RHUM

Over the years The Bedroom Philosopher has appeared in various different guises, showing his versatility as a comedian, musician, poet / spoken word artist, MC and writer. “If you find me funny,” he says at the outset, “I’m a comedian. If you don’t, I’m a musician. If you don’t like my music I’m an installation artist.”

This time he’s definitely a comedian. Songs from the 86 Tram is drenched with a bring-spare-knickers level of hilarity. This is the most thoughtful, well-conceived show I’ve seen so far, replete with unique observation, heartfelt characters, and extremely skilful musicianship.

Justin Heazlewood portrays a dozen different personas as effortlessly as if he were changing hats. Ticket inspections, distorted tram announcements, and the clang and murmur of tram background noise lend authenticity to this simulated excursion from West Preston (“Depreston”) to Docklands.

Among the cast of passengers there is a granny, a pretentious ‘new media’ worker, a man of indeterminate ethnic background (“I come from a land of great fear and violence: Collingwood”), a school child, an Aussie B-Boy (Heazlewood raps and strums his own hip-hop accompaniment on guitar), and a junkie dad wielding a pram. Each has his or her own song that encapsulates their internal monologue. All hit the awesome-ometer somewhere between hilarious and touching.

In the past, Heazlewood’s penchant for the bizarre has polarised audiences into those who like ‘straight comedy’ and those who love a little nonsense now and then. Punters who relish absurd, Python-esque humour tend to admire the zany Bedroom Philosopher. The same folk are inclined to appreciate such comedians as the highly underrated Shaun Micallef.

But Songs from the 86 Tram is a more approachable production, friendly to those who like their humour palatable. Of course you won’t completely escape Heazlewood’s token tomfoolery. I laughed hardest in the song which involved the unlikely combination of “Captain Tap-Tap” (a novelty castanet), “The Choir” (a small cassette player with random noise on it), and the “shave solo” (a hands-free harmonica brace fitted not with a harmonica, but an electric shaver).

The finale is almost too touching and philosophical to belong in a comedy show, yet it works. The barrage of humanity actually left me a little teary. How many comedy shows can do that?

This performance is ingenious, uproarious, a must-see. I give it my highest rating so far.

Chuckle Factor: 9.5 / 10

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