Sara Pascoe comes out to the audience armed with a glass of red wine and immediately and mindfully tries to sabotage her own show.
She then challenges herself to win back the audience. She admits she did this in Cardiff, Wales calling it her favourite part of England – which by doing so lost her her audience, who then booed all through her allotted 18 minutes. Melbourne is much too polite to do this and she de-quagmires herself, from the initial purposeful faux pas, during the rest of the show. She delves into whether or no she is an alcoholic and, well, one has to question whether the lady protests too much.
Sara messes with the illusion of reality and her part in it as a struggling ethical, vegan, feminist. She doesn’t hector but unwraps her slice of life through a deep philosophical lens: whether she explores the transubstantiation of a communion wafer, her own existence or why she has abandoned hairdressers and padded bras. She feels dissociated from the world and often at times feels she is just a brain in a laboratory in some cosmic joke of an experiment. She engages us in laughter by her cleverness and her own knowing futility of self.
revue by Connor O’Neil