Shyla Jones

If you know Dylan Moran from his turn as the drunken and grumpy bookseller Bernard Black from the early-naughts British comedy Black Books, you might’ve wondered how similar the comedian is to his character. If Moran’s latest show is anything to go by, the answer is very; his 80-minute set is packed with nihilism, self-loathing and sharp observations.  The show may be titled We Got This, but that’s not because the Irish misanthrope has turned a new leaf to tour with motivational material. In fact, it’s quite the opposite: after ambling onto the stage ten minutes past showtime, it’s immediately clear that Moran has been in a bit of a dark place in his life lately. He highlights a few contributing factors, namely a recent divorce from his wife of 22 years, turning 50, the ups and downs of the pandemic and his choice to get back on the sauce after a few years of being a teetotaler.   Moran doesn’t dwell on these personal struggles for long, though. Instead, he pivots to crowd work and probes audience members about where they live, if they like it, if it’s where they want to be and - if not - if their ideal suburb is at least in view. In the vastness of Hamer Hall, it’s difficult to hear what the interrogated subject is saying. Still, Moran’s rapid-fire line of questioning is hilarious and demonstrative of the quick-wittedness he’s known for. He deftly works his way through bits on topics like gender (proclaiming he doesn’t give a f*** about what’s in anyone’s pants and it’s weir

If you live in Melbourne, you’d struggle to find a cafe within a 10km radius of the CBD that isn’t hawking plant milk as much, if not more, than the plain-old moo juice. But German-Cameroonian comedian Aurelia St Clair wants to set the record straight: just because you take your flat white with soy, almond or oat milk doesn’t necessarily mean you’re non-dairy presenting.  So, what does it mean exactly? St Clair uses her show, Non-Dairy Presenting, to highlight what qualities spiritually align you with dairy drinkers or plant milk drinkers, and in doing so, shares razor-sharp insights about our city’s culture. Fitzroy, bisexuals and those who work remotely? Non-dairy presenting. Landlords, St Kilda and heterosexuals? Dairy-presenting. You get the gist.  With crowd work, comedians are really rolling the dice on their crowd’s energy and engagement levels. St Clair cleverly removes that variable by turning all of her instances of crowd work into game show-type exercises that require minimal effort (a raised hand or lowered finger) and allowed the audience to feel like active participants. Oh, and don’t let the smile perpetually plastered on her face lull you into a false sense of security: the knives are out, and if you call Melbourne home, you will feel called out once, if not several times.  You may already be familiar with St Clair from her podcast of the same name, or perhaps from her TikTok where she’s carved out a following for her astute takes on suburban stereotypes. If t

We all had to make some less-than-ideal adjustments thanks to the pandemic, but for comedian Marcus Ryan, that meant moving back in with his parents at the age of 40 and becoming a chauffeur to (usually) drunk and (sometimes) unruly passengers. He hit rock bottom, and annoyingly enough, that purportedly temporary pivot to being a DD ended up more financially fruitful than his two-decade-long career as a comedian. Regardless, he decided to give it another go and he’s back on stage with Chauffeur So Good, a set lovingly named after his business. To kick things off, Ryan briefly takes on the persona of a bus driver he had yonks ago – pedo ‘stache, short shorts and headset to boot. It’s an effective piece of character study, especially considering Ryan is about to regale you with how his life turned upside down and he wound up behind the wheel of the VIP Van.  If Ryan has ever chauffeured you for a winery tour, buck’s or hen’s party, or an out-of-town gig, this show might be the stuff of nightmares. He’s ready to spill all the saucy tales of his ex-passengers (which include Collingwood Football Club star Mason Cox and ex-Essendon Football Club player David Zaharakis) to great comedic effect.  But before he gets into those eyebrow-raising anecdotes (including how was once tipped with pricey illicit substances), he goes through other material. A few bits are overworked or overly drawn out, including a tale about how he became the face of a hair-loss cream advert. While initially fu

With more than 200 MICF shows under his belt, Mark Watson is not just a veteran of our festival - he’s also basically an honourary Melburnian, well-versed in all of the “Melbourneisms” of a resident. As the show gets started and a few latecomers wander in, he knowingly quips about our city’s broken infrastructure and how, despite its proximity, Chin Chin is, in fact, not a quick pre-show dinner.  In fact, he has so much to say that it’s hard to tell when Watson’s introductory small talk ends and his planned material begins. It’s made even more difficult because, on this night, there was an unexpected two-for-one deal: Watson was joined on stage by an extremely animated Auslan interpreter who was funny in her own right. Having someone there who had to translate his every word (the Auslan translations of ‘dildo’, ‘Hobbit’ and ‘jacking off at a picnic’ are admittedly amusing) was a continual distraction for Watson, but still hilarious.  About a quarter of the way into the hour, it’s finally clear he’s back on track. The Taskmaster star is known for his fast-talking nature, and while it does add to his dorky charm, it can sometimes make for a brain-addling listening experience. He’ll start a sentence then drop it because he’s had another thought or backtrack to finish something he’d said several sentences ago; perhaps partly his trademark style but also partly as a result of trying to catch up in a show that was running behind. Regardless, one thing’s for sure: when he does manag

