Paul F Taylor has questions. So many questions. But then he has answers, and they’re coming from all directions in all colours, thick and fast, and could be anything at all – including more questions. Such is this cross-sectional taster of Taylor’s mind of high voltage silliness in his show, mixing old and new material up artfully, chaotically, and poking the hypothetical button marked ‘tangent’ right from the off so frequently that if it really existed most of the letters would have worn off the button pretty darn fast. He’s a total breath of fresh air in a baking hot room.
Taylor’s is the kind of mind that not only stops and wonders why ‘piece of piss’ and piece of cake’ are synonymous, but deep dives the answer. He is a delightful mix of credulity and incredulity, in all of the unexpected places, ranging from the surreal to the domestic. “There are no links ” he interjects, jumping from playing with the double shadow the venue’s lighting affords him as bespoke back-up dancers, to an ADHD diagnosis that is both unsurprising and skipped over, and on to a rap complete with backing track from the perspective of a particularly belligerent teacher he engaged with at school. All within the space of 60 seconds.
Not every bit of it lands, but the material is so plentiful and varied that the audience’s confidence is both strong and constant. The impression is given that not even Taylor 100 per cent knows what he’s going to say next, but his comedic skills so ingrained and reflex-sharp that he’s already got every bit of attention in the room primed.
Years of MCing are in Taylor’s performance-bank, creating callbacks to the front row and their assorted hats, neckerchiefs, and a surprise throuple that might have cowered another comic – instead provoking from Taylor a playful tangent of hypothetical relationship admin-conjuring. There are underlying deeper ideas to many of Taylor’s at first more whimsical concepts, clearly borne of incessant ‘why?’s in lived experience.
“Maybe I need a montage…” he muses upon reflection of all of the work he’s had to do to get to the place he is today, before launching into a ‘Rocky’-themed hummed soundtrack to the acted out mundanity of writing. There’s the truth, writing isn’t as visually exciting as running up steps, but it’s hard work and disciplined and well deserving of its own theme tune.
After 20 years at the coalface of comedy Taylor has that magical quality of being both very good and still very curious. There are laurels he could rest on, but instead he zings about his own mental landscape in the moment, trying out fresh ideas like he does the hats of his audience members, testing the fit and pleasing himself as much as amusing us, a 6 foot 2 sprite of invention just as likely to be conversing in dog barks as in juvenile mime comebacks. An excellent way to spend any Sunday night.
Brighton Fringe runs until June 1. Details here.
Paul F Taylor dates here.
