If you were to cross the endearing double-act surrealism of Reeves and Mortimer and Napoleon Dynamite with the protean character comedy of Marc Wootton and Chris Lilley and infuse it with funk, break-dancing and a Scottish lilt, you might begin to get a sense of this wonderfully silly first Fringe show from Edinburgh-born comic Mike Keat. Uncle Archie, the Sancho to Keats' Quixote, hands out Werther's Originals to the audience as they enter, which forms an affable frame with the handshakes they offer by the door at the end. The show opens with the first of several video dance tutorials from cult dance trio The Cuban Brothers and a wordless singsong from two Italian tenors, who then leave the stage and bid us 'Good Night!' After Keat, as himself, explains his obsession with clothes, we are treated to a wardrobe full of characters including Buddhist sage Rab Failure, leopard-skin-trousered Dutch doorman An Basten, and radio DJ and ACDC fanatic Barry Peters. The set is strewn with genuinely brilliant dance interludes (the highlight a dance-off involving a big slipper on Keat's head and another on a seated audience member's) and always-welcome contributions from the long-suffering Uncle Archie.I can't really put my finger on why I enjoyed this so much, but I doubt anyone can. It is an unfathomable storm of silliness, a tempest of madcap originality that we should let wash over us while it lasts. It is far from perfect: the story about David Hasselhoff is too long and there are some lazy one-liners ('They just thought I was a complete fanny'), though these are balanced by the odd sizzler ('Freddie Mercury is this country's finest entertainer after Cilla Black'). But this is a joy, a breath of fresh and funky air. The prodigal son of Edinburgh comedy has returned.
