Melbourne International Comedy Festival review

Time was when a disused industrial unit might be used for an illicit rave. This one, the Malthouse, has been converted into a lovely, comfortable arts venue where Barnie Duncan can recreate those heady days as a theatrical experience.

Your enjoyment of Bunny will almost entirely depend on how much you want to see a man mime out every aspect of clubbing, from bar orders shouted over the music, to nipping out for a cigarette break, to taking a shit in the loos just when your favourite track drops. Duncan’s certainly a precise physical comic, and all of this, save for the odd absurd turn, rings true. And the energy he brings to the dance breaks is exhausting enough just to witness.

On to this narrative backbone, Duncan adds a bunch of dad jokes - ‘clubbing’ as in seal-clubbing being a recurring favourite - flecks of ‘I tried to disguise myself as a mandarin’-type surrealism and observational vignettes about old people’s pubic hair or ‘nostalgia bros’ who think the kids of today are missing out on everything. He also forms something of a double act with his LED ‘applause’ sign that illustrates some gags and literally signposts how the audience should react.

Finally, overlaid on to all of this, is the show’s big theme – a discussion about him trying to deal with the raw grief that floored him following his mum’s recent death.

If it sounds like something of a tonal mess, well it is. Metaphorically, he’s got one deck playing banging house, the other a funeral dirge and both faders are full up.

There are threads about trying to deal with loss through comedy, and whether that’s an appropriate, adequate or cathartic response, which attempt to tie this all together. And his yearning to go back to the club is partly driven by a nostalgia from when his mum was still alive, and partly to once more surrender all emotion to the music, to lose himself in the beat for a few hours when nothing else matters.

But he’s also using all the inane punchlines and rambunctious antics to avoid sincerity in properly addressing his grief in his work, notwithstanding moments where he likens life without his mum to a dance track’s pared-back synth track without the euphoric drop. 

Duncan’s a fine performer, whether impersonating an archetypal hipster or a demented butterfly, and his energy, backed with the beats of the soundtrack, gives the show a bounce. But the bitty content and jumbled thoughts don’t satisfy.

Duncan’s version of the grief show that once a ubiquitous staple of the festival circuit might be far from the clichéd stand-up treatment of dropping in a sad segment around the 40-minute mark to lend the show emotional heft. But it’s a messy show, more noise than signal, that would benefit from a substantive remix.

 • Barnie Duncan: Bunny is at the Malthouse at 8.15pm tonight and tomorrow, then at 7.15pm on Sunday.

Review date: 8 Apr 2022
Reviewed by: Steve Bennett