Review by Steve Bennett

The music pumps out of the speakers and an excited voice booms at out an instruction to welcome ‘one of Australia's premiere indigenous performers’. The crowd oblige and he walks out… to an audience of nine people.

It’s not great endorsement of how much the mainstream has embraced aboriginal acts – especially given that most of these ticket-holders are black – but Kevin Kropinyeri could have what it takes to make the crossover.

He’s a thoroughly engaging presence: warm, self-effacing and upbeat. Plus he’s got an interesting experience to share. The fact that virtually no indigenous voices are heard in Australian comedy means his account of being brought up on a mission (a euphemism disguising a rather awful concept of segregation) holds an inevitable fascination. He also throws into the mix that he’s served time in jail and has fathered seven children by three mothers.

Kropinyeri doesn’t delve into those personal circumstances much – which is a great shame, as he flashes the possibility of comic gold there before returning to more generic observations about his community. Accessibility is the name of the game, and he playfully reinforces a few stereotypes, especially about blackfellas being perpetually strapped for cash and possibly being a bit fighty, but also throws some light on to his community, and the occasional stupid reactions of white people, too.

He has spent four years entertaining his own folk, and a little over a year with broader audiences, and there’s a feeling he’s still treading lightly; perhaps aware he’s something an ambassador. Yet he comes across as a lovable rogue, vigorously but affectionately mocking his life and the people he grew up with. He comes from a place where hilariously cruel nicknames are doled out without meaning harm, and that’s the approximate tone of his comedy.

He’s blessed with an animated face, which he wobbles effectively to emphasise a point or caricature, which matches his always-energetic, physical delivery, occasionally bolstered by a burst of music to demonstrate, for example, the movement of his brothers and sisters on the dancefloor.

Though a skillful raconteur, the material doesn’t always match the performance, and there are some old gags and observations here, such as his mother delivering a beating timed to every syllable of the telling-off. And yes, we want to hear more of his personal circumstances that he he only touches on.

But leaving a show wanting to hear more is no bad thing – and it’s hard to remember, given his confidence on stage – that Kropinyeri is still a relative newcomer to this, while still carrying the responsibility of being a torch-bearer. And if he speaks more about generic issues than personal ones, perhaps that’s because society sees him more as part of a group than as an individual, too.

Review date: 5 Apr 2013
Reviewed by: Steve Bennett
Reviewed at: Melbourne International Comedy Festival