Liam Mullone is a man with a chip on his shoulder. Misanthropic but endearing, he presents an hour of despair and, to no less extent, cuddly toys. At once cerebral and silly, the material itself was strong and had the potential to be thought provoking while hilarious. Unfortunately, the show was let down by lacklustre delivery: all too often Mullone would cut himself off near the end of sentences to begin a new line of thought, losing the power of the jokes. This meant, too, that I was left confused and unsatisfied as focus shifted about without definite marker points.
The low energy nature of Mullone’s delivery lent itself well to the more thoughtful aspects of his show, but was not in the least bit suited to crying like a baby, which felt laboured and dragged on uncomfortably. At one stage Mullone excused himself apologetically, saying that we wouldn’t want to hear more about determinism. I couldn’t help but think that I would have preferred an amusing lecture on that subject. He also had a habit of tripping over himself while talking; to an extent this manner made him likable and gave off an air of innocence, especially when engaging with the audience. During the majority of the performance, however, this became tiresome.
Where Mullone is strongest is in his use of analogies. His comparisons are well observed and are slotted in with precision timing. However, they act as little more than embellishments to the routine and on their own cannot save it. Ultimately the material needed to be delivered with greater confidence: this is especially true of the final segment, which, though incredibly well constructed, became lost in mumbling and a clear desire to hurry on.
