In fact it was one comedian from Melbourne (James Moffett) and another comedian from Melbourne who had recently lived in San Francisco for a little while (Andrew Roberts). That was the first disappointment and it was my own fault.
It would have been fine if the night had improved from there. But it didn’t.
To be fair, there were some funny moments, like Moffett’s story about how he likes to sit behind happy couples at the movies and make the experience as unpleasant as possible for them.
But much of the show was a blur of diabetic strippers, Rihanna’s dirty microphone technique, faked orgasms, crushes on high school girls, milking pet cows who turned out to be bulls, Iraq war deaths and crucifix-adorned breasts.
Crowds tend to respond better when they’re treated like inquisitive, intelligent humans than when they’re fed cheap shocks and gutter humour. This was no exception.
The rowdy audience heckled freely. Some crossed their arms, others shouted, one woman stood up to get a drink and yelled, “Gaz, do you want one?” The couple in front of me heckled for a while then left before the end.
Roberts repeatedly told the audience, in no uncertain terms, that they should shut up and that he hated them. His grumpy stage presence spilled into a song about how hipsters drink organic coffee, wear square glasses and have ironic tattoos that might have been very funny about five years ago.
Maybe this is your thing, if you like hearing about how people in wheelchairs are deliberately trying to run everyone else over. But I doubt it.
