A 60-minute exploration into the mind traps of perpetually postponing work, the show seamlessly narrates a day-in-the-life of Mooney whilst attempting to write new material. Depicting a myriad of supposed “distractions” he faces, dialogue effortlessly drifts between accounts of loitering at shopping malls, the challenges of parenting, the ‘voice’ we put on for our pets, and toilet humour (quite literally).

It’s testament to Mooney’s skill as a performer, not just a comedian, that such a breadth of material can be covered and never seem clunky or self-indulgent. His routine is succinct, and aided by a flair for physical, expressive comedy.

But then Mooney is, after all, an experienced chap.
A longtime favourite of the comedy scene in Melbourne, with a career spanning nearly 20 years that also includes stints on TV and radio, Mooney knows what works.
His ability to construct rapport with an audience is certainly immediately evident, as the crowd is on his side from the get-go.
Mooney’s comedic banter is perfectly suited to the rather small venue of the Lithuanian Club’s Ballroom in North Melbourne.
In anything, the small venue only highlights the great strength of Mooney’s comedy in its light-hearted, conversational approach.
It simply radiates a charming, yet still embittered, sense of self-deprecation. “Compassionate misanthrope” might appear an oxymoron, but Mooney is the exception.

There is in fact, a striking similarity apparent between Mooney’s comedy and the donuts he professes throughout as his favourite, procrastinators’ snack.
Just as with those fried rings of pastry he confesses to waywardly indulging in, Mooney’s routine is enjoyable very much because it encourages us to take pleasure in observing our own faults and shortcomings.
Sinful treats they both may be, yet each delivered with a delightfully sugarcoated punch.

The brief provided for Fourplay vaguely entails it as the account of a couple who, in an attempt to ‘spice up’ their failing marriage, each invite respective co-workers to “inaugurate” their newly constructed two-by-two metre bed. However, Belbel’s narrative is far more complex than simply the implied marital drama, and as Gooding’s direction quickly illuminates, in this blackest of comedies nothing is as it seems.
Constructed in only 38 scenes, each of which are performed twice and in non-sequential order, Fourplay is a theatrical exploration into contextual meaning.
Skit-like, rapid-fire scenes create a comedic drama born out of the problematic nature of insinuation, Gooding’s direction adeptly creating a tense environment of confusion and misunderstanding not only between characters, but also actors and audience.
The stage, set in the small and intimate venue of Fourtyfivedownstairs, is bare and minimalist, literally consisting of a solitary prop mattress and the four actors themselves, all flanked on each side by a curious crowd. There is therefore, an undeniable voyeuristic quality to Fourplay, the title itself a pun regarding the observable sexual suggestiveness throughout. And therein lies the central concern of Belbel’s work: the confusing traps we lay for ourselves in creating meaning through suggestion alone.
What becomes of a society wherein honesty regarding sex, love and intimacy is shunned in preference to only polite referential?

It’s routine; the turn of day to night simply symbolic of our eventual, peaceful slumbers.

So what of the insomniac, the eternal night owl, and outsider, for whom such peace evades?

In an exploration of this restless disposition, Fleur Kilpatrick has created Insomnia Cat Came To Stay.

Sleep certainly isn’t the kind of topic reserved for performance, where such commonplace behaviours are shunned in preference to theatricality (after all, sleep itself, is hardly the kind of reaction you’d hope to elicit from an audience).

And yet, as Insomnia Cat Came to Stay proves, sleep deprivation and the dissolution of routine can prove remarkable inspiration for creativity.

Fleur Kilpatrick’s collage of anecdotal monologues interspersed with song (most notably The Rolling Stones’ Satisfaction) is a 50-minute exploration into her past battles with insomnia, and in turn, a broader examination of that overlooked dance we all play with the Sandman every night.

In concentrating on her personal struggles with that most ubiquitous custom sleep, Kilpatrick connects with the audience in a surprisingly intimate and relatable way. After all, haven’t we all at some time faced our turn to sleep with vengeful, regretful or questioning eyes?

Kilpatrick’s Insomnia Cat Came to Stay is therefore performed in appropriately intimate terms, staged as a one-woman show at Loop, in the bar’s tiny theatre, with room for an audience of only 25 at least. It is literally theatre’s guise of pillow talk.

Notably, Kilpatrick’s performance is accompanied by Thomas Russell’s outstanding animations. The perfect visual compliment to Kilpatrick’s musings, his illustrations projected onto Kilpatrick’s body throughout, the scattered (borderline frantic) imagery reflecting the mania of an insomniac perfectly, shifting seamlessly between the figurative and abstract like that of a dream itself.

Filled with dark humour and sentimental reflection, Kilpatrick’s multimedia creation is a hybrid of performance, music and animation.

Highly recommended for any enthusiast of drama as anecdotal, introspective reflection.