Comedy review: Butt Kapinsky

One thing that stands out in Butt Kapinsky's hour is quite how fabulously talented any random audience is.

Pleasance Dome (Venue 23)


The soundtrack to Butt’s latest Film Noir is provided by two girls with genuinely wonderful voices and definite compositional skills. I happen to be sitting in a Red Light district and the guys who play the “wowas” (whores to you and me, Butt is brilliant but suffers from almost every speech defect known to science), are quite fabulous as they move sinuously about the business of soliciting.

From dead victims of multiple murders and sex crimes (it is a tough night on the streets), through exploding intestines and from the idle rich in their hot tubs to the poor Mexicans building a wall, parts are played to

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Butt, of course, is a brilliant director. Tiny, energetic, intense and frequently borderline incomprehensible (a phrase Butt would struggle with), Butt darts around, lit only by a streetlamp which he wears above his head.

The lamp provides more comedy, visual and aural, than any lamp in the history of Film Noir.

From “I hope he doesn’t pick me” Butt takes us to “please pick me” in about ten minutes.

He unites the room in a crazy tumble of suspects and body parts and releases the funny in people who don’t realise they have any.

Of course, he solves the crime. He is Butt Kapinsky. He and close friend Deanne Fleysher should be thrilled with this glorious hour of fun. We are.

Until 27 August. Today 8:10pm.