Vivid, candid Americana-tinged comedy, rich in character and atmosphere, but lacking the structural control to become truly great stand-up.Rating
American actor and comedian Shenoah Allen takes us to Albuquerque, New Mexico, for an hour of stand-up about his upbringing that plays out like a warped cartoon memoir. He performs it accordingly: an array of wacky voices, rubber-limbed physicality, and a face that seems capable of rearranging itself at will. His spirit appears equally malleable, surviving stories of witnessing murders, staring into the barrel of a gun, and growing up in a family that would buy LSD in bulk. Yet beneath the elastic performer is a human being carrying what he calls an “unnamed dread”, framing the show as a kind of pseudo-therapy session — a bold move, given how heavily this confessional approach to stand-up has been criticised of late. When you hear the wild stories, however, you cannot accuse him of self-indulgence.
Fragmentation dominates the experience of watching this show. Allen begins with a string of false claims. He arrives speaking in a Latino accent as the owner of a shop called “Masks y Más” (Masks and More), but he is not Latino. He slips into a voice with a camp lilt, but he is not gay. He tries on a Cockney accent, but he is certainly not from London. One by one, these personas are discarded. Only after shedding these layers of character does he finally appear as himself.
Yet when he does, the fragmentation remains. He drifts from story to story, touching on so many complex themes that it becomes difficult to keep track. Rather than being guided through his life in a way that fosters connection, we feel as though we are only scratching at the surface of each experience before moving on to the next.
For all his acting competency, Allen is actually quite shaky in this performance; his tone carries a note of anxiety, and you find yourself anxious for him as he staggers towards his punchlines. A firmer sense of control would strengthen the comedic element considerably. The raw material of his life offers rich comic potential, but the execution is equally rough, making it difficult to mine that gold fully.
This is not fast-paced, punchy stand-up but slower, more reflective storytelling, so a more assured tone — even simply to frame the tales — would allow us to relax and listen. He adds texture with audio clips: recordings of his father, the hum of cicadas, the sound of his father’s feet crossing the driveway. These details are evocative, yet they are not seamlessly integrated into the comedy. They jar slightly, drawing attention to the broader issues of flow. At times, it becomes difficult to concentrate.
What Allen brings to life most vividly is Albuquerque itself. You can almost see the warm tones of the landscape and feel the heat radiating from the desert, even while sitting in a black box on a cold, rainy day in Soho.
Leaving the theatre, we have heard a great deal about his life, yet giving his dread a name still feels a million miles away. A single word could not capture such a scattered narrative. It is as though he has not yet processed these experiences enough to shape them into something as technical and controlled as narrative stand-up. The heart is there, but the craft is missing.
Written by: Shenoa Allen
Directed by: Kim Noble
Bloodlust Summertime has completed its run at the Soho Theatre
