Doctor Brown - Befrdfgth

Clowns. We grow out of them at about age 7, right? We’re talking proper clowns here: the kind that simply prat around on stage, silently, doing daft and crass things for our amusement. All very well when you’re a child and just watching an adult falling over is the most hilarious thing imaginable. When we grow up, we need something more sophisticated to tickle our funny bones, be it the astute, homely observations of Michael McIntyre, the PC-skirting bile of Frankie Boyle, or the self-reflective, postmodern comic acrobatics of Stewart Lee.

Well, perhaps. But Doctor Brown is a clown, and he’s put together perhaps the best comedy show on the Fringe this year: the most purely, convulsively funny live experience that this reviewer has ever had.

The creation of American mime artist Phil Burgers, Doctor Brown is gaining increasing cult status on the international circuit. His previous outings at the Fringe have all been minimalist, using the simplest of props: a swivel chair, a fan, a waitress’ apron. This set is even more stripped down, as Burgers appears on a blank stage dressed only in a black, Oriental-looking robe with coloured hemming, bushy beard bristling, eyes ever so slightly wild. He does in fact use props ‘borrowed’ from the audience at certain points in the show, but the humour is as much in how he attains them as in how he uses them.

The body of the show consists of a series of short mimes, some of which build into a simple through-narrative, some of which are left to stand alone. At first it seems that even Burgers doesn’t quite know what he is going to do: between each short segment he stands astride, black-gloved hands raised, swaying slightly, a quizzical expression on his face. Then he will dive into a roleplay of, say, a couple playing tennis, or a swimmer being chased by a shark. Through other, more involved mimes, we gradually gain a sense of a story involving bullfighting, intense sexual intercourse, paternal irresponsibility and finally, love.

Burgers does an extraordinary job of building comic tension through unpredictability. It feels like almost anything could happen in this gig; certainly, he pushes the performer-spectator relationship much further than most other comics would dare. If you’re really not into the idea of being touched by a clown, you’d probably be best advised to stay away.

But beneath the apparent physical and sexual threat, there’s a surprisingly innocent and joyous show here. Evidently in full control of his craft, Burgers judges the audience carefully, and only goes just far enough to make us squirm with sympathy for each ‘volunteer’ squirm, without ever really humiliating them. One particularly enthusiastic man from the front row is chosen for extensive involvement in the final act, and the show becomes a jubilant celebration of the possibilities of live theatre and audience participation.

Forget red noses and tiny cars: Burgers has reinvented clowning for a modern, twenty-first century audience and this year sees him at the absolute top of his game.