After last year's hit sell-out Sammy J in the Forest of Dreams, there are high expectations that puppeteer Heath McIvor succeeds in delivering with this darkly comic portrayal of Ribena-toned Randy.
Not just a muppet, Randy has a detailed back story to warm your cockles and cringe along with as we join him on a quest to find out why his life ended up being, to put it bluntly, fucked. We flashback with a whiskey induced Randy to hopeful beginnings at University through various jobs, romances, affairs, breakdowns and eventual occupation as a children's entertainer, even though he bloody hates kids.
McIvor's Randy is a ranting, self-loathing, fully realised mess whose misanthropic meanderings echo through to the disillusioned generation watching. It's a beautifully crafted piece of storytelling from a colourful character that is extremely witty with touches of forceful compassion, ignoring the desire to just hit the audience with quick-fire puppet gags.
The writing is acerbic, dead-pan brilliance teamed with McIvor's skilled puppetry that needs only the slightest movement to portray emotion; resulting in a delightfully insightful exploration of human interaction and examination through the eyes of one very bitter purple sponge with googly eyes.
Moments of silliness interject the action (look out for the cuddly Yeti and an embarrassingly realistic display of alcohol induced puking) along with some quick-witted audience inclusion that ensures big laughs. Crouched under a table for the duration, McIvor's task is physically demanding yet effortlessly delivered in a show that could have lazily just been bland entertainment and funny songs but refreshingly creates a story to empathise with and become engrossed in. The audience is hooked and each emotional nuance is counter-acted by a slyly ironic joke that attacks everything from vegetables to Keanu Reeves.
Vulgar and sensitive, this is a razor-sharp show that is never predictable or dull and comes highly recommended as an entertaining hour of insightful fun with some of the most riotously obscure sequences you're likely to witness this Fringe.
Times: 6-31 August, 7.20pm
© Lindsay Corr, August 2009