Review: EGG

A big, cracked, cartoony egg costume sits proudly on the stage in the plush environs of House of Oz. I'm not going to lie: I'm desperate for someone to burst out of it. Alas, this doesn't happen, but it's not long before performer Erin Fowler does adopt her eggy, clowny persona, leading us through the story of her life – from conception to the current pandemic – and her dilemma over whether or not to have a baby.

Fowler is a fantastic clown and physical performer. Her face has a remarkable elasticity, stretching and bending into hilarious grimaces and gurns. She flirts, she aches, she dances, and it's in these moments the show is at its strongest. There's a real absurdity to her humour that marries well with the subject matter.

What works slightly less well is the personal element of the show. When Fowler stops being the clown, and starts being herself, the story feels a little thin. You never really get to know her beyond scratching the surface. You want clown Erin and real Erin to talk to each other more, or for that connection to be more drawn out. What is motivating this absurdity, this mania, these flights of fancy, beyond the framing device of a biological clock that ticks throughout the show?

It flows well, there's a good few laughs, and killer soundtrack. But there's more it could give.