With nearly 25 years of performing under his belt, David O’Doherty is no stranger to the stage. But while the years have flown by and much has changed, a few things have remained the same: O’Doherty’s style of dress (similar to that of a child just starting to pick out his own clothes) and the miniature electronic keyboard that’s as much a part of his routine as he is.  As the saying goes, ‘if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it’ - and with Tiny Piano Man, the self-described ‘dishevelled prince of the $15 eBay keyboard’ proves there’s a strong appetite for what he’s serving. From the moment O’Doherty steps onto the stage and sits with his comedy partner on his knees, there is rarely a moment when the audience isn’t buckled over in laughter.  O’Doherty is masterful in giving a tight, well-crafted set the same organic, relaxed feel of a mate regaling you with stories at a pub. In this set, O’Dohert lampoons vapers, leans into self-deprecation, vents his frustrations of having boomer parents or, worse, a father who’s also a creative. He even touches on futurism with a foreboding yet humorous tune about climate change. And while he admits he’s not particularly into crowd work, he still shines in the moments when he strays from his rehearsed material to jab at latecomers who had no better excuse for their tardiness than "dinner".  If you hear the words ‘musical comedy’ and your immediate impulse is to run for the hills, we get it: when done poorly, it can be pretty cringy. But while ther

Are you nursing some physical (and emotional) aches from life knocking you about as you get older? They say laughter is the best medicine, and luckily for you, affable Aussie comic Daniel Connell is taking the stage this MICF season with I’m Always Sore, his humorous ode to the pains of fatherhood and ageing.  It’s his 11th brand-new show at the festival and comes off the back of his sold-out tour last year entitled Gutless Wonder. And just like in last year’s show, Connell has once again proven himself to be a master of spinning yarns, turning the most mundane everyday occurrences into knee-slapping gags. From neighbourhood (literal) catfight antics and the remarkable tourist draw of massive salt piles to school trips gone wrong and kissing surprise sex goodbye, Connell covers a lot of bases and leaves the audience in stitches every time.  His soft-spoken demeanour and wry smile lend an air of effortlessness to his work. When you realise some of the aforementioned mundanity was actually a set-up for an effective throughline, it’s clear that Connell is operating on the level of a comedy veteran. These qualities also help his darkest material hit home; he uses the same gentle tone of voice when introducing a punchline about a grisly death as he does when talking about hot cross buns, bringing out a mix of laughs and gasps from the crowd.  The first half of the show is stronger than the second, and while the audience was laughing through the entire set, there is a marked sense

If you’re unfamiliar with a Saturn return, here’s the gist: it’s when the planet Saturn returns to the exact position it was in when you were born, and some believe it’s associated with major life changes. It takes around 29.5 years for this astrological phenomenon to occur, and comedienne Jordan Barr has just passed that threshold and uses her newest show, Saturn Return Lol, to explore the milestones that have (or haven’t) been achieved.  Like in last year’s show, Dreams, Barr is again equipped with a pastel-themed PowerPoint presentation that she talks around like a professor giving a lecture, and there are enough references to pop culture (Barr weighs in on the Diana-Camilla feud to the timelessness of The Sound of Music and her questionable aspiration to be a Dance Mom) to make your head spin on its axis.  Despite the similarities, Barr doesn’t achieve the same unhinged wackiness as last year, and something is missing. In this set, Barr is strongest when she wields her impressive wealth of pop culture knowledge, shining bright with her niche knowledge of the real Von Trapp family and the royal family. But several sections are overworked and don’t quite land, like the series of questionable mocked-up Instagram posts she created to show how she’d announce major milestones.  It’s still an enjoyable hour, and admittedly a lot of the material seemed to mostly hit home with the crowd that skewed younger (Gen Z, perhaps) than this Millennial reviewer. But no matter the generatio

It’s that time of the year when you’re confronted with how little progress you’ve made towards your overly optimistic New Year’s resolutions. As the guilt and shame start to settle in, you might be tempted to use this as an opportunity to take a long, hard look at yourself; perhaps you’ll be inspired to buy a self-help book or enrol in mindfulness classes to try to make yourself a better person. But instead, why not save some time, effort and money by opting to attend this show by Lawrence Mooney on the merits of simply accepting that you’re a loser?  Mooney is a self-described self-help addict and has unsuccessfully tried it all: books, classes, breathing exercises, mantras, influencers - you name it, he’s tried it. Armed with a giant flip pad, Mooney (who is perhaps best known for his spot-on Malcolm Turnbull impression) shares his top tips, including killing your dreams and accepting that you’re simply not good enough.  On paper, that probably sounds depressing, but thanks to Mooney’s expert comedic timing, you’ll be laughing too much to realise the true depths of your despair. Across the hour, a few of Mooney’s jokes didn’t quite hit the mark; namely, some tired quips about the ‘woke left’ with no tie-in to the overarching theme of the show. But these moments are few and far between, with most of Mooney’s set leaving the audience in stitches.  When the hour is up, you might feel two things: motivated to be your true (awful) self and unsure of where to go from here. Don’t