Colin Hoult's Carnival of Monsters

Carnival of Monsters is already drawing comparisons to The League of Gentlemen, and with Colin Hoult’s characters summoning an equally twisted breed of surrealism, it’s easy to see why. Rather than perverted, xenophobic yokels, here we have an assortment of freaks (both outlandish and everyday) that owe as much to Reeves and Mortimer as they do to Mary Shelley.

Whether he’s channelling Vincent Price or playing the balaclava-clad goon, Hoult’s manner is both larger than life and expertly nuanced, while his company of oddballs in kabuki masks lumber and gurn with matching fervour. Wild-eyed and frantically (re)animated, together the cast almost literally drags the audience into whatever godless hellhole they emerged from — clambering over laps, sniffing at faces, daring you to respond — which is no mean feat in a glorified Portakabin.

Having already dipped his toe into TV, Hoult could be a primetime fixture within months – but here, boasting one of the most hilarious audience set-ups around, he demands to be seen in the flesh. Though cynics may find the persistent lunacy tiresome, very rarely does it descend into the inane. In fact, despite its silliness, the show manages moments of unexpectedly shrewd observation, sometimes bordering on the existential.

Deranged luvvie, Anna Mann, provides an astute send-up of the avant-garde drivel currently plaguing the Fringe, while the audience’s unwillingness to rescue an obnoxious crow from a tricycle wreck speaks volumes for the self-preservation society. Though not the most obviously cerebral piece of comedy, closer inspection reveals a strange significance to Hoult’s sketches lurking just beneath the surface.