Review:Busting Out

IT WAS RAINING tits at the Parade Theatre in Kensington this week. Not tiny soft feathery tits of the ornithological variety, but large round firm pink tits with rosy nipples. Stick around for the finale of Busting Out and you’ll understand.

You will not want to be late either, for the evening’s merriment starts with a not-to-be-missed stand-up comedy performance by absolute expert in the field, Bev Killick. You know she is an expert because she has everyone with her, laughing and responding, within five seconds of taking the stage ... and I use the word ‘taking’ on purpose.

For, as with all good comedians, there is not one moment in the whole show where Bev and later also Emma Powell, do not command and control the stage, the audience and the imagination.

The stand-up material is fresh, funny, naughty, and flouts convention — as does the subject matter for the rest of the evening. It is indeed in the ‘theatre-as-public-enema tradition’, as described in the souvenir program.

Emma Powell began developing the show in 2005 for an appearance at the 2006 Melbourne International Comedy Festival under the title D-Cuppetry. No prizes for guessing the main topic. Emma says she always suspected that ‘boobs could be funny’ which was confirmed in this successful first outing. (Oh dear, first pun ... it is impossible to avoid!)

A further two years of writing and development resulted in the top performance (oh no, another!) we saw this week. Thank goodness, Emma, for your commitment.

The show is hilarious and there are a zillion wonderful ‘touch-bases’ for women in the audience.

There is no doubt that on the night women really connected with the jokes, and that the enjoyment was enhanced by shared female experience, in all its warts and glory. Jokes such as the Japanese flag gag, and those about breast screaming — sorry screening — are examples.

But the men were laughing pretty hard (oops! the third!) all night as well. Besides which, they got to spend over an hour looking at some pretty admirable sets of boobs/ bazookas/ bosoms/ breasts/ baps/ busts etc. etc. No complaints there.

There are unusual and astounding transformations of breast flesh projected onto a giant visual display. I am amazed but slightly concerned for their wellbeing. Nevertheless, I leap to my feet with everyone else and follow instructions that have me performing acts in public that would normally raise eyebrows. It is highly energising.

There are some striking silhouettes cast onto the screen. Shadow puppetry apparently originated in ancient China, but I don’t think the venerable Orientals would or could have envisioned quite the adaptation by Emma and Bev, and their extraordinary mammipulations. I’m still chuckling.

And forgive me if I’m taking things too seriously, but the show is wonderfully and strongly feminist. It celebrates women, their intelligence, skills, confidence, humour — and their breasts — in a rollicking and forthright, take-no-prisoners sort of way. It is relaxed and benevolent about it, with a ‘take me as I am, be what you want to be’ approach that is really liberating.

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