Stupid characters and very silly improv from a charming, mildly shambolic man.
Forget the bright lights and cabaret shows with all the whistles and bells. The spirit of the Fringe is right here, on a Saturday lunchtime: a man armed only with a few costume changes and some fake blood, fine tuning his material in front of an audience who don’t quite know what they’ve let themselves in for.
Mr East runs a very good comedy showcase in north London, called The Dip, wherever he puts on some of the best weirdo comedians that dirty city has to offer. His style here is familiar to his hosting there: constantly deconstructing the process, occasionally messing up on purpose, and occasionally messing up by accident.
This is a work in progress show, but the mistakes are part of the beauty, as the line running through this hour is like a doomed city in the Saudi Arabian desert: what am I doing here?
An explosion of beard and hair, East emerges as an eight year old child, armed with exceptionally annoying questions and some words beyond a standard vocabulary. Audience interaction is a big part of the show, especially when it comes to people being asked to name one of his super-famous characters, which are then made up on the spot.
An issue with sketch and character comedy is how to manage the transitions, and for this there are pre-recorded jokes and rambling stories, while our artist transforms into a butcher of dogs, or a butcher for dogs, or a dog who is also a butcher.
No spoilers here, but there is a lovely picture built up over the show of a man who cannot, once he has come up with an idea, stop himself from taking it to its logical or illogical conclusion, regardless of whether this is a good idea or not. He is a man trapped in his own creation, like a sitcom priest, or a lone man on a desert island making friends out of coconuts.
Consequently, there are some nuts that are milkier than others. But when it works, it works: one teacher character, warning the audience of extremely mystical problems beyond the school gate, is a masterclass in deadpan maintenance at the edge of absurdity. It’s enough for even the guy at the back with the metaphorical soul patch to crack a smile or two.
The finale, with assorted audience members trapped on stage in stupid roles, is almost a metaphor for the show as a whole. Obviously there is still work to be done here, but with a clearer through line, and some sensible pruning (difficult given the sentences above), Chris has a fine show on his hands.
Reviewed on 25th May