Nina Conti came to prominence with tightly-scripted, high-concept shows deconstructing the psychology of ventriloquism, as if needing to add some artistic weight to a party trick she’s so insanely good at.
But in her more recent incarnations, including this frequently uproarious show, she has thrown herself at the mercy of fate, improvising the hour around the volunteers she brings on stage. Each is given a lower-face latex mask which enables the comedian to control their jaw, using her talents to put words in the mouths of these human puppets.
Technically and comedically, it’s a dazzling feat, especially when she has a sizeable cast on stage, each given their own distinctive character, from giggling, dippy nurse to world-weary menopausal woman. The mask transforms each wearer into a glorious grotesque, just like the old Jim Carrey movie.
There’s a playful frisson as she teases her temporary co-stars with just the right level of meanness, in the way you might wind up a mate, all helping Conti build up layers of in-jokes for that special one-night-only feeling. The spontaneous scenarios that play out also contribute to a feeling of substance that most stand-ups’ standard ‘what do you do?’ crowd work can only hope to emulate.
Conti is so skilled that it’s easy to forget that it’s just her behind these complicated scenes, having conversations with herself tonight on the likes of Centre Parcs – despite never having been – or one punter’s ill-defined job as being something in the City. That his twin brother had the more down-to-earth job as a train driver made for an excellent three-handed skit.
Inevitably, there’s a bit of admin up top, probing the audience to find suitably game candidates – but it pays off as she identifies the right people. She urges her collaborators to be physically expressive to better help her vocalise what she thinks they might be trying to say, and they all comply.
Monkey, the monster she created, helps her set this up, accompanied by some of Conti's trademark meta jokes. And if she seemingly can’t help her simian puppet/alter-ego from going downmarket sometimes, she convincingly feigns shock at the grubbiness her own mind created. That’s amplified in the presence of the 13-year-old lad whose parents clearly ignored the venue’s age advisories.
Conti’s mask work is so brilliant, inspired and funny that when she’s not doing it, the quality dips. Maybe the audience on the tour's opening night in St Albans was particularly reticent, but inviting questions from he audience elicited just two rather dull ones. And a segment where Monkey acted as an therapist/agony uncle for audience problems was a definite damp squib. The only upside was that it allowed Conti to identify suitable punters for a typically virtuoso mask-based finale.
Some of the skits are backed by musical comic Becky Goodman, whose own improvised noodling subtly enhance the atmosphere without imposing.
And support came from Lily Phillips, who was a little slow revving up – but probably needed to be in order to prepare the audience for the graphic material ahead, almost exclusively, she proudly confesses, about her vagina. She revels in the inappropriateness of being so brutally frank, trampling over social niceties. Funny for being so blunt, plenty of her stories also struck a close-to-home cord with some in the audience.
It also provides a context that means nothing Conti could say would be beyond the pale, however cheekily rude she or Monk are.
The daring instead comes in surrendering to whatever happens on the night, and when it flies – as it so often does – it’s a comic tour-de-force. Not for nothing was this the best-reviewed show of last year’s Edinburgh Fringe, despite being in the unforgiving Pleasance Grand, as a riotous night is virtually guaranteed.
» Nina Conti tour dates
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