Appearing on stage in an undone dress shirt, genuinely lovely Benjamin Partridge delivers a varied 40 minutes of nowhere near enough substance. The audience are asked to believe that this mild-mannered, English-accented 20-something is Jeff Goldblum, a half-hearted character piece by design, with not even a whiff of an impression. It’s a great idea, a unique take on character work, and Partridge takes us through Goldblum’s weekly dinner, Independence Day losing best sound mix at the Oscars and some pretty spot-on 90s Hollywood references with his tongue firmly in his cheek. Similarly, his use of slides is a nice take on naff-corporate culture that creates an appealing satirical tone.
But it’s just not enough. There’s a lengthy audience interaction piece that is pretty laborious and could do with some more improvisation. In truth, that’s the essence of this show; there are terrific little nuggets of ideas that hint at a nuanced comic mind and a tendency towards the surreal, but not enough gusto or content to really get the laughs. He’s very much on the right track with this and I’d be extremely interested to see a show with Partridge at the helm that is fully formed and crammed with material. As it is, a section on an anthropomorphised glass of water goes nowhere and takes forever over it, stretching the audience’s patience beyond repair. Hugely likeable, this is a promising little piece of surrealism that was largely warmly received despite the unignorable deficit in material.