🌀 11: One Big, Congealed, Frankensteinian Monster

Comedy Festival sits on the limen of winter. The start of the festival is punctuated by those endlessly suffocating summer days, but right around the moment that daylight savings ticks away the comforting shiver of winter descends.

I like to imagine MICF as a portal I go through, finding my winter doona, old jackets and sweaters, and a familiar winter air on the other side.

Last week I saw fifteen shows in the festival, and by last week I mean the week which ended six days ago—because I’m sending this newsletter a little late again. But that’s what you get when you’re swept up in Narrm’s winter beauty and crisp air.

This week’s newsletter title comes from an article linked below from Ismatu Gwendolyn, on the terror and fear and incomprehensibility in America right now. I don’t know what to make sense of it, so I’m glad people much smarter than me are writing about it.

ℹ️ what’s all this?

👋 Hi, I’m Ryan, a Narrm-based queer theatre-maker and writer. You’re reading In the Round, a weekly email filled with reviews, interesting links, and updates on the art I’m making.

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Comedy fest reviews! Dozens of them! Sending a massive apology in advance for taking so long to finish these up—undiagnosed ADHD really is a struggle hey.

Cancer and Cartwheels is the story of Dr Jo Prendergast’s cancer diagnose and treatment, told through standup, sketch, and song. Prendergast is quick to critique the standard narrative of cancer survivors as ‘Warrior Princesses’ pointing out that the emotional journey of cancer is more volatile and messy than fits in that box. Her humour is wry and generously frank, examining everything that comes with a diagnosis, from vaginal atrophy to cold capping. Prendergast has created a positive and spirited hour of comedy mixed with vital cancer advocacy.

I loved Bangtail by Lil Wenker so so so much. This is an hour of solo clown presented in three acts, following a cowboy finding out what story he wants his life to be. Full of easy roles for the audience to step into, Lil Wenker flawlessly builds a world of bumbling accountants, aggressive cacti, and gun fights with not much more than our collective imagination. Lil Wenker is immensely comfortable in this role and it shows in how they expertly and hilariously navigated audience snafus and hiccups—making the show all the better for it. Bangtail is both rigorously constructed and effortlessly funny and absolutely worth a watch. I absolutely can’t wait to see what Lil Wenker has in store—fingers crossed that whatever it may be makes its way back to MICF.

Breaking the Musical by Stephanie Broadbridge was a much hyped offering at MICF after a legal debacle with the subject of the show, Raygun, and her performance at the Paris 2024 Olympic Games. Broadbridge assembled a team of over ten performers and musicians to bring the spoof of Raygun’s story to the stage for a mostly fun mostly successful three night season. While the show was bursting with personality it lacked a sense of direction and pace, leaving it feeling a little unsteady and like the most exciting thing your year twelve drama class ever made. But—one highlight was the presence of Dane Simpson and Isaac Compton who brought the issue of Raygun’s whiteness into the light.

Classic Penguins was the first show from Garry Starr I’ve ever seen and god I’m hooked—the quick pitch is that basically he performs dozens of insanely abridged and stylised adaptations of Penguin Paperbacks—except he’s nude the whole time. Starr’s interpretations of classic stories flash by with a delightful self-aware humour and tons of generous and supportive audience participation. Starr takes the jokes beyond their logical conclusion and it’s so satisfying to see—particularly the highly choreographed ending which legitimately gagged me.

What I’m Going For by Hannah Camilleri is exactly the sort of participatory show that I love; although the night I saw it was derailed by sheer heterosexual gumption—that’s to say an overconfident man ended up Camilleri’s scene partner and proceeded to block almost all her offers (and at one point after he was returned to the anonymity of the seating bank he even stormed the stage). Despite that intrusion, Camilleri’s vision and bravery shone through—even though this performance was a mess, I think I’d boldly say I loved the show. The way that Camilleri approaches clowning is addictive and more-ish, how could I not love it?

