Sammy J

For what Ricketts Lane lacks in production values, it more than makes up for in ingenuity, not to mention a whip-sharp script and the always impressive songwriting talents of young Sammy J.

Here he plays a struggling low-level tax lawyer sharing a flat with Randy, his best friend. The opening scenes have them trading sparky banter that any sitcom would be proud of, while killing time with a convoluted hybrid board game of their own splendid invention.

In a fast-paced plot, Sammy uncovers evidence linking his roomie to large-scale tax evasion. Since the Mr Big of the scam has fled to Papua New Guinea (which you will never pronounce the same way again, thanks to an infectious running joke), the earnest investigator has to prosecute his best friend.

The action, and the gags, never let up for a minute. There’s an exuberant spirit pervading every moment, while the ultra-lean writing wrings laughs from the most unlikely of places – including one of the best, most unexpected, visual gags you’ll ever see at the start of the courtroom scene.

Even the songs earn their place, never acting as mere make-weight interludes, but carefully designed to keep up the joke-rate. Meanwhile McIvor injects more emotion into his inanimate creation than you’ll get in an entire year of Neighbours, building up no small measure of empathy for the loveable rogue.

Without an ounce of fat in the writing – rather like the rake-thin Sammy J himself – this delightful, hilarious romp is surely one of the highlights of the festival..