A Will Franken gig is unlike many others at the Fringe. On the one hand his brand of psychedelic comedy is entrancing, ushering us into a mind that seems to unravel in front of our eyes. While on the other, he toys with expectations of identity – how people from different cultures are supposed to react to each other.
Last year, there were only one or two of Franken’s jokes that hung in the air awkwardly, unintentionally so, but this year there are more. Franken is at his best when he’s on point, subverting cultural treachery amongst Europeans as a London cabbie outpours xenophobic opinions about the French. It might be that this year more segments veer into the absurd too quickly and audiences aren’t adequately prepared for whatever kaleidoscopic thread is pulled. A lot of anxiety surrounds jokes on gender and race when they're not obviously packaged as satire, and only when it feels clear that Franken is making direct fun of us does the set get back on track.
When it does, it’s hurtling comedy that’s unafraid to take us—by force if necessary—through all manner of stereotype. Franken’s many voices and characters have been likened to Pythonesque parody and whether he’s jabbing at rural Wales or the intimidating defensiveness of the Deep South, it’s clear that he’s targeting all social and political classes in the same way. He is able to walk the line of controversy with courage and balance, a tightrope act that can occasionally falter but also proves him a thrill-seeking performer.