Strong, brave, stroppy and not to be f##ked with, Justine Smith is a thinking-on-her feet-turning-mistakes-into-gags-working-the-crowd kind of comedian I really get off on. In her Wellington opening gig so did the audience.

Tumbling through a bevy of self-deprecating biographical material, her rhythm and patter is totally engaging. Her grandpa’s picture on stage is a nice touch as is a rendition of one of his jokes – he was a comic too.

Navigating her way through brilliant vignettes – her reoccurring mad mother impersonation is ridiculously transcendent – she takes us to some crazy places peppered with sexual innuendo, drama queen antics, clairvoyant insights and details of bodily functions.

An excellent night of comedy – check it out. My pick of the four acts I have seen.
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Welcome to Jussi Town, population: 1… Well on Tuesday night, population: 100-ish. For a short stay of an hour we have been welcomed into Jussi Town where she proudly announces she is Sheriff. But, it seems that almost anything goes.

The Basement stage has always been a case of what you see is what you get during a stand-up show – even when it was the Silo: a nostalgic time that Jussi refers to early in the piece. There are a few black curtains to conceal the awaiting comic and then a spotlight isolating them in the middle of the black expanse. But Jussi Town would not be what it was without its forefathers and on the stage are two framed photographs, one of one man, the other of two, and Jussi introduces us to them with little delay.

So, although you might think a show called Jussi Town could be all about her, it’s not. It begins in her home town of Christchurch with the people who fostered or censored her on her path to the present day and it talks about the people she has surrounded herself with since she turned up on the comedy stage.

However, sentimentality aside, there are still no taboos. Everything is discussed. The C-word is aired early, and when Jussi discusses the idea of spirits and whether or not they are “always with us” she hopes her Grandfather isn’t “with us” this night.

Jussi Town on its opening night was another case of the artist thinking that things were a bit free-form and perhaps a little shambolic. But, as a lot of audiences have come to know, this is often a good thing. When the performer breaks out of their rehearsed pattern and says something natural (although you can never be sure what is and is not planned) it can often inspire more laughter than the script itself.

Justine Smith is candid, lewd and spunky. She is a truth-sayer and many women (and men) seem to relate to her experiences – but hers are dialled to maximum.

Visit Jussi Townduring this year’s festival, you’re in good hands.
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“I should really introduce the show but it’s already a shambles so fuck it.”

It’s the opening night of Justine Smith’s four-show season at the Dunedin Fringe Festival Polson Higgs Comedy Club and Smith has already been talking for ten minutes in the gloriously bizarre, irreverent manner that will mark her entire performance. And yes, it is verging on shambles, but not only does it not matter it really only makes things better.

For while you might not say that Smith is “on form” exactly, she sure is on something (no not the valium that gets her through her New Year’s morning trans-Tasman flight to visit her parents) and it’s something that I, and the modest but appreciative crowd, very much like.

This is Smith’s new show “Jussi Town”, in which Smith is the so-called “Sheriff Jussi” and no one tells her what to do. Sheriff Jussi hates Christchurch, crocs and Chris Angel, but she does love her granddad, a portrait of whom shares the stage with Smith, propped on a barstool and offering fodder for various jokes.

The show consists of short anecdotes delivered with a reasonably lackadaisical approach to order (her set-list is taped to the foldback speaker but at one point she still has to ask her manager if she’s already told “the KFC one-night stand one” and the end of the show is a collection of the bits she’s “forgotten to do”), linked together with adlibbed jokes, spontaneous stories and friendly jabs at the audience and peppered with a generous sprinkling of “ews”, “whats” and eyeball rolls.

While she spends a reasonable amount of time describing the more ridiculous aspects of her Cantabrian mother and comedian grandfather, Smith’s main material is drawn from drugs, booze and a rather abortive sex life. But don’t get me wrong, this isn’t some self-consciously hedonistic wannabe rock-star, Smith just tells it like it is: yes she’s vulgar, yes she’s profane, but her wickedly funny turn of phrase and down-to-earth ease sets her far apart from those comedians who, striving for the right chord of off-hand irreverence, seem to forcibly inject their routines with salacious slop.

But perhaps what makes the whole night so enjoyable is that Smith’s obviously having a good time herself. “You’re making me laugh”, she says to a particularly appreciative crowd member as she launches into her well-known hairdressing gag, “and I’ve heard this one before”. She is totally at ease (she’s been doing this for twelve years after all; she gets paid “tens of dollars”) and wickedly fast on the uptake when interacting with the audience.

Indeed, the only time that Smith actually falters is when she points to myself and the fifty-something year old man with the good hair seated beside me and says “you’re a couple, right?” My Dad’s not fazed but there is a second where you feel that Smith’s audacious vulgarity might not actually stretch to incest, before she proves you wrong and jumps back in with a jab at Southern New Zealand (“anything’s possible”), a flash of her underskirt (a “distraction tactic”) and a prompt dismissal: “I’ll, uh, come back to you…fucking NEVER.” Well, it’s true: the lights were dim.

Aside from this Smith doesn’t miss a beat. She is an absolute pleasure to watch; her material totally fresh and unique, her delivery perfect, complete with goggling eyes, outrageous dance moves and over-the-top accents. Here is the full package, but you have to see it to believe it. Her jokes fly but the effect would be rather lost here on the page without Smith’s perfectly executed suggestive hand movements, bum wiggles and bedroom eyes.

Justine “Jussi” Smith is at the top of her game. She is sharp, original and endearing, even if she is a little forgetful: “I smoke a bit of pot …” She is such a fabulous performer you get the feeling that you don’t even have to indulge in the ganja in order to keep enjoying her shows, over and over again. 
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