Bobby Mair – Obviously Adopted

This is an odd show. From a suitably odd man. Mair wanders on stage embodying the spirit of self-proclaimed scruffy flunkee, looking part-scarecrow, part crack-addled Kurt Cobain. He comes across more than a little unhinged; it’s mildly unsettling, though extorts more of a morbid curiosity than apprehension. He starts with a bit of safe patter with the front row,  before roving off through melancholic personal anecdotes and a fistful of half-baked ideas. It’s angular and disjointed, but not unenjoyable. It feels like he kicked over the joke jar, scrambled for a few and then couldn’t be arsed looking for the rest.  

It’s a wildly unpredictable hour, and Mair seems preoccupied for a lot of it. He feels distant, despite being only six inches above us. Hopping from Megabus tours, to X-Men, to cracking one off in bed beside your dad, he gets decent feedback, but a smattering of off-colour jibes miss the mark entirely. The set leaps around but lacks any form of call-back. It’s missing the circuitous finesse that makes these kinds of shows work. There’s a Stanhope kind of vibe, but without decades of jaded idealism and substance abuse, it feels a little forced.

There’s definitely something here; though exactly what, is unclear. For the most part, there’s not a huge amount of comedic craft on display. Mair cautiously clings to public self-flagellation and bilious outbursts, instead of pursuing a fully-formed skit – eliciting a chorus of nervous titters rather than eruptions. Otherwise strong material is dogged by crumbling self-confidence, though his speedy sniping of ludicrous heckles gives a glimpse of something great. There is stage presence here, and with a little more focus, he’ll be really rather good.