I had slightly misled myself in preparation for this show. Having skimmed the
brief catalogue description, eyeing up names such as Mr B The Gentleman Rhymer
and Sarah Louise Young (
Sadly, the debauchery we had been promised was not fulfilled.
Starting with a positive though, our host for the evening “the devil himself” Desmond O’Connor was quick witted, devilishly dirty-mouthed and not a bad singer at all. He charmed us with his well-timed anecdotes and his jokes were so perfectly smutty that he really did set the tone for an evening of debauchery.
Sadly, the debauchery we had been promised was not fulfilled. Elements of the show were great but they were overshadowed at times by awkward fumblings and forgotten lines that made you feel bad, as you were no longer laughing with the performers but, guiltily, at them.
The magician’s act was one such fumble, he appeared daunted by his audience and spent most of his time telling a very clichéd story about his encounter with the devil, which meant that he only had time to produce one actual trick which was again, not particularly interesting. The fact that the devil-compere then went on to plug the magician’s next Fringe show seemed inappropriate and burst any kind of bubble they had struggled to sustain around our foray into the underworld.
The first act to cavort onto the stage was entertaining in a sort of 'let's giggle at a half-naked man dancing in a church' kind of a way. This in itself was titillating and certainly got a good rise out of the crowd, but the act itself left much to be desired – unless you desired throwing plastic rings onto a turkey baster that was sticking out of somebody’s bottom.
There was just something not right about the show. The performers were charming and interacted well with the audience, dirty jokes and innuendos were in abundance – but when it came down to the skills these acts were supposedly showcasing, it let it down. Even the sassy grandmother, who could really hold a tune, ended up forgetting most of her lines in her penultimate number, which just made the whole thing a bit awkward; to repeat, the laughing at, rather than laughing with, scenario.
There was one act though, aside from the devil, who really did know what she was doing, it was just a shame that we had to wait right until the end to see her. Gracing the stage in true cabaret-style the final act was classy and sophisticated, which may be a bit of an oxymoron considering she was dancing about the stage in nothing but a corset and golden nipple tassels.
She knew how to capture an audience’s attention, none of the slapstick or improvisation that we had witnessed from her predecessors; this was a well refined, well-rehearsed piece of cabaret and I almost forgot to applaud through my rather large sigh of relief.