Review of their timely comedy play

The occasional Weirdos shows are the epitome of amateurism, in the best possible way.

A hefty handful of alternative comics gather to perform an under-rehearsed script that requires a plethora of cardboard props for no other reason than the love of it. The result is a mess, but the knockabout spirit in which it’s delivered makes for a fun evening precisely BECAUSE it is so ramshackle, not despite it.

The latest show which has just ended its three -night run at London’s Museum of Comedy, is no exception, with Weirdo-in-chief Adam Larter noting how the US election campaign is so close to Halloween and writing a comedy play that has the QAnon conspiracy theorist wing of the American right taking on the terror of Dracula.

However, there’s actually more of a Frankenstein feel to the script that tries to sew two disparate ideas together. Larter – who also plays the vampiric count while looking more like Andy Kaufman than ever – is first to admit the central problem of the idea: that you’re not sure who to root for, the charismatic blood-sucker or the proto-fascists. The answer, surprisingly, is the latter, with Van Helsing dressed like a January 6 rioter in horned fur hat.

The story may be sprawling and over-complicated, but it provides employment for plenty of members of the Weirdo’s collective of alternative comedians, this modern-day Comic Strip. Cerys Bradley, Michael Brunstrom, Charlie Vero Martin and Olivia Deane are all part of the madness.

Central to the story is Ali Brice as an estate agent helping Dracula move into his Transylvanian castle, while back home his wife, Bec Hill, is increasingly drawn towards the Trumpian dark side. Meanwhile, Sam Nicoresti adopts a broad Brummie accent to play the American who narrates the. Like so many aspects of the play, you just have to go with this, although this latter choice does result in a proper gag.

Elsewhere we meet Hulk Hogan seeing out his days in a lunatic asylum, a mild-mannered Fidel Castro, a beer-bottle who suddenly becomes human-sized and a fact-checking bat, who has their work cut out debunking the QAnon fantasies. And that’s just scratching the surface.

There are a few actual jokes, but the main source of the humour is the rickety nature of it all. Older comedy fans might recall the ancient Generation Game rounds where ordinary contestants had to perform dramatic scenes or other set pieces for which they were woefully ill-prepared, with their lines hidden around the set to offer a helping hand.  It’s the same here, with Brice coming up with a nice running joke to explain the constant need for scripts.

For all that the chaos is the fun, the script could still do with a bit more polish to make the narratives and characters clearer, and provide a more robust structure for the engagingly shambolic cast to swirl around. 

But whatever those shortcomings, the feeling of part of a joyful community of silliness is appealing – and a strong antidote to the bile, violence and hatred swirling around the real American election.