“The best comedy comes from honesty I think,” says Jon Bennett of this one-off performance at Bats Propeller Theatre [to be followed over the next two evenings by two more one-offs from his repertoire].

Certainly Pretending Things Are a Cock is a platform for frankness and self-revelation. You get the impression he feels he has nothing to lose from letting it all hang out. That the hanging out is phallically oriented has probably drawn audience members who are later surprised by moments of seriousness and tenderness.

“I came because Jon’s a fabulous story teller,” a young woman in the row in front of me says. “I’ve brought all my flatmates.”

We get an invitation to yell “Cock!” if we like what we hear. For tonight, it’s a term of endearment.

Then we’re taken on an ‘art odyssey’ through the capitals of the world. All shown on slides, backgrounded by “Ave Maria”, and accompanied by an exuberant narrative which clearly demonstrates the freshness Bennett brings to his observations. 

“It took four years and 300 photographs,” he informs us. “People ask me ‘Are you compensating for something?’.”

I would sooner ask: “Is this performance piece motivated by a stern minister father and an equally constrained mother?”

Not that Bennett is in rebellion mode – he seems more intent on making peace with caring but repressive parents, and indeed with the world in general. And if this is to be done by such an array of structures and objects portrayed protuberantly as male organs in all manner of positions, so be it.

“I’m considering moving to Wellington,” Bennett informs us. He’d be a welcome addition to our theatre scene. 

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Jon Bennett is an affable, warm, and generous performer. From his opening interaction with the audience; “This isn’t the real show, there’s just nothing to do out the back,” through to holding the bucket as we exit, he has us in the palm of his hand, leaning on the edge of our seats, whether waiting for the dénouement of a story or for the next picture of him Pretending Things Are A Cock.

The performance is delivered in a lecture style with PowerPoint as the medium. There are moments when this show reminds me of Arthur Meek’s On the Conditions and Possibilities of Helen Clark Taking Me as her Young Lover – although heavier on the laughs than the satire. While cocks are the primary tool used, for New Zealanders it is worth noting that jandles also feature heavily. 

Bennett seems genuinely thrilled and surprised by his capacity opening night crowd. He tells us that it’s always a surprise to him when people attend the show, as it’s very hard for people to imagine what they are about to see. Hat’s off to the Festival for positioning this show so well, both in terms of venue and information in their programme: “…a unique stand-up experience, Pretending Things Are A Cock is part photographic display, part pot-holed journey into an artist’s idiosyncratic world.”  

While Bennett delivers laughs in spades, the hidden depth of this show comes from his ability as a story teller. Without this, Pretending Things Are A Cock might run the risk of becoming a little one-note. Using photos from his extensive collection of cocks as his medium, Bennett invites us into his childhood in rural Australia, his experience growing up in a family of all boys (“From birth I was surrounded by five cocks…”), his first fumbling with the world of Pretending Things Are A Cock, how cocks have impacted the relationships he has had, and the resulting community of unexpected fellow cock pretenders he has met along the way. 

Bennett has the gift of being able take the audience on a journey, leading us in with laughs and jocularity, taking us to heartfelt and emotional places, and then delivering an unexpected twist which leaves us all in stitches. This juxtaposition between the silly and the serious is the show’s real charm, as are Bennett’s contrasting show personas, scripted and polished compared with self-deprecating and off the cuff. 

My only critique is that Bennett can afford to hold longer for laughs in places as none of us want to miss a word of what is coming.   

I should state that I love knob humour, and have often experimented in supermarket grocery sections with pretending certain vegetables are a cock. However I do not believe it’s necessary to be a cock aficionado to enjoy this show. This show would be suitable for audiences who are developing an interest in the world of cocks and cock-related humour, or for those who are, as yet, unaware of this genre altogether.

Pretending Things Are A Cock is a solid performance, that sustains facility while never leaving the audience unsatisfied. It delivers a good, hard climax with minimal clean up required. Two erect thumbs up.

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He’s an affable lad, Jon Bennett. Sipping his beer as he waits on a stage strewn with mostly plastic props, which inevitably pique our interest, he enjoins his drifting-in audience to sit up front, promising he’s not into audience participation: “It terrifies me.”

His PowerPoint presentation opens with an amusing Disclaimer; he assures us this is not Puppetry of the Penis; he checks our realities; he promises a story, and odyssey, and adventure, a quest … But can deciding which of your holiday snaps is your favourite really be called a quest?

Jon Bennett travelled the globe over four years and amassed over 300 photos, most taken by a girlfriend who was totally committed to supporting his addiction until … let’s just call it ‘The Thong Incident’ (for which read jandals or flip-flops). He’s Australian, by the way.

There’s no getting away from it: the parade of pictures of himself posing in ways that position a wide range of things – from tall buildings to tiny butterflies and anything in between – as growths off his groin is a juvenile joke that soon palls, at least until a particular image revitalises our interest. Like the one … I can’t say except it involves a crane but that not why it’s touchingly funny.

Fortunately what this Pretending Things Are a Cock device turns out to be is a peg on which to hang tales of his early life in a farm in rural South Australia – with stern and humourless parents, a tormenting older brother and loved pets – and his young adult adventures abroad. And most of the stories earn their keep.

Despite Bennett’s avowed fear of audience participation, he does interact with us amiably on questions of sibling bullying and shared travel experiences, which work all the better as cosy chats for his not using a microphone on Bats’ Propeller Stage.

The long story of how he became very good friends with Scandinavian Tobias in South America, however, the night they tried to find Machu Piccu’s hot springs in pitch darkness after chewing all day on coca leaves … For me, it outstays its welcome not least because the last part, involving an astonishing disregard for the wellbeing of other tourists, sucks any last vestige of humour from a rather gross anecdote that might otherwise have got by on poignancy and pathos. You can’t expect empathy when you have none for others.

As for all those props which never get used, what’s been the point of them? Despite the promising start and the stories most of the eager audience could relate to, I don’t think I am the only who leaves feeling less than happy. If comedy’s a bargain he hasn’t held his end up.

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