Ari on the web

Some characters can be great fun to play, and others can be long, hard comic slogs which require plenty of effort but deliver few genuine (rather than forced) comic moments. Mitzi and Hammond Werlitzer fall into the second category. Mitzi and Hammond are the end-of-their-long-innings vaudeville celebrities trying to squeeze every last moment out of their fifteen minutes of fame. The Wurlitzers are the creations of capable local actor/comedians Scott Brennan and Cal Wilson, and the two performers have an obvious love for the characters they’ve played. The two work fabulously well with each other, feeding off the energy of one another, which was necessary given the lukewarm response of the smallish-but-curious audience. The characters exist in their own showbizzy, parallel universe of dead lovers and stuffed cats, which only occasionally intersects with the real world. At the start, the premise has some promise, but it’s impossible to sustain for the full hour. Soon, the catchphr...

In his earlier visits to Melbourne, Rich Hall was an angry, middle aged man, ranting and raving as he treaded the boards, spraying the audience with his fiery (and hilarious) anger as he dwelled on all the things that were wrong with the world. This year, though, Hall appears to have mellowed. Rather than genuine anger at the state of the planet, Hall is in a playful mood, happily riffing with the audience and even showing rare signs of charm, a trait usually completely devoid in the Hall persona. True, his past couple of shows in Melbourne have featured Hall’s alter-ego, Otis Lee Crenshaw, a character far more criminal than charming, but this year Crenshaw has been rested and Hall is back as himself. Hall has a largely structure-less show, happily meadering back and forth between the keyboard and the open mic, telling stories that may or may not ever reach a conclusion. There are a couple of moments at Hall at his razor-sharp best, when he transcends his own lethargy, such as a h...

Successful parody relies on the object that is being parodied being well-known. In other words, you need to understand what the ‘straight’ is before you can recognise (and laugh at it) being ‘twisted’. That’s where the fundamental flaw in Freedumb lies. Freedumb is a parody of a peace-loving activist DIY TV show. Got that? Nope, neither has anyone else. So with that as the starting point, the two performers delve into loosely-linked sketches gently mocking the activist mentality. Whilst there are still laughs to be had, it’s hard to fully engage with it. The cast of two, Phil Nichol and Janice Phayre, are clearly talented performers who sing, dance, act and puppeteer their way through the material. Nichol is particular is not new to Melbourne audiences, who might remember him as a member of Canadian musical trio Corky and the Juicepigs. Nichol is a natural improviser, and seems constrained by the need for a script. On several occasions, he breaks out of character, and despi...

Several years ago US comic Rich Hall created a character that would soon become more recognised than Hall himself - the vitriolic, prison-residing, artlessly-dressed Otis Lee Crenshaw, a product of the bible belt of America's deep south. From the same part of the physical and mental landscape comes Wilson Dixon . Dixon is a country musician from Cripple Creek, a simple man who doesn't have pretentions of high intellect and who struggles to comprehend why he hasn't shot to the same stardom as his old foe Billy Ray despite penning the equally noxious "Don't break my lungs". In true country-muso style, Dixon sits upon a stool on stage, strumming away at his guitar, bantering to himself about his life and loves, and occassionally reaching for his harmonica, for the sake of variety. The songs are sharp and clever, capturing the musical style of folksy country music whilst acidly lampooning the hillybilly perspective on the world. The 4 Noels have been a fixture...

There is something infectious (in a good way) about watching a comic who is enjoying themself. You can't help but be caught up in their world, see things through their eyes and understand not just their humour, but their philosophy. Tim Minchin is one of those comics. From the moment he entered the stage of the Kaleide Theatre, he was in complete control and seemed to love every moment of it. Minchin is a skilled communicator, demonstrating sophisticated, dextrous use of language in a way that would intimidate many a fine comic. He is a poet at heart, and expresses himself through poetry, song and spoken word, constantly finding the cleverest way to say what needs to be said. He is also a talented musician, hammering away at the grand piano in the centre of the stage like the keys were an extention of his agile fingers. Ever the allround entertainer, Minchin is as comfortable when things go to plan as he is improvising when things go slightly astray. Minchin has a mature ta...

With a gravity-defying mohawk, an ill-fitting suit and a nervy swagger, Birdman hits the stage to a bewildered audience. It takes a while to warm to Birdman, since the show defies easy categorisation and the audience is generally pretty clueless as to what to expect. One he settles into a rythym, the laughs slowly grow as the slightly silly grows into the rather absurd which soon evolves into the clinically insane. Late Night Birdman is one part monologue, one part social commentry, one part circus freak show, one part musical comedy, one part origami. Most probably, it is the only show at the festival that combines these five ingredients, plus an olive in the glass as per house rules at the ultra-chic Kitten Club. The act is fun rather than funny, with Birdman showing off his oddball selection of tricks (pouring tea through his nose, gargling the national anthem) whilst nervously uttering a lame pun here and there. To reach the stage of actually being amusing rather than just f...

As we entered the bowels of the Victoria Hotel to see Jason Byrne , my companion and I debated the merits of a front row seat versus a spot way up the back, a decision forced upon us by our pre-show tardiness. In haste, we opted for a spot right up the front... and it was one of the better decisions we made for the evening. Byrne IS an audience participation comic. Most of his act is spent in a dizzying banter with the front three rows, which usually evolves into a rapid-fire monologue on Byrne's part in response to each utterance from his soon-adoring audience. The structure of Byrne's comedy is not at all complex - it lies in the silliness of ordinary people and ordinary communications, with a desperate Freudian yearning to relive his childhood thrown in. There are a few set pieces that Byrne embarks on, although it seems to be reluctantly on his part. If it were at all possible, you'd imagine that Byrne would love to spend his entire hour bouncing off the audience ...