Following the sell-out success of Vanity Bites Back at the Tobacco Factory in October, Helen Duff was back in Bristol last night with Smasher. This new show has some similarities with its predecessor, as once again she tackles a taboo subject with a mix of clowning, story-telling and a great deal of audience participation. Last time the focus was on anorexia; this time it’s the female orgasm, or in her case the lack of it.
There’s no fourth wall for Helen Duff; she cheerily greeted people at the door, and sat and chatted with others before insisting that some move to fill up the front row. Such informal interaction is essential for her brand of comedy, but it has its dangers. Having engaged one group if punters in friendly banter she then found that they were reluctant to disengage, and an uneasy truce had to be negotiated before she could proceed with the show proper. Vanity Bites Back was something of a slow-burner, and that’s certainly true of Smasher. In tightly-hooded turquoise top and violet tights she explains that she has come in the guise of a sperm, albeit it a rather colourful one. She then gets some relatively easy laughs by asking individuals in the audience embarrassingly direct questions, and there’s a very funny sequence about the folly of adopting adventurous positions during sex, but for the first twenty minutes or so the show lacks a sense of direction. Wide-eyed, elfin-like and gloriously daft, Duff has an instantly likeable stage presence, and the majority of last night’s audience was happy to fall in with the rather diffuse and apparently random silliness of the early stages, but a less patient faction walked out.
Eventually a narrative of sorts does begin to get into its stride as she sets off on a quest for the elusive big O. This tale is illustrated with accounts of deeply disappointing sexual encounters depicted with hilarious, full-frontal frankness; Duff and euphemism are total strangers. She is a brilliant mimic – I especially like her portrayal of the Australian boyfriend with the waterproof mattress. Her final attempt to have the much sought-after earth-moving experience comes when she participates in a group sex therapy session led by a slow-talking West coast American guru with an infuriatingly positive manner. Her enthusiastic fellow participants in the therapy session are played by members of the audience armed with water pistols. A bottle of water, bananas and an avocado play an important part too, though it’s best if l leave their function to your imagination.
Her journey ends in soggy failure, but there is a kind of triumph in her realisation that there no need to bow to the tyranny of idealized stereotypes of ‘good’ sex. She leaves us with a joyous celebration of her whole self, having abandoned her quest to find ultimate pleasure in just one part. Helen Duff is a fearless comic; Vanity Bites Back was an often disturbing, self-exploratory show about her anorexia, and Smasher is another no-holds-barred examination of what appears to have been her decidedly fraught relationship with her own body. For her own sake it is to be hoped that she has now worked through these issues; Smasher certainly ends on a note of positive affirmation. However, I suspect that the show she gave at the Wardrobe was not the finished article, and she said as much when at the end she thanked the audience and explained that Smasher had been ‘reconfigured’ in its move from Edinburgh. There needs to be a rebalancing between the improvised clowning and the more structured elements of the show. Duff is at her best once she allows her story-telling skills to come to the fore, using her many other skills to underpin a strong narrative line. She has a five-star personality and is a talented and original comic; I will certainly look out for her next time she’s in town. ★★★☆☆ Mike Whitton 4th December 2015
