Paul Currie: Release The Baboons

There are shows from the heart and shows from the head; Paul Currie pulls his from his arse. It’s a series of acts of rampant stupidity, taking in mime, props, audience abuse and barked non-sequitur – bizarre but skimpy ideas sold largely on the volume of his shouting.

He starts with promise, a beardy wild man who gets us playing panpipes on our fingers, roars an advert for guns and offers a literal take on “slapstick”. It’s good, boisterous fun to watch these absurdist party pieces being let off like fireworks, and then dropped once they’ve got from A to B. But when longer sequences come, they rarely reach C. They’re simply spread a little bit thinner, such as when a Kermit puppet serenades a pineapple or Currie plays a… resourceful… form of percussion on a Buddy Holly track. Here the joke registers after a few bars, but is still dragged out over several verses.

Currie's been flattered with comparisons to Doctor Brown, though in terms of bending the crowd to his will, he's a blunter instrument. His dictatorial clowning hinges on bellowed demands for applause and co-operation – and while many are happy to oblige, there are times when it feels like trying to appease a toddler on the verge of a tantrum.

Make no mistake – he clambers over laps and manhandles volunteers with the best of them, and he gets his instinctive laughs. Yet sometimes overstepping boundaries is the only dimension to a routine. It would be a stretch to call it cheating, so instead let’s just say this: stupid needn’t be so simple.