It is possible to do feminist comedy very, very well. As with any genre, though, for every master you will find someone getting it very, very wrong: for every Bridget Christie and Abigoliah Schamaun you will also find a troupe of
The show's hypocrisies were far too obvious without seeming deliberate enough to be satirical.
Crass and stereotypical, the New York troupe spent 20 minutes on a vignette about how crazy and irrational those dang women are when they're on the pill. The Long-Suffering Boyfriend and the Man's Man look on in horror as this beast overreacts about everything under the sun, screams, shouts, apologises, and does it all again before finally getting to the point. This is the price some women pay to not get pregnant. The message is both clear and valid, but the rest of the sketch definitely isn't. Next, we're off to the set of an arty film where the leading lady is pressured into going topless. The inequalities of film-making and ridiculous things actors are expected to do to achieve fame are again glossed over with cheap jokes and nudity, near-homophobic comments about the director and a nonsensical finale.
One character, a lowly sound technician, did start off with a monologue that was both touching and funny- before it veered off into prescribing what women should or shouldn't wear, a couple of political waves behind where it should have been. This at first incisive piece descended into bemoaning the humble thong before shouting 'We decide!', casually ignoring the fact that some people like wearing different kinds of underwear. The show's hypocrisies were far too obvious without seeming deliberate enough to be satirical. Whether it was through slut-shaming or body hatred, these Angry Young Women weren't doing anyone any favours.
