I’m not entirely sure I know what I experienced for the hour of Sam Simmons show on Saturday night.
Complete and utter absurdism, in it’s truest sense. Which meant I was equal parts delighted, horrified, confused and uncomfortable.
The show’s only structure is loosely based around him reading out letters he’s received and answering them, and a conversation he’s having with his (pre-recorded) subconscious.
There are puns, there’s a pine cone, there are poignant moments then there are bread shoes and a viking riding a mountain goat with hot coffee, then there are rape and pedophile jokes which make you wonder if he’s just undone all of the poignancy. A lot of it isn’t laugh-out-loud funny, but amusing or delightfully confusing. There is a lot of silence as the audience wonders what the hell they’ve got themselves in for.
Part way through he explains to the befuddled audience that you need to pretend you’re watching a foreign language film channel and you can’t find the remote. Don’t try to make sense of it, just let it happen. If you go see it (and I recommend you do) that’s the best advice I could send you off with.
Sam Simmons is on at The Herald Theatre until Wednesday 30th, so you should hustle here and get tickets.
