The cult of celebrity was very much in its vogueish ascendance the other night, when I visited the George Aikman Lecture Theatre in Edinburgh for Frank Skinner’s ’30 Years of Dirt.’ While all around him, the young comedians of the Fringe whirl around in fiendish hurricanes as if they were fallen Dantean souls spinning like the Autumnal leaves of Vallambrosa in a seemingly eternal round of gigs & beers & one night-stands – Frank needs none of that.
He’d won the Perrier Award at the Fringe in 1991, co-written the national football anthem of England in 1996, & became a royalty-hobnobbing M.B.E. in more recent years. Perhaps that’s why folk are willing to pay the £18 a ticket, for his personal comedic insights into his Royal connections, but definitely not the, what he thought was, a well-crafted £18 joke. It went over my head like, but this comedian I was sitting near thought the whole piece a masterwork – so what do I know?
Well, I do know it weren’t that funny, like – just because you can chuck in a callback or two doesn’t mean it’s gonna be any good. There’s more of an Ebeneezer Scrooge vibe to Skinner these days than the Britpopping, side-splitting legend that he was thirty years ago. Thusly, in the spirit of me coining new words this Fringe, to the common lexicon I would like to add the acronym O.A.C. – Old Age Comedian.
Despite all that, the crowd absolutely ador’d him in an acolytical kinda way, a bit like when I witness’d the devotees at the feet of an orange-clad Sathya Sai Baba in Puttuparthi. The best parts of Skinner, for me, consisted of his crowd work, in which moments I witness’d that, despite a slowing down of his firecracker energy, & a general cracking of the voice, his mind was still as sharp as a razor.
The show was quite a nice mix of materielle, actually, with only an occasional skiffing over the smutty ‘dirt’ mention’d in the title, such as the Ronaldo joke which was rather crass really & actually spoil’d the vibe. In general, however, Skinner swansong’d his way thro’ an entertaining hour & a bit more of well watchable stuff, but it just cannot be plac’d among the very best of the comedy on offer in Edinburgh right now.
Gilded Balloon Patter Hoose Aug 10-13, 15-27 (21:00)
Curios Regio Eius Religio
Alexander Bennet’s new hour of stand up starts off with some fairly standard ‘Londoner does the Fringe’ material. ‘Estate Agents are awful people & trying to find a liveable home in London is a nightmare’. So far, so usual. The difference with Alexanders take on this however revolves around the presence of a trapdoor in the kitchen, the potential perils of living with such a thing in ones life, and how others new to the environment might interpret the presence of such an ominous contraption in an environment which is supposed to feel like ones ‘home’.
It’s very much to the performers credit that it wasn’t until I re-read my notes from the show, that the significance of this to the rest of the show stood out like a gaping hole in the middle of a floor.
You see Alexander Bennet really doesn’t like himself, indeed a solid 30 minutes of the performance are dedicated to a Top of the Pops style run-down of all of the aspects of his character, body, past and future, which fill him with revulsion. Now, don’t go thinking that he has succumbed to The Barbie Movie in a manner which right wing commentators have been warning of for the last 4 weeks solid, it’s quite possible that this is all just some ‘schtick’ to find a winning formula for 5 stars at the Fringe from a misandry filled Guardian reviewer.
If this feels confusing, it’s entirely to Alexanders credit that the performance itself neither confuses, nor alienates any of the men in the room. In this hour of increasingly dark jokes, often at his own expense, Bennett manages something I’ve only ever witnessed the stupendously talented Stewart Lee carry off before. He manages to absolutely nail ‘high status’ & ‘low status’ within the same performance, indeed often within the same sentence. For ‘high status’ look no further than the beautifully constructed and exceptionally executed anecdote about ‘the only occasion he’s had recourse to think about Keith Lemon for more than 5 minutes’, and then top it with a 5 word put down of that ‘entertainer’ which is notable for it’s wit and savagery as much as it’s brevity. For ‘low status’, take every utterance in relation to his own body, his class inferiority complex, and the terrifying description of an exploration into ‘mortality maths’ (I urge you NOT to Google).
We are time and again given ample evidence that this is a man with no confidence, who seems to treat self-deprecation as a hobby, and carries a searing sense of guilt. Yet the stage presence, the ability to produce a room full of belly laughs in an audience of many demographics (even with jokes about incest & The Human Centipede), and a genuinely original take on ‘Cancel Culture’, suggests that ‘the man’ is simply a sensationally talented performer indeed. Even when using The Taliban as a source of moral relativism for his own, undisclosed, misdeeds he still takes the time to mock the disingenuousness of this comparison.
