420 is made to be a guilty indulgence. It is relentlessly awful character improv, featuring off-the-wall bits like a gimp performing ventriloquism through their ball-gag, or a baby singing about toilet-training to the tune of “Bohemian Rhapsody”. It is terrible and it is hilarious.
I’ve seen Michael Bowley a few times over the years; he’s always been pretty excellent but his current show happily strays into outright uproariousness.
Ben Mellor crafts clever anatomical polemics which take inspiration from our insides.
Tales of the Sea is a genial memoir of life inside a nuclear-powered tin-can, at depths the state-secrets act prevents Eric from revealing.
Carla has a vibrant stage presence and a playful affinity for the risqué. She is honest enough to share in her ambitions and insecurities, and cheeky enough to drop a pianist joke.
The greatest trick Stuperstition pulls off is that it indulges your doubts as a rational person, with jokes about homeopathy and references to the scientific method, and then whacks you on the side of the head with confounding illusions.
This low-budget film is not the most thrilling political drama you’ll see, but thanks to believable performances and competent direction it makes for an accessible illustration of city-life in modern San Pablo.
All told, Foreign Objects is a decent round-up of three confident and talented (if not ground-breaking) comedians.
Occupy White People is an illuminating exploration of issues of race in Australia, told through a very funny and talented comedian.
Le Foulard plays the long joke, the humour cooking over in a slow boil that plays tension against relief as Lucy builds towards the laughs.
When I saw the description for this show as ‘physical theatre’, I immediately thought, ‘ooooh, circus!’.
Girl Who Won’t Grow Up is surprisingly quirky and refreshingly unique; a top-notch show from an emerging local talent.
Put on your robe and wizard hat, because the brothers from Shaolin Punk have come to the Fringe to weave some improvisational comedy magic.
You’d kinda hope that if you flew four comedians to Australia all the way from the Arctic, you’d give them a stage with some aircon so they don’t melt in the 40 degree heat.
