Having floor managed* the inaugural 1995 Pulp Comedy TV series, I watch the evening’s 15 year Pulp resurrection-reunion, feeling at times like a proud Auntie. The 1995 series boasted the first all-Kiwi stand up comedy line up, consolidating the profile of established sketch-comedy performers as well as launching “rookies” onto the fledgling NZ stand up comedy scene. While it was a ground breaking exciting satisfying ride, the inexperience of those learning their craft made it occasionally uneven and bumpy. Now, while the formula is the same, there is hardly a kink in the new Pulp armour, as 10 confident, professional, slick comedians lap up the rollicking laughter of a raucous and appreciative opening night audience. Just as veteran comedy producer Scott Blanks recently said to me, “Practice anything for 10,000 hours and, provided you’ve got the innate talent, you’ll master it.” (He’s referring to Malcolm Gladwell’s book “The Tipping Point”). Of course content reflects age and maturity: rookies who were building their routines on moving to the big bad city and socially awkward situations, now talk about their wives; and the old hands talk about… well, being old. Plus there’s now a flood of material about kids and parenting. That being said, any good comedian grabs what’s topical, so the night is full of side-splittingly funny references to that slight Canadian boy, Justin Bieber. Impressive host Paul Ego is completely at home and guides us through the night brilliantly. He knows this audience well, and like the majority of the acts, he secures easy laughs – in his case with jokes about private parts, ‘the wife’ and getting drunk. A sensible voice inside my right brain insists the latter is perpetuating the social drinking problems of the nation, but the material is great… and I laugh regardless. However, it is Ego’s parenting tips (including a demonstration of his “lipless monster”); plus his merciless interaction with the audience, in particular a fresh-faced 18 year old up the front, (who is cleverly reincorporated into the night by subsequent comedians), that I personally enjoy the most. The opening act is the dashing Jesse Mulligan, who chats about his hometown Hamilton; doomed European OE; recent trip to Oz and hugging a Koala Bear. His self-assured delivery and accessible material is well met – my date is particularly taken with Jesse’s smooth expressive comedy (jazz?) hands! Mark Scott talks about his recent break up from a long-term relationship and while some of his early material is a wee bit dated and predictable, he finishes with a hilarious song, getting fantastic mileage from awkwardly serenading men and women in the audience. He’s no smooth crooner but that only makes this lovable geek all the more funny. Michele A’Court offers a reliably dry, well rounded (and at times low down and dirty) routine about approaching middle age, teenagers, the evolution of men vs women, plus an excellent political stir about the Pope. Paul Yates bravely takes to the stage after a ten year hiatus, during which time he’s become a Dad. Consequentially, his material about and impersonation of his teenage son is hilarious (unlike his attempt at imitating Mike King, which goes nowhere). While the opening is a bit too academic and long-winded to entertain, with a little edit, Yates has a great routine on his hands. Gish swaggers on stage in a poncho and an over-sized jester’s hat – without which he could easily be mistaken for Taika Waititi’s character from his hit movie Boy. This late-30s dude takes iconic classic hits and switches the lyrics to create his own brand of cocky musical comedy. A talented guitarist, content-wise he’s not one to shy away from lewd topics, and his songs dish up sheep jokes, blow up dolls and perverts. Ben Hurley opens the second half with a killer routine which contains possibly the best gag of the night, courtesy of his perceptive take on Hong Kong’s lease and at the expense of Christchurch. His trademark smirk breaks up his entertaining thoughts on everything from the Kiwi-knocking machine, inappropriate swearing and Iceland’s explosive revenge, to legalizing prostitution and why he loves confident women. Dean Butler exposes the typical comedian’s checklist plus the technical aspects of comedy, to great comic effect. After fab gags about TVNZ’s Master Chef and some strong material for the men in the audience, this uptown boy morphs into the Chris Knox of comedy, strums his one-string guitar and delivers an amusing song about naming baby girls. Not only a fabulous comedian, he’s a born lyricist too. Evergreen favourite Jeremy Corbett reveals the secret of his success, then a few random comic observations, before diving into a fantastic bizarre and hugely entertaining account of the “F-U Balance” which includes the normally static Corbett dancing like a Leprechaun. However, it’s comedy heavyweight Brendhan Lovegrove who holds court at the end. Dissing Hamilton and Polytechs is almost compulsory in his routine now, yet I didn’t tire of it! Choosing easy to appreciate material, such as much-loved Kiwi heroes and a fallen celebrity, Lovegrove’s hedonistic delivery gets this crowd in hysterics and eating out of the palm of his hand. Pulp is a great night out for those who enjoy a largely mainstream comedy cocktail, plus it is excellent bang for your buck, if the length of the opening night is anything to go by. Hats off to all those in the NZ comedy scene, who have continued to provide opportunities and encouragement to comedians striving for those 10,000 hours and beyond. * The TV floor manager works behind the cameras & gets to say those much-anticipated words… “Coming to you in 5, 4, 3, 2…”
"Sumner comedy for the well-to-do suburban set" Christchurch Press / Stuff.co.nz By CHARLIE GATES - The Press Last updated 05:00 29/01/2010
Who would have thought a man throwing playing cards could be so much fun? Card ninja Jav Jarquin is a fresh, funny and unique addition to the WBF Sumner Stand Up show. He is a bit too rehearsed and slightly shaky at times, but Jarquin wins out with his good timing, charm and the pure novelty value of watching cards thrown with such spin and precision. The Sumner show is stand-up comedy for the well-to-do suburban set; a great fun night with plenty of laughs, but plenty of middle-class references and nothing too challenging or scary.
