Review of the opening gala of the world’s first bouffon festival

Over the past year, The Pen Theatre in South Bermondsey has become a hub for London’s bouffons – practitioners of the French clowning form that emphasises grotesque characters and physical mockery. 

The coalescing of that scene has largely been down to the Gutter collective using the Pen as their base, hosting regular mixed bill bouffon nights there. 

Now, and for the next two weeks, Gutter are hosting what they’re calling ‘the world’s first bouffon festival,’ launched with an  opening night gala featuring 23 acts given the stage for a strict three minutes each, all hoping to puncture through the general madness to make an impression.

The first thing you notice is that it’s kind of an assault on both your senses and your sensibilities. Grotesquerie is a core part of bouffon’s tenets, and with only a brief window of stage time the provocation became as concentrated as it was varied. 

Case in point, the first three acts: Maria Andsell whispering ‘girls, are you decent?’ as Morris-dancing paedophile Mr. Malcolm Crapper, followed David Hoskin as  Mr. Chicken spewing masticated chicken into his own lank hair, followed by Zoe Czavda Redo as a sort of turd witch who lives in the sewer and lovingly sniffs used toilet paper.

Perhaps because this extravagant broadness set the tone, it was often the performers who found a subtler way into their characters who left the most lasting impression. 

The genius animator Sophie Koko Gate has been experimenting with live performance recently, and as the unsettling redheaded priest Father Malcolm she made effective use of a slow, deliberate lewdness that stood out amid the mania. 

The ever-reliable Rob Duncan, above, was another champion of the first section. Fitted out entirely in tartan and bellowing about how he was PROUD TO BE SCOTTISH in a distinctly English accent, he located a very rich seam of comedy in contrasting the force of his voice with his diffident body language, and was smart to find a less literal interpretation of the idea of grotesquerie.

The most common interpretations of the brief could be divided into two strands: 1) lumpy, pasty-faced ghouls obsessed with sex and turds and 2) fucked-up drag acts stripping to a backing track. Often there was overlap between the two.

Of the drag acts, the best were probably Anastasiya Ador, above, who managed to make a surprisingly powerful critique of immigration policy via stripping, and Maya Ricote, sister of Lara, below, a former telenovela actor in Mexico and now a very promising clown, sending up the same glamorous soapy sexpots that she was surrounded with in her previous life. The funny bones are strong in that family.

Other drag acts included Halima Habil as a skateboarding dictator, Carla Keen stuffing herself with Pringles as Essex bird Doll Scum, and Judy Harris as toxic manosphere podcaster Gel Shitty. Perhaps not exactly drag, but drag-adjacent and certainly very funny was Bex Turner as awkward sex symbol Maybe West, with a sexy drawl like a squeaky door and a series of strange one-liners. She was one of the few acts who had written material rather than coasting on vibes, and it paid off.

The ghoul contingent receded slightly into the background of the show. Seeing Cameron Sinclair Harris, above, chew on a raw lemon should have been impactful, but impact takes on a different meaning in the context of Liv Ello as a fly eating shit from a bag, Will Spence with a bandaged head eating mushed up bananas, Michael Hockey, main picture, regurgitating chocolate bars into a bowl of water, or Sasha Sokolova mixing things up as a big gay ant by forcing an audience member to eat mayonnaise from a bucket, not to forget the aforementioned Mr Chicken. 

Charlie Mulliner as Granny Smut didn’t eat anything, only licked an audience member’s face, but also trod the expected line a little closely in her take on the grotesque.

Other clowns also missed the mark a little, although the standard was very high across the board considering that some were performing for the first time ever. Karma Police and Kit Sullivan were fine, but lacked a sticky idea or visual gag. Emma Davies as a demonic HR figure and the expressive belly of Amy Gibbons were both political in a broad sense without being funny. 

The only real misfire of the night was Tristan Pegg as Karma Obskura, a striking black and white clown, but one who just stood there, miming somewhat listlessly to a backing track, potentially as a parody of what the general public expect from a modern clowning show, although that might be a generous reading.

Gutter Royale is not a competition, although an element of that would not have gone amiss and might have provided some direction for the energy of the crowd. If it had been, the winners would have been Tom Curzon and Julie Nesher as It’s Curtains.

The perfect three-minute performance, it opened with two large, ambulatory velvet curtains walking on stage with the animate personality of the Pixar lamp, and hit a series of simple, wonderful visual gags before exiting on the funniest note of the night; the ideal clowning experience.

The format of the night released the acts from the pressure of having to extend or think through their ideas and allowed them to aim for maximum force, which was certainly a positive, but this succession of brief, extremely high-impact performances could have collapsed into nervous chaos at any moment were it not for the hosts, Tom Greaves and Coral Bevan as garish parodies of 80s light entertainment stars, below. 

Their skill in maintaining the shape of the night can’t be overstated, nor their ability to get laughs every time they were on stage together, for the short bursts between the acts. Bevan especially, silent and with her face distorted by Sellotape, still managed to make herself magnetic, and the device of her controlling a genuine electric shock collar around Greaves’ neck introduced some indispensable comic tension. 

For the community they’ve fostered, the festival, and this night in particular, Gutter have every right to be proud of themselves.

• Photos by  Rachael Dobbie

Review date: 10 Oct 2025
Reviewed by: Tim Harding
Reviewed at: The Pen Theatre