Melbourne International Comedy Festival review

Zoë Coombs Marr has one word for crowdwork: ‘Yuk.’

Although it’s the pre-eminent way stand-up is consumed online, she characterises it as comedians being arseholes by asking ‘what do you do for a living?’ and being rude about it.

Not that this award-winning comic is averse to a bit of audience banter herself, but her line of questioning is way more likely to be positive, and perhaps along the lines of: ‘What’s the most ADHD thing you’ve done?’

Yes, Coombs Marr is among the sizeable ranks of comics with the condition. And yes, it most definitely defines her scattergun style, a freeflowing stream of stories and ideas prone to wild digressions, often prompted by punters’ responses. 

Sometimes that chatty style means it can feel like the show’s treading water. However, there are duck legs paddling away unseen beneath that surface – and the show is more themed than her loose, casual delivery suggests. 

Yet that structure remains lightly worn, and it is individual club-ready routines that stand-out: most notably the anecdote about the American exchange student excited to visit rural Australia on her first trip ever outside Miami who had the most Aussie experience ever. She also has a memorable analogy for how her compatriots are treated in the UK, which segues into a briefly political point about stolen land.

Talking in general about ‘the stuff that comes out of people’s mouths’ brings her quickly to misinformation, from ridiculous myths – sneeze three times without anyone saying ‘God bless you’ and you’ll be lost to the leprechauns – to internet bullshit, conspiracy theories and tunnel-vision Trump acolytes, some of whom ended up in her audience one night, much to the liberal, gay comic’s confusion.

Ironically, given the tools you need to protect against disinformation, you probably shouldn’t over-analyse Coombs Marr’s comedy. 

For primarily she’s a playful, silly japester, never in danger of taking herself too seriously nor above a cheesy pun or even some prop-based comedy, with a home-made gizmo that offers a daft reversal of the trope in which audiences throw undies at heart-throb performers. It’s a dubious benefit of being in the ‘splash zone’ of her front row.

Review date: 2 Apr 2025
Reviewed by: Steve Bennett