And now for something completely different…

And now for something completely different: a review of ‘Tweedy’s Lost Property’ and a critique of a reviewer’s lost dignity. Some journalists enter war zones; some journalists uncover murky government […]


And now for something completely different: a review of ‘Tweedy’s Lost Property’ and a critique of a reviewer’s lost dignity.

Some journalists enter war zones; some journalists uncover murky government conspiracies; other journalists mistakenly book tickets to review a children’s show when they originally intended to go and see a cutting-edge piece of avant-garde theatre. And since I am terrified by every form of armed combat and am regularly baffled when watching Question Time, I, by default, am the latter.

Let me explain. A one man, one-off show yesterday at The Byre from 2pm, called ‘Tweedy’s Lost Property’, promised, according to The