That was fucking great/exhausting (hurrah!)

Must. Laugh. At. Funny. Person. Must. Drag. Exhausted. Carcass. To Next Gig. Must. Laugh. HYSTERICALLY. At. Funny. Person...

No, wait a minute, that's not a funny person, that's another fucking cashed-up bogan in a pink polo shirt with the fucking collar turned up who's part of the audience! WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU PEOPLE AND WHY THE HELL DO YOU LINE UP TO LAUGH AT SOME OF THE MOST BLAND, MEDIOCRE, MIDDLE OF THE ROAD SHITE IN THE FESTIVAL?

Woah, Richard, get a grip. Elitist, much?

Ahem. As you can tell, the Comedy Festival has taken its toll. I think my sense of humour will be the next casualty...

In total, I saw 39 shows at the Melbourne International Comedy Festival; and I lost track of the number of late nights I had; and the amount of alcohol I consumed.

Now that the festival's over, there's several more comedians I should review, but to be honest, it's getting late, I only got home from work at 9pm (lost two days out of the production schedule due to ANZAC Day and moving the office from Richmond to the city) and right now I really should be trawling through the 150 emails in my inbox to plan my radio show for this Thursday. So here, in brief, are the remaining shows I saw at the festival this year:

Fiona O'Loughlin. I definitely enjoyed this alcoholic, trouble-prone, housewife superstar's show in a low key sort of way. Instead of constant guffaws, she generated constant smiles and regular chuckles, and the occasionaly fervant prayer that she wasn't my mother. Three and half giggles out of five.

Dave Bushell - Dirt, War and Why I Don't Eat the Fishies. From Nazi relatives to the death of Princess Di, and zombie cows to Morrisey, this was a joyous, occasionally slackly-paced romp through the major events of the 20th century. Needs to either tighten up his material or write some really killer jokes, but given that this was Dave's first solo show in the festival, bloody enjoyable, even if the average audience member (who appeared to be aged between 15-18) were too young to get at least half his jokes. Three regularly-spaced hoots out of five.

The So-Called Elite in Once Upon A Coffee Cup. I really wanted to like this show. I didn't. The John Howard puppet was cool, though. Shame the humour was forced and laboured. Two vague smiles out of five.

Introducing Beau Heartbreaker. The award-winning drag king was suffering from a tummy bug on the night I saw her, so rather subdued but still sweetly funny, in a low-fi kind of way. Two and a half droll laughs out of five.

Josh Thomas - Please Like Me. A 19 year old comedian from Brisbane who reminded me too much of too many semi-autobiographical novels by young authors: you can actually write about things that haven't happened to you, you know. I went into this gig expecting great things, due to the hype Josh had generated, and got only good things, so perhaps it's partially my fault for beliving the hype that I was vaguely unsatisfied by his tales of small testicles, schoolies week dramas and MSN messenger stalking. Nonetheless, his delivery is strong, and given time, he should be bloody good. Three 'oh my god that reminds me of myself in high school' titters out of five.

The Infamous Spraygeltent. Sadly, because my second show of the night ran overtime, and then I was so exhausted after the previous night's Barry Awards afterparty, I only got to see part one of this three part show by Glenn Manton and Jim Lawson. What I saw, though, I really liked - although I was eternally grateful that I wasn't called upon to do pushups or walk across burning coals, unlike some of the audience. If this is what life is really like in an AFL team, I'll stick to being a spectator!

The Glass Boat. Absurdist theatre that occasionally didn't work, but when it did, dear god - what superb flights of lunacy! Giant frogs that terrorise autistic children; girls raised by wolves; a bush Christmas that recalls every Australian rural cliche goes horribly yet touchingly wrong; mail-order zombie brides who talk to their suitcases; and much, much more. Deadpan when required, wonderfully exagerated at others. Delicious. Although the performers might want to wash their costumes before the end of their run, next time - they were a bit whiffy! Four strangled shrieks of mirth out of five.

And that, ladies, gentlemen and trans people, was my 2007 Melbourne International Comedy Festival. Well, almost...