Emerging onto the vast stage of the Melbourne Town Hall’s Grand Organ ballroom, Sydneysider Aaron Chen is bathed in flashing red like it’s Defqon 1 festival and there’s a red hot missile incoming. Then, in precision comic timing, he deploys his sniggering giggle and the blaring music stops, revelling in the quiet of this false alarm. There’s a sense, in this gotcha moment and in the small targets of his low-key “really personal” show, that he’s thoroughly bemused by his main stage appearance.
Initially written as Mr Cigarette, before you know what went down, Chen never got to perform that show in Melbourne. It’s been rebranded as Sorry Forever, but that doesn't stop a boss-like digital avatar of Chen calling the show Mr Cigarette in the opening salvo. Who can say how much of that original take has survived? What we do get, however, is deceptively charming. There’s a cute, multi-part bit about him and his dad’s years long quest to cut down a towering gum tree in their backyard, fighting against the deafening silence of local council bureaucracy. He says that may have been a defining feature of his disarmingly nerdy style, and also notes that his therapist left him hanging last year on a possible autism spectrum diagnosis when his ten free sessions ran out.
There are visual gags aplenty on a big screen behind him. Some are daggy, like a Wikipedia-driven foot callus spin on the classic pastime of predicting your own death via Google doctor. That leads to a bit about the need for empathy (no confirmation if he uses the same consultant as the prime minster). Others bite harder, like a reel of iPhone holiday snaps that splice beach bliss in Italy with visuals of horrific police brutality from the Hong Kong protests. The gig could have done with more of the latter, though a pasta-driven sequence involving a particularly cranky Italian cab driver and the perfect pun lands with such obvious glee that it requires its own spotlight.
Chen leans into his gawkiness and extended pauses, bringing the audience with him, extracting maximum chortles and gladly owning the jokes that don’t land. Flashing up a series of Edinburgh Comedy Festival 3-star reviews, awkwardly, that’s probably what this amusing but pretty thin show is worth. But he’s secured a nomination for Most Outstanding Show, so what do I know? Even if it didn’t quite light me up, I’m also certain he’s gonna keep blowing up the joint.
