a way to experience the world through the eyes of a piano playing singer without leaving the familiar confines of Trade Hall.

The ingenious puppeteers show off their remarkable talent for not only performing, but also keeping a straight face when they’re trying to understand the audience suggestions or when everything goes completely pear-shaped.

Watching skits of two girls looking for sausages in a gay bar in Kazakhstan, three evil optometrist rabbits giving laser eye surgery to an unsuspecting patient, and scenes from the latest Hollywood action movie Stuff Blows Up, the audience never knew what was going to happen next. At some points, I’m not sure the cast did either, which only made the performances even more hilarious.

Undoubtedly, the evening’s highlight was MC Possum and his cautionary rap fairytale ‘The Princess and the Hedonist’ÔøΩÔøΩcomplete with backup cavemen. Worthy of an encore and thoroughly deserving of the raucous cheers from the audience, MC Possum was responsible for the biggest laughs I’ve had this festival.

The Jim Henson Company delivers a slick show of inspired performances and unexpected outcomes. Taking improv comedy to a new level, Puppet Up! is comedy gold. Here’s hoping they’re back next year.

For those who want to know a touch more, Ross’s performance is precisely what it says it is. Aside from a superb contribution by those responsible for the lighting, Ross presents Star Wars (A New Hope), The Empire Strikes Back and Return of the Jedi entirely by himself, without costume changes, props or intermission. Indeed, perhaps the most impressive element of the show’more impressive even than the exceptional timing, hilarious attention to detail and willingness to gently make fun of the film’s idiosyncrasies’is the sheer energy with which Ross performs. You’ll leave not only marvelling at his wit and talent, but at his physical endurance’he stops only between episodes for a quick sip of water before beginning again with his super-charged, super-funny rendition.

Free from crudity and absolutely ideal for audiences of all ages, whether they’re hard-core fans of the films or have only a vague familiarity with them, this is the sort of show that makes the comedy festival a pleasure to attend.

If you have a choice between eating and seeing Charles Ross, see Charles Ross.

Butler uses the audience in an entertaining way, choosing 15 participants to figure out what the 15 most offensive words are.ÔøΩÔøΩ Using rhyming cockney slang, stories from his life, history lessons and general observations, Butler gives us some very funny and not so subtle but clever clues as to what these words are, how they evolved, and why Aussies are so good at swearing. Being English, Butler applauds the antipodean way we bastardise profanity and language in general.

It is always interesting to find out the historical context of our favourite swear words, especially the most offensive of them all’three guesses as to what that is, people.ÔøΩÔøΩ This word, according to Butler, was once used as a name of a street where prostitutes hung out. I thought Butler was taking the piss until I did some research and found out that it’s actually true. Kudos to Mark Butler for an educational and entertaining look at the four letter word.

A warning: people who are really offended by the most offensive word in the world, brace yourself. He makes the audience sing it out loud!

Von Ringstuffen, in hideous wig and floral ensemble, is not only a cross-dresser but also an eerie cross between Borat and Austin Powers. First asking whether his ‘cock looked big in this’, he paraded around cracking ‘tits and ass’ jokes, which encouraged either laughter or deafening silence depending on who you observed, the laughter more often coming from the gents.

A parody of Peter Allen’s ‘I still call Australia home’, transformed into the witty ‘My right hand still makes me moan’, elicited laughs and was one of the only stand-up elements of the routine.

The majority of the show involved select audience members answering quiz questions about sex. (I breathed a sigh of relief upon arrival when made aware the questionnaires were voluntary and audience participation was not mandatory.) The quiz unfortunately lost the audience’s attention mid-way, but they soon pepped up with the help of leggy burlesque dancers and a routine involving milk, which should not be repeated away from cereal or coffee.

Patrons interested in Carnal Knowledge should bring thinking caps, wry humour and a glass. Why should all that milk go to waste?

He instills everything one wants from a creative exercise: a constant narrative, intelligent observations and a lot of himself. In fact, it is this personal element that lifts this above the usual comedy fest fare.

Leung’s humour is generally nostalgic and tends towards the personal, emphasising stories of his childhood, girls he had crushes on and his jealousy of his brother Dennis’s coolness. He pushes this with the use of multimedia, including two video segments that, although a little reminiscence of other stunt comedy, add to the overall ideas he wanted to get across in a most entertaining manner.

