OBSERVER: Don’t Ask, Don’t Telfast
Justin Porter greets the audience for his first solo Melbourne International Comedy Festival show, Don’t Ask, Don’t Telfast, wearing a fabulous, sparkling, gold muumuu.
When the muumuu is discarded at the start of the show, Porter reveals equally fab, psychedelic PJs to present a self-referential, autobiographical show that swings through Porter’s childhood memories.
Porter reminisces about coveted childhood toys from Ninja Turtles to an incredible cash register complete with a credit card slider, built by Porter’s engineer father.
Porter could then play at being ground staff for his own airline, booking passengers.
Born in Texas to a military family with both of Porter’s parents serving, the family moved around a lot.
Like an awkward family photo, Porter offers a vivid picture of life for an American kid in the 90s.
Porter’s story takes a dark turn as he recounts his parents’ divorce and his mother’s turn to religion.
Mining one’s own life for laughs is a great comedy strategy.
Porter, in particular, has a rich trove of wild, growing-up experiences to draw from.
Combining stand-up with an emotionally charged, wistful, and occasionally heart-wrenchingly sad narrative engages the audience if there are jokey payoffs.
Unfortunately, some anecdotes never fully developed a satisfying punchline.
The set felt a little undercooked, made worse by Porter occasionally losing his thread and needing prompts from his producer.
The patchy delivery made it feel more like a work in progress than a polished set.
That said, Porter is charming, eminently likeable, and effervescent in his delivery, and there are some clever laughs when the jokes land.
Review by Kathryn Keeble