When, at the end of his show, Tom Clarke suggests we recommend it to anyone who doesn’t like themselves very much, he confirms my feeling about the nature and efficacy of Perry – described in publicity as “40% old clown, 60% unbridled malice”.

Perry – bespectacled, pot-bellied, clad in a cream windcheater – is a disturbed individual; we’d have called him a ‘weirdo’ in less sensitive times. While we laugh with Tom, enjoying his charismatic skill at riveting the attention of his audience, we may feel a need to check whether we are laughing at this very odd man.

Strange sounds and shadows herald his entrance and the old ‘surprised by the audience’ gag is played out to the nth degree – as are many of his obsessive-compulsive ‘routines’. Much that wins us over with its idiosyncrasy soon begins to outstay its welcome – intentionally, I’m guessing, so we’ll think a bit deeper about what has made him this way.

Much of his speech is unintelligible but “What the hell?”, “Ohmygod!” and “Oh yum!” recur in a range of contexts and various verbal spills become quite revealing. The apple in the publicity image takes on a life of its own when manifested in the realm of mime. So does his dog, Balldog. As for the box he finds himself in … Now you see these things, now you gape at their wilful dematerialisation. Extraordinary.

Perry’s moods can change in an instant and when something goes wrong he plays the victim and the blame game with unnerving accuracy: who of us have not? Again we admire Tom’s physicality and innate sense of timing while responding quite differently to Perry’s behaviours.

The lack of a programme means I cannot identify the designer(s)/operator of light and sound but their contribution in the latter section is great.

Enough said from me. Tom Clarke’s Perry is disturbingly compelling – and arguably more insightful, and certainly more entertaining, than a psychoanalyst’s report might be. 

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