Glenn Wool: No Lands Man

“If you don’t know who I am,” snarls Glenn Wool, eyes ablaze. “I’m Glenn Wool! And I’ve done the Fringe for over 10 years! Two years ago…” Another pause, another fierce glare, “…Hollywood came calling. And told me I should move to LA and start making movies!” Pause. Eyes lower. “And now I’m back doing the Fringe.”

It’s a pitch-perfect, self-deprecating start to a show full of knowing cultural quips (“all Americans love to stereotype! Which, of course, is a stereotype”), incredulous observations (“Belgian beer ain’t beer… it’s fucking wine with a shot of vodka in it!”) and carefully worded liberal-baiting (“girlfriend rape” and a steroid-enhanced Down’s Syndrome farmer among the choicest cuts).

The story arc of Wool’s show, No Lands Man, centres on the Canadian comic’s extensive worldwide travel and one incident—involving a strip search at the Indonesian border—in particular. Standing naked, surrounded by men in a severely lit, small room, he’s asked to prepare for a cavity search. As a customs official cheerfully gloves up and slowly lubricates his index finger, Wool ponders the possible escape routes which form the backbone of tonight’s set. It proves a great story, but a bit of a stretch for a whole show which at times feels straitjacketed as a result.

Blessed with a razor-sharp audience reflex, Wool is at his best riffing off the room or tearing down the walls of idiocy in that trademark hyper-theatrical voice, but neither fire often enough tonight. With a looser, freewheeling framework perhaps, you suspect this often exceptional No Lands Man might finally find home.