Befrdfgth – Live Review

The Edinburgh Festival’s list of Comedy Award winners (the top prize at the month-long arts and culture extravaganza) hasn’t been short of does-what-it-says-on-the-tin comics in its 32 years, with previous victors including Al Murray, Lee Evans and Frank Skinner. If history has seen the reign of humorous anecdotes and reeled-off one liners, 2012 was the year of clowning. Not the face paint-plastered clown who pulls a few magic tricks from his sleeve, but one that manipulates and delights an audience through a succession of seemingly simple, yet utterly brilliant, silent sketches. The winning show this year, Befrdfgth, came courtesy of the conservatively-named Doctor Brown; an American-born clown (real name Phil Burgers), who honed his craft under the illustrious master clown Philippe Gaullier.

Before the show begins, sceptics are aplenty; this is a show whose presence in the ‘comedy’ bracket is tenuous at first glance. The backdrop is a black screen, no props are used (apart from those Burgers magically constructs through mime), and, most worryingly, no word is uttered throughout the whole show. On paper, it doesn’t seem like the sort of gig that could summon more than a polite chuckle, never mind win the festival’s most coveted accolade. Oh, how wrong we were.

A shroud-wearing, bearded man who has nothing but physical movement and a quirky instrumental soundtrack to work with, Burgers’ sorcery sees him construct a flow of hilarious, all-consuming stories. As the stories unfold, we come to realise Doctor Brown has a firm enough grip on our attention that he can control and utilise our presence, and we become as much a part of the show as his superbly executed mime sequences. Waiting to be (silently) instructed, we’ll collectively contribute the “ding” of the bell on his ‘bicycle’, and he’ll clambers over us in ungainly fashion, impishly plucking glasses and hats from unsuspecting observers. Unlike the style of many comics, this isn’t audience victimisation, it’s a blurring of the boundary between comic and performer; Doctor Brown’s subtle eyebrow raises when we slip up make us aware that we’re putting on something of a performance for him to watch, too.

For the finale, the Doctor selects a member of his audience to re-enact the spectacle just preformed; a feat that requires Burger’s new sidekick to explore unchartered levels of good humour. Herein lies Burgers’ skill: the exactness of these seemingly whimsical sketches is so great, he’s able to hand the stage over to an unrehearsed spectator. We watch the brilliance of Doctor Brown manifest itself in someone who came along expecting to do nothing more than sit on a chair with a pint, and hopefully have themselves a few laughs.

When we leave, Burgers sheds his shroud and stands at the exit in a somewhat more uninhibited pair of black Y-fronts, taking his time to give everyone a sweaty embrace and thank them for coming. That’s when we realise he’s not an introverted, silent performance artist who’s weirdly closed off from the world: he’s just a genius.