Has Hove’s The Old Market ever before laid witness to a mandated, mass audience make-out session?
Well it has now. Enter Trygve Wakenshaw. Trickster. Loon. New Zealander buffoon. He promises us Silly Little Things. Does he deliver? Our answer: by the bucket-load. In addition to his latest show, we’re treated to snippets from his much-celebrated odyssey, Nautilus.
Our main man/mime emerges in cow print, a mash-up of mohican and madness, ready to get his clown on. For the grammar nerds in the room, his name is pronounced ‘trig-vee’ – a bit like HISBE, the much-missed wholefoods shop. We are in Hove, after all, a point which comics never fail to touch on.
There’s burlesque Bublé for beginners, highfalutin hold-ups and a never-considered, darkly comedic viewpoint on the perils of perishing as a Disney princess. We find out what happens when the chicken manages to cross the road. To make sense of a masterclass in lovemaking by mime. To enjoy upside-down antics. And so, so much more. Want a taste of the magic? Visit the school of Trygve Wakenshaw. An audience member makes their way to the stage and is taught how to take this sketch supremo down, using his own tricks, no less.
Head honchos at the BBC, take note – Trygve is a one-man sound effects library. He’s got clown in his surprisingly bendy bones – complete with detachable thumbs. The action is almost wordless, with not a single syllable needed to entertain the eager crowd. From harrumphing horses to femme fatales. Picture the precise sound of a singular chewed playing card, descending from gut to gullet, then ‘defecated’ live on stage at The Old Market. From passion to pooping – this audience are strapped in for the ride. You’d expect nothing less from someone who has attended Ecole Philippe Gaulier, school and spiritual home of eccentric performers everywhere.
Trygve is faintly reminiscent of a few familiar funny-men from closer to home. It’s a bit like if H from Steps and Greg Davies had a slightly mad, kiwi half-brother. The baa-ing, occasional black-comedy-leaning, sheep of the family, if you will. This faint familiarity only adds to his hilarity on stage.
There’s a whole bunch packed into this absurd, jack-in-a-box of a show. From sketch and mime, to clowning and comedy. Every vignette is delivered with precision and subtlety amidst the supreme stupidity and occasional sauciness of it all. These may be Silly Little Things, but in this day and age, gosh, do we need them.
Reviewed on 19 June 2025
