Sparrow be-wigged as Trump is just amazing. His Trump addresses us, the audience, as if we are a crowd at one of his notorious rallies. This is comic parody, yet what comes across is the scarily forceful energy-levels of the man, his huge ego, his ruthless animal cunning, his utter lack of moral compass, or of any normal inhibitions or boundaries. He lives in a world of his own, yet draws you into it, with his lies, braggings and other outrageous utterances. They come so fast and relentlessly you scarcely have time to react to any one of them before the next ones rush along.

He has to have enemies and here they are Mexicans, blacks, Arabs, China and, once again, “Little Rocket Man” of North Korea to be hit at, battered, and crippled, as threats. It will be easy.

He is clever at working the audience, and having bragged about his large penis, he picks out one woman and offers her better sex than her husband could manage. He gets quite a few laughs through such sheer brazenness.

His account of his boyhood family life makes it appear quite bizarre. If he has one redeeming feature, it is simply that, at least by his own account, he is less worse than his father, who is depicted as a half-mad, sadistically cruel, utterly unscrupulous, money-crazed bastard of a man. Unfortunately, his son has the power to do more large-scale and lasting harm.

The show is skillfully shaped, with occasional shifting into raps, and a final chant, that the audience is drawn into joining in. It’s irresistible.  

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Transgressive and unabashed, Alexander Sparrow returns his portrayal of President Trump to the stage in DJ Trump.  

Waiting in the dark (figuratively and literally), we are led into the world of DJ Trump with a series of channel-jumping radio sound-bites. It is a device Sparrow has used before, cleverly, and he doesn’t disappoint here. It puts me in mind of other radio news comedy – and I can’t help but wonder if he has considered extending these into a podcast series.

As the soundscape recedes, the political convention takes over. From the outset we are treated to a full dose of Trump. It isn’t easy to laugh. It isn’t comfortable comedy, it’s shock humour and it’s caricature bordering the extreme – but done with conviction and gusto. Sparrow’s ability to develop and maintain a character repeatedly impresses. This is on display most clearly as he embodies Trump’s mannerisms and modes of speech: cleverly nuanced, Sparrow makes commanding use of these to develop the physical and verbal humour.

DJ Trump juxtaposes the Don’s grandstanding public persona with a series of intimate asides. These revelations expose a world of inner turmoil and trauma – personal tragedies and thwarted ambitions. There is a twisted logic to this invented history that (while ludicrous) could almost be accepted as credible. The formative horrors serve to rationalise the reality of Trump’s character (hard as that reality is to believe or venture to fathom). In doing so he perversely humanises both the actual and the invented grotesqueries. 

As with The President, this performance ramps ever further into absurdity. As the line between facade and unfulfilled desires dissolves, Trump’s perverse brand of Randian heroism works itself into a hip-hop/rap frenzy.

I get the impression that the flow of the performance (at times cunningly timed, others confusingly) is a compromise between the character’s excesses and Sparrow’s craft. While in the end piteous, the Trump we are shown is offensive and confrontational; yet Sparrow demonstrates a showman’s ability to go with the moment and draw the audience with him, gauging our responses and directing his sorties to make the most of it.

With minimal set and lighting states, DJ Trump is well packaged for touring and events. The show runs at just under an hour with only one more night in Palmerston North. If you have the opportunity, make sure to see it. Somewhat like being a deer in the headlights, it is a captivating experience.

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The show starts with an empty stage and snatches of audio representing opinions and reports on Donald Trump’s presidency; a sound sandwich of spin and vitriol in an intimate viewing space. It’s my first time in the Tiny Theatre, a cute room tucked down the side of Garnet café and past a magnificent outdoor pizza oven. I recommend getting here early to enjoy a wine by the fire before going to the show.

The overblown, orange bag of wind known as Donald Trump is channelled brilliantly by Alexander Sparrow. He must have spent many hours trawling footage in order to master every move to this degree; the body language and hand movements are spot on.  His hair is dyed and plied with product and the childish arrogance and toady bluster is perfect. The snotty timbre and abrupt cadence of his voice is mesmerizing. He stands behind the podium to deliver his best pieces of advice, his hair shines yellow and silicone bright in the light.  