There is no redemption for his real or perceived sins sought, and none is given. At the end of the show there is simply a fantastically committed physical performance of a grand scatological final act which receives the, by now customary, cheering bordering on standing ovation.
I left wondering how on earth I hadn’t heard of Alexander before, let alone seen him perform. Get yourself to The Gilded Ballon before (more) 5 star reviews are published, so that you don’t have to wait as long as I did. I’m confident that this will be a breakout show for an intimidatingly skilful performer.
The key to the public experience of Liz Guterbock is her mastery of sonal tone. American at its core, her voice mimics a variety of widely spread accents with effortless ease, perhaps down to the ancient & arcane incatatory magic inherent in the spoken word. The chosen field for her expert oratorial skills is that of the stand-up comedian, & with a good few years of laughter-giving under her belt, she has also has acquir’d some level of mastery in this too.
I’m not gonna change my accent – I like my accent, I lake an accent where you think at any moment I’m going to give you excellent customer service
I’m quite enjoying creating portmanteauxs this Fringe, & Liz’s show can be consider’d among the ‘biocom’ genre of stand-up shows, i.e. a biographical comedy. We travel with her across the Atlantic as she plys her trade from Los Angeles to London, where from the latter place we gain some excellent observatory insights into the living ways of the British. Along the way we learn lots about Liz – from the Lesbian relationship which left her bereft with severe depression & internaliz’d biphobia; to her acceptance of baked beans only in ramekins, if at all.
I know that I’m too cheerful for this island
The chief highlight for me was her extended foray into the belief systems of the Millennial generation, those ‘avacado toast-eating pricks,’ which club she just scrapes into via her birth in 1981 – hence her geriactricity. I myself was born in 1976, & kinda miss’d all the divisive labeling of age groups which began about the time Liz was born, Generation Zs, etc.. It was interesting to learn of some of the deeper nuances to it all, especially when presented by an eminently watchable performer, the elder statesmen of her own generation, whose blend of inviting voice & crystal-clear image making certainly left me feeling entertain’d.
I have not tried psychedelic drugs, but I imagine that they would induce the kind of blissful escape from mundanity that I experience during this show.
A sold out room erupts into rolling laughter seconds after Mat Ewins walks on stage. The laughter doesn’t stop for the entire hour. Mat walks a line between madness and genius with silly gags, tech wizardry and live commentary from his 1000 tiktok followers, who he is broadcasting the show to.
He wants to make it big on TikTok. He shows us some of his ridiculous, gross and hilarious TikTok videos on a projector screen, where we can also see the comments from his live stream viewers. He is being digitally heckled by strangers, with an avatar version of himself occasionally biting back. I can’t articulate what goes on in this show, because I don’t understand it. I felt like my mind was blown open and then hijacked by a divine trickster.
Mat manically rants his frustration that there are no original ideas on television and tells us about his unsuccessful TV pitches. His agents told him his ideas are too wacky. He did manage to get on telly, but he shows us how his joke was taken out of context in an attempt to cancel him. It’s now his opinion that the only two routes to comedic success in the digital age, is to make it on TikTok or start a free speech podcast.
This is a surreal, madcap manifestation of comedy. It’s completely bonkers, but in a wonderful way. There’s a lot of audience interaction, both online and in the room. Creating a polarity which eventually leads to a big bang when the two worlds collide. Bringing us all to a satisfying climax.
Gilded Balloon Patter Hoose Aug 8th–13th, 15th–27th
Dat Deus Incrementum
Hello again from the Edinburgh Fringe 2023. In a sense the great welcoming that is the busy North Bridge is almost like the entrance to a fair park. Heading up there is just a blessing of colourful culture, so was to come ‘Get Blessed’ by Niamh Denyer the show I was about to see in the very pink venue the Gilded Balloon Patter Hoose.
On she came, this Irish temptress, without any sense of performer/audience separation I immediately felt motivated and encouraged, which was fully intended in her tactful use of a material of exemplary comedy.
Straight away it was obvious to all that we were being treated to a very successful act of a writer and performer who is winning prizes of good esteem. The joys rolled out as she relaxed the room and held the crowd, it was a smaller venue (thought not the Fringes smallest) of packed rows of seats. Her humour had many variants including some of its subtle jokes fast enough to be missed where only moments later caused laughter in its realisation.
