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March 30, 2009 | by  | in Theatre |
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Young Guns of Comedy

I went to this comedy show on the 21st of March, I’ll give you that. Yes, I laughed at every act, including the supposed newbies, that is established. I seem to have writen that Chelsea Hughes was flundabulgus. I know it’s not a word, but emotions write their own spelling. Danni Taylor who is some sort of English I assume, was also a competent word smith. In my notes I spelt smith with a “Y”, but I don’t really know what that meant in context. It is also true that the master of ceremonies, Jerome Chandrahasen was both funny and mostly able to gain control of the audience, except when drunk tax collectors starting clucking and date accounting in the back. In that he failed, but Jesus Christ, if people won’t interact with you, it doesn’t matter how big your mic is.

What I don’t get though, is how Sarah Harpur—already one of the funniest women in New Zealand who just needs a little more material before she will explode bloodily and blondily—managed to not include her son singing along to her songs into her act. How did she miss this golden opportunity? I sat next to him, as he smiled while she called him a moron and talked about how she should have had an abortion. The child’s a charming little bastard… I assume. His voice was rather light and would require the assistance of a mic, but think about how horrible it would be having a small boy singing about an aging manager. Sarah, when you find this after self googling, know this: he was already word perfect. Damn you Sarah Harpur. Damn you for not exploiting your son.

Look, I would happily go on to write of Cameron Murray who was caught at an unfortunate crossroads with the audience who did need laugh lines and gags. I would also enjoy mentioning Guy Williams, who almost channelled Steven Wright, and how his funniest moment was with a Mabeline cut out that didn’t really fit with the rest of his act, but truth be told, I lost track of what I was writing and drew a picture of the cast. The guy with the poofy hair is called Rhys Mathewson. I wanted to fondle his boofy hair, but was too timid to approach him. For some reason I drew Guy Williams as a mouse.

20–21st March, Fringe Bar

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About the Author ()

Nic Sando is a god amongst men, fifteen fathoms high he be, with strange and wyrd powers at his disposal. Only a fool won't harken his ears to the east when he hears The Sando man stumping his way.

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