Presented by The Garden of Unearthly Delights
@ The Garden of Unearthly Delights – The Hunting Lodge
FRIDAY 2nd March (until March 18)

Canadian Mike Wilmot describes himself as a “professional dirty comedian,” and his Fringe show certainly contains plenty of the earthy language for which he is known. However, the show also contains some language that comes from much, much deeper underground. If you don’t come out of this show feeling considerably dirtier than you did going in, then you weren’t paying attention.

Wilmot was quite taken with the “geodesic dome” of the Hunting Lodge at the Garden of Unearthly Delights, though less so with the nearby Ferris wheel – a running gag throughout the show was his fear of being crushed to death should the wheel decide to make a break for freedom.

This fear was topped only by Wilmot’s anger at the constant rumble of Clipsal 500 cars that formed a backdrop to his performance, though he was able to rein in his frustration by imagining a version of the Clipsal in which the drivers consisted of nothing but pill-popping drunks. He concluded such a race could be further enlivened by “throwing stuffed children at them, and each one they hit they get a point.”

As well as this clearly outstanding suggestion – get on to it, Clipsal organisers – Wilmot’s show is full of valuable advice and interesting facts. You will learn that there is no funny way to call someone a whore; that bears can talk, but only in a whisper, so by the time you hear them it’s too late; that midgets are born when the truth attempts to force its way out of a lying British person’s mouth; and that the best way for a man to seek revenge on his menopausal wife is to fake dementia.

The links between these many and varied topics are not always clear, and Wilmot’s idiosyncratic delivery, which consists largely of heading off on wild tangents at the slightest excuse, means the show can be hard to keep track of. This seemed to be the case for Wilmot himself, who often appeared distracted, a situation probably not helped by the three beers he consumed on stage.

The key word, of course, is “appeared” – it is clear Wilmot knows exactly what he’s doing. A number of anecdotes and routines seemed to taper off or get forgotten completely, only to resurface later on, often in unexpectedly hilarious ways.

In fact, I would be greatly surprised if even half of the jokes that seemed improvised actually were. Wilmot skilfully blends the two to such an extent that you’re never quite sure if any one of his numerous tangents and digressions is truly random, or a carefully planned set-up for a punchline that might arrive ten or twenty minutes later.

If you want to know in intricate and expletive-laden detail the perils of taking sex advice from women’s magazines, or discover how to identify the world’s best tuba player, then this is the show for you. It’s not for the faint-hearted, but buried in the filth are nuggets of true comedy gold.