Kitty Flanagan

If you’re expecting Kitty Flanagan live to be a longer version of the shouty, slightly cranky lady on the teev, then you’re expecting right. Having said that, she’s more than a female Dave Hughes or less sarcastic Judith Lucy, comparisons that are in the ball park, but don’t do Flanagan, and her contemporaries, justice. There’s the right amount of bogan nerd in Flanagan’s act, as well as some artful swears, but the shtick is at a minimum. Instead, her pacing draws you in (including some of the best placed fart jokes of the Australian stage in a decade – seriously). Building a good, through thread while also dealing with a strangely persistent (although adoring) heckler, her only real hurdle was in the first few minutes when making fun of the theatre’s name. Formerly Sydney Theatre, yes, don’t know who Roslyn Parker was either, but the audience wasn’t sure if she was the type of broad we were ready to dismiss. By the end no one was any the wiser about the venue (it did seem a bit of a weird match for stand-up bookended by a couple of funny tunes featuring her muso sister), but the set was worth the puzzle. Tight and original.