Discover Ben Target

A suspicious welcome comes courtesy of Ben Target's minions, swaddled in contamination suits and doling out sweets said to come "from the bottom of Ben's aunt". Or possibly "heart" – it wasn't clear. We are promised something "a little bit different and altogether beautiful," which in this case means an exercise in messy, prop-based idiocy.

So crucial is the element of surprise here that only so much can be revealed. Target—a skinny, bearded goon who booms in thespian tones—has a lot of tricks up his sleeve, down his trousers and stashed in his Tardis of a jacket. Deadpan, he unfurls a repertoire of absurd visual gags, crap sorcery and brazen feats of audience coercion.

Physical comedy has bred a sort of arms race and Target enters it with gusto: who can push the crowd furthest without getting arrested or attacked? Though not the most extreme of its belligerents, he inflicts things on the paying public that surely warrant legal action. The laughs elicited tend to be cheap, but there will always be a place for the sadistic pleasure of seeing a ticketholder terrorised or the satisfying sight of flotsam left strewn across the floor.

This familiar formula of orchestrated mayhem proves largely reliable, but alone it provides no guarantee of success. Presentation still matters, and while his plodding delivery lends impact to tricksy lines, it saps momentum as often as it adds tension. What really makes or breaks this pushy approach, though, is that the maestro must have an infectious energy, the charisma of a cult leader. And here Target, building to a scrappy, disorientating finale, gains his fair share of disciples.