Felicity Ward Reads From The Book Of Moron

Felicity Ward is bright eyed and bushy tailed, bounding around the stage with a jauntiness that is immediately appealing. A self confessed "moron" Ward reads to us from The Book Of Moron, a manual that she has penned. In a velvet jacket and cravat, Ward cuts a dapper silhouette as she sits by a cardboard fire surrounded by cheap red fabric, heavy with aspiration. It’s all purposeful of course, and adds to the air of pretend import with which Ward imbues her tales.

She’s a determined performer, and in the face of a cautious crowd manages to just about pull us with her through a series of stories. These range from a disturbingly seedy but essentially totally innocent Kahoona massage to a priceless account of a being stoned at a comedy workshop. 

Ward’s quirky delivery has a lot of pluck, and her unique style is arresting. But her material does not really stand out and she never seems to gather enough momentum to energise this crowd. Consequently it’s a stuttering show, and at times feels a little insubstantial. The story format risks becoming too convoluted and whilst she has an eye for making the everyday ridiculous, she seems to stretch her recollections very thin in order to get laughs.

Ward’s self depreciating streak is endearing and she is obviously a wonderfully confident and engaging performer. But the humour in her recollections is too slight to make Felicity Ward Reads From The Book Of Moron a wholesale success.