The one-hour, one woman spoken-word performance is absolutely engrossing – you hang onto every one of Andersen’s brilliant Britpop references, each one serving a purpose and not ever excessive. It flowed like a masterful epic, interspersed with equal parts rhyme and wordplay, building you up for tense emotional ventures where verse and irony don’t belong – where there is only her Brit boy and his resentment of her beloved London.

While Love in the Key of Britpop had the potential to be more universal – to provide a commentary on getting married for a citizenship, entering a marriage so young and longing for a city that is not your native – it stayed within the confines of the Britpop husband and wife, who seemed more or less commonplace, save for slightly quirky music tastes and clichéd dark pasts that are touched upon briefly. I found myself yearning to know more about the Brit boy, wanting to fall in love with him like our protagonist had done so swiftly. We didn’t hear much about what could have led to their inevitable demise; instead, the audience is subjected to uncomfortable instances of Andersen awkwardly dancing to Britpop hits for reasons that I am still yet to find.

Despite bordering slightly on the shallow, I found myself absorbed by Love in the Key of Britpop, feeling the joy of a new relationship soaked in sun and drunken declarations of love, the devastation of that painful split and the enduring commitment to Britpop above all else. Andersen’s ability to weave beautiful and structured prose with Albarn, Cocker and Gallagher references is nothing short of brilliant; the building block of a bittersweet venture into what the audience reluctantly comes to terms with at the end of the show – the happiest years of our anglophile protagonist.

Check out the Melbourne Fringe Guide for details.

All was not lost, however, as the show progressed into the “sex and snacks” foray. A conversation about each artist’s favourite snacks (guilty or otherwise) and an exploration of their sexuality and sexual practices, this was the panel show I’d been hoping for – chaotic, loud and uncontrolled. People were interrupting each other; the audience was contributing with bursts of genuine, surprised laughter and raucous applause for outlandish snacks and sexual preferences. Art, Sex and Snacks became instantly more enjoyable when the Art portion was out of the way – it ended with a group of witty, personable and interesting people talking hilarious nonsense. Host Lisa-Skye was charming, doing her best with the slightly awkward, too-civil exchanges she had to work with; she’s equal parts preposterous personality, warm laughter and genuine regard. While I was disappointed on the Art front, I ultimately enjoyed an involving thirty minutes of funny people talking nonsense about food and sex.

Check out the Melbourne Fringe Guide for details.

For a show with almost no talking, it’s hard to believe that this late performance kept everyone in the room in stitches but it’s true. Dave and his backup dancers start from the very beginnings of dance (cave dancing of course) and travel through to the latest dance crazes. Sitting in the front rows has its hazards as they do ask a few lucky people on stage to join in the dancing fun.

Maybe it’s the funny accent combined with the beard and long hair, but there is something absurd and amazing about watching this man own the stage for an hour. He’s at 100% energy the whole time and he and his backup dancers sweat and smile equally as hard. They are having fun and that enjoyment carries all the way through to the audience.

If you’ve ever wanted to see a bearded man dance like Beyonce, this is the show you want to see.

See the Melbourne Fringe Guide for details.

From dispelling common myths to talking about what it’s really like to grow up as the sole child in a household, McCormack uses the show’s theme to discuss childhood, family and how our birth order impacts us as adults. It’s a rich mine, and there are some brilliant moments, predominantly when she when focuses on her own experiences and family.

Watching McCormack interact with the audience is enjoyable as her extensive performance experience comes to the fore. She’s genuinely likeable, and builds up a strong rapport as the show goes along, looking to audience members for agreement and sympathy as she talks about their potential common ground as only children, partners or parents of only children. If that happens to be you, you’ll really enjoy this stand up offering.

See the Melbourne Fringe Guide for details.

It can feel strange to see disembodied parts of women, anonymous and intimate at the same time. Vaginas presented in black and white photographs, pieces of women, are more commonly seen as the macabre fodder of post mortem photography in coroner and murder mystery television shows. Here they are accompanied with stories, giving each woman the voice denied to her when she is little more than a central puzzle in a television narrative.

The images sit well in their exhibition space, and the images are arresting. Most engaging are the stories, some of which are more personal than the others. The photographs are crisp, and people wander amoung them reading and viewing images at leisure.

The book itself is beautifully presented in serene white and subdued fonts. In these pages, the pictures exist together as a cohesive narrative. In exhibition it is harder to read each story carefully, there is a tendency to let your eyes slide past the pages. Oddly, taking in all of the images at once rather than page by page highlights the sameness of the women, rather than the differences. The variations between bodies seems more alike than when focussing on them page by page.

This exhibition sits nicely amoungst other counterparts such as The Great Wall of Vagina (Jamie McCartney), Colour Me Dead (Philip Brophy), Wall of Vagina (Kembra Pfahler) or C*nt Paintings (Betty Tompkins), with the addition of each woman’s story assisting us to associate our own bodies with that of the women on display.

See the Melbourne Fringe Guide for details.