A man walks into a bar - well, it’s a tent - where he watches a man windsurf while arguing with his subconscious about whether or not wanking directly into the ocean would be amazing.
The above is, obviously, not so much a joke as it is an accurate description on my Sunday evening just gone.
My mega-fiance Leen and I went and saw Sam Simmons’ Melbourne International Comedy Festival Show, Death of a Sails-Man, last night in The Famous Spiegeltent, which is currently pitched in Federation Square.
Leen bought the tickets and I did no investigation, so had no idea what we were walking into. Given the nature of the show, though, it was the perfect approach. I’d say you should do the same if I wasn’t currently writing a review that ruins your ability to do so.
Death of a Sails-Man is a hilarious show shot through with absurd, surreal humour, although there’s a surprising level of commitment to the premise. The DIY aesthetic keeps yanking you out of the story and reminding you that, Christ, I’m in a tent and it’s just a dude on stage with half a windsurfer, which further underlines the ridiculousness of it all and makes the whole thing jell together. It’s all anchored on Simmons’ performance, which sails a perfect line between giving it all to the character and winking out at the audience that, yes, this is really happening and yes, the sound guy exists. (Look, I’m really sorry about that last sentence, I’m really into seafaring puns right now.)
I cried enough laugh tears to fill the ocean in which Simmons may or may not have fucked a dolphin.
The show’s premise - a muesli magnate and corporate poet ‘s midlife crisis has sent him out into the ocean to windsurf, learn nothing and probably die alone without any phone reception - is quickly established. We then witness this happen through strangely-confident pelvis-based dancing, conversations with the subconscious and an endless flurry of weird props. At times this all convalescences into what I’d describe as some random and his girlfriend filming a music video they’re making up as they brainstorm the lyrics to a song they’re currently recording. It’s glorious. I won’t go much more into the content because, well, you should really see it and the current of absurd uncertainty is half the fun.
Shout out to Jennifer Wong, whose silent turn as Simmons’ prop assistant - struggling to move about unseen despite being constantly berated - is a great study in how a face can crumple from excitement into terror.
If you prefer your stand-ups to stand and deliver the jokes, this may not be the one for you. There is space here for joke-telling, and the batshit proceedings are full of callbacks and payoffs that show this has all been intricately planned by a mind that, while clearly odd, is committed to comedy and due diligence.
If you’re not into that vibe though. It’ll be hard to sway you because this thing is so hard to explain.
Though that, of course, is the whole point. Where else would this occur? How else could it? It’s so elementally exciting to watch someone create the thing they need to and get the chance to fall into that. I walked out of the tent last night inspired to get out there and create something for the sake of it, and that’s a special thing.
See Death of a Sails-Man before April 20.