My Year Without Sex

MELBOURNE INTERNATIONAL COMEDY FESTIVAL 2008

My Year Without Sex

2 April 2008

Northcote Town Hall 

There is a lot to admire about My Year Without Sex. There’s a lot to enjoy as well, but it doesn’t come together as an engaging story.

Any show with a giant pink suitcase design has to be worth a look. And who knew a giant prop could hold so many gingham and faux antique secrets! The simple and very clever set and costume design brings a whimsical and intriguing mood to the work.

Jessica Gerger’s top notch performance is what holds this show together. She plays all the characters – even when they’re interacting with each other. Keep an eye out for this woman. She is a relaxed and able clown who lovingly creates the oddest of folk and let’s the audience see the best of them. Gerger knows her craft and it’s a joy to watch her perform.

The script was developed from characters and scenarios developed by Gerger and director Beverly Blankenship (who is also her mum). The unfortunately sexless Mrs Tickletext is based on a 17th century fictional Mr Tickletext. Granger and Blankenship gave nine other writers (including Aphra Behn) free licence to write any scene they wished in any style. The results were arranged, manipulated and sorted into the final script.

The multiple voices and concepts are very clear. Perhaps too clear. The piece is more a series of strangely connected sketches, rather than Mrs T’s journey. This makes the character and her holiday very confusing. There are some great moments and terrific jokes. I loved the Jewish Museum and the purple gingham and floral stuffed crucifix, but these gems don’t present a consistent character. From the beginning I couldn’t figure out why this out-of-her-time woman was on a tour in the first place, let alone why she left it and what made her keep going rather than just return home to Pemberton? She is horrified by meeting prostitutes in one scene, but grabs a joint in the next. She can’t believe that her companion doesn’t wear a brassiere, has no understanding of a g-string is, but was happily playing in a gay German sex club and (for reasons totally unknown) had a collection of drugs in her bum.

And then there’s the title. There’s one early scene that has her having sex with her, now passed, husband. This was well written, perfectly performed and showed us so much character - but that’s about it for relevant sex. There’s a beautiful reveal near the end, but why this women is obsessed with sex (or her lack of it) isn’t clear and her behaviour and choices don’t seem to relate back to it either.

This is a work where the process is outshining the product. The character is original and fabulous (I want to see more of her), Granger’s performance is a winner, but the final product is confusing to the point of frustrating.

This review appeared onAussieThearte.com

What is it Maria you cunt face?

I’ve had a profound moment of self-realisation: It all comes down to cunt.

No, I haven’t metamorphosed into a teenage boy (or a 20-, 30-, 40-, 50-, 60-, 70-, 80- or 90- something straight bloke), or made any definitive jump over the sexual preference fence.

I have comedians to thank. Melbourne is full of comedians this month. Securing a spot in the Melbourne International Comedy Festival is quite simple. You register, pay your fee, book your venue, write your show, get people to come along and make sure you comply with the registration clause that insists you use the word 'cunt' at least once in your act.

There’s a disproportional amount of power in that short word. Having seen some successful  and some utters in the last week, I now know how I really judge people.

It’s quite simple really. No longer do I have to analyse their political opinions, assess their film knowledge, ascertain their favourite Buffy character or test their ability to tell a Barossa semillon from a McLaren Vale wooded chardonnay.

If someone can and does use the word well – I like them. If they use the word offensively, ignorantly or unwisely – I don’t want to share an oakey white with them as we watch progressive teen dramas (or Deadwood).

Reclaiming
In my formative years, I never used "the c word", despite my propensity to embrace expressive language. (Family legend tells that I told my aunt to fuck off when I was two.) However, I disliked anyone who said "that word" or even thought it. That word was as offensive and as poof, fag, dyke or nigger.

In a very few years we have seen words move from heinous to powerful statements to descriptive. You can’t demean someone by calling them the name they call themselves. (I’ve even come around to calling myself a chick.) Certainly, some people still use these words to offend – but I don’t like them.

Insult
Does this reclaiming of cunt mean I’m happy with hearing a man refer to his female companion as, “that bloody cunt”? Of course not.

Calling someone a cunt is still regularly viewed as the most disgusting, vile, horrendous, offensive thing you can name. I don’t think cunts (or cocks) are intrinsically offensive. Calling someone a cock can be friendly ribbing. It’s a bit naughty, but you can always tone it down to dick, knob, prick or, as Hugh Grant so eloquently said in Four Weddings and a Funeral, a total penis.

