Published on RHUM.org.au April 2010

It’s a brave comedian that takes on two full shows in the one comedy festival, but late at night, in a tiny room at Trades Hall, Lou Sanz and Claire Hooper do just that. I’m here to report that The Sandz and Hopper Show is a slice of fried gold.

Under a shaggy haircut Lou Sanz looks like Breakfast Club-era Ally Sheedy, shooting a perpetual death stare at no one in particular. Claire Hooper, on the other hand, is upbeat: frothy and bubbly like the milk for a babyccino. It quickly becomes apparent that this sharp contrast in disposition is because Hooper is inherently evil, treating the writing of the show as an avenue for making Sanz her unwilling sexual plaything.

On the surface this is a sketch show, but a self-referential narrative weaves through it like a drunk in the traffic. The opening scene has Sanz onstage clutching a suitcase, coat buttoned to the neck, trying to extricate herself from her working relationship with Hooper. Hooper convinces her to stay and the show goes on, albeit with regular objections from Sanz at Hooper’s constant groping and condescension. Diary-style voiceovers between sketches reveal the comedians’ extreme frustrations over working together.

The sketches themselves are short and absurd: juice bar workers shake drinks with their cleavage; Sanz diffuses a bomb with nail scissors that are tied to Hooper’s bra; Hooper licks whipped cream off Sanz’s hard hat from beneath a transparent tarpaulin. Even when in character the girls are also playing themselves, discussing their careers and the writing process behind the show.

The simple props and casual pace give the show the back-to-basics vibe of a high school variety night, but it’s backed up by the performers’ considerable comedic talent and experience. The scene in which Sanz, dressed as Vegemite, apathetically chases Hooper, dressed as a Vita-Weet, around the room talking ultra dirty while honking a bicycle horn is out-and-out the funniest thing I’ve seen at the festival this year.

The freedom of a dodgy timeslot and a tiny venue has given them the opportunity to experiment and let their freak flags really fly. They’ve obviously made this show primarily to please themselves – Sanz breaks her deadpan glare only when overcome by laughter – but while it’s self-indulgent it’s also utterly, ridiculously funny.

Chuckle Factor: 9/10