It is, therefore, fitting that the show is hosted by Michele A'Court. She is an intelligent, engaged and observant stand-up comedian with some wry gags, but you get the feeling she could pump out an amusing opinion on anything if you gave her five minutes and a microphone. That's no small talent.
Irene Pink's comfortable and relaxed presence was second on the bill. She might be a bit hit and miss, but her natural and unforced humour will make you laugh in the end. One gag describing a link between socks and a man's privates made every male member of the audience rack their brains for at least a few seconds. Then there was the headline act, Chris Brain, who was nominated for the Billy T Award last year. Brain just did not do it for me, although I am sure I am alone in this, as he got the audience laughing hard. He had flashes of brilliance, but there were long moments where his jokes just passed me by. He had a nice comeback for Australian audiences that mock him with the sound of sheep, but the best line of his routine was delivered by a heckler. It was one of those brilliant moments when the comedian and the audience share a long, deep laugh together.
Lined up like Russian Dolls (size-wise), The Lady Bunch introduce themselves and each other with a blend of great harmonies and dire doggerel lyrics, before splitting off for their solo standup turns. Self-styled Pacific Princess Irene Pink brings a light touch and bemused tone to her material as she toys with sex, celebrities, travel, fitness and weight-watching, and a tale about bouncing a bouncer. Her infectious humour delights the fans. Justine Smith gets down and dirty more overtly as she tells us about being the 'fluffer' for the Poetry of the Penis tour, her 'Aussie Prawn' boyfriend, hirsuteness, her version of 'the Bush administration', drugs, positions and crocs, coming over equally as a misandrist and misogynist in the process. She runs her routine on two levels: a top line of the main stories and gags counterpointed with an enriching bass-line of asides, afterthoughts, whoopsies and non-verbal communications. Impressions of Renee Zellweger and Jay Lo tag her set. Michele A'Court is the one with the most to say social satires-wise. Family, friends, symbols of national identity, DIY relationships, the smacking thing, and coming to terms with a 15 year-old daughter and her lifestyle and values. Very confronting for someone who used to be the Women's Rights Officer at Victoria University. And very insightful. A lovely combination of ruthless and loving. They're an excellent combo, the Lady Bunch and well worth spending time with.
“At its best, stand-up comedy makes us look at ourselves, our lives, our country and our world – and laugh at our foibles, reflect on our life choices, debate what direction we’re going in, and rail against the injustices across the globe. At their worst, stand-up comedians fill their time with expletives and add to the already over supplied store of Auckland vs Wellington jokes.
A week in I can – with much relief – say Wellington has been treated to heaps of the former and too little to worry about of the latter.
What a start – Michele A’Court looking at what it means to be a Kiwi – we’re polite, don’t like to show strong emotions, don’t like to commit – the ‘yeah-na’ syndrome, just like to fit in. She’s right on the button of course, and also mines the baby boomer generation research for some truly insightful, if disturbing, facts about us. For the premier of her first solo show there were a few nerves, which were endearing, and a wickedly great opening prepared by her clearly gifted daughter, Holly. Free shoes or nose hair tweezers on offer as prizes, what more could you ask for?”
