27/08/23

Just the Tonic Nucleus (Atomic Room), Edinburgh

I’m not usually drawn to introspection. My preference is for comedy that looks outwards to what’s happening in the big wide world – but there are exceptions to every rule. I don’t like sci-fi but I love Woman on the Edge of Time. I don’t enjoy watching sport unless it’s tennis. I only like chocolate ice cream if it comes from Mary’s Milk Bar.

And I can get on board with introspection when it’s as well-crafted as Howl.

In this raw and achingly honest show, John Robins talks about a mental health crisis that precipitates a life-changing realisation: he’s an alcoholic. Having spent years in denial about his problematic relationship with booze, things finally come to a head when he… tries to buy a slotted spoon.

It’s hard to convey how funny Howl is because there’s nothing intrinsically amusing about a man falling apart. But Robins is a gifted comedian; he knows just how far to push his tragic narrative before undercutting the misery with a well-aimed quip. He’s emotionally intelligent, connecting with the audience by making observations we can all recognise – and then demonstrating how, for him, these relatable foibles can grow into something monstrous and uncontrollable. It’s the extremes that make us laugh – but it’s also the extremes that have driven him to the edge. Robins walks the tightrope well.

As a committed PCD, I thought I knew Johnny JR’s skillset but I hadn’t realised he could act (DI Robbyns notwithstanding). Here, he expertly physicalises the awkwardness of an encounter with his ex’s mum, where he’s desperately trying to make his obsessive thoughts sound rational. It evokes a weird sort of protectiveness: I want to look after him even as I erupt into laughter, and I suspect I’m not alone. It’s rare for someone to expose their vulnerability quite so openly and with so little self-pity.

I’m glad Robins is sober – and long may it last. To have made it through an entire Edinburgh run without a drink is a big achievement. This show is an aptly titled howl of pain, but it’s also strangely inspirational -and thus we end the Fringe on a high and hopeful note.

5 stars

Susan Singfield