‘I can make you German.’ So declares the promotional poster for Paco Erhard’s award-winning stand-up show, 5-Step Guide to Being German. The comic has returned to Adelaide following a stint at last year’s Fringe Festival with the same act and he doesn’t appear to have lost any of his original popularity.

As far as being German goes, the title of the show promises five steps, though we soon discover that this is a publicity-based lie. According to Erhard, it isn’t that simple; in reality it’s closer to eighteen steps (apparently five only makes you Austrian).  But Erhard himself doesn’t exactly embody what many may perceive to be a ‘typical’ German. He lives and works in London, resulting in what he describes as his inimitable Irish-British-South African accent. Even his somewhat frenetic demeanour is in stark contrast to the no-nonsense manner of your average German. But while this show is very much devoted to poking fun at cultural quirks, it also seeks to break down these stereotypes and offer insights into the modern-day German psyche.

Erhard begins the evening with an anecdote on a recent experience in which, to his own disbelief, he attempted to dilute his ‘German-ness’ by claiming to be half-Spanish. This leads into the dominant theme of the next 50 minutes; namely the feelings of guilt and paranoia that come along with being German, largely owing to the country’s murky past. Unsurprisingly, his punch lines are riddled with political incorrectness; from Hitler to The Holocaust, no topic emerges untouched. But if any comedian can successfully tackle such weighty matters with good humour, it’s Erhard. He even quips that the only reason so many German school children are good at maths and science is because they can’t bear to sit through history lessons. He argues that German nationalism as a concept has become more or less redundant; after all, the last two times they tried it, it didn’t work out so well. The only time it proudly reveals itself is during football matches, and even then waving the flag for a little too long following a goal is deemed wholly inappropriate.

Erhard allocates much of his material to explaining why Germans are they way they are. Aided by some quaint homemade maps and diagrams, he treats the audience to a short history lesson on Germany’s uniquely turbulent past. Evidently, it is this profound fear of disorder that has resulted in the archetypically efficient, disciplined German that we are familiar with today. This well-organised disposition has its downsides however; in one of the funniest moments of the night, Erhard presents a scenario in which a German travelling at over 200km/h on the Autobahn will consciously merge into a busy lane – resulting in certain death – rather than cross ‘The Line’ that prevents them from continuing any further, marked out in indelible paint. The German driver is the only person in the world for whom this is a dilemma, he dryly points out. Germany also now has another burden to contend with; that is being one of the most economically prudent countries in the European Union. As Erhard asserts; “Being German is not something you like. It’s something you work on. For the greater good of Greece.”

Because he is based in the UK, much of Erhard’s material examines Anglo-German relations. Within the first five minutes of the show, he finds his ‘token Brit’ in the room, who cops the brunt of many of his don’t-mention-the-war jokes. While most of these aren’t lost on the audience, who can identify relatively well with British culture anyway, it would have been nice to see Erhard adapt his routine to better suit Australian spectators. He manages to take a few jabs at our happy-go-lucky nature early on, but it’s easy to recognise his unfamiliarity with this country. Either way, it’s a minor criticism at most and doesn’t detract from the astuteness of Erhard’s observational humour.

A show like this probably caters best to those already familiar with German culture, but that shouldn’t put off others looking to gain a unique insight into what makes a German tick. Erhard is a wonderfully charismatic performer and he presents an accurate analysis of his home country. You will leave the show with a new found feeling of endearment towards a state that was once the basket case of Europe, but is now managing its past with an air of dignity and good humour. Fittingly, Erhard wraps up the evening on a cheekily optimistic note: ‘Since 1990, for the first time we are finally one unified democratic country, surrounded by friends. And Holland.’

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 16^th of March.

With a notepad in hand and a spring in his step, Stephen K Amos took to the stage last night to deliver his new show The Spokesman. He did not disappoint. The internationally renowned comedian is fast becoming a regular on the Australian comedy circuit, largely owing to past exposure on popular panel shows such as Good News Week and Spicks and Specks. The Spokesman will mark his third appearance at the Adelaide Fringe Festival and, judging by the sell-out audience, he left quite an impression the last time round.

The notepad, he explains, is full of new “jokey-wokeys”. He holds it in his free hand for much of the show, conspicuously ticking jokes that appear to have gone down well, while scratching out those that prompt little more than a mild chuckle. It’s not unusual for Fringe artists to test out new material on audiences here, but Amos has cunningly made it into a punch-line – acknowledged early on when he claims to have “the notepad” gag at the top of his list.

Predictably, Amos begins the evening bemoaning the intensity of the Adelaide summer. He’s not wrong; a strategically placed wobbly fan keeps the comic cool, while the rest of the packed auditorium sits restlessly in the heat. Once he gets going, though, it’s easy to forget the weather. He recounts a recent trip to Darwin, which included a run-in at the local Liquorland with an employee of the “Bo-gan” variety.  This feels like familiar territory; Amos often bases his material on the funny side of culture shock. We’ve seen the well-educated-Brit-meets-the-unsophisticated-Australian act before. But while it isn’t exactly groundbreaking stuff, he does it well and it garners an enthusiastic response from the audience.  Next on the list of tried-and-tested subjects is a look at the headlines. He keeps it brief though, focusing mostly on our country’s “menopausal” climate of late and “Gulia Gil-lard’s” questionable taste in eyewear.

Around twenty minutes in, we eventually get to the crux of what the show is all about. While one of his earlier trips to Adelaide persuaded his audience to “find the funny”, Amos’ new show revolves around the notion of “the spokesman” (conveniently also an anagram for “Stephen K Amos”); namely the question of who or what a spokesman is and if indeed Amos has one to represent himself. This premise he tells us, came to him after he was reluctantly touted as a spokesperson for gay rights in the UK. He questions the need for and legitimacy of such role models, referring to recently disgraced cyclist Lance Armstrong and popular albeit vapid fashions models as cases in point.

Amos goes on to examine aspects of his life that, according to the spokespeople of society, he may not be paying as much attention to as he should. These include health concerns, his upcoming mid-life crisis and facing your fears. He cites large bodies of water as his biggest fear, owing to his inability to swim, but dismisses the potential value of actually facing it due to the probable unfortunate outcome of death. He occasionally references his eccentric family of Nigerian origin and the challenges he faced growing up in a difficult suburb of London, providing a number of humorous insights into his early life.

The vast majority of the show’s highlights, however, are unscripted. Like all good comics, Amos encourages audience interaction whenever possible; even if it means temporarily abandoning his notebook of carefully prepared material. Being the pro that he is, Amos holds his own throughout much of the banter, proving that he can receive it just as well as he can dish it out. But it is during an early segment, after he dares the auditorium to reveal the strangest thing they’ve ever eaten, that he is caught off guard by a heavily accented cry of “Echidna!” which has the place in stitches. Much to the audience’s amusement, Amos is unfamiliar with such a creature and various attempts to explain it only confuses him further. He is eventually reduced to fits of laughter himself, lamenting that this particular show isn’t being recorded.

It’s a real treat to see Amos return to Adelaide. He clearly feels at home on the stage and his performance as ever exudes an infectious vibe of charm and energy. He’s not a hard man to like; a fact perhaps best demonstrated after the show when he pops up unexpectedly in the foyer, sharpie at the ready, eagerly signing tickets, posters and DVDs. He’s in town until the 17^th of March, so if you’re keen for quality entertainment courtesy of one of the best comedians the Fringe has to offer, head on down and prepare to laugh yourself silly.

Stephen K Amos is on at the Arts Theatre at 8:30pm until the 20^th of February and from the 12^th to the 16^th of March, with one show at The Gov at 5pm on the 17^th.