Donald is quick to remind us that the media are all liars, that he gets the “best women” and that any political situation or ethnic group he doesn’t understand is “terrible”. The first half hour is packed with the most laughs; the woman behind me is snorting and Donald reminds the reviewer to include that. I think he later calls me a piece of shit, but hey, I am a little piece of “the media”. I have a very shy friend with me and he also gets a bit of the Trump treatment. Fortunately he isn’t called a piece of shit and we take it in the spirit it is intended.

The way Sparrow gives us some respite from the creepily accurate portrayal of Trump is to intersperse the Podium speeches with ‘private revelations’. He walks, shining halo of side-swept hair cast down, to the other side of the stage to confess why he is the person he has become. The revelations are ludicrous and dark, though Sparrow doesn’t use the fact that Trump has made sexualized comments about his own daughter. Instead, he spins us a poor little rich boy story that includes an Oedipus complex, some good old fashioned beatings, and a sandpit moment that forever shapes his relationship to Mexicans.

The laughs decrease in the second half; there is only DJ Trump with his ego and self-pity. Due to some crowd participation my sorrows are alleviated and the power of laughing in the face of hatred is mine to take home. Sparrow says goodbye and shakes hands with everyone as they leave. I’m shocked by the open sweetness of his real face and how he is able to transform himself into such a convincingly awful old mofo. This is not Sparrow’s only incarnation, he also ‘does’ De Sade and if tonight’s offering is anything to go by, then it’s well worth a look. 

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Just when you thought President Trump couldn’t shock you any more, he – as manifested by Alexander Sparrow – catches us out in a most unexpected way. Big league unexpected. The most unexpected way ever.  

Yes he is still an ignorant, gross, misogynistic despot, hopelessly inflated with his boundless ego … But why? 

By way of introduction, a compilation of voices, mostly from the Southern States, immerse us in that special kind of discomforting noise the advent of Trump has inflicted on the world. At four relentless minutes it’s twice the length it needs to be, unless the point is to make us want it all to go away.  

At the stars’n’stripes-draped podium, Sparrow’s astutely crafted impersonation of Trump shares his rules for business success: odious imperatives that epitomise his ‘treat people as objects’ value system. No surprises there, although we do get insights into what you make with war; how to test a woman; what business means when America means business …

It’s the way he plays us that makes these sequences especially entertaining. Sparrow is highly attuned to his audience and very responsive to any opportunity to interact. By way of an example, his Trump sees me writing notes, exposes me as a “fake news reporter” and declares I will report his audience numbers about 25 (it does) when in reality it’s 25,000: the greatest Cavern Club audience ever.

Predictably judgmental and predatory towards the women in the audience, and their “loser” partners, this Trump engages with particular people and invariably insults them in a way that generates a strange sense of pleasure: masochism for the ‘victim’ and schadenfreude for the rest. Is it charisma or some kind of fear-based awe? Either way, Sparrow nails the ingrained bully-boy psychology of this kind of despot.

Intercut with the ‘Business Rules’ segments are breakout chats of a more personal nature, where Trump reveals a fearful and ultimately lonely childhood at the mercy of a “terrifying” father and a hairspray-addicted mother he may have loved too much. As prone to exaggeration as ever, his recollections drift into absurdist realms – yet it is clear he is magnifying essential truths, albeit subjective.  

And here’s where I’m unexpectedly shocked: I feel sympathy for him. Not empathy. Sympathy. Have I been manipulated or is this a liberation from feeling impotent in his shadow; to seeing through his defence mechanisms, into the frailties and vulnerability that make him human?

You’ll need to see it for yourself to come to your own conclusions. Meanwhile there is no doubt that Alexander Sparrow’s DJ Trump is intelligently insightful on many levels. 

Here is a link to reviews of Sparrow’s eerily prescient 2016 show: The President.

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