Rick Shapiro - Wild Card

Rick Shapiro eschews much of the traditional stand-up territory: there are no punch lines, no orthodox observational gags. References to his past as a heroin user and male prostitute are just as infrequent. While no doubt informing his comedy, it is never the focus, or the context. The main thread of his material is a shabby sexuality and a ubiquitous baying contempt for 21st century bourgeois society. As such, some of the tension in the room tonight is no doubt due to a cultural, even generational, gap.

The set itself is furious and varied. It pitches and sways between stream-of-consciousness delivery and Shapiro’s eclectic cast of characters and costumes. Accompanied by an overhead projection of anarchic slogans and contrapuntal music, Avoidance Man ducks yet another crime-busting opportunity and, as he drapes a scarlet pashmina over one shoulder, declares: “Look at me; I’m…err…a girl.” Anarchic stuff.

Baffling and uncompromising, Rick Shapiro’s spitfire routine is probably aimed at the wrong crowd tonight. A barely half-full room struggles to generate any meaningful chemistry with the comic as he stalks the front row, deep-throating his microphone to the sound of machine-gun fire and coaxing intimate personal details from female members of the GRV’s sparse crowd.

The man is a joy to watch, though. Indeed, as the show climaxes with a double-fisting montage set to a power-ballad soundtrack, it becomes clear that this is probably the only show at this year’s fringe that will get worse as it becomes more polished.