When I was in my early teens I was quite concerned about my nipples. Specifically they were too ‘puffy’ and I was afraid to reveal them publicly lest people infer that I had extra-high estrogen levels or something.  

That’s my in to this comedy duo’s act of ‘body sovereignty’, of physical reclamation, and I am really grateful for the ‘dear young white shamed male’ testimonial in the show about the invisibility of male nipples.  It touches a chord and draws a belly laugh from me.

Sarah Tuck and Jess Holly Bates do really well at drawing the laughs with some self-admittedly ‘complicated to receive’ material. So for those who hadn’t inferred it from the title and publicity campaign, The Offensive Nipple Show is abundant with nudity.  From the first moments of the show the performers boldly disrobe to make their bodies part of the performance language. 

If this brings to mind Puppetry of the Penis or any spinoff franchise-type works, don’t worry – what’s on offer here is far more creatively expressive and relatable than any dick trick or burlesquey titillation. Although it must be said, a series of vulvic dialogues (or as I like to call them ‘flap-chats’) bring forth some of the biggest laughs from a very appreciative first night audience. 

My favourite moments in the show, though, seem to be more clothed: The switched-on feminist progressive character who begins her set with the emphatic pronouncement, “Gender is a practice,” and the finale – an exquisitely observed and nuanced piece of physical characterisation that brings a welcome subtlety of tone to the piece overall. 

The performances are brave beyond the act of baring all. Jess Holly Bates in particular impresses with her killer comic timing and assured bullshitting.  Sarah Tuck and she have done an excellent job of crafting material that re-mythologises their bodies both politically and poetically. 

At one point, during one of a series of ‘landscape’ sequences (where Tuck’s body provides the landscape), we are told, “This is why we told you to wear appropriate footwear.  It can be a little soggy in places.”  I think it’s fair to say this is true of the show, particularly in the physical routines where, for example, a costume breast provides the cover for Tuck’s nakedness, or the two performers use their breasts as weapons to mow each other and the audience down. 

During these sequences I feel a need for more clarity in the actions onstage, in relationship with the audience.  Perhaps because it is established early on that the performers are ready and confident to be nude, when the clown-ish games they go on to play involve a sense of shyness or reticence it is hard to feel the authenticity of this shyness. 

I appreciate the way placing the nudity upfront subverts the obvious journey from clothed and coy to naked and abandoned, but feel some of the comedy is lost when the coyness the performers are playing belies the abandon we already know they were capable of. 

It is interesting to see, too, the female tropes of running, screaming and being shot down being played out by these live, naked women.  Again it seems to me that there is a lack of clarity about the relationship with the audience. Do they want to implicate us in our voyeuristic enjoyment of their breast massacre, or actually want us to chase them around the stage in a priapic frenzy? Is there real invitation here, and what would happen when the catch and kiss game got serious?  I keep expecting a sting in the tail of these sequences and without one they tend to peter out or smudge into the next sequence without a satisfying, rhythmic end point.

The black-box minimalism of the design aesthetic is probably pragmatically driven – this is the Fringe after all – and the use of milk as a core prop is the source of some really delightful moments, but I would like to see more colour onstage for a team that “want to occupy a feminism that is neon.” 

Verbally, the show is on more solid ground. There are many excellent one-liners, poetic phrases and non-sequiturs that are truly laugh-out-loud funny, including the revelation of Tuck’s gender identity: a gender I didn’t know existed until now. 

In all, this is a bravura performance from a talented duo who have clearly put bucket-loads of thought and sweat into making this show.  It’s full of lovely observation, personal expression, political resonance, and is bang on target for a queer-friendly Wellington audience, but crucially, it’s also simply funny enough for anyone to enjoy. 

If you’re up for it, the performers are taking a skinny-dip in Oriental Bay post-show tonight (Wednesday) and you’re welcome to join ’em… Or if you prefer a more cerebral communion, there is a forum on ‘queering bodies’ after Thursday night’s performance. 

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