Pumping up the reveal, days before, nothing is left to chance or whimsy, all about showing who's on for what and whereabouts their scene will play. Host Shane Bourne making a comment about the guests all being foreigners. Which places Merrick Watts outside of Australia then. Maybe Tasmania.
Tony Martin down in the mines from a trip taking light of the aristocracy. Death and torture to the lowly miners by way of future pop music trends. Or at least fizzles on the audible sizzle sticks. English accents, oldish, of the spark down where the canaries take a long, long rest. Martin's attempt to throw off an ensembler with a spot of shooting down his accent, just a bit on the soot.
Taking that air of accents, heavier now, Cal Wilson and the sham world of mediums and clairvoyants. Wilson being the latter in this case due to girth of the kicker in the belly. Sceptical from the bang of the opening shadow flame, Wilson toys the headscarf between keying it up and letting it fall to point out the hair piece looking for a way out of the scene. She is least the only one to actually walk through the blue door and close it in scene.
Commanding the one word riposte, Franklyn Ajaye barely makes a decent bite of mince of the boxing spectacle. A natural arena for lamboasting, ranting and ravings, the short and dead responses leave the ensemble cast draining the spit buckets of empty laughs. Logic flow of troubling the troubled youth into a life of boxing proving to be the best part of the skit.
Nothing like blowing out the largest participation sport in Australia as Merrick Watts slams netball while looking for excuses to excuse the passengers stuck at an airport not unlike Avalon. Manages the situation to a fair degree of commotion, an easier time than the rest with a straight forward situation to burn his pants off through words alone.
Mediocre all-in group challenge whimpering out the doof-doof. Elbow zeros on each of the player positions on stage lets the entire moment rest dead on the disco dance floor. Clubbing wildfire to smother the nuisance, a slow dance beat croons as the piano man falls asleep on the keys, the shot glass sliding off his left cheek.
Wilson wins the game.
Thursday, 28 May 2009
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