Standup comedy is a broad church, but Tim Key's quirky, experimental and often oddly beautiful shows have been pushing the definition of the form since well before he won the Edinburgh Comedy award in 2009. As the shows have grown more ambitious in structure and staging, so he has gained the confidence to develop his persona: the shambolic, luckless poet delivering his laconic observations on the banalities and small tragedies of existence. He ambles about the stage, throwing out a deadpan poem here and there, improvising with the audience, veering unpredictably between endearingly gauche and loudly crude. Key is a master of bathos, his stock-in-trade the twist or punchline that undercuts the expectations he has set up.
In his last show the stage was dominated by a full bathtub in which he was periodically immersed. This time a large bed takes centre stage, like an inversion of Tracey Emin's famous installation – though in Key's case the bed is a visual testament to a catalogue of sexual failure. Most of his anecdotes centre around awkward or failed seductions, a comedy of embarrassment he plays out by inviting audience members to join him on the bed for uncomfortable conversations.
Key's work often veers closer to experimental theatre or performance art than standup. In the past he has punctuated shows with abstract film clips; here he includes an unexpected new artform, which he expressly asks the audience to keep secret (the joy is in the surprise). There are moments when the pace dips, and as a whole it feels less daringly original than some of his previous shows. But it is painfully funny, and a reminder that Key remains one of the most unusual and interesting artists working in British comedy.
