Sam Simmons: Death of a Sails Man

As far as uncompromising surrealists go, Sam Simmons is fairly accessible. His persona is one of rugged, moustachioed masculinity, similar to that which Will Ferrell and Nick Offerman have popularised in recent years, and he maintains an easygoing demeanour throughout even his most perplexing moments. He isn't above broad comedy, and tonight succeeds in winning over an initially suspicious audience with choreographed, theatrical crotch thrusts. Even when we're taken to task for failing to appreciate his art, the man's tone is more disappointed than confrontational.

Despite his lack of combative edge, Simmons possesses a tirelessly inventive comic mind, and insists on presenting his vision to us fully realised and unfiltered. Death of a Sails Man continues in exactly the same vein as his previous shows, but even partisan admirers will require time to adjust themselves to its demands. Once it accepts that he's playing a wind-surfing muesli bar salesman lost at sea, and that this character is going to spend much of the hour aggressively arguing with an increasingly incoherent inner monologue, the room loosens up and resigns itself to the night ahead.

The show is anarchic, yet robust and fully formed. Simmons' interactions with his own pre-recorded voice are beautifully timed, and his meticulous attention to detail speaks of total dedication to his craft. It's difficult to say why any of this works, and the comedian himself would likely be hard-pressed to explain, but everything we see on stage is informed by a consistent, internal logic.