Context isn’t everything, but the meaning of any show shifts depending on the milieu in which it’s presented. The Philippe Gaulier-trained clown Trygve Wakenshaw largely went down a storm and was compared to Dr Brown as part of the comedy programme at the Edinburgh fringe. In the context of the London international mime festival however, his show looks a little exposed, not because the gangly Wakenshaw’s skills are in any way lacking, but because in a festival where the most interesting work often has a metaphysical quality, the content is sparse.
Even when he is at his most self-consciously cute, his relationship with the audience can take on a battering ram quality. Only those really up for audience interaction or with exhibitionist tendencies should risk the first few rows.
But if you want one physical gag after another and would prefer not to worry about the meaning of life in these dark days of January, then his unfeasibly stretchy body and naughty-but-nice bad boy rudeness will certainly serve, particularly after a few mellowing drinks. This is less an absurd stream of consciousness than a vomit of transformations where galloping horses, juggling and sword-swallowing are conjured out of thin air. It’s best at its simplest: a game of “it” with the audience at the end works beautifully.
Wakenshaw knows exactly what he’s doing, both paying homage and sending up the Marcel Marceau tradition, as well as following in the footsteps of the great clowns such as Buster Keaton, playing the hapless innocent caught up in a pitiless and farcical world. But there is something less warm and more self-congratulatory operating here. Although Wakenshaw stretches himself in some obvious ways, he barely stretches himself at all in others.
• Until 18 January. Box office: 020-7478 0100. Venue: Soho theatre, London
