The Bombshells Ball - April 26th 2013

Reviewing burlesque is a slippery business - amateur burlesque even more so. This is a culture that's uniquely (and unapologetically) stripped the audience of their usual authority, granting power directly to performers. There's a real sense of propriety. A bristling thicket of gender and body politics blooms around the stage, sometimes stifling but always sheltering artists involved. At any rate, the typically withering gaze seems cruel and irrelevant here: burlesque isn't a spectator sport. But was it any good? The Bombshell Burlesque and Beauty Academy holds its Bombshells Ball semi-regularly, as budding burlesquers (burlesqueteers? burlegionnaires?!) graduate from their various classes. Many performers are just taking their first time on-stage since high school. Others are obviously more experienced - up to and including the school's illustrious tutors: Jacqueline Furey, Lila Luxx, The Diamond Dahlia, Lady Cave and Coppelia Jane. I arrived for the first of two sold-out performances, milling before doors with the quietly eclectic crowd. Filling any venue (not once, but twice!) is always a triumph, and a brief ticketing SNAFU wasn't going to puncture the mood. Performers mingled with friends and family, happy and excited, like an eisteddfod for grown-ups. Refreshingly, a lot of the audience seemed new to the whole scene. "But, it's burlesque!" exclaimed a neatly suited man to his girlfriend, baffled by the academy's strict photography rules. "How could any pictures I take of you NOT be flattering?" Inside, the cpnsistently awkward master of ceremonies (Red Devotchkin) opened proceedings. She introduced each of the acts with a pithy pun or two, and even performed herself - an impressive hula hoop piece that helped her claim Miss Perfect at this year's Pinup Queensland awards. Other acts were split roughly 50/50 between group and solo performances. Burlesque's mandatory vintage theme naturally ran through the night, a post-war Americana threaded eagerly to playful faux-sexuality. It's all homage to a time that never really was, but perhaps should have been. Saucy but uptight 1950s ladies discovered their inner rockabilly, while corseted chorus lines took a familiar detour to Paris circa Moulin Rouge. American Patrol reminded the boys what they're fighting for! The solo performers did open up some fresher creative terrain, especially those with only a couple of shows under their pasties. Professional mortician (are there amateur morticians?!) Miss Nova Grinds slunk around the stage in a sexy straitjacket to the grimy grooves of Tool. Compared to the school's leaders (who seemed to tend towards the slick and the safe) relative newcomers such as Atomique Lotus, Lady Le Feu, and Lenore Noire gently pushed the format's envelope. It didn't always work, but that's art for you. And - honestly - tasselled breasts are only entertaining for so long. The night ended, fittingly, with a Game of Thrones theme. Coopers Pale Ale: $5. Photo credits: KTB Design