Punch

What do a Punch & Judy show and a Twitter gag have in common? Childishness, flippancy, or an inherently cartoonish violence? Steven Bloomer’s new play Punch draws a striking and original parallel between the two that’s urgently topical to both time and location.

John is a Russell Brand-esque standup negotiating custody of his daughter with a harassed young social worker. In the hands of Frisky & Mannish’s Matthew Jones he's a monstrously gregarious geezer. The comic’s glibness in all situations, including the discussion of his injured child, is flippantly labelled an “occupational hazard.” As a career-ruining tweet is referred to, echoes of Frankie Boyle and the ethics of comedy begin to clamour louder.

Punch’s most powerful blows are to John’s standup, which, in the context of theatre, is unsettling for the audience. Do we respond to his goads? Do we snicker politely at his filth as at a late night comedy club? It’s uncomfortable both to resist and oblige and that’s Punch’s knockout. “Cancer can be funny in context,” John proclaims self-righteously after we’ve chortled at a gag about the Olympics.

Punch isn’t perfect. John’s manoeuvering of the moral high ground over the predictably earnest social worker feels too easy, and her own relationship troubles seem hackneyed. But Punch & Judy tropes such as linked sausages, clowns and crocodiles lend an absurdity to the proceedings. When is violence not violent? When is the filthy inoffensive? The curtains close abruptly on this Punch & Judy but pose questions that need to be asked at the Fringe.