A self-declared homeless lookalike, Bobby Mair performs to a packed out Laughing Horse, deftly interacting with the audience, whom he suspends somewhere between hilarity and awkwardness. Mair’s comedy at first seems dark and brutally blunt, but it soon becomes obvious that this frank manner is not deliberately and unnecessarily shocking, but in fact a facet of his devil-may-care personality. He is often indignant, establishing a cheeky and faux-naïve persona when putting various members of the audience on the spot, with deeply personal and often invasive inquisitions. He balances these unexpected interrogations with remarkable admissions of his own: “My act is just like a sober finger in the ass”.
This Canadian comic possesses a vital spark, a certain way about him that makes him exciting to watch.
There was only one joke that fell flat, but this was due to a cultural difference, and Mair’s self-effacing admission of this made up for this momentary lapse. This Canadian comic possesses a vital spark, a certain way about him that makes him exciting to watch. This is partly down to his charisma and strong material, and also a result of the trust he places in the audience. He intersperses jokes with information about his experiences with depression and anger, and use of antidepressants - spoiler alert; he’s not actually off meds. But this doesn’t leave you feeling uncomfortable; instead, it acts as a window into his soul, allowing you to identify with him on a far more interesting level than you would your typical observational comedy driven stand-up performer.
At the end of his show, it’s clear that Bobby Mair is no doubt the funniest and friendliest occasional sociopath you’ll see at the fringe this year.
