Seymour Mace truly defies the norm in a characteristically chaotic hour, and breaks the conventional star rating system in the process
Fringe comedy comes in many forms. You have your extended hour-long monologues, your deconstructed sketch shows, your literature-based improv... the list goes on. But there’s a lot to be said for just spending an hour watching a man behave like a fucking idiot.
Seymour Mace wouldn’t argue – his show this year does specifically refer to how surprised he was to get an award nod in 2015, and how depressing the last 12 months have been trying to live up to others' expectations. Opening up with some bad 80s MOR sing-along (a recurring feature) it’s clear that Mace’s act is unlikely to change – a disjointed series of 'bits' that have nothing in common, aside from just being ridiculously and stupidly funny.
Puppets, game shows, cuddly toys, mannequins, Bruce Forsyth impressions – nothing is off the table (or the windowsill) when Mace digs for a laugh. He has no care for formality, structure, or expectations – if you don’t find the idea of a man dancing around with fake plastic hands funny, then it's very possible that this will not at all be the show for you. But live a little. Its brilliance competes with its chaos in equal measure, defying any notion that it can be rated conventionally. This is the most vital, unmissable three-star show on the Fringe.
Seymour Mace: Shit Title, The Stand Comedy Club 2, 4-28 Aug, 2.30pm, £7-9