Jason Statham, I Love You, by Clare Rankine is an exciting debut hour of comedy about Jason Statham’s fictional agent Jacey Stacey and Statham’s posse. Rankine’s understanding of and fascination with Statham’s career is impressive and infectious, weaving together an hour of sketch which remains accessible for those un-acquainted with Statham’s notoriety (me). Rankine‘s theatrical imagination is strong, highlighted by an electric site-specific finale which perfectly finishes off our transport into the world of Jason Statham.

Dad Genes by Eddie Pattison is an hour of standup about grieving a dead dad while beginning a gender journey, and Pattison’s humour perfectly captures the dissonance and hilarity of the situation. Pattison’s set is full of poignant observations on grief and family which sit delightfully amongst gut-busting jokes about kink and queer intimacy. It’s a tightly bound narrative which ends in an explosive story about Pattison’s dad’s funeral which speaks to the transformative power of comedy—a fantastic debut.

God’s Favourite by Scout Boxall is their first show since cancelling their 2024 MICF season to prioritise their mental health—and what a great decision since it’s paved the way for work like God’s Favourite to take the stage. The hour loosely follows them on one night off their meds in rural Victoria on a LARP, ricocheting from the Middle Ages, childhood flashbacks, to career anxieties. Boxall’s staging and stylistic choices transform this into a hybrid of theatre and comedy which on it’s own would be thrilling; but when combined with a humour which is as idiosyncratic as it is relatable, God’s Favourite begins to meaningfully push up at the edge of what stand-up could be.

I loved Elf Lyons at MICF last year, with her piercingly dark horror-clowning exploring sexual violence and childhood trauma and while this year’s Horses doesn’t rise to quite a similar level, it comes exhilaratingly close. Horses is ostensibly a lighter show about a community of horses and how they respond to human exploitation, but as Lyons is wont to do, Horses hides within it a healing story about the way adults lose our ability to play. And in a final edifying moment Lyons invited us all to join her on stage, becoming the horses we’d spent an hour watching. God, I love clowns.

Cvnt by Sophie Power may be the standout of the festival for me—I rocked up ten minutes late to Cvnt owing to another show in the Malthouse running over (risky business, planning an evening of shows with no breaks in between) but immediately upon entering was enraptured; this show is literally a giant walking talking cvnt—how could you not be obsessed? Sophie Power's (literally) larger than life vaginal clowning propelled us to chat about the world we wanted to live in, while reconfiguring our relationship to cvnts the world over. I’m obsessed. More please.

The Frog from Big Dog Theatre was a sentimental story of a frog learning how to escape the drudgery of office work and find connection and peace in an endlessly spinning world. It was cute, and the teams imaginative use of household objects to transform the stage into the Moon, New York, and the bottom of a pond was delightful. In particular, Daphne Papadopoulos‘ performance as a greek Moon and other additional characters was revitalising amongst what were fairly monotonous performances.

Testing a Show by Darby James was exactly what the title suggested, a selection of works in development from James about cost of living, employment, and our desire for love. It’s equal parts funny and melancholic and representative of James; buckets of charisma—I’m very keen to see what this show coalesces into.

The Removalists at Melbourne Theatre Company was great. My first time seeing a work from David Williamson, and Anne-Louise Sarks’ staging was a rock solid reflection of Australian violence and masculinity. The final image of two blokes locked in an endless punch-up will absolutely be staying with me.

It’s really depressing to be alive at this moment, watching America turn into a nation of disappearances and thoughtcrimes. I thought I’d draw your attention to some thoroughly frightening journalism which documents the experiences of detainees on deportation flights from several flight attendant whistleblowers.

Inside ICE Air: Flight Attendants on Deportation Planes Say Disaster Is “Only a Matter of Time”

Current and former flight attendants for GlobalX, the private charter airline at the center of Trump’s immigration crackdown, expressed concern about their inability to treat passengers humanely and to keep them safe.

ProPublicaJeff Ernsthausen

Sometimes it’s easy to ignore tragedy when you focus on the numbers but reading Ernsthausen’s writing was a gut punch. Unimaginable atrocities are being committed daily and for the most part, there’s very little I can do to stop it from here.

This next piece of writing from Ismatu Gwendolyn captures the sense of terror on the ground in the US as she tries to make sense of what’s going on.

On Targeted Deportations: They hunt in broad daylight.

