Melbourne Comedy Festival
SWISS HOUSE, until April 24, 2011
Reviewer: Joe Calleri on April 1, 2011
Stars: **
Published in Herald Sun Online
Tasmanian-born, gay stand-up comic, Hannah Gadsby, warns us that adrenaline makes her sleepy, so, in her comedy, she never gives 100%, but rather, 60% to 90%.
That is precisely the problem with Gadsby’s show. It’s close, but no cigar. The routine is a rambling, time-shifting travelogue through Gadsby’s life in Tasmania and Canberra but it suffers from a serious lack of self-editing.
The show could be a successful 20 minutes , but Gadsby lacks the comedic fire-power to captivate us for 60.
The understated Gadsby studied at the Woody Allen school for self-effacing, self-deprecating, self-referential comedians.
Her show contains some genuinely funny moments. The bookish-looking Gadsby (think KD Lang with Harry Potter glasses) talks about three talents that got her out of trouble at high school: whistling her esses; speaking like Donald Duck, and throat farting. Charming!
Gadsby contemplates her deathbed words and settles for “Oh, no.” If only Gadsby had kept those words in mind while culling her routine.
- Ends -
But, it’s Ifft’s tediously persistent obsession with the most sordid aspects of sex – sex toys, multiple sex partners, threesomes, pornography, unusual sexual positions, and anal sex – that were genuinely unfunny and a big turn-off.
This show is not for those with delicate dispositions so, if it’s subtle, witty, and intelligent humour you seek, look elsewhere.
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