I didn’t really know what to expect when, in place of the standard “alright” or “you having a good night?” lines, Brett Goldstein jumped onto stage to the sounds of blasting dance music, clutching glow sticks in each hand, and wearing a full face florescent mask.
Taking his mask off he began his act in an anxious, child-like way. An unusual contrast to his ostentatious entrance, but juxtaposition seemed to be what his act was all about. He’d written his material about deliberately controversial subject matter – paedophilia, drugs and sexual fetishes -but presented them innocently and with juvenile naivety, like a child who’d had a flick through Nuts magazine. On ocassion it felt like he’d chosen his subject matter to contrast with his style rather than on their own merits.
At times, he was genuinely funny, and the parts of his style fell into place marvellously. Unfortunately, these parts were interspersed with long drawn-out sections in which the payoff just felt a bit laboured. It’s a real shame – he’s got a great sense of energy on stage, clearly stemming from a genuine passion about what he does. Now and again he’d mention the strange position you’re placed in walking onto a stage with nothing but a microphone and some stories to tell, and these parts were a fascinating insight into a stand up’s psyche.
Goldstein’s great sense of passion reeled the audience in with incredible ease and kept them hooked, but when the payoff arrived, his carefully constructed on-stage dichotomy sadly fell flat.