Live Review: Rottofest

Rottnest Island lies 18 kilometres off the coast of Western Australia. Some Dutch dudes named it after all the “rats” on the island (more affectionately known as quokkas) and once a year, hundreds of comedians, musicians and punters descend on the rock in the sea for a weekend to laugh, drink and throw mud at each other from balconies at two in the morning (actual anecdote).

It’s a chance for comedians and musicians to have a go in a fairly open testing ground. It’s a good thing that Rottofest exists, but like any jaded sailor will tell you, the weather gods have a dry sense of humour.

With the Gala starting everything off on Friday night, the first of many expectant crowds milled into the Comedy Hall. On show were some of the comedians present for the weekend. Each one got around five minutes to chuck out a taste of their material and try to bait crowds to their gigs over the following days. The results were mixed.

MC Steve Philp fully embraced his not-enviable role, working the crowd up as much as he could before Sydney’s Neil Kolhatkar became the first cab off the ranks. He impressed early, delivering his material quickly and directly. His Snoop impression was on the money. Sadly, Sami Shah’s set fell flat not long after, as the first cracks started to show in what would become a pretty average crowd response in general over the weekend. A few of the gala performers lost their timing mid-set, not least in part because a large part of the audience wasn’t really paying attention.

No matter, though; Sean Conway didn’t give two fucks about the parts of the crowd not paying attention. Loud, to the point and lacking any form of political correctness, Conway set a standard for the night, which was ably followed up by Sean Woodland, who thankfully toned things down just a bit with a few family jokes.

Dayne Rathbone, probably the biggest enigma at this year’s Rottofest, killed it. There’s no other way to put it. With a reputation in Perth that hinges on people telling their friends “dude, I saw this loser rant into a microphone last night...,” Rathbone was awkward, obscure and hilarious. Roping the organisers and fellow comedians into his freakishly skewed take on life was a smart move.

Saturday night was the night of the headliners. Clare Hooper was once again her jovial and cutting self, prefacing her set with an admonishment of neighbouring rowdy crowds screaming Bohemian Rhapsody at three in the morning. Hooper’s comedy stems from personal experience, and her penchant for not holding anything back led to some pretty hilarious anecdotes.

Donelle Rawlings was something else. The Chapelle Show star and legendary comedy writer was out of place on Rottnest, but that fuelled him. Race, sex, religion, selfies – Rawlings handled them all with acerbic wit and a great commune with the audience.

Tomas Ford’s Crap Music Rave was the capstone of the night, with the much-loved personality busting out as many ‘90s gems as humanly possible. The one criticism from punters, as heard in various shouted statements – Sandstorm is not a shitty song.

While the hotel was the musical hub, Governor’s bar served as home base for the comedians, leading to a long, long night of crowded discussion.

With Donelle Rawlings finishing off the night, the Gala was a pretty good first taste. Luckily, Saturday was a beautiful (i.e. stinking hot) day, and no one had any qualms about trekking to the various venues around town. Some things that might give you an idea of the level of party on the island on Saturday: a guy with the crest of Australia tattooed all over his inner arm; several quokkas taking controversial advantage of various red cups laying around the place; at least three of the top five mullets on show in Australia.

While various other comedians plied their trade around the island, the bands who made the trip over had a good day of it at the hotel. Rainy Day Women, Coin Banks and Panama showed off the range of the musical roster to a politely appreciative crowd. While most crowd input was confined to huddling under shade, it still made for a nice, relaxed environment.

And then there was Sunday, where everyone rested. That’s because we were forced to; wave after wave of storms pretty much ensured that any outdoor activity was limited to running really fast while covering our faces. John Saffran was the silver lining, though. Entering the hall relatively early in the morning, as the crowd was kept still with nursed hangovers, Saffran divulged the making of his new book, Murder In Mississippi. To say the man has balls is an understatement; the lengths he’s willing to go for a story are exceptional. While everyone was a bit shocked by the content, Saffran took everyone on a pretty gnarly journey.

Sadly, there wasn’t much else to put an eye on on Sunday, with the rain washing everything else out. The Hotel stage being outdoors, musical sets were limited to DJ spots, which admittedly cheered up a fair few people in the dreary weather. While it was a pretty grey way to end the festival, it was more than enough proof that, given the right environment, the perfect combination of comedy, music and just general good times that Rottofest will hopefully keep going on well into the future.