How does someone with their mouth taped shut make you laugh? Is it through the kind of physical comedy reminiscent of old-time silent movies? God, please don’t let it be an hour or so of straight mime!

But dammit if Sam Wills doesn’t amble out onto stage on the opening night of his show, The Boy With Tape On His Face, dressed in a broad horizontal striped top that instantly puts you in mind of a French mime! That his accompanying (and routine filler) music was the soundtrack to the Jean-Pierre Jeunet film Amélie reinforced this association.

But Wills has taken the challenge of reworking mime by the horns to produce a show that is fresh, entertaining, and has an obvious point of difference to many of the other acts at this year’s festival. Oh yeah, and along the way he actually does manage to reference many of the great silent performers (Charlie Chaplin, Marcel Marceau, and Michael Jackson!). His mannerisms speak of naughty, boyish charm laced with occasional pensive moments. He sets up a microphone, in an obvious manner tapes his mouth shut, and the show begins.

The main downstairs of The Classic was at near capacity for Wills’ Auckland opener and it wasn’t long before the whole room was in the thrall of this young comic. Point to note: don’t sit in sight of the stage or at some point in the affair you’ll find yourself on it! The “taped boy” utilises the audience to maximum effect. Almost every sketch involves him grabbing a random viewer and putting them in an unusual situation – much to the amusement of everyone else. For the most part he is quite clever with his tricks and doesn’t go too hard on the crowd; most people come away with their dignity and a smile.

So engaging was Wills’ routine that he managed to milk the same gag four times dressed different ways – literally “dressed” different ways. The gag that is, not Wills. This well known visual gag is the one where you create a fake set of lips with some likely props then use them to ‘talk’ or ‘sing’. Wills’ employed props as diverse as a pair of what looked like plastic chopsticks and an envelope, through to a pair of black dress shoes to create amusing impressions of Stevie Wonder, the aforementioned Michael Jackson, and other artists. The third time round I began to think “again?!” but Wills allayed my fears and brought back the laughs with an easy flick of a scarf or attachment of a small afro wig. Brilliant!

Another running gag involved a rubbish bin to stage left, in which Wills deposited used disposable props. Each time he opened the bin it was spotlighted, and the music suddenly cut, only to be replaced by that soulful wooer of New Zealand grandmothers: John Rowles, intoning “Cheryl Moana Marie”. At first, the bunch of overseas comics in the row behind me were a little confused – not getting the local reference – but were soon won over by Wills’ skilful manipulation of this straightforward comedic device. And this was emblematic of the night’s proceedings; Wills takes a number of recognisable sight gags, which could have been a bit tired in lesser hands, and uses them to great effect.

I don’t want to go into too many other specifics as I don’t want to put too many spoilers out there. Suffice to say, at The Boy With Tape On His Face Sam Wills ‘has’ the audience from start to finish. And though this show is not always a full-on laugh fest, it is a great night’s entertainment and well worth getting along to.

Originally published in The Lumière Reader.

Copyright © in the review belongs to the reviewer

He’s not just a guy with a mic, though he does have a mic and never once uses it: The Boy With Tape On His Face does his entire set mute.

I wasn’t sure what to expect, possibly lots of miming, re-enactments with minimalist props, a one man game of charades? Actually, the show relies on a plethora of well-chosen props, a soundtrack of whimsically-chosen pop tunes, and a smattering of mischievously-chosen audience members. And no, he doesn’t get his audience to do his talking for him, he gets them to dress up, hold props and sit in strange positions.

While still wacky physical theatre, Sam Wills’ new show is less extreme than his stunts of the past (such as squeezing his body through a tennis racket or hammering a four inch nail up his nose). Gone are the shock tactics: the cringe fest is replaced with a more subdued, reflective brand of physical comedy, his circus school background showing through in a Chaplinesque (but, thankfully, slapstick-free) one-man pantomime. A Jim Henson-created Buster Keaton Muppet springs to mind.

Theme tunes are put to good use – though the show lets itself down, I think, relying on the audience’s knowledge of movie soundtracks, pop songs, etc. There were times when I was lost at sea, with only enough going on to make the sketch mildly funny in and of itself. I know you can’t please everyone, but it’s a bit frustrating when someone else is getting the joke and you’re busy racking your brains for some clue, some reminder, some whiff of recognition of a cheesy scene in a bad movie you possibly saw once and probably didn’t see the end of… Okay, I’m exaggerating (comedy does that to me), there’s more to Boy With Tape than an excess of showbiz puns, so I’ll go with: beware of in-jokes.

Wills takes us on a romp through his swag of entertaining visual gags, approaching his craft with a zany, childlike inventiveness and deftly handling a compliant capacity audience. Captivating, despite not constantly generating a roomful of guffaws, he often takes his time to build up to ‘punch lines’ with a self-contained, deliberate preparation of the scene, finally breaking the suspense with his next hilarious and unpredictable manoeuvre.

Sam Wills is a hard working performer who’s not afraid to take risks, do something off-beat, occasionally ingenious and sometimes, well, cute. It’s amazing how expressive his face is, despite being half covered with black gaffer tape. He reminds me that life is an adventure, down to the most seemingly trivial discoveries – if you’re resourceful. This very likeable mad scientist of vaudevillian pranks brings us a tightly tailored and memorable show that will stand out in this year’s laugh fest.

The one hour set went quickly and I could have happily digested half as much again – a sentiment that I seem to have shared. When he announced (via a talking ventriloquist’s ‘dummy’) that the show was over, rather than obliging with applause, the audience let out a collective exclamation of disappointment.

Copyright © in the review belongs to the reviewer