Edinburgh Fringe comedy review

Adopting learned, if pompous, professorial tones, Garry Starr issues a stark warning about the existential threats facing literature and his plan to save this valuable form of expression. It is, however, difficult to take even the most esteemed academic seriously if he’s got his cock and balls out… and Starr is not the most esteemed academic to start with.

Indeed, he spends the entire hour naked save for a tailcoat and flippers (as well as his trademark Elizabethan ruff), which give him a vague resemblance to the titular penguins. A waddle in his walk completes the look.

The reason for the nakedness is that the male body is so often ridiculous; the reason for imitating the penguin is because Starr, having covered every genre of performing arts and the entirety of Greek mythology in previous shows,  is here to act out every Penguin Classic novel in an hour.

What follows is a series of sketches which either recreate pivotal scenes from classic works or offer a daft visual pun based on their titles, from Frankenstein to One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest, Sherlock Holmes to The Handmaid’s Tale.

The wordplay itself is pretty corny, but Starr’s infectious foolishness ensures the audience are fully on board. And the recreations are stupidly lo-fi affairs, most recreated from the contents of a Poundland, although a couple go above and beyond for impressively elaborate gags. Laughs come from the inventive absurdity and the delight when the penny drops and you figure out what he’s conveying.

Damien Warren-Smith, the Gaulier-trained clown behind the persona, has well-developed physical comedy chops and a lightness of touch that’s key to the frolics, making everything feel loose and spontaneous.

Also to that end, audience members are recruited to help in many of these skits - although no one’s forcing you. Even when crowd-surfing, Starr seeks consent. Nor is he out to humiliate anyone as the hour is defined by a sense of play: you can see grown men regress to giddy childhood when they get to do shootouts with the pee-ow, pee-ow finger guns. 

To get into descriptions of too many scenes would ruin the surprise which is so crucial to the fun – not for nothing do the Pleasance staff clamp down on anyone sneaking a picture – but I did take a note that ‘drinking a decapitated baby’s blood has never been so funny’ for the Dracula bit.

Classic Penguins is an hour of one frivolously daft scene after another, full of memorable moments that will stick with you beyond the festival. Especially the finale, a raucous budget-blowing extravaganza of glorious excess.

Years from now, you might find yourself saying, ‘Remember when we went to the Fringe and saw that naked dude do that thing…’ You’re unlikely to recall even the most finely crafted stand-up punchline in the same way.

Review date: 7 Aug 2024
Reviewed by: Steve Bennett
Reviewed at: Pleasance Courtyard