Performed in a bouffon clowning style full of grotesque expressions, costumes, and make-up, this piece communicates clear social commentary on the treatment of the elderly and institutionalised. It features five such clowns, who thank us for coming with a gift of chocolate, and welcome us to the play they are putting on. They regularly address the audience directly, usually sporting demented grins and often breaking into parodies of well-known songs.

Set in the Happy Valley Care Home, the main storyline follows an old man suffering from dementia who receives very poor care. Intriguingly he is named Mr Whitey and is personally attended by a latino-sounding carer called Raul. He has a strangely sexual encounter with the home’s money-obsessed manager, and receives a visit from his horrendous daughter who’s keen to gain power of attorney, clearly for financial gain. In short, all the characters are horrible, with the possible exception of an ADHT sufferer in a straightjacket Mr Whitey seemingly befriends. This second character provides the additional point that it is not only the old but also the odd that society has little consideration for.

The performance certainly aroused a good deal of laughter amongst many people in attendance, and the performers all turned in clearly competent and engaged performances. Bouffon clowning involves a troupe representing an ugly, disfigured underclass who entertain their superiors with a clear vein of subversive mockery, like the figure of the cackling hag long past caring who mocks the vanities of the beautiful. We see fat bellies, bare breasts, and several spates of simulated fornication. This grotesque style certainly provides an effectively uneasy fit with the content, shifting between madcap slapstick into the poetic and poignant. From laughing at the grossness of the situations – like an old man defecating whilst trapped in a wheelie bin – one is suddenly aware that such practices are not far beyond actualities, and how awful that must be. The show effectively points out how we are all implicated in a collective wilful ignorance that places the elderly ‘out of sight and out of mind.’

If all that sounds a bit worthy don’t be put off – it’s not preachy but an entertaining and engaging use of a particular style of theatre to communicate a particular theme. The final scene involves an absurd and irreverent yet strangely beautiful tableaux representation of the crucifixion, as Mr Whitey’s life comes to an end. The lighting design really gives this scene its power, and is excellent throughout the show. The set design is also a strong element, comprised mainly of an asymmetrical shed structure with various windows and flaps, and sides that open out to form a backdrop. Overall, there is much to admire in the ambitions of this production, which also involves a collection at the end in aid of a Huntingdon’s disease charity.

I read somewhere that the gong is the only instrument that grows louder after it is struck, and so it is with this show. Not only during the actual performance, but also subsequently, has my appreciation for it grown. It is part of a series presented in this super-cute venue from Arcade of Fools, all of which feature performers trained with Jonathan Kay. In this one, three blokes tell real and often very personal stories around and about the trials, tribulations and triumphs of male sexuality.

Kay’s anarchic influence is clearly apparent, both in the physical clowning style and in the performers’ frequent forays into improvisation to augment their prepared material. Their stagecraft in this style seems fairly newly developed, but as the piece progresses this apparent naivety adds to the warmth and charm generated by their attempts to share the truth of their experience. They take turns telling their stories, with the other two portraying characters and objects in the tales, often creating physical tableaux in which inanimate objects are brought to life. The stories follow chronologically their life experiences, and they certainly don’t shy away from sharing embarrassing and controversial incidents – from penis comparisons in the school showers and early encounters with pornography, to drugs-fuelled bi-sexual experimentation. There is an hilariously cringe-worthy recreation of a first sex act in an alley, and a tender tale of a soldier’s search for affection in a German brothel. The frankness of these portrayals is not only funny, but effectively illustrates the complexity of male psychology. The ending is a poignant if grotesque re-enactment of a near-rape experience that demonstrates this commitment to put fooling to good purpose.

There are certainly laughs to be had, and the clowning style somehow serves the disarmingly honest material. Whilst I felt there was scope to edit down and tighten up some of the material, I came away with a genuine feeling of appreciation for their endeavour. If they stick with it and continue to develop their expressivity and playfulness, this could turn into a real gem of a show.

David Hoyle is an experience to be had at least once in a lifetime: an avant-garde cabaret artiste from Blackpool with a sonorous voice and a virtuoso ability at audience interaction.

The pre-show pop music is mixed with a narrative discoursing like a political manifesto, and its combination of frivolity and vitriol sets the tone for the show. Hoyle is a consummate and eminently watchable comic entertainer, full of amusing quips, ticks, and winning cabaret routines. There is also a clear current of passionate political subversion that frequently erupts onto the surface.

He arrives to the strains of the ‘2001 – a Space Odyssey’ soundtrack, wearing a little black dress marked ‘Fragile’, with shiny stars ornamenting his arms, and grotesquely applied make-up. He also apparently has very bad teeth, and claims he was the model for the tobacco packet photo. From this onstage persona, it seems he’s lived a life of indulgence, decadence and difficulty. He is somewhat alarmed to be appearing on a Wednesday at 7pm, but claims ‘If you’re living your life correctly your weekends will be meeting in the middle’.  He states that he is  ‘fascinated by anyone who hasn’t topped themselves’, and there is a genuine sense of fascination and compassion for the people in the audience, despite the gloriously savage way he sets about two gentlemen talking too loudly.

Occurring a few days after the re-election of the Tories, he makes frequent assertions of the fascistic nature of the government, and incites us all to ‘Kill all people in authority’.  Of course, outrageousness is part of the appeal and hilarity of his ‘anti-drag’ persona, but it’s clear his political conviction is wholly authentic, not just an affectation aimed at amusement. When he states that Cameron wants to make a stratified society seem natural, and that mental health problems are social constructions perpetrated against people with a deep need for love, he makes no attempt to arrive at a punchline.

A good percentage of the show is spent in conversation with members of the audience during which, like a spiritualist medium, he often claims to know aspects of their life stories: ‘Considering what you went through last year, I’m very proud of you.’ It’s hard to tell what material is prepared and what is improvised. Presumably, he’s riffing off a wealth of material developed over the years, but it comes across as spontaneous invention.  His improvisational skills are also evident when he sings a song based on audience suggestions, which he does with a good cabaret voice.

Whilst this is a highly accessible performance, his avant-garde heritage is evident in the strange sound collages that augment his cabaret songs, for example, ‘You make me love you’ accompanied by the sounds of seagulls and an MRI scanner, and another accompanied by a soundscape recorded during a trip to the Arctic.

He occasionally speaks to his assistant Nick in the booth at the back, asking for time-checks and suggestions about what to do next, and having this Responsible Other allows him freedom to indulge in his flights of fancy. There’s a dance-along birdy song, and also does a wonderfully funny rendition of The Smith’s ‘Heaven Knows I’m Miserable’ in the style of Shirley Bassey. In this sense, his Blackpool roots seem clear – he’s cabaret performer as personality-in-the-room, as if Uncle David has shown up to the working man’s club, got up in a dress and is singing karaoke show tunes. However, this persona is clearly the result of a consummate professionalism (built on years working the Live Art and alternative cabaret circuit, and in particular through his long association with Duckie – the post-queer performance and events collective who tag themselves as ‘purveyors of progressive working class entertainment.’) and throughout the experience one has little doubt we’re in very good hands.

It’s certainly a show to attend with friends, and for many must form the basis of a very good night out. Not only is it frequently very, very funny, but also truly inspiring. At the end, he paints a picture of a French woman from the audience whilst we listen to a Big Brother-esque monologue, this gradual denouement preparing us for transition back out into life outside the tent – yet somehow positively changed.