Momodou taal MP30:00/1354.39673469387751× Beginning with a journal entry from a few days ago: everything is upside down. I did not know what it would be like to watch my— to witness… people that feel like my own growing flesh vanish in the night. in the afternoon! in

Threadings.ismatu gwendolyn

Gwendolyn writes:

As the nation contracts, my personhood expands. I feel like one big, congealed, Frankensteinian monster. I feel like the jailing of Momodou Taal will disorient me from my daily reality. I think of him often, throughout my day. I buy fish for iftar this morning. Can he still go to iftar parties?

Heartbreaking and terrifying and f*cked up.

I spent some of best and most formative moments of my childhood logged into a Swedish Minecraft server where I was a moderator at the ripe old age of fourteen. It was there that I think I learnt how to take myself and my artistic expression seriously, how to represent myself and communicate with others, and how to connect with strangers—and boy did I.

I made so many friends on hours long Skype calls and IRC chats with folks of all ages across the world: Guatemala, Ireland, Sweden, America, Australia. It was the best of times.

Interact with Minors

Against the collective neglect of the young.

Devon PriceDevon

Devon Price’s essay on their experiences as a kid on the internet reflected aspects of my own—exploring the way the internet nowadays punishes young people for using it as a place to discover themselves. Price writes about a way of existing on the internet which builds queer community for our most vulnerable.

Thanks to the writing of child liberationists, I understand that a child screaming on the bus is not a sensory assault against me, but a disturbed, powerless little human trapped in a situation that has overwhelmed them. When a younger person doesn’t know how to complete a task or does something that makes me cringe, I try to remember this is their first time on the planet (and it’s mine, too). I know that I do not have a right to not be annoyed, and that freedom does not come from a lack of responsibility towards others. True freedom comes from no longer relying upon authority figures, and having a robust network of support.

Invigorating writing which makes me all the more grateful for the opportunity I had to grow up on the internet when I did. In hindsight, the internet of 2008 to 2016 was pure Goldilocks stuff and I’m so glad it coincided with my adolescence.

Full disclosure: I’ve not read Pride and Prejudice; but that didn’t stop me from enjoying this analysis of Mr. Bennett and his relationship to his daughters.

A Defense of Mr. Bennett

On Literary Cranks

Wicked TongueEleanor Stern

Regarding Mr. Bennett, Stern writes:

flawed though he is, extreme and frustrating and one-note in his behavior, [Mr. Bennett] does not believe that he is superior to his daughters simply because they live in a world that dehumanizes them. He, to a degree that really can be impractical and unrealistic, merely believes himself and his daughters alike to be superior to the world that dehumanizes them.

• This portrait of one of Florida’s most successful python hunters—employed by the state to capture and kill the invasive species.
• A very lovely friend of mine has started a blog/newsletter of their own and wrote this lovely treatise on why and how they’re escaping corporatised mass social media for their first post.
• An appeal for writing which dwells in the mystical and personal.

Very much in the whirlwind that is MICF—but I’ve spent a little bit of time on the two fringe shows I’m producing this year. One is an environmental sound work for an audience of one, and the other a coming-of-age drama set in the bathroom of a uni party. I’ve submitted applications for both of them to Melbourne Fringe‘s Festival Hub, and next week will probably get around to applying to some other venues.

I also made some time to meet up with a friend to discuss death. She told me about her mother’s chronic health conditions, how she’s been preparing for her mom to die her whole life. How she’s ready, waiting, and in this permanent limbo. She told me what it’s like to say goodbye for the last time. What assisted dying means to people who didn’t think they’d be able to do it legally. How to prepare to die. We watched this art film about the death industry. And then we played some board games. An afternoon well spent.

It feels almost like cheating to write this newsletter about the week which ended last weekend; like I’m lying to you about that I’ve been up to this week (seeing comedy, would you have guessed?). I'm hopeful that I’ll catch up on my outstanding MICF reviews this weekend to get you a new edition on Tuesday, but we’ll see. My calendar and sleep schedule has a habit of getting away with my to-do list.

That’s all for now. I’ll see you (at some point) next week.