Fringe Review: "Me, My Cult and I" blends humour and sadness with mixed results
There are a few words to describe “Me, My Cult and I”: Raw. Wounded. Brave. What it isn’t, is funny.
The show, while cathartic for comedian Colin Ebsworth, was unpleasant for me. So, what is it, a comedy show? A one-man show? Kind of both. Mostly it’s a guy, too obvious about wanting your laugh, cornering you and screaming about the ills that befell him and his family. I’m sorry for what happened to him and his family. As an audience member though, I felt a little sorry for myself too.
Ebsworth drew titters and some laughs from the crowd. You couldn’t say he was bombing. It was just me and a handful of others who were confused as to what it was we were meant to take away from it; it wasn’t particularly insightful, at least, not enough to make up for the lack of laughs for me. However, there were fascinating nuggets sprinkled throughout the show, and Ebsworth’s love for his family was clear and poignant.
The show also wasn’t without a few sharp one-liners and well-observed bits, but the style and delivery were blunting it. Ebsworth mangled every punchline with the same overwhelming class clown mania, almost as if in a panic to keep the proceedings light. But when you’re telling a tragic and complicated story about your parents being sucked into the poisonous orbit of a global cult…and you’re keeping the dial at 10 for almost the entire hour? It makes for a tough viewing, that, like all things Fringe, may not be for everyone.
That said, if you’re up for the challenge, or if this sounds like something that is up your alley, you can get your tickets here, the show currently is currently playing at The Rechabite.
