Nick Helm - Dare to Dream

A blanket of dry ice chokes the Pleasance Beside. Hard rock thumps from the speakers. Nick Helm, the gorilla in the mist, looms from the darkness wearing his own name in lights and within moments has the whole room pumping their fists. 

Such showmanship would usually entail some degree of charm, but not here. The St Albans psychopath roars abuse into the face of anyone still dithering after his gloriously cheap opening gags – it’s probably best you just go with it.

Like some Butlins Redcoat gone postal, Helm expends much of his stage time hyping up the party that’s about to start. Raised expectations make it all the more effective when his initial manic optimism careens off course and he ends up clinging for dear sanity to the hostage-cum-husband he plucks from the front row.

Amid Helm’s storm, moments of uneasy quiet are the most compelling. Be it his poetry or the letter of forgiveness addressed to a bully, it’s a thrill to hear his death metal growl crack with emotion as sweat pours down his bare gut and he pants like a pervert.

It’s a volatile, bipolar performance, spanning violent ebullience and convincing desperation; Helm knows there’s something horribly gratifying about watching someone else’s breakdown. Dragged-out musical numbers offer the only respite, creating all too merciful lulls in an otherwise relentless assault.

God save his poor larynx. That the man will be mute by September only confirms his utter commitment to the laugh. It should pay off – a show with this much heart cannot fail to make a big impression.