Review by Steve Bennett

It’s no surprise to learn that Paula Valluerca has studied at the feet of Philippe Gaulier, given that her show displays all the hallmarks of the prolific Parisian clown school. 

She starts off making her presence felt while hidden from view, while her primary shtick involves getting an audience victim to take part in scenes that are not fully explained, the joke being their fumbling towards understanding.  

Followers of off-the-wall Fringe comedy are likely to have seen this sort of premise before. However, after a couple of scenes, Valluerca puts her own, particularly feminine, spin on these tropes, as she becomes much sultrier than Dr Brown, the most influential of recent Gaulier grads, could ever hope.

She displays broad parodies of both womanhood and the performer’s need for acclaim, waggling her backside in the air and milking the applause she gets. ‘Wow, huh?’ becomes a catchphrase as she self-consciously invites us to applaud her very existence and stroke her ego. And the Latin influences to this caricature, based on Valluerca’s original home in Spanish end of the Basque Country, are very evident.

The ultimate aim of her ritual is to woo a man through her exaggerated feminine wiles and impressive singing voice. And once Pépé – the game audience ‘volunteer’ – is so seduced, he’ll slap a ring on her finger as a prelude to a life of happy domesticity and motherhood as his devoted ‘espousa’, or wife.

It’s all done with a heightened surreal twist, allowing ca to flash her physical comedy talents, striking bizarre poses as she tries to maintain her balance, both literally and figuratively as her easy to-and-fro with the audience threatens, if only mildly, to set things on an unplanned course. And talking of physicality, she surely has the funniest tongue on the circuit.

Her deliberately muddled intentions when it comes to getting ‘Pépé’ involved, using words very sparingly, add a touch more unpredictability, though you’re never in any doubt of who’s in charge, as well-judged asides that flick from playful to petulant make very clear.

The endgame of the 45-minute show is played out a bit messily and abruptly, without the air of possibilities or self-assuredness of the first three-quarters, suggesting there’s still work to be done on completing the narrative. But Valluerca’s inner clown is assured in the way she parodies social norms with a teasing silliness.

Review date: 20 Feb 2017
Reviewed by: Steve Bennett
Reviewed at: Leicester Criterion Pub