“Over the years I’ve grown to like Michele A’Court’s routines more and more as she’s found the confidence to take more risks. She has that easy French and Saunders manner all rolled into one with that sweet Vicar of Dibley style, cajoling the audience along on a journey, combined with the biting wit and sudden sarcasm of Jennifer Saunders.
A’Court explained this wasn’t a stand-up routine but an expression of her own interest in where New Zealand was as a nation. And while A’Court didn’t tell us anything new, I don’t think that was the goal. Rather it was to get the predominantly Pakeha audience talking openly about their place in a country where some Maori regard them as “guests”.
If it all sounds very worthy and lofty it wasn’t, despite a few moments that were a touch didactic. Instead we laughed at Baby Boomers’ love of DIY programmes, how we once were afraid of nothing, and at various national traits – like the Buck Shelford phenomenon – that are part of the Kiwi make-up.”
“Over the road at Bats, Michele A’Court compared comedians to oysters: ‘We have to get irriated to make something of value.’ It was Don Brash and Tariana Turia who provoked her Heritage 101 show, a quasi-comedic dissertation-cum-survey on being a Pakeha New Zealander, calling New Zealand home, celebrating being different and (enough to make Winston spill his tipple) welcoming all those who don’t fit in anywhere else. It has transferred to Auckland until 14 May and, as ‘a contribution to the discussion on nationhood’, it brings refreshing substance, as well as wit, to the festival.”
“Returning from a sell-out season at the Melbourne International Comedy Festival, the Maxwell Smart and Agent 99 of Kiwi comedy, Jeremy Elwood and Michele A’Court immediately make you fell like you’re settling in for a great night.
And with a trophy cabinet bulging like part of a Lord of the Rings display, it’s easy to understand their success. After a brief combined introduction, where they clear the air about their respective ages and their off-stage relationship, A’Court begins the night in earnest with some hilarious confessions about growing up in Levin a “normal dysfunctional family”.
From there we delve into her communist roots, bring in the hikoi and poke fun at Don Brash.
Her seemingly effortless style suits her well as she flips between confessing she’s not really a sport type – except for a touch of athletes foot – to how she’s still approached by people who remember her from her What Now days, to comparing a woman with a grudge to a Muslim issuing a fatwa.
No topic is too taboo for this couple, and their combination of merging the everyday with current affairs, and assured professionalism, leaves you well satisfied.”
“At a time when every Tom, Dick and Harry were doing stand-up on ‘the war’, The Horror, the Horror stood out from the pack. The basic premise of the show was that the world is fucked, well and truly. The show started in darkness with a monologue from Elwood on the perils of stand-up over the sound of a ceiling fan/helicopter, sending up the opening of Apocalypse Now, a movie that also inspired the show’s name.
Michele’s set was refined, with lots of new stuff and a few old ‘safe’ laughs. She entered into some excellent satire; touching on all aspects of New Zealand life: Winston, ALAC, Botox (the designer stroke), the war and WMD, getting drunk at Easter on rice wine (don’t say you didn’t do it), and finally Helen Clark, describing our PM as a ‘fucking top bloke’.
A couple of minutes into If You Want Me, I’ll Be In the Bar, co-presenter Michele A’Court informs the audience the show is about ‘all the things that make us want to drink’.
And, over the next couple of hours, she and partner Jeremy Elwood demonstrate just how long that list is.
The targets of their comedy are often political: Australia and Australians, New Zealand politicians and the general election, George W. and the more absurd aspects of the War of Terrorism. Others are more domestic, such as the inanity of women’s magazines, television programmes, celebrities in general, and Christine Rankin and Paul Holmes in particular.
Perhaps their funniest comic sequences are the “Politics for Dummies” segments, in which A’Court plays an interviewer, sharp enough but obliged to ask routine questions of Elwood, whose responses, while repetitious and glib almost to the point of nonsensicality, are oddly penetrating at the same time.
The humour of If You Want Me, I’ll Be In the Bar is modern, urbane, intelligent, inventive and irreverent – reminiscent of the best television humour in the day days before satire was turned into homogenised, disarmed filling for the gaps between commercials.
A’Court and Elwood, who write their own material, have the pace, the timing, the variety, the polish and the cheerful iconoclasm that make an evening of good comedy. The prudish or the politically very conservative may fail to appreciate some of it, but, like last night’s audience at the Fortune downstairs, everyone else should have a great time.
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