She held a very real and sincere trajectory as her show unveiled itself as having to do with how we connect as humans who do funerals, and how we are so often sold on something we must pay for to get to the next level of burial processes. Her tricks melted in through gaffs and trudgeries with a wonderful vibrant enunciation and eye direction offering up a laughter that could suddenly spread like wild fire.
She was mocking things in life that we could take in feeling agreeable all for the good and right thing to laugh at (or with). Her power points (a new tool for comedy, well newish), explained things to a T and made all kind of sense with that underlying humour and ridiculousness, marrying being funny through being sincere with comedic poignancy.
It was all about how we lace things in the world so as to make all seem better and more right, moving along with constant participation (no separation) as the hero of the hour, I say hero because she absolutely challenged the business world with impeccable organisation.
Time itself was fun and flew by with bravo in Deyers hands and presence, where I felt she held a great sense of accomplishment from this theorem of the irony of human life. Perfectly written, timed and performed having a luxuriant flavour and flow as she plied me with a joy and forgetting of my surroundings yet wickedly placed us at the centre of things.
There’s no way to come out of her show having taken nothing from it, as long a moment of comedy as might be. No pretence and no corners cut but for me nothing but happy pee taking presented with assured comedy.
Most comedians are boring, disingenuous, whimpering cowards! I used to see comedy as a platform for the truth. Comedians were renegades, speaking truth to power, disrupting mainstream agenda and championing the underdog. Now most comics just pay lip service to feminism, parrot mainstream narratives and bow down to authoritarian lobby groups to increase their chances of getting on TV. Which is a dumb plan, because audiences are abandoning television, probably repelled by the bland hogwash woke TV execs continue to serve up. Comedy fans instead gravitate to streaming platforms such as Netflix, home to my fellow ‘terfs’ Ricky Gervais, Joe Rogan and Dave Chapelle.
I’m not alone in my criticism of the comedy industry. In the Scotsman Kate Copstick ponders ‘Has Comedy lost its edge?’ Julie Burchill wrote ‘Who Killed Comedy’ for the Spectator. And the popular podcast TRIGGERnometry asks ‘Is comedy killing itself?’
It’s almost six years since Maria MacLachlan, aged 60 at the time, was punched by a young person identifying as a trans woman at speaker’s corner. A place famous for free speech, women were having to meet there because venues had capitulated to calls for cancellation of debates about gender laws from trans activists. Weeks later women including well respected political activist Helen Steel were violently threatened by trans activists at The Anarchist Book Fair for drawing attention to proposed legislation changes that could effectively erode women’s sex based rights. For six years, debate has been suppressed around potential changes to gender recognition laws. Women have been attacked, deplatformed and lost their livelihoods. Comedians have mostly remained silent on the issue. An issue that threatens the very foundation of their livelihoods – freedom of expression.
I’m a cancelled comedian. In February this year, I wrote an article slamming the comedy industry which blew up on twitter, reaching over 1.5 million people. My show at the Leicester Comedy festival was cancelled within hours. My crime was to criticise the utopian idea of Self ID. A policy which would enable trans identified people to change their legal gender without medical assessment. My widely held opinion that it’s a bad idea, has now been adopted as Labour policy. Creating consensus between the two major political parties in England. It’s a view that is shared by the majority of people, but lobby groups would have you believe we are all ‘transphobic bigots’!
My views are not an affront to trans people. I have always actively included trans people in my spaces, called them by their chosen pronouns and encouraged others to do the same. I am simply participating in a political debate, challenging potential policies that would affect me as a woman. Those with my stance highlight the fact that Self ID will be co-opted by dangerous criminals. This view is now supported by widespread evidence. Like the case of double rapist Isla Bryson, a trans-identified male being housed in a female prison in Scotland. As I write it has been reported that Barbie Kardashian, another trans identified male who threatened to rape, torture and murder their own mother. Has had to be moved to the male side of a prison in Ireland due to threats towards female prisoners and prison staff. I chose not to use the chosen pronouns or refer to these two individuals as transwomen, because I believe they are opportunistic violent males, exploiting trans identity for evil gain.
It’s naive to think that dangerous men in prison wouldn’t see Self ID as a free pass to an easier life and access to vulnerable women. Most trans rights allies seem to be middle class. I have not met one working class person who believes Self ID is a good idea. We working class are streetwise, many of us have had to directly confront the darker side of human nature.