Some use cunt because of its taboo nature (it is the naughtiest of the naughty words). There are people who call men cunts to ensure they know they are so much worse than mere pricks and call women cunts to remind them how worthless we are.

Others use cunt superbly. They understand that the word can be laced with irony or power and it’s clear that they do indeed admire, respect and love cunts.

I try to be gender specific in my genital based insults. Women are cunts; men are cocks, pricks, dicks, knobs or total penises. Although, now that I think about it, I can’t remember actually calling a woman a cunt. I may have reclaimed it, but it can still cause undue offence. I tend to stick to gender-neutral insults. Poo brain covers most situations and everyone has an arsehole.


Cunts and sex
(If you found this page googling – you’re probably disappointed. You can stop looking for the link to the page with pictures.)

I don’t have a pussy, a fanny, a love mound, a honey pot or sex bits (an ex of mine used that one - at least it was gender neutral). Depending on the context, I have a vagina, a clitoris, a labia (majora and minora) – or a cunt.

“My meerkat would really like to play with your pussy.” There is no male equivalent of pussy. If men talked about their cute little hamster or wanted us to stroke their guinea pig, I’d probably think differently.

There is something about cock and pussy that doesn’t work. One implies power, the other passivity. (And why don’t we have hens or chooks?) Cock and cunt are strong, active (and interactive) words.

I’m not saying we should all be screaming “cunt” in our intimate moments. There isn’t always the need to be that verbally specific. I use it because I don’t like the alternatives (any suggestions are welcome). If you refer to my pussy – I assume that the cat is on the bed. And what type of sicko wants to eat a cat?

I don’t go round throwing “cunt” into conversations willy-nilly, but when the time is right – I no longer blush and say it with pride. If I hear you saying it to cause offence or to degrade - I think you’re a poo brain.

Reuben Krum’s Naughty Show

2008 MELBOURNE INTERNATIONAL COMEDY FESTIVAL
Reuben Krum’s Naughty Show
29 March 2008
Northcote Town Hall

I like my singers vocally strong, my boys pretty, my humour black, my content complex and my cabaret obscene. Reuben Krum’s Naughty Show ticked my boxes – and made me laugh ‘til it hurt.

Racism, paedophilia, Nazism, dead puppies, the cultural significance of coming in a girl’s mouth and homespun Aussie musicals are not the safest of material to play with. Humour is a powerful force to expose the real absurdities and obscenities in our lives. But you really have to do it well – otherwise it just reinforces the ridiculous opinions you are trying to satirise.

There are many comedians in this laugh fest presenting naughty material and controversial content. Their jokes are good, but audiences stare blankly back. I’ve heard more than one complaint that the people-choosing-to-spend-their-hard-earned-money-to-see-shows are stupid, conservative and don’t have a sense of humour. Perhaps it’s because the jokes don’t work? Many fail to work though their own implications and the writers haven’t thoroughly researched the topic.

The content in Reuben Krum’s Naughty Show is as fearlessly naughty as it comes. What makes it stand out is the detail, the intelligence and the knowledge behind every joke. His Jew jokes are as complex as his Nazi jokes. (I’m alternately humming “I Think You’re a Nazi, Baby” and “What I Like about Jews”.) He may the first person who make me laugh hysterically at an Azaria Chamberlain joke (and when I say joke – I mean a complete musical), instead of wanting to gaff their mouth shut.

Who would have thought that a young, gay Jewish cabaret performer would exemplify my opinion about “cunt” (if you missed my Make Deadshits History review,  I wasn’t fond of the language used in the show). Krum opens with a cunt joke and proceeds to break down the taboos surrounding “obscene” language. He uses the irony-laced cunt, the reclaiming cunt, and the divinely non-misogynistic cunt and throws in vagina, labia and clitoris. Not only does he understand the complexity of the word – he knows more about the complexity of a physical cunt than many a lad.

It’s not our language that’s obscene – it’s the racism, the hate crimes, the ignorance, the bigotry, the violence (and some of those homespun Aussie musicals).

