John Leung: The Cunning Linguist (MICF)

Giving John Leung's The Cunning Linguist two stars feels a bit like clubbing a baby seal, because there's something weirdly endearing in the awkward, slightly clueless delivery of this show. But cute does not a comic make, and despite the red hot go Leung is clearly giving his foray into comedy, the litany of odd choices, face-palm misfires and fumbled punchlines during this 50-minute gig pretty much cancels out whatever goodwill Leung's affable geekery might have generated.

Perhaps the most frustrating thing about The Cunning Linguist is that the premise for the show is so abundantly ripe for parody. Grammar and syntax do not readily spring to mind as particularly sexy, but the study of how we use our mouths, the nature of our vocal "ejaculations", and the double entendre faux pas we make with foreign tongues reveal a saucier side to linguistics.

Or so goes the theory at least. There are multiple ways you might explore this idea: via double hinged adult pun-gags by stealth, like Play School hosts have infamously slipped in over the years; by committing to full tilt XXX, Madonna circa-1992 levels of sleaze, shocking the LOLs out of the audience with the unlikely juxtaposition of the academic and the auto-erotic; or perhaps by embracing the ardently over-enthused nerd factor to the point it morphs into titillation. And many other funny options in-between.

Unfortunately for Leung, his rather vanilla, middle-rank approach has created something of a low-rent TED talk rather than a cohesive comedy show. As for the sexed-up content, the jokes are very much of the bad best man speech variety, with several groan-inducing attempts at racy digressions that mostly come off as cringingly creepy.

The use of music also feels poorly judged. The songs Leung trots out are fairly charming and occasionally witty, but musical comedy is a perilously difficult genre to tackle, and a curdling amount of lyrical repetition, hindered by laborious set-ups, spreads the smattering of punchlines woefully thin.

Some jokes appear to land, although it's hard to discern the pity laughs from the genuine amusement. At any rate, there certainly isn't enough decent comedy in The Cunning Linguist for a ten-minute set, let alone nearly an hour. That said, there's a lot of good intentions in this show, and given a less turgid subject matter, I could imagine Leung offering something pretty entertaining. But, for all his clear enthusiasm for words, making it the foundation of this show has ultimately proven to be stand-up suicide. If Leung was my Year Twelve English teacher, I'd be ready to jump on my desk shouting "O Captain! My Captain." But expectations at MICF are, I dare say, higher than the classroom.

John Leung presents The Cunning Linguist, til 8 Apr at Tasma Terrace, part of the Melbourne International Comedy Fest.