As a mental health advocate I strongly believe that people with gender dysphoria should have a robust psychological assessment and treatment of any underlying mental health issues before being given hormones that could forfeit their fertility or being referred for irreversible and potentially life threatening surgeries. It’s recently reported that GPs in Scotland will soon be able to prescribe hormones, and refer patients for surgery, without psychological assessment.
I became known as a comedian largely because I have spoken about my own experience of acute mental health issues. Despite my vulnerability being public knowledge, hundreds self identifying as comedians and some big names like Richard Herring piled on to me on Twitter when my column was published. I couldn’t keep up with all the tweets, a lot of it consisted of misogynistic abuse and one follower told me they saw a death threat which led me to call the police. The onslaught made me ill. I spent 2 weeks in a psychiatric ward due to acute stress. I thought comedians were supposed to make people laugh, not push them to mental breakdown.
The pile-on was instigated by Chortle editor and comedy critic Steve Bennett. Who has revealed himself to be a raging misogynist, since he felt the need to override my opinion piece with his ideologically captured drivel of a statement which he added as an addendum to my article. He twisted my words in a dog whistle to the wokerati, publishing a misleading headline that was later changed at my request, perhaps due to fear of legal ramifications.
He tried the same thing with Joanna Cherry, the SNP MP who is appearing at The Stand as part of the festival. He called her a ‘trans-critical’ MP on twitter and was called out by comedians like Leo Kearse and Andrew Doyle for misrepresenting her views. Her show was cancelled because she holds the same opinions as me, but was later reinstated and The Stand were forced to publicly apologise due to unlawful discrimination.
I am not the only comedian to recently fall victim to cancel culture. Comedy veteran Alfie Brown who was last year nominated for THE award and won a Chortle award for Best Show was piled on in March, over a routine he did eight years ago. Hardly anyone stuck up for him and it appears that he has since been quietly dropped by his agent. Then in April it was the turn of TikTok comedian NoHun, who had shows cancelled for saying “Men can’t get pregnant.” Who will be next?
There has been a slow creep of ideological capture over recent years in the comedy world. Think it was 2017 when fat-positive comedian Sofie Hagen kicked me out of her “Feminist” facebook group because I said her safe space policy was infantilising. The same year I gained an obsessive male stalker who would contact my venues and comedy writers who’d praised me in an attempt to deplatform me, simply because he didn’t like my view that the RAF shouldn’t have banned skirts. Then I’ve had entitled posh students come to review my shows, but instead have published political rebuttals to my points, giving me 1 or 2 stars maybe just as punishment for not pushing the woke agenda they subscribe to.
In a fun karmic twist, I will be reviewing at this year’s Edinburgh Fringe. The darker part of my nature would love to hunt down the wussy comedians who piled on during my cancellation and rip them a new one – but I’m better than them. And I’d rather not waste my time sitting through an hour of propagandised swill. My passion is to amplify the voices of courageous comedians, with the guts to speak their minds. Comedians like Elaine Miller who at last year’s festival was spat at in the street after being denounced as a transphobe simply because her show was about biological women and didn’t mention trans women. I’d like to see Mary Bourke who I saw tear the roof off when I shared a stage with her at London’s free thinking club Comedy Unleashed and Raul Kohli, one of the few comedians who had the guts to stick up for me during my twitter pile on.
I didn’t get paid to write the column which drove over a million people to Chortle. In fact over the years I have paid Chortle £630 in advertising fees. In 2019 it was £330 to advertise for a week on Chortle which also gets a guaranteed review. It’s no secret that publications are more likely to review an artist, if they buy advertising.
I’m being paid to write this article and I will be paid to write reviews for Mumble. Editor Damo is letting me choose who I review, whether they have paid for advertising or not. Some may critique me for choosing to review for Mumble, who also offer a promotion package with a guaranteed review. In my opinion, the package is a bargain. The same cost as hiring a flyerer for a couple of hours, but likely with more reach and a deeper impact. I think it’s a good business model, publications are funded by advertisers and writers deserve to be paid. Comedians are essentially businesses and all businesses need to advertise to truly compete. Comics spend a minimum of about £2000 to hire publicists, and big outdoor posters can cost hundreds. Some comedians believe they are entitled to reviews. There are over 1000 shows listed in the comedy section of the brochure. A strong USP is needed to get audiences and reviewers into a show.
