Barnie Duncan @ Assembly Roxy

Barnie Duncan’s debut hour Oooky Pooky comprises three strands of comedic storytelling: the physical clowning from his past, classic straight-up standup, and a healthy hint of the surreal. The throughline that connects the three? An old tape cassette, housing a recording of the astrological reading Duncan’s mother received just after he was born. 

Michael Jackson is the name of the astrologist, and while this may seem the first allusion to the surreal, dropping this name (now synonymous with horrific acts of sexual violence) alongside those of other shady public figures actually contributes towards a solid portion of the standup elements of Duncan’s routine. There’s that – the lewd, 'locker room banter'-esque jokes about tea-bagging and having an unapologetic obsession with genitalia, and the continued harking back to an encounter long ago with a non-consenting audience member. With his satin Adidas tracksuit bottoms, ruffled blue dress shirt, and bucket hat with STUPIDO embroidered across it, you could be mistaken for thinking this show is about and for the lads. Lads of a slightly bygone era, where sexual innuendo is of unparalleled comedic value, and anyone that disagrees becomes fodder. 

But Duncan attempts to reassure us that this isn’t the case. This is a show of dualities; of men who once enjoyed being a public nuisance, but are now sweet, occasionally shy, family men; of lack of self then self discovery; of moths and butterflies. When the gap between those parallels is bridged is where the show flourishes, and usually, Duncan does this with a truly impressive mime routine. That, and Oooky Pooky's moments when a seemingly structured bit of stand-up warbles off path and into the complete unknown, leading us unwittingly to an absurd but satisfying punchline, is where Duncan begins to quell any rising anxieties. 

An hour at the Fringe is the perfect place to push boundaries, for ‘spicing things up’ perhaps, but it seems as though Duncan hasn’t quite decided on which side of the fence he’d like to land. It’s in this ambivalence where the show flounders, bolstered only by the moments of brilliant physical storytelling.   

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Barnie Duncan: Oooky Pooky, Assembly Roxy (Roxyboxy), until 24 Aug, 7.05pm, £12-14