Having enjoyed Felicity Ward’s work on the sadly short-lived TV sketch show The Ronnie Johns Half Hour, then as a scene-stealing sidekick in one of fellow RJHH alumnus Heath Franklin’s live shows as Chopper Read, and also in some conventional (although still funny) theatre acting, I was intrigued to see how her obvious comedic talents would translate into the harsh, give-no-quarter forum of stand-up comedy. In fact, having actually just missed out on attending her debut gig at last year’s Melbourne Comedy Festival due to a double booking, I found myself doubly curious. Although perhaps some of this anticipation was offset by the good notices being cited in her advertising (won Best Newcomer at last year’s Melbourne Fringe, apparently), I was nevertheless pleasantly surprised by just how well Ward’s act worked. To put not too fine a point on it, she was damn hilarious.
With a mile-a-minute style that manages to seem both assured and nervous all at once, Ward launches into an apparently autobiographical show, chiefly dealing with her upbringing and misadventures in life, with an emphasis on bogans and wierdos of all shapes and flavours. In fact, the title of the show is a little misleading in that it isn’t chiefly concerned with her own plainness as a child (which she boldly evidences by filling her backdrop with real photos from her adolescent and teen years), although the consequences of having been so are a recurring theme. Instead, Ward elaborates on the intensely daggy and faintly surreal experience of growing up in the small central coast towns of Killcare and Woy Woy, the latter “a train station wrapped in a titty bar”. She evokes in particular the oddball residents, their strangled accents and dubious entertainments, and especially the eccentricities of her own family, in particular her mother who she describes at length as being not only a bogan, but also something of a hippy and thoroughly “weird”, particularly in some outrageous penny-pinching schemes.
Therefore, a lot of the humour is a mix of cultural and personal, a rueful celebration of one’s inner misfit bogan, however much one may wish to run a mile from it. Even for those who find comedy at the expense of the working class and their déclassé blunders (i.e. those few of us that don’t much care for Kath & Kim), this at least has the advantage of being both authentic in origin and wryly affectionate to boot.
For the most part though, Ward’s humour is self-depreciating, as it frequently seems to be with other young comediennes, but in this case is delivered with such energy and vim that she doesn’t fall into the trap of portraying herself as uncomfortably pitiable or annoyingly bleating (although this may depend on whether or not her stories seem a little close to home…). On the contrary, in spite of frequently making withering cracks about her looks, social skills, former drinking habits and emotional baggage, this ‘ugly duckling that can’t get laid’ persona seems almost at odds with her actual stage presence, in which she comes across as a witty, highly appealing live-wire. The “Variety Show” angle is a little bit of a misnomer as well. While her act is not simply a woman and her mike stand, the exceptions are simply the occasional use of props, a little audience interaction, performing as a character at one point or singing a song – not exactly “variety”, but these elements certainly keep the show moving at a brisk clip and serve to showcase what else Ward has up her sleeve.
Most significantly though, Ward has a tremendous gift of the gab and a seemingly effortless natural hilarity to go with it (her devastating Ruth Cracknell impression and deliciously cruel proposal regarding Garry McDonald had me, for one, ready to pass out from lack of oxygen). Segueing from recollection to offbeat topic to mortifying anecdote, Ward works her audience so well that the show passes in what seems like mere moments of quaking laughter, leaving you wanting much, much more.
Highly recommended indeed.
FELICITY WARD’S AS UGLY AS A CHILD VARIETY SHOW
Part of the 2009 Sydney Comedy Festival
Venue: The Boiler Room, Factory Theatre
Dates/Times: Wed May 13 - Sun May 17 @ 7.30pm
Tickets: Adult $22 / Conc & Groups 8+ $18/ Preview $15
Bookings: (02) 9550 3666
