The Reviewer Reviewer

This review of Jen Brister’s show [review since edited, original text below] claims that “very few female comedians can pull off funny funny”.

“Funny”, according to the dictionary, means amusing. So does “funny”.

“Funny funny”, one presumes, means amusing twice. Perhaps there should be a notification on the comedy festival’s website to specify for the sell-out audiences attending Tig Notaro, Maria Bamford and Geraldine Quinn’s shows, for example, exactly which one night during the festival is going to be the funny one.

This linguistic device has been used again later in the review to describe where the audience is “from from”. Is the reviewer writing a lullaby?

Of course, the reviewer probably means “just plain funny on an objective level that exists above the level of female comedy”. Not only is this patently untrue, deeply ignorant and sexist, but it’s a generalisation that entirely explodes the reviewer’s integrity as an analytical writer. We are told it is surprising that the act is humorous (why?) and that very few women comedians are funny funny (what does that mean? According to whom? What women? Are there statistics? Pie charts?). While these questions remain unanswered, considerable space is dedicated to the performer herself: we know about her race, her gender, her sexuality, her outlandish behaviour, the colour of her skin, and the fact that she is a Londoner. This preoccupation with the appearance of a woman being reviewed for her comedy is particularly interesting in the context of the above generalisations and misapprehensions.

If I were to judge this review on the basis not of its content but its presentation – and if I were then to extend that judgement to an entire class of persons about whose work I knew not a great deal – I might conclude that very few reviewers can “write write”. No stars.

TEXT OF ORIGINAL ARTICLE:

JEN Brister is one crazy half Spanish, half British lesbian. And I say that in the most endearing way possible.
Very few female comedians can pull off funny funny, but Jen Brister’s outlandish on-stage behaviour and somewhat unsophisticated delivery make for, surprisingly, quite a humorous act.
The browner-than-most-Brits Brister is from South London, which is apparently a far from sufficient answer to explaining her olive skin. However, before you ask where she is, you know, from from; the answer will still be South London. And if you have the gumption to ask where is from from from, brace yourself for a anatomical image.
It’s always fun and games with accents until someone makes a sex joke. Or at least, that’s how it went at Jen’s childhood birthday parties.
Having a mother with a Spanish accent as strong as the day she arrived is fine – until she offers the kids at the party some coke. Coca Cola, that is. If you’ve ever talked to a Mediterranean European, you’ll know "coke" isn’t part of their vocabulary. I lie. It is, only they were never taught an "e" on the end of a word makes the vowel say its name.
Don’t worry, the show isn’t just gutter jokes. Brister also covers Julia Gillard’s terrible accent, accepts responsibility on behalf of the British for the Stolen Generation, explains why she hates pornography and how the general public don’t understand lesbian sex.
She also throws in, just for good measure, a visual demonstration of why the British Empire collapsed.
Squirm in your seat worthy at times, but overall – a jolly good