Review by Steve Bennett

Vancouver’s Byron Bertram sounds every inch the professional comic. He has the emphasis, rhythms and punchiness to penetrate the most indifferent club night.

But over nearly an hour, the limitations of the material and his performance skills become obvious. Most notably, he really struggles with accents – yet insists on returning to them time and time again.

He might sound like a convincing comedian, but he never sounds like a convincing Englishman, German, Ulsterman, Australian or (with potential for huge offence) Chinese man. A weird pseudo-British voice acts as his inner monologue, commenting on how he’s going and – repeatedly – on the fact this venue is within an office block, but it never has the originality of either Jim Gaffigan or Terry Alderton, who use similar devices to much greater effect.

His material comes thick and fast, the speed of gags seemingly more important than the quality, so a few cliched ‘…and we got off the bus’ reveals or observation that something-or-other must have been designed by someone ‘…on acid!’ get past the comedy gatekeeper. And there’s stereotypes a-plenty, from screamingly gay San Franciscan flight attendants to mums who ‘hilariously’ get modern terms mixed up.

Yet other segments are more distinctive, such as his drunken friend hitting on women by insulting them and subsequently demanding a high five, which becomes an over-used running joke. Indeed, the bar seems his natural hang-out; he’s very much the no-nonsense beer-drinking, sports-loving guy who loves a bit of banter with his male buddies.

Over a 20-minute club set, his powerful confidence and hard-driven delivery would work a treat, but the lack of ambition in the material is more exposed over the hour. That said, the majority of the audience were laughing freely and frequently, so his straightforward shtick is certainly hitting the spot for plenty of punters.

Review date: 16 Apr 2012
Reviewed by: Steve Bennett
Reviewed at: Melbourne International Comedy Festival