On stage she’s elaborately costumed, as is her assistant, the Evil hate monkey. He’s a well trained monkey, we’re assured, and he does a fine job of pouring champagne. But that doesn’t mean he won’t succumb to more primitive instincts.

They’re on full display in Prima Primate, a striptease routine that won Monkey the Vegas ‘King of Boylesque’ title in 2010. It’s a heady combination of the elegance and dress of a ballerina and the aggression and throwing skills of a monkey. It’s the first time I’m able to realise that monkeys and ballerinas have great agility in common.
Trixie herself is bendy beyond belief, demonstrating her flex whilst appearing under the guise of Gypsy Little, and alternately, a giant banana. She sparkles, even when she’s significantly reduced her glittery costume décor, and her sassy dialogue keeps the level of wit in line with the level of tit.

The duo out from New York have been touring for a decade, but their roots show. Calling themselves ‘shamelessly eccentric’, where else but New York does a show cross from banana-themed to yoga-inspired feats of strength and an homage to the Kama Sutra on trapeze? It’s vigorously modern, fresh and heartfelt.

The show’s originality is really endearing, which is an odd thing to admit from something billed as ‘trapeze and striptease.’ Yet Trixie and Monkey have the audience rapt; they’ve got a level of chutzpah that you need to convince the guy they drag on stage to horsey-ride Monkey around the tent.

Trixie and Monkey: definitely something different on stage.

A former circus man, Flanagan is described as an ‘elegant buffoon’, and indeed he is. It takes a level of cleverly choreographed skill to pull off this many accidents in a row, and so it’s not so much derisive to mention that he brings it on himself: it’s amazing.

Flanagan is a spirited performer and pulls off some physical tricks that would be astounding even if they weren’t performed in a tent on a forty-degree day. And physical is where it is; very few words are uttered (though when two people left early, he ran to the door after them to yell ‘and stay out!’ to an unwise Northbridge public).

In Fringe, a performer convincing an audience member to join them under the lights is one feat; but here they’re given no explanation. Flanagan shepherds his temporary cast with ever-flailing arms into what to do with shoes, popcorn, and a romantically-offered pack of biscuits. What results is testament to his incredible silent wit.

It’s the comic touches that bring Kaput home; escalating in frustration at a malfunctioning projector spitting out its’ innards, Flanagan turns to it, fists raised, in self-defence. As he is soaked with water, and the stage fills with discarded props, one thing becomes fairly evident – Kaput may mean broken in definition, but this show has it together.

Kaput runs 12-24^th Feb in the Circus Theatre tent as part of Fringeworld

Get tickets here

He inspects Western culture through a dirty lens; in demonstrating how outdated the Bible is by comparing Jesus’ sense of sacrifice to Batman’s (both with powerful yet absent parents), Ebsworth can’t quite remove the link between what he knows and how he’s come to know it. What he portrays of Mexicans is from a taco advertisement, which is hilarious, if not a little hollow.

He fares better in local and Australian matters, espousing some genuinely funny observations on mining, becoming a republic, and sharing innovative solutions for Transperth guards. It’s cruel, he supposes, that at a bakery the Turkish bread is the shelf above the Anzac biscuits, because it’s just history repeating itself.

It’s his first solo show, and whilst Ebsworth is charismatic, light-hearted, and funny, he keeps himself at a disappointing distance from the audience. There’s a sense that he’s a lot better at writing the jokes than he is at performing them, which arguably is the more difficult part.

He’s clearly smart, and the world-centric discussion is enhanced by his talent to mimic an impressive array of accents. There’s no shortage of material; indeed, the jokes roll out fast –sometimes too fast – to fit into the forty-five minute show.

But ultimately, Western Devil the show is the sum of its culture: no real problems but for the ones we perpetuate upon ourselves.

He started the show with all his closers, explaining that he’d just gotten off a plane from the UK (although he’s originally Australian), his thoughts were scattered, and he’s become disillusioned with the comedy scene. So when he drags out in-depth material on mangosteens and starts jokes with “Ladies, you know when you’re cage fighting…”, you needn’t raise an eyebrow.

He proceeds through all the types of ‘conventional comedy’, at times mocking the profession itself (‘Hey, audience, has anyone here ever sent a ‘text message?’), and he seems to feel obliged to discuss race.  His complex mixture of heritage has left him “feeling as though the issue is little more than a socio-linguistic construct”, and so this is where Sun really comes out from behind the clouds. The show is peppered with brilliant material on bringing down the ‘Caucasian conspiracy,’ a concept he largely invented.

Sun details the circumstance of each joke, too, and can’t resist to delve into the audience – our night wound up as a sort of open-dialogue affair – and unsuccessfully tried to convince everyone to boo him off stage. When they refused, he chose instead to sing himself happy birthday, and managed to make it sound like an insult. Reggae in Hell is your crash course in conventionality; see if you’re up to it.

Reggae in Hell runs 7-10Feb at the Bok Choy Ballroom

Noodle Palace

Review: Ella Bennett

Dayne Rathbone isn’t your run-of-the-mill stand-up comedian, and not just because he spends a good portion of his show sitting down, reading a children’s book he’s written under the pseudonym ‘Quincy Spense.’ It’s tricky to summarise – even without a word limit – but it’s not going to fade easily from memory.

It’s Me Dayne combines comedy, song, dance and theatre. Original doesn’t quite cover it; you want to imagine ‘original’ was soaked in lighter fluid and set ablaze, and then performed an hour of jokes with a bit of a stutter. There’s uncertainty always; towards the end, Dayne explains the show is over but continues to tell jokes “because it’d be rude to just walk off stage.” He’s not wearing much by this point.

Rathbone is a brilliant performer, playing not only Dayne as a hilariously exaggerated late-blooming man-boy, to delivering an alarmingly accurate impression of a disoriented old woman in a hospital. There’s an awkward atmosphere that’s funny either because you got the joke, or equally because you didn’t. From shock, ridiculousness, confusion and wit, Dayne provides a mixed platter of reasons to shake with laughter.

You may well be called upon for services to hilarity, and you may feel inclined to leave (some did). This is an incredibly distinctive show, and Dayne as a character is surely going to get bigger and bigger. It’d be worth seeing him now, as long as you leave any expectations (and children) at the door.

It’s Me Dayne runs 30th & 31^st Jan and 1-3 of Feb.

Get tickets here

Originally Canadian, but out from the UK for Fringe World, Burtscher shared the theory that you should be able to dress your government representative so they truly reflect your values. That was a joke he improvised along the way to logically breaking down reasons why a rebel alliance wouldn’t work in present-day society; he’s almost tripping over himself to share his ideas and they’ll come at you, hysterical and slightly askew, from all angles.

Even if he doesn’t turn a profit, he genuinely wants to connect with his audience. Burtscher is sharply observational – riffing on facial expressions and walking styles – anything that catches his eye gets a comic spin. In his head, that spin is as rapid as the cycle on your washing machine; the jokes come out close to dry, if not for his beaming grin. You’re laughing – he’s happy. He seems content to make a bad decision just so he can tell it as a joke later.

He made a good point of sharing, not only by demonstrating but encouraging others – repeatedly – to try it out themselves. He gets a little fresh, but Pat Burtscher has heart. These others responded at the end by throwing handfuls of coins on the stage, because, evidently, this is the kind of comedian that you want to see break even.

Breaking Even runs 26-27 Jan, 30-31 Jan, and 1-3 Feb

Click here for tickets