Clown Cabaret at Tron Theatre


Ruxy Cantir as Parr

This is the comedy of squirming, where no-one and nothing is safe. Host Tim Licata is endlessly charming, but his welcoming smile is no guarantee that the audience will not be pounced on.

Rachel Jackson‘s lairy lass struts on-stage and performs her Lex Luthor Audition with the uninhibited energy of a toddler, and the sartorial elegance of a young Pat Butcher. She’s hilarious, but makes a point on the brutal nature of talent shows, and how so many people confuse chutzpah for talent.

Camille Marmie‘s Kikou’s Chance explores an uber- graceful lady, prim to the point of lunacy, auditioning for the Royal Ballet, who can’t resist booty shaking when the filthy jam takes hold. Her transition from wide-eyed swan into backing dancer for a hip-hop crew is jaw-dropping and sweet in equal measure.

But that pales in comparison to the voluptuous Lisette Boxman‘s breasts. We are talking tits, lovely lady lumps, fun-bags, boobies, twin peaks, however ya wanna name them… these mammary glands seem to have a life of their own, and her routine of trying to censor her own nipples swings, as it were, into life when a none-too-willing female audience member is selected to keep her in position. I can never hear The Lonely Goat Herd in quite the same way again.Truly uplifting-and it can never be unseen.

Duncan Cameron‘s deluded Mexican wrestler also provides inappropriate laughs, particularly when his masked teddy bear gets pummeled.

But it’s Ruxy Cantir, who moves with the grace of a silent movie star,all eyes and fidgety digits who provides the pathos. Her Parr character, afraid of everything, is an androgynous porcelain clown-easily broken, oddly beautiful.

Meanwhile, Melanie Jordan and Francisca Morton‘s Slice proves we should cherish our NHS… two surgeons who you wouldn’t let near a dinner table, let alone operating theatre.  Their comic routine is clever, sweet and not a little bit disturbing. Pass the pizza cutter.



Last but by no means least,  Lewis Sherlock‘s louche chicken with an identity crisis (he thinks he’s Clint Eastwood) finds him strutting into the audience to find a partner in crime. He chose me, but I couldn’t do it. I’m sorry to decline Lewis,but when it boils down to it, I’m a chicken-shit. Still,the man he eventually picked had some moves.

(Lorna Irvine)



Images: Rich Dyson and Andy Catlin

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