And he sings and prances about it. This is a singing, dancing, gold-brocade cabaret show. Krum rises above the pack in all respects. His likable persona engages even the most cynical; he uses minimal theatrics to maximum effect and is accompanied perfectly by pianist Ben Kiley.

Reuben Krum’s Naughty Show is obscenely intelligent, beautifully filthy, and rib-cracking funny. See it.

This review originally appeared on AussieTheatre.com

Laughapoolooza

MELBOURNE INTERNATIONAL COMEDY FESTIVAL 2008

Laughapoolooza

Umbrella Revolution, Federation Square 

22 March 2008

Laughapoolooza is a showcase of musical comedians (or comical musicians) appearing at the Melbourne International Comedy Festival. In its fourth year, the likes of the wonderful Tim Minchin, Tripod and Sista She have appeared. This year’s “best of” aren’t quite of that standard, but still worthy of a chuckle or two.

These “best of” gigs can be quite difficult for audience and performers. With very limited stage time, it’s vital to have sharp and strong material that is going to grab your audience immediately (and try to convince them to come to your show). The whole night hangs off the likeability and skill of the host. This person warms the audience up and gets them ready to love everyone on that stage. The Bedroom Philosopher got the gig this week.

I last saw the Philosopher in 2006 and was looking forward to seeing how his act had matured and changed. It hasn’t. The character continues to be unclear, inconsistent and confusing. There seems to be continual conflict between the character and the performer. The result is frustrating and at times boring. What is even more frustrating is that there is some terrific, funny, witty, original writing in the Philosopher’s material, but the good stuff is lost in the character confusion. There is also the issue of blaming the audience if they don’t laugh. These people have paid to see you – they want to cack themselves laughing. They don’t have to patronise you with polite fake laughs if they’re not amused. I felt that there was little preparation done for this particular gig. When you have admitted that the material in one song was so old that it failed, it might be a lesson in abandoning the stale and creating something new. There are too many great comedians (and hosts) in town right now to accept someone who hasn’t prepared. I began to wonder if he enjoys being on the stage? Because it came across like he was doing the show just so he could go out drinking afterwards.  

Sammy J works with a keyboard and has a juice box prop (juice boxes are always funny). Sammy is appealing and with some more experience and a tightening up of his work, I’m sure we’ll be seeing more of him. In his song, Britney Spears turns up at his door in answer to the letter he sent her in 1999 as a horny 16 year old.  Great concept, super start – then along came Germaine Greer. The Germaine material was based on a limited and, frankly, ridiculous stereotype of an angry feminist. We have begun to accept the concept that men and women are equal, so if you’re going to do angry feminist material, you really, really, really have to understand what you are talking about. The line between satire and offence (or ignorance) is slim. (Check out the incredible Daniel Kitson to see this line balanced brilliantly.) Sammy’s joke would have worked if it ended when Germaine grabbed his dick. Leaving a conclusion up to the audience's imaginations can make it much funnier.

Smart Casual are a duo from NSW. I’d really like to see their show after their short set. They understood character, were well rehearsed, worked with the audience and know the genres they are satirising. Their ditty about not leaving your kids with Britney Spears was very cute and the Eric Clapton verse may be my favourite joke of the festival (even if big chunks of the audience didn’t get it). Perhaps a couple of chords from the very famous song would jog memories.

The Axis of Awesome are a trio of rock geeks on the road to somewhere good. Birdplane may not be the greatest comedy rock anthem ever, but it wasn’t half-bad. Their medley of every great pop song that only uses four chords was wonderful and any Ah Ha reference is worth some brownie points.

Pappy’s Fun Club are a foursome from the UK. These likeable lads clearly had a lot of fun on the stage. There was obvious intelligence behind their jokes, but they need to work on getting in late and leaving early. Don’t turn good jokes into extended sketches.

Geraldine Quinn is consistently damn fine and proves how experience does improve performances. She only did one song though – which affirmed her message, “the world’s fucked, they’re all cunts and no one cares.”

Tom Basden recently won Best Newcomer Award Winner at Edinburgh Fringe. The short sketch version didn’t show us why and I suspect his full show is much better. With rhymes like Budda is gooda than you, there’s surely some fine material to discover.

The next Laughapoolooza is on Friday April 4. It’s a different line up. If you fancy a late night musical laugh-a-thon, it could be a great choice.

This review appeared on AussieTheatre.com