Tim Harding's comedy diary

Reviewer Tim Harding gives a rundown of the comedy he's been watching in London - in the last two weeks.

Looking back at my column from this time last year, certain patterns are beginning to emerge. Ostara, or the spring equinox, is clearly the time of year when I travel or migrate south (specifically to South London) searching for experimental clowning shows in strange new venues. 

This year it’s the Pen Theatre, a place with a unique atmosphere, in the upper courtyard of an art deco office block in an industrial estate somewhere in the hinterland between Bermondsey and Deptford. They’ve been putting on a compelling programme recently of cabaret, weird clowning and alternative stand-up, including hosting Gutter, a 'bouffon comedy ritual' (read: mixed-bill clowning night) curated by Tom Greaves.

A mixed bill of unfamiliar clowns in an isolated office block can be a recipe for a very long evening but Gutter offers up some choice and grimy morsels from the big bin of comedy that acts as the night’s backdrop. First to emerge are our hosts the Gutter Troupe, who crawl out of the bin like full on sleep paralysis demons, gurning and writhing, covered in grime with horrible black smiles. It’s legitimately a little frightening, especially for my plus one, who I had neglected to inform of the fact that we ain’t going to be seeing her Granny’s stand-up. 

Despite being largely pre or perhaps post-verbal, the troupe (Tom Greaves, Claire Parry and Coral Bevan) are engaging hosts who function more like a sketch group – crucially they come to the table with enough fully developed ideas of what to do with the audience that their interstitials don’t feel like they’re papering over the cracks.

Of the three guests this evening, Rob Duncan was my only point of familiarity. Doing some of the same call-and-response chanting as in his last show The Basement Child, I nevertheless found myself much more receptive, probably because it was 15 minutes at 8pm rather than 60 minutes at 1.30am. 

He has such a lovely comedic presence on stage – I try to describe it in words every time I see him and fail inevitably. This time he reminded me of a confused druid. It’s always such a fabulous comic turn when he transitions from prancing and screeching as ‘the Guildford Goblin’ into talking earnestly about his real-world achievements in the printing industry. Apparently he won an award for being printer of the year last year. And yet Hollywood has not come calling.

Maria Telnikoff is perhaps more of a character comedian than a true bouffon clown, presenting a surprisingly rich study of a ghoulish posh woman working in a tragically empty baby clothes shop. The instinct for playfulness that you find in other clowns is slightly lacking in Telnikoff – her audience interactions are the least rewarding part of her set – but there’s a surprisingly effective turn later on in the act as the character begins to reflect on childbearing. Her world is pregnant with a melancholy subtext.

Instantly unforgettable and certainly the best received act of the night, Rosa Faye Garland aka Trash Salad was debuting her Gwyneth Paltrow impression. And if her impression of Gwyneth Paltrow resembles a fully nude woman in a ginger wig writhing around on a tarpaulin in copious gallons of orange slime and then crawling into a bin, well, impressions are meant to be impressionistic rather than literal, you would assume. 

With such an eye-catching act you could be forgiven for thinking that Trash Salad might coast on the visuals, but she backs up her act with a whole bunch of actually funny jokes and great comic timing. As with all the best clowns, there’s an arc and a design to this experience that makes you feel you’re in safe hands even while you surrender yourself to a superficially unsafe situation.

Overall, Gutter, full marks from me. If you’re looking to induct yourself into the world of pure bouffonery, this is the best primer I’ve yet found.

On the other end of several spectrums, visiting American comic Dulcé Sloan didn’t exactly fire my imagination with – what else – a technically competent but comedically rote set of dispatches from her life in LA. 

A former Daily Show correspondent, Sloan trades on her undeniable force of personality. Brusque, forthright and unsparing, I won’t dispute that the personality has force as advertised, but it forces her material down a pretty narrow pipe. 

She employs a sotto voce/big shouting alternation that keeps you awake and attentive, but performs slowly andlabours every point. I found myself laughing more at the set-ups than the punchlines – by the time she gets to the end of a line, you’ve already known what the payoff is going to be for a few seconds. 

When she steps out of her comfort material about dating and cultural differences, she’s more interesting. Genetics, the animal kingdom, her unconventional living situation with her mother, these are all fruitful areas for her, but at the moment she stopped her set abruptly and swept off stage, I felt the whole hour blow away instantly like dust in her wake.

Published: 31 Mar 2025