More than anything else, this show illustrates that the best comedy acts tend to have a consistent narrative, no matter how thin that might be. Breakdance builds on Leung’s personal quest to find the essence of cool to a stunningly humorous finale, which is even tinged with a little emotional kick.

It is quite a brave show, so reliant on the audience actually liking Leung; but that isn’t very hard. He is so personal in style, so enthusiastic, so prepared to give a little of himself, that you can’t help but feel privileged to be there.

Well, the guys and girls from Late Night Impro thought it was a good idea and produced a show that has become a comedy festival favourite over the past eleven years.

The show starts with an idea shouted from the audience, and then we are treated to an evening of quick-witted and, at times, hilarious improvisation.

The cast use a number of dramatic games to help shape the evening and keep a consistent flow of new ideas and even crazier situations. Scenes are frozen and actors moved around and given a new theme. The language is changed in the middle of sentences. Spontaneous songs are performed and character roles are swapped between actors at random points.

There are moments when the action lulls, but the beauty of this show is that the audience feels part of the creation process. You can forgive moments of indecisiveness when performers have to change to Finnish speaking bomb experts in the middle of a song about siamese twins for instance. Quite often, these moments are amusing in themselves.

The vulnerability of the performers and vigour with which they approach this night make it obvious why this show has become a comedy festival staple.

Kicking off with an ode to our man Eddie, Butler smoothly weaves his way through tales of Collingwood’s lost finals campaigns, 1990, marriage breakdown and how his paternal teachings lead his daughter to switch teams, twice.

The last ode of the evening was a brilliant song about Pies players who’ve defected’namely Chris Tarrant. Clever set ups made during the initial stages paid off throughout, a mark of a good storyteller.

Based in the heart of Collingwood territory, Kieran Butler claims Collingwood ruined his life, again! is staged in the intimate back room of the Carringbush Hotel, the Pies spiritual home. With many moments of great humour, Butler performed to a packed, albeit very small, house. Although the audience was comprised of more Woodsmen and women, fans from other clubs appreciated the raconteur’s observations.

Not only should all Pies fans support Kieran Butler, but all football fans should pay at least one visit. And to those snoots who jump on the bandwagon at Grand Final time or turn their nose up at it throughout the season: see this show. You just might learn to appreciate what football is, does and means to a fan.

Kent is as amiable as Adam Hills, as raw and energetic as Wil Anderson, and as dorky as a young Rove McManus before his move to Channel 10. But he’s not them’he’s him.

Valentine has based his show around the guiding premise: what would Jesus do? However, being that Jesus had several water-related superpowers, Valentine decides that Jesus mightn’t be the best example for an ordinary guy to follow. Instead, Valentine consults Batman, a self-made mortal god with ‘really great branding’. From this, Valentine builds comic stories about his everyday life with the voice of Batman providing commentary and advice.

What emerges is a series of dialogues between Valentine, the characters in his stories, and the husky voice of Batman. Because he’s a whiz with accents, his lightning-fast switches from character to character are absolutely cack worthy.

Valentine still hasn’t shaken his penchant for pointing out his mistakes, an unfortunate sideeffect of having his act so thoroughly rehearsed. But all is forgiven because the stuff that does work is so damned good. I saw Kent last year. I saw him this year. And I’ll definitely see him next year.

Keating! is a musical celebration of the all-too-brief era when Paul Keating was Australia’s prime minister, when vision, not short-sightedness, was the political agenda of the day. Having won every award under the sun during its season at comedy festival two years ago, this marvellous show has since been redeveloped for Sydney’s Belvoir Street Theatre by director Neil Armfield, and triumphantly returns to Melbourne.

Although I didn’t see the original production (There goes my street cred!), I was lucky enough to see the dynamic, bare bones show on the opening night of last year’s Fringe, and fuck it was good. I occasionally struggled to juxtapose that version with the slicker, razzle-dazzle version I saw on Saturday.

I walked out after the show thinking the original version was better. I’ve since refined that perspective: not better, just different. It’s like comparing a film to the novel it’s based on. They’re different beasts.

From reggae to power ballads, this show has something for everyone’unless you happen to think John Howard is a morally upright leader with a well-developed social conscience, instead of a manipulative, socially divisive cunt who’s happy to exploit national archetypes and myths for his own political agenda.