As far as comedians go, Arj Barker’s quick wit and sharp-tongued delivery puts him up there with the best of them. But in this case, you’d be forgiven for thinking you’d unwittingly bought tickets to an amateur one-man musical.
As Barker says himself, Go Time is both ‘what audiences expect from me AND the last thing they expect from me, which if my calculations are correct, will make a great show’. It’s an accurate self-assessment from a man who’s amassed quite a bit of street cred since his first appearance at the Adelaide Fringe back in the late 90’s. Much of said cred has come courtesy of the critically acclaimed Flight of the Conchords, in which he plays the New Zealand duo’s pseudo-womanising, apathetic friend Dave. But he has also made a name for himself in stand-up, and has rapidly become a prominent figure in the Australian comedy scene; more so even than in the States, from which he hails.
Barker’s opening is doubtlessly unique among those of other Fringe comics. As the auditorium darkens and the audience chatter descends into a low murmur, a jazzy beat begins to play over the sound system. A pair of hands emerge from behind the curtain, snapping in time to the music. Barker steps out shortly after in full musical theatre mode, leaping across the stage while belting out a number that wouldn’t feel out of place in a Broadway production (albeit a pretty bad one). It’s enough to catch even the most loyal of fans off guard. But if you can draw your attention away long enough from all the snapping and the leaping, you’ll recognise the marks of Barker’s sharp and self-deprecating humour. He admits that the bombastic opening is mostly just filler for his hour-long set and goes on to promise the audience that they will be treated this evening to “at least 85 percent new material”. As his final off-key note soars over the theatre stalls, he is met with rapturous applause, before assuring everyone that that will be his first and last attempt at singing for the night.
Once the song and dance number is out of the way, Barker immediately gets down to what he does best. He swaps his headset mic for a classic model and launches into an anecdote on his recent experience with laser-eye surgery. He doesn’t spare any of the graphic details, comparing the procedure to the recurring damage done to his eyes by looking directly at solar eclipses. If you weren’t already aware of his comic style, it’s understandable that you’d think the guy has a few anger issues. He thinks eclipses are actually so frequent that they deserve an iPhone app, believes that the only thing spring rolls are good for is scorching the roof of your mouth and expresses gratuitous distain at being told to “build a bridge and get over it”. This tired saying becomes a recurring element throughout his set as he attempts to come up with his own snappy comebacks such as ‘buy a deck of cards and deal with it’ or ‘climb a pyramid and get to the point’.
Barker’s manner is unquestionably blunt, petulant even, but that’s what makes this comic funny. He speaks like a man who is convinced that he is at the forefront of human understanding, endlessly frustrated at the rest of the world’s inability to see what he sees. But he demonstrates a unique ability to wear this character as lightly as a hat; taking it on and off as the material requires it. His default demeanour is more personable and less neurotic, but he loses none of his wit or talent for classic deadpan. It’s clear that he feels at home at the Fringe and he doesn’t make any attempt to hide the fact that he’s enjoying himself.
Barker’s relationship with Adelaide goes back more than a decade, so he is familiar with the city’s various oddities. Yet this doesn’t stop him from engaging in some light-hearted cultural ribbing; be it the deliberate mispronunciation of “Rudley” and “Pul-ten-ee” Street or his bemusement at the overwhelming number of Polites signs found all over town. It earns him a good chuckle, but it’s his anxiety over the sudden phenomena of “Drinkwalkers” that gets one of the biggest laughs of the night. He treats them as if they were a local legend, not unlike the Bunyip or drop bears, and questions the government’s apparent lack of action in keeping these dangerous creatures off the streets.
Still, for all of the singing, sarcasm and occasional political incorrectness, Barker insists that his show imparts a valuable life lesson. He ends his set by attempting to convince the audience that the very concept of ‘tomorrow’ is nothing more than a man made myth, and that instead of creating jobs, should be getting rid of them as fast as possible. In other words, we should challenge social constructs and live in the moment. Although such wisdom may have been depreciated somewhat by another impromptu ballad (apparently owing to a little extra time) it is advice that is nonetheless worth pondering. This Fringe veteran is at the top of his game, and his show will simultaneously make you laugh, cringe and think. What more could you ask for?
Arj Barker is at the Arts Theatre until the 16th of March.
