COMEDY
Presented by Alana Minnelli
DeLuxe
Review by Jaymes Durante
Cosy, unadorned and barely meters in diameter, Deluxe would be a daunting venue for even the boldest of comedians. Like a micro-coliseum — planks for chairs, crowd leering inward waiting to be entertained — it’s alarmingly intimate, and no doubt intimidating.
Thankfully, Alana Minnelli’s Fringe World (and comedy!) debut spins any doubt or discomfiture into a warm air of self-assurance. Emerging without fanfare from behind a curtain and launching into a take-no-prisoners hour of anecdotal comedy, it’s clear she’s a natural storyteller, humour and disarming candour just organic offshoots to her gift of the gab.
Quickly dispelling the totally reasonable assumption that we’d mistakenly rocked up for a gaudy Liza tribute show (she understands Fringe World’s popularity amongst sophisticated gay men), Minnelli acquaints us with the crux of her show. It’s a question, one that her mother asked when she returned home from parties and which follows her into her thirtieth year: “Did you meet anyone you liked better than yourself?”
The answer is no, of course. Minnelli might self-depreciatingly shrug that she was raised with the confidence of someone more talented and attractive than herself, but that wholly earned and deep-rooted poise is clearly a boon for her, both on stage and in life.
She walks us through her parent’s intrepid romance, her mother’s late road to Judaism, her excruciating 30th birthday, and a sexual misadventure involving Grindr, a ticking body clock, and a used prophylactic filled with — well, figure it out.
There’s also an invisible craft to her Minnellium that’s somewhat enveloped by its memoir-like structure. It’s well written, filled with witty, Perth-specific humour (a certain set of North Perth traffic lights play a pivotal role) that’s delivered with a swift Brooklyn bite, and while some jokes (not many) falter, you can’t take the personality out of them.
Minnelli winds up with news of an interstate tryst, and perhaps even a potential encounter with someone she liked better than herself. But the show’s not about finding value in others. During an audience sing-along to John Mayer pseudo-masturbation anthem ‘Your Body is a Wonderland’, she briefly disappears, only to return in a Ken Done swimsuit sifting sand through her hands, laughing away clumsy dates and bad romances of the past, and giving us all a lesson in self-love.
Comedy’s a fickle game. A foothold in the funny establishment can cost budding comics eternities of unrewarded toil. Minnelli decided on a patient inroad, and now, having accumulated thirty years of misadventure, she’s ready to spill the beans on stage. Not a late bloomer, but a funny girl who knows that honest comedy comes from experience.
