Star rating: ****
Venue: Underbelly Potterrow (Venue 358)
Satirical musical theatre with his old sidekick Sammy J has been well and truly licked, as has the realm of the stand-up comedy rant. And now the literary world quivers with the anticipation of Randy’s debut novel, Walking to Skye.
Or maybe it is Randy doing the quivering, because this otherwise confident critter, so self-assured when making a deadly serious argument for veganism or bantering with members of the audience he cannot actually see, seems incapable of publicly sharing his opus. And if his book is not to be read, can it truly be regarded as an artistic work?
The furry felt philosopher takes every opportunity to divert attention from his manuscript, exploring tangents and generally going off on one. Along the way, he is caustic on mixed martial arts, withering on mindfulness, filthy on puppet masturbation and, since this is ostensibly a show about storytelling, knowledgeable on Ernest Hemingway and Harper Lee and conflicted on whether artistic genius compensates for being a crummy human being (see Hemingway).
How much of this is the worldview of Randy’s human handler Heath McIvor or complete feltface fabrication isn’t really the burning issue, so seamless is the relationship between the puppeteer and his conduit, who is gifted with manic muppet energy and colourful vocabulary.
Randy Writes a Novel is less gag fest and more extended entertaining procrastination but if Walking to Skye were half as riveting as his brilliant, barmy shaggy dog story about the purchase of a bookshelf on Gumtree, then Randy/McIvor really knows how to spin a yarn.
Until 29 August. Today 10:05pm.