I am looking for the rebels, the weirdos and the renegades. Those who are truly being themselves and not afraid to say what they really think. This is the first year, barring pandemic years since 2013 that I am not performing at the fringe. Instead, I’ll be hiding in the shadows of the audience. I may have crossed over to the dark side, but I’m looking for the light. I want to believe there is hope for comedy, freedom and democracy. I may not have a mic this year, but I have a pen. And along with sisters they tried to terf out before me like JK Rowling, Joanna Cherry and Maya Forstater – This woman, won’t wheesht!
With jokes about suicide, gender politics and a very upset testicle. This show is not for the faint hearted or easily offended. Elliot Steel’s Love & Hate Speech is proper comedy!
The streets of Edinburgh feel weirdly empty for this time of year and it’s not even raining. Despite this, Elliot’s room is almost full. Gangsta rap music plays, creating an edgy atmosphere before Elliot comes to the stage wearing an Adidas t-shirt, with his messy long hair framing his puppy dog eyes. His deep voice and south London accent give him an air of authority despite his young age of 26.
Bold start. He opens with a paedo joke. It lands. What follows is a strong opening set, joke after joke delights the audience, he talks about the city of Edinburgh, his south London upbringing and advice received on how he should spend his 20s. The contrast between the fantasy and reality of what a man in his 20s should be up to is a goldmine for hilarious gags.
A self confessed nepo baby, as the son of comedian Mark Steel. He describes what it was like growing up with a political comedian as a Dad. Thinking about confrontations with his own father, leads into material around wider generational conflict. This is clever and philosophical as he reflects on how fear and hatred are intertwined.
He’s left wing, but he thinks the left is mental and after winning the trust of the audience he carefully veers into the most contentious topic of current affairs – The trans debate. The energy of the room shifts, perhaps as speaking on the issue has been the trigger of many a cancellation. He doesn’t do justice to the complexity of the trans rights issues dominating the media today, but he doesn’t parrot a party line either. He at least has the balls to visit an issue that most comedians won’t touch with a barge pole. Teetering close on the edge, but not quite slipping over, he flirts with the possibility of career suicide.
His nonce jokes land better. Then he goes onto hilarious jokes about actual suicide. The kind of comedy I know the working class to particularly enjoy, this is pitch black humour, but clearly coming from a place of love. And the jokes elicit love. Perhaps bonding artist and audience because we feel like we are all doing something naughty together, like bunking off school.
Now held by an atmosphere of comradery, Elliot highlights the fact that men are statistically more likely to commit suicide. Sharing personal stories and experiences around mental health, he explains that some of his nearest and dearest cope best with trauma through the medium of gallows humour. Describing bonding situations that some may misunderstand as toxically masculine.
Masculinity and what it means to be a man is a strong theme of the show. He speaks with passion when he talks about watching the UFC and his practice of martial arts for fitness. Describing in grotesque detail the health complications that followed an accident when wrestling. This story is so gory, it recently resulted in a woman in his audience fainting. He has now inserted a trigger warning.
The jokes are dark, but the energy of the room is light. The laughs are big, because his comedy is brilliant. He’s been doing this since he was 16 and has become excellent at his craft, demonstrating feline instincts and razor sharp wit to make quick light when outside noise interrupts the show.
The show is well structured with clever call backs peppered throughout. The narrative arc builds to the sharing of a very personal and dramatic experience. Elliot reveals his vulnerability in a way that is not designed to elicit sympathy but demonstrates how love works in mysterious ways, ways which are not always politically correct. When we think he has pushed us to the edge, he pushes it even further which results in applause breaks.
Such free flowing humour is refreshing. Audiences are bored of the bland and safe comedy being pushed by TV execs. We’re gripped as Eliliot describes what it’s like to take cocaine with an Iraq war veteran, before bringing the show to a satisfying ending tying themes of masculinity and generational conflict together.
If you want to laugh wildly at what some would say are inappropriate topics for jest, get insight into the conflicted psyche of a young man, or support an artist who is at risk of being cancelled by the thought police, this show is for you!
I do enjoy coining & throwing new words into the ever-broiling cauldron that is the English language, & watching Philipp Kostenecky alchemised the left hemisphere of my brain into action, creating the word, THALEPY. This is a portmanteau of Thalia, the Muse of Comedy, & therapy, which Philipp seems to positively need, as a great deal of his set is form’d from regressive strikes into his psyche, making fun out of the mind-monkey moments which less creative souls might be haunted by for life.
