Comedy review: Hannah Gadsby

EVEN spending just under half an hour in the company of Hannah Gadsby, you wind up having a fair idea about her major hang-ups. Through tales of her going on an immediately regretted bungee jump and hooking up with a former crush, we discovered a prudish Australian who is now comfortable in her own skin as "a little bit lesbian".

She still tries to "channel her lady" whenever a visit is required to her local butcher, a cranky individual who knows full well that this regular customer is female but has a tough time dealing with the fact. For Gadsby's part, she feels nature has played a pretty mean trick by bestowing upon her perfect child-rearing hips that she will never need to call upon.

As quiet as a mouse, Gadsby has a show at the Fringe this August called Mrs Chuckles. Here, though, she was Little Miss Mumbles, making anyone not in the front couple of rows crane their necks to take in every word. Most of these arrange themselves in neat turns of phrase, but occasionally they wander down comedic cul-de-sacs where she is left to rely on a sequence of facial tics and nervy vocal patterns which, if you're in a generous mood, might make you think of a female Harry Hill.

While it's refreshing to hear an Aussie accent on a comedy stage that isn't blaring out opinions at breakneck speed, I get the sense that there's a trapped creative devil in this Tasmanian.

Hopefully it will work its way free soon.