Brighton Fringe comedy review

Through a brilliant mix of character work and clowning, Charlie Mulliner introduces us to Amber, newly dumped from a ten-year relationship that was more toxic than Fukushima.

This Alice-banded sap is the very cliché of upper-middle class vacuity, hanging out in Clapham with weekly visits to the ‘Welly Dukes’ with her identikit gal pals, while their partners – all with City jobs – go elsewher to trade bantz.

But Mulliner makes the stereotype real by building sympathy for her vulnerability and the emotional labour she wastes on her appalling boyfriend. She’s pathetically desperate to get married, despite being  treated like a doormat by her other half Rob , a rugger-loving Hooray with zero consideration for anyone but himself. There’s nothing cute about their ‘meet cute’, setting the tone for their one-sided relationship.

She forgives each of his transgressions, of which there are many, revealed bit by horrifically funny bit as the full dysfunction of their relationship is laid bare. ‘I don’t need someone who asks how my day went,’ says Amber, convincing no one in her efforts to paint herself as defiant and independent. Whether she can find a backbone is the engine that drives the hour.

En route, we take some surprising detours, not least of which is when Mulliner switches from demure, pliant Amber to a crazed, lustful nun, diving maniacally into the audience to find sinners to ‘smite or save’ with comically intimidating energy that puts a tangible spark into the room, one-part Rik Mayall to one-part Adam Riches.

Her boot camp instructor is a less distinctive comic caricature, but given her other alter-egos include a rapping Greek goddess and lonely, pun-cracking celestial body, perhaps we need the familiar to ground us. Meanwhile, Amber’s attempts to find love – and herself – continue through  ayahuasca and an eccentric recreation of Blind Date, Cilla and all (more audience participation ahoy, and there really is nowhere to hide).

Mulliner’s an electrifying, force-of-nature performer, sweeping up the audience in her hurricane of insanity, changing the tone with every scene and getting us fully invested in Amber’s fate. But she has material, too, from joke and wordplay to the hilarious way she depicts the sadness of Amber’s tragic situationship, while paying attention to every detail of the show, from the photo-montages that cover character changes to the home-sung jingles she’s created. 

She always owns the room, whether by vigour or by vulnerability, and takes us on a wild ride, more exhilarating than anything poor vanilla Amber has ever experienced.

Review date: 26 May 2025
Reviewed by: Steve Bennett
Reviewed at: Brighton The Walrus