Frank Woodley: Bewilderbeest
Live Review

Frank Woodley is one of the big beasts of modern Australian comedy; and this show seems designed to demonstrate exactly why, with a series of unlinked sketches showcasing his excitable physical humour, dextrous wordplay, whimsical musical numbers and deft audience wrangling.

A far cry from last year’s brilliant knockabout play Possessed, Bewilderbeest seems almost like a calling card for Woodley’s many talents – although there can be few who would need reminding of them.

The show is presented through his vulnerable persona of the nerve-racked man-child, gabbling away in unfinished sentences as his paddle-like hands, seemingly out of all proportion from the rest of his body, do the real talking. It’s typical of the exaggerated yet measured physicality with which he performs his whole show.

Or nearly all of it: the slapstick interlude when he vainly struggles to put slippery goldfish into a bowl as carnival music plays doesn’t win points for subtlety – though Woodley’s unbridled joy in performing it is a winner.

Elsewhere in the charming show he channels the spirit of WC Fields as he re-enacts his Uncle Sid’s drunken attempts on the golf course. Talking about his favourite relatives is a loose conceit of the show, and offers him the chance to give a masterclass in fast-paced verbal flexibility as he channels his Uncle Bernie, swearing without actually swearing in unleashing a tirade of surreal invective at the TV. It’s very much in the vein of the best sketch he’s ever done, when he invented scores of new words in the vein of William Shakespeare.

Woodley’s more straightforward stand-up sections, such as his pondering what all the kings’ horses could possibly bring to the recovery of Humpty Dumpty, are slightly less strong, though a faultless delivery – affable, eager and supremely confident – covers up any cracks in the writing. And even here some lines really sparkle.

Although there’s no theme here, Woodley moves fluidly from one set piece to the next. It’s slicker than an oil spill on the Great Barrier Reef, but given the illusion of fluid, conversational spontaneity. He manipulates the audience brilliantly, and without them ever suspecting a thing. At the end, he blatantly demands a standing ovation and, to a man, the audience rise – with no hint of begrudging compliance. We’ve all enjoyed being one of his playmates for an hour, so joining in seems entirely fitting.