Keating! & Anthony Morgan

For what I'm not sure, but at the rate I'm going, laughter might just kill me. I've set myself the goal of seeing 12-15 shows a week in this year's Comedy Festival, and by the end of it I swear - anyone who tries telling me a joke beter watch out; I might punch them.

Why am I seeing so many shows? Good question*. In the past I've probably seen no more than 5-6 shows in any given ComFest, so this year I'm going hard. At the time of writing it's the second Sunday night of the festival, and according to my trusty notebook I've now seen 22 shows. It should be at least 24, dammit - I'm behind schedule!

Such stresses aside, let us turn our eye to Saturday, dear reader, and the treats that were in store for your unsuspecting correspondent as he ventured once more out the front door of his bohemian** inner city domicile...

Keating! God bless you, Casey Bennetto - not only for setting me up with a couple of comp tickets for the latest incarnation of your show at very short notice after I ran into you at Trades Hall on Friday night, but for writing the bloody thing in the first place.

A musical celebration of the all-too-brief era when Paul Keating was Australia's Prime Minister, and vision, not short-sightedness was the political agenda of the day; this marvellous show, which won every award under the sun during its original incarnation at the Comedy Festival two years ago; has since been refined and redeveloped for Sydney's Belvoir Street Theatre by director Neil Armfield, and makes a triumphant return to Melbourne for an all-too-brief season for this year's Comedy Festival.

While I didn't see the original production (there goes my street cred!) I was lucky enough to see the dynamic, bare bones original production on the opening night of last year's Fringe, and fuck it was good. To an extent, I occasionally struggled to juxtapose that version of the show with the slicker, glossier, razzle-dazzle version I saw on Saturday, and at the time, I walked out after the show thinking that 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. Mike McLeish is still impossibly suave as the Zegna suit wearing, clock collecting, Mahler-loving Prime Minister; Eddie Perfect is a delightfully over the top Alexander 'freaky' Downer; the romantic duet between Gareth Evans and Cheryl Kernot is as wonderful as ever; and new material, which incorporates Keating's landmark Redfern speech, is just as strong and musically diverse as Bennetto's original material.

From reggae to country to power ballads, there's something in this show for everyone - unless you happen to think that John Howard is a morally upright leader with a well developed social conscience, instead of a manipulative, socially divisive cunt who is happy to exploit an array of national archetypes and myths for his own selfish political agenda. Four resonant belly laughs out of five. (Comedy Theatre until April 11)

Anthony Morgan - Sackfull of Bullfrogs. No bullfrogs. No structure. Hell, the self-described 'washed up comedian' didn't even get to the point of the show until the last five minutes, by which time it was far too late to explain why there was a fridge-sized cardboard box bearing the words 'OMINOUS BOX' on stage.

Despite being a rambling drunk, after an awkward opening 10 minutes, Morgan soon warmed up to prove himself a hilarious comic, fond of tangents and humour so biting he'd take your nipple off if he was 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 which I think went over the heads of at least half the audience, for whose edifiction 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 provenence of the phrase 'innocent unless proven guilty' vs 'innocent until proven guilty' - and yes, in the context of discussing David Hicks; to talking about his haircut for 10 minutes, Morgan rambled, regalled, and seemingly delighted the majority of his audience.

For the first 10 minutes of his show I was singularly unimpressed - old fans who are just pleased that the notorious hellraiser is still alive, I speculated, as festival-goers of 'a certain age' hooted and applauded his meandering anecdotes - but 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. Three breathless chortles out of five. (Victoria Hotel until Sunday 29)

There were two other shows I saw on Saturday night, but now it's 11.41pm on Sunday, and I've just seen three shows in a row, had a couple of glasses of wine, and quite frankly, would like to stop blogging now so that I can watch the first episode of the new season of Dr Who courtesy of my friend the Pirate, before going to bed. I'll get up at 6.30am, write 1800 words of arts news and commentary for Beat and then go to work. Cheers!


* Translation: Please don't ask this question again.
**Translation: Bohemian = grotty.