Review: Frankie Thompson: Horrible Things, Soho Theatre

There are plenty of horrible things in the world, and Frankie Thompson has apparently made it her life’s work to collect them. From the deeply unsettling to the downright ridiculous, Horrible Things, now playing at the Soho Theatre, is a gloriously deranged hour of modern clowning, political satire, and theatrical absurdity. It’s also one of the funniest things you’re likely to see on a London stage this year.

Thompson arrives in a fabulous polka-dot flamenco dress, armed with a clipboard, an extraordinary collection of props, and the air of someone about to conduct a very important investigation into something brilliantly stupid. We’re here, she explains, for a formal inspection of horrible things. Quite what this involves becomes increasingly difficult to predict, although it soon becomes clear that nobody, particularly those sitting near the front, is entirely safe.

What follows is a bewildering assortment of sketches, recordings, lip-syncing, and audience participation. All are accompanied by Thompson’s lovingly handcrafted PowerPoint slides, some with blink-and-you’ll-miss-them Easter eggs buried within. A nine-year-old Jacob Rees-Mogg makes a deeply unwelcome appearance, while Frank Sinatra, Cliff Richard, and an assortment of other questionable men find themselves subjected to Thompson’s peculiar brand of scrutiny. There’s a ghostly Victorian governess and more than a few moments that defy any sensible explanation. Describing much more would risk spoiling the fun.

For those of us who regard audience participation with something approaching mortal dread, Horrible Things is particularly thrilling. As Thompson prowls up and down the stairs of Soho Theatre’s main space, the possibility of being singled out is ever-present. It’s a deliciously uncomfortable game of eye-contact-avoidant cat and mouse, and I left the theatre feeling as though I’d just stepped off a rollercoaster, equal parts exhilarated and relieved.

It’s difficult to overstate just how good Thompson is. Her facial expressions alone are worth the ticket price, capable of transforming from imperious disgust to wide-eyed terror in a fraction of a second. Her physical comedy is equally impressive, whether she’s contorting herself around the stage or silently responding to an increasingly bizarre audio recording. Every movement feels carefully considered, even when the whole thing appears to be descending into complete chaos.

And that’s perhaps the show’s greatest achievement. Beneath the apparent madness lies an astonishing degree of precision. Thompson knows exactly how long to sustain a silence, when to push a joke beyond the point of absurdity and, crucially, when to move on. It’s a masterclass in modern clowning, where the smallest gesture or sideways glance can provoke as much laughter as the most elaborate routine.

And in a week of particularly grim headlines involving Russell Brand and David Walliams, Thompson’s wider contempt for the male species feels especially well-timed. Her absurd lip-syncing to recordings of 1990s Conservative whips, complete with some lactose-heavy impersonations courtesy of a bowl of whipped cream, feels rather more horrible than it might have done a fortnight ago.

Horrible Things feels less like watching a conventional comedy show and more like being invited inside somebody’s exceptionally strange brain. But what a privilege that turns out to be. This is fearless, inventive, and brilliantly silly theatre from a modern clown who seems entirely uninterested in playing by anybody else’s rules.

In a world where everything is awful and everyone has a take, Horrible Things is gloriously on the nose.

Created and performed by Frankie Thompson
Directed by Evie Fehilly
Dramaturgy by Kate Middleton

Frankie Thompson: Horrible Things plays at Soho Theatre Dean Street until Saturday 21 November.