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• SERIOUSLY, COMEDY IS NO JOKE IN Melbourne, a car plastered with Michael Leunig cartoons, the occasional Ha Ha Ha and different-coloured hubcaps attracts attention. People pulling up next to it at traffic lights expect its occupants to be seat-wettingly funny. They want to see at least a dozen clowns squeezed inside. Melbourne is a city of physical beauty and tradition, and the Melbourne International Comedy Festival cars stand out among the architecture and the trams. It's the conservative greeting the wacky with a smile and an indulgent shake of the head. For the festival's general manager, Margie Hartley, the mix of comedy and serious business is intoxicating. She admits to being a "Christian fundamentalist about comedy ... a comedy fundamentalist". Hartley has held the festival reins for a year and is involved at a time when the aim is to push the importance of the eight-year-old gathering of gagmeisters. Run this year on a budget of about $1 million, the festival is a lean animal, although it has a mouthful of funny teeth. Acts from across Australia and throughout the world are playing at the city's long list of accessible venues. One of those is the Comedy Club, a slightly clinical space above a supermarket built on the former site of one of Australia's breakthrough theatres, the Pram Factory. For the festival, it is the home of American comedians Bobcat Goldthwait and Tom Kenny. Goldthwait, a star of the Police Academy series of films, is drawing big crowds. He spends much of his time belittling that life and attacking his audience. An initial manic onslaught becomes a plea for audience involvement, which is eventually offered grudgingly. Goldthwait has the audience before his arrival, forces them away, then pulls them back in a performance of measured madness. In discussing the differences between Australian and American audiences, he also touches on the bizarre nature of a comedy festival. The word "festival", he maintains, conjures up arty-farty images for the business of telling jokes to drunk people. Some of the acts backstage at the previous night's Comedy Gala at the Athenaeum Theatre were taking themselves a little too seriously for Goldthwait's liking. The gala, which the Seven Network will broadcast next week, featured most of the performers from the festival. Sydney audiences have already had the opportunity to see the likes of the Tokyo Shock Boys and the Del Rubio Triplets and will soon have the excellent Jack Dee in town. Paul Livingston, whose Flacco character takes his whimsy and wordplay to Melbourne for a season at the Universal Theatre, was part of the "cavalcade of comedy". He shared a dressing room "the size of a toilet" with the Amazing Jonathan, the burly comedian who enjoys blood-and-razor-blade humour. Livingston was more amused by the backstage comic-infested atmosphere. "It's the thing with comedians - before you go on you're nervous and quiet and don't laugh at anything," he said. "As soon as you get off, you're the happiest man in the world and you drink a lot. Especially if you've gone well. As the night goes on, the Green Room is the place to be." The Melbourne festival is now linked officially with the Edinburgh Festival and the Montreal Just for Laughs Festival. Livingston has paraded Flacco before audiences at the three events and believes there are major differences between them. "Montreal is in a class of its own, really. It has a big industry vibe. If you've seen the movie The Player (the Robert Altman film which uses most of Hollywood's stars to send up the industry), that's what Montreal is." He says the entire city becomes involved in the intense week-long festival. With check-suited industry types sliding into the audiences, performers view it as a make-or-break opportunity. When Livingston was last there, the search was on for the next Jerry Seinfeld - another skinny, fast-talking male stand-up doing slick, observational comedy. "There were lots of them there trying," says Livingston. "Then there were the weirdo, freakout acts - like me - standing in the wings." Livingston has much less time for Edinburgh, a festival where "I don't know how many thousands of acts" converge, conditions are difficult and making money next to impossible. "Melbourne is much better than Edinburgh. Much more homey. It's smaller and more controlled. You can pull crowds pretty quickly in Melbourne - word gets around; it's a pretty close-knit community." He doesn't believe Melbourne is yet considered to be vitally important to the overseas contingent, despite Melburnians describing it as part of the "big three". Even in the city, he says there is some work to be done before the wider community acknowledges its importance. Margie Hartley agrees. She says there is a groundswell of support, and an increasing interest from government and the business community. While she believes this year's festival will draw audiences totalling about 500,000 - a 20 per cent increase on last year - there is no breakdown showing where the audiences come from, nor a study of the economic impact on the city. "We don't have any figures, because it would cost us $10,000 to have an economic impact study done," says Hartley. "It's like the chicken and the egg. We suspect that there are a larger number of people coming from interstate than we know about and than we'll ever know about." This is the first year the festival has provided a comprehensive program of events - 600,000 copies of which have been distributed. As for the link with Edinburgh and Montreal, Hartley believes it is important from a recognition point of view. Although among the Melbourne comedy community belief in their credibility was never questioned, it now has an official flavour. "It's also fabulous for our talent here to have this international exchange happening. And you don't get that cringe affect where we're not sure that our home-grown is as good as the rest of the world. Well, it is." Melbourne, it seems, is seriously funny. "I know, I've been accused of(being serious), too," Hartley says. "I think we're proud of it. I think we have to be careful not to associate pride or selfprotection by some of the artists with seriousness. "You can be serious about your comedy."