Pinky Beecroft: Mainstream Funk

The endless, delightful silliness of Pinky Beecroft – sometimes sneaky, often outright – will keep you snickering and beaming for the full hour you're with him. Have no doubt. As the oldies used to say, the dude brought the house down. But later that night, or the next day, or whenever it is that you next find yourself all alone, the emotional kick of this remarkable show will hit and you'll realise Pinky belongs to the same class of philosopher twit as Spike Milligan. The alleged structure of the evening is to spin a “wheel of topics”, with Beecroft telling stories to match. But his enormous human charisma tends naturally toward the meandering monologue kind of deal, and the wheel is often ignored as Pinky pursues intriguing tangents or, more often, simply abandons a story halfway through because he just remembered an even funnier one. Tonight he told about being stalked by an overaffectionate pastry chef, the raft of physical afflictions that have hit him in the past year, and tripping balls with an octogenarian limo driver in Townsville cemetery. He proselytised for the joys of “spooning with a softie,” and analysed the generic anatomy of regional Australia's many “premier night spots”. A gently devastating (but still funny) letter written to his stepmother about his father is perhaps the best moment. But the content is bound to change completely from night to night, as Beecroft clearly has a thousand stories to tell. And shit, does he know how to tell 'em. Get a double dose if you can.

Running at North Melbourne Town Hall until Saturday 13 October