“This is not immersive theatre,” says Ali Macfarlan at the start of Junkyard Five, and the entire audience breathes easy, because we’ve come to see a quintet of Brighton’s best part-time comedians, not an hour of participatory sport. Thankfully, Macfarlan wasn’t lying: save for a liberal dose of party poppers, there’s rarely any audience participation in Junkyard Five, just the odd belly laugh in this hidden Brighton venue.
Once Macfarlan’s kicked things off, it’s time to welcome the acts: Katherine Atkinson, so chillingly deadpan she could probably kill a children’s TV presenter with a scowl or a withering sigh, is first up. Her set revolves around being a stay-at-home mum, a skinny woman who hates exercise, and neither a cat or dog person, despite owning both a cat and a dog. Atkinson is the kind of person you’d want as a straight-talking best friend and, with a little work on pacing (some of those exasperated sighs felt a little too long to be comfortable), she could make it big.
Next up is Karen Blott, the unashamed cougar of the group, whose lurid tales of juicy toyboys, prisoners and a wayward dead husband seem a little too good to be true, but fun nonetheless. Of course, if they are all true, there’s an autobiography in the making here. If you’re looking for dating tips, Blott’s theory on dating geeks is particularly strong.
Macfarlan follows up with a lively set about her job in a cardiac unit, her love of the bizarre headlines in Take a Break magazine (‘My husband left me for a wheelie bin’) and the eccentric shops of Rottingdean and Hove. You don’t need to be a Brighton resident to appreciate the local observations, either. Hers feels the most polished act of the night.
Onto Sarah Charsley, the atypical Essex girl who’s head-over-heels for a Frenchman. Her stories of relationships are light-hearted and clever, but a misfire about ‘manic depression’ (now usually called bipolar) feels like a cheap laugh. Though the audience seems to like it, I’m left uneasy.
The final act is Rebekka Turner, whose enthusiasm and energy is clear from the get-go. Her set is mainly based around food puns, from marmalade and Mary Berry to the ’10 Condiments’, plus a quick impersonation of Sheila from Call the Midwife. However, as you might find in a selection pack of crisps, there are some performers that just don’t resonate, and for me, Turner didn’t reach the level of the others in Junkyard Five. However, with a bit more development, or perhaps in a different revue show, she might have struck the right note.
Credit should go to Junkyard Dogs for carving out a Fringe space in what’s essentially their back room – it looks like a tight fit, but this is a comfy and welcoming space to spend the hour (the show is shorter than its 1 hour 15-minute running time, which is never a bad thing in a packed Fringe season). The five acts rightly have a sense of camaraderie, and, whether you like all or just some of them, you’ll leave feeling like you’ve got a great grounding in the local comedy scene. The question is, will these acts move onto larger venues and bigger crowds? Only time will tell…
