Puddles Pity Party: Let's Go!

I've never seen someone look so nervous while eating a bakewell tart. But then it's rare to be encouraged to consume cakes by a 6-foot tall clown whose motivations are unclear. Earlier, another punter appeared similarly discombobulated by being offered a cup of coffee. But in Puddles' hands simple things such as hot drinks and cake become destabilised, in a show whose pleasures rest on a lack of transparency.

Puddles is a beguiling and unmistakable presence, who can often be seen traipsing around Edinburgh. White-faced and wearing a tiny crown, his appearance suggests physical comedy. But he's a crooner, and the show is primarily centered around his show-stopping delivery of an eclectic set of numbers in unexpected musical styles. There's no doubting he has a voice, and it's one that would be at home in 1950s nightclub. But it's here, coming out of the mouth of a giant clown, proferring pastries. And all this takes place in front of a giant screen showing film footage that has, at best, a tangential relationship to the song being sung. A narrative of sorts concerning Hollywood film stars appears to be important, but then retreats from view. 

It seems wilfully pedantic to demand some kind of logic to all this when the singing is so good and the crowd is—for the most part—having a good time. But it does persistently feel like there's some kind of revelatory payoff that never arrives. Just enjoy the songs and avoid eye contact when the clown's on the prowl.