Review by Steve Bennett

A versatile, expressive and exuberant physical comic, Vachel Spirason makes for one of the most empathetic loners since Chaplin’s Tramp.

His Angus is a shy, delicate creature, afraid of the brusqueness of modern life who wishes we can all just dance an exuberant dance. But people don’t, on the whole, join in leaving him sad, lonely and bored… yet strangely optimistic.

The chameleonic Spirason plays not only our fragile hero, but a range of passers-by in the park where he hangs out, presenting each as a sort of case study, complete with their own signature dance. Highlights include the wonderfully funny Bluetooth-powered businessman, communicating entirely via the word ‘wanker’; a well-observed squeegee-wielding junkie with a penchant for literature; and Angus’s mustachioed nemesis, whose evilness is never fully explained but might well be simply the dark flipside of his hopeful personality.

Angus wants to find the answers to life through observing these people and collecting objects. When he dons a footy beanie, for instance, he becomes transformed into a yob. Moments like this – and the wonderfully slapstick, if not entirely highbrow, scene with a chocolate cake keeps the show from being overwhelmed by the predominant pathos and whimsy.

We are guided through the episodic structure by a book on stage and a narrator who, in an inspired comic twist, has great difficulty reading. It’s apt, too, for a show which relies so much on the non-verbal for its chuckles.

Spirason is a talented, lithe and extravagant dancer who, like New Art Club, takes his gift out of the pretentious world of modern dance and into the world of comedy. The pop soundtrack he so elegantly moves to is also well-chosen, so we’re grateful of the track listing in the photocopied programme.

He indulges in good-natured interaction with the audience – though not quite enough to get many to join him dancing on stage at the end, despite the message of the show – and there’s an exaggerated verve to the performance that you might think it was aimed at children, were it not for that fact that of the very few words spoken, a good few are rude ones.

It’s all been lovingly put together by Spirason and Steph Brotchie, his colleague from the Vigilantelope sketch troupe, with a keen eye for detail. But, be aware, it’s one of those lavish productions which is more an warmly enjoyable showcase of impressive talents than end-to-end laugh-out-loud funny, although it certainty has its moments of hilarity.

Review date: 1 Aug 2011
Reviewed by: Steve Bennett