Here's a short comedy review I wrote for The Skinny last August. To my knowledge, it never made it onto their website, though I'm sure I submitted it at the same time as a Richard Herring review that did. It's been languishing on my hard drive for months.
I'd been asked to cover every comedy show on in an Udderbelly venue, of which there were three within minutes of each other. I think I reviewed about five performances back to back on this day, having seen something of my own choosing in the morning. What a slog.
The interesting thing about immersing myself in as many shows as I did over the course of the Festival is that I found myself unable to feel any sense of anticipation and excitement over them. In some respects, this made me an ideal critic, fit to view each performance objectively. Conversely, it made me feel too detached and numb to enjoy anything. By the end of the run, my ennui was so great that I couldn't even summon the energy to mute a self-service checkout in Sainsbury's.
I was on some kind of manic upswing when I saw Worbey and Farrell and actually loved their show, though I have absolutely no intention to see, hear or read about them ever again.
Unashamedly end-of-the-pier, Steven Worbey and Kevin Farrell's act is so camp that punters will find it either outdated or audacious, depending on their politics. Skilled pianists first and comedians second, the duo's unique selling point is that they share a single instrument and stool for the duration of their show. Their arms awkwardly intertwined, they bash out rhythms so impressively complex that audiences can't help but laugh in astonishment. Live relay footage of their ivory tinkling is projected onto a screen above them, showing just how frenetic their interaction is. This schtick is kept interesting by the wide range of compositions they cover from Tchaikovsky to Danny Elfman, by way of The Champs and Nina Simone.
The duo's work doesn't feel quite so fresh as they act out conventional double act dynamics and deliver flat monologues. In one skit, Farell's pompous classical recital is repeatedly ruined by Worbey's low brow interjections. In another, Farell delights in revealing to us that many famous composers contracted and died from sexually transmitted diseases.
Still, however hackneyed their comedy is, it's hard not to smile as Worbey turns to the audience, his lips pursed, eyebrows raised and fingers crossed, promising his exasperated partner that he really will stop mucking about this time.
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