“I’m not saying you need to have a miserable childhood to make life interesting – But it helps”
Genetically, Philip is a mixture of American, Austrian & Slovenian, whose appearance he readily admits to coming across as a villain from a basketball film. From here we are given the full aforemention’d self-therapeutic survey of his quasi-oedipal youth. Among these many moments of amusement was the one wrought from middle childhood, when upon the occasions of his schoolyard nemesi declaring that they had slept with his mother the previous night, he riposted by saying she was a single woman & was entitl’d to see who she wanted. Such is the flavor of Kostenecky’s show – sometimes darker than that, sometimes tamer, but always entertaining & interesting to the point of fascination.
As Philip opens up his soul to the audience with craft & confidence, one finds all the images in his vignetting procession to be varied, yet interconnected, like when his pseudonazi DNA leads to his personal declaration that he is ‘too tall to cry.’ Yeah there’s a right old mixture of material in there, like, while at 25 Philipp’s definitely got more living & more laughing to do. With such abundance of time on his side & I’d definitely like to see him again whenever he returns to the Fringe, & see the next step in his princedom’s evolution & the fulfilling of some excellent potential.
…& so, it was off to the Edinburgh Fringe for my tenth year anniversary of reviewing the Fringe. A boat from Arran, a train from Ardrossan, the Citylink bus from Glasgow, then cruising into Edinburgh where thousands of Scotland shirts flashing by as they trundl’d off in their droves to Murrayfield for the rugby with France. Next was Princes Street, Saturday-teeming & gleaming in the sunshine. From there I walk’d up into the Old Town & KABOOM! the Fringe had arriv’d in my world & I in it’s.
My first show of 2023 was in the Assembly Roxy building, a great theater space straight from the Beaux Arts, whose seatage was completely full for the Rob Auton Show. Also full was the stage, an aesthetic frame for Auton’s endeavors containing the accoutrements of his creativity; big sheets with writing on such as AROUSAL, SURPRISE, JOY & FEAR; photos of his younger self, & the such like. The busy-busy crowd was football-buzzy, he’s clearly a big thing in some people’s hearts, made testament when he told us this was his biggest audience he’d ever play’d to at the Fringe. As a neutral, however, I had the benefit of lacking bias while experience his offerings, altho’ I had heard him on a John Robins’ podcast once, so I had a vague idea of what to expect.
Auton begins by saying that he will be entertaining us in the splinter-zone, y’know, that phase of intense concentration you enter when trying to remove a splinter from your foot. From there we were tractor-beam’d into the ethereal, liquefying spaciousness of Auton’s aura & once within we await his comedic blows without any strength to parry them. We are literally helpless, so entrancing is his hold. But does that mean he’s funny? Well, at times, extremely, while at others, not so much – yet eminently watchable all the way through. He’s like a repeating firework, shooting starry sparkles of diffuse colors into the sky, which we all ‘woo’ at in wonder, then find ourselves waiting silently for the next one.
After a series of the most unique explanations as to the potentialities of the Human Experience, & an extremely moving & profound closing finalogue (portmanteau of finale & monologue), my overall experience of Rob Auton is that he holds some deep-seated truths, & seeing the long-haired & bearded maturer man in front of the photos of his cherubic early-twenties, impress’d upon me that fact the Auton is well on his way to becoming something magnificent – tho’ not quite there yet.
Stephen Catling has brought his new, four-part show to the Edinburgh Fringe – which is part stand-up, part spectacle, partly stupendous & partly stupefying. I say that because, as I watch’d his vigorous performance, I found myself at different times laughing out loud, staring wide-eye’d, gushing with joy & wondering what the damninnit was going on! I’d taken my pals along to see him, two of whom were ‘encouraged’ onto the stage for one of the several very entertaining audience participations – of which, the sport of eating a yoghurt with toothpicks was the thrilling best. That’s what I mean when I was the show was part-spectacle – Beehavioural Problems is prop heavy, & they appear before us at a relentless pace, for Stephen is a galloping comedian & keeps us clinging on all the way right up to his incredibly, ehm, interesting climax.
I guess I should also mention that Stephen is autistic, I mean, he does himself a few times thro’ the show, & we get genuine flashes of his autism when his voice suddenly goes exhortatorialy louder & sharper in response to whatever tribulation he is facing at that moment. I should also mention the bee theme, which only pops up at the end, but rather punny-funny & dripping with honey. Before then we find ourselves rising on a tide of deft daftness all the way to the big reveal & that quite astonishing climax. So, nice one Stephen, & I’m extremely curious to see what theme you come up with next, tho’ your colorful Beehavioural Problems will definitely be sticking in my mind for a long, long time.
Mumble Comedy 