Aidan Goatley strikes me as an organised, practical and variably fearless fellow. If no one sits in the front row, he removes it. If feminists for the following show come into Ciao Roma’s wine cellar (a surprising spacious venue by Fringe standards) before they should, they’re shouted out. Really,
Let’s tell Aidan how lovely we think he is - and he proves to be with an adorable ending - by attending this free hour of amusement in droves.
Underscoring the middle class slapstick (there’s no actual slapstick, don’t worry) are questions of masculinity and fatherhood, a balanced argument on that mainstay of comedy, alcohol, and humankind’s undeniable superficiality. We don’t expect conversation about prosthetic testicles, fertility clinics and questionable sexual encounters delivered by an innocently breathy, rhythmic tone. This juxtaposition is a bold as Goatley himself.
He conveys concern over a surprise tattoo using Matt Berry decibel levels, and belts out a Bon Jovi classic (lyrical disaster) in a hilarious attempt to thwart a certain angsty teen. As Goatley sets out to be more less ‘light and fluffy’, this shameless idiocy that taps into proper anxieties (loss of control, child-raising) is more successful than the the expression of Miranda-like sensibilities (focaccia and shipping forecast-related).
The audience is involved in an overwhelmingly friendly way, which is unusual. Goatley explains the significance (or lack thereof) of various UK cities to the Americans, gives words of encouragement to a young couple and reassures an older lady in the more risquė sections. We’re described as ‘lovely’ because there’s more than the (supposed) Fringe average of 4 in the audience. Let’s tell Aidan how lovely we think he is – and he proves to be with an adorable ending – by attending this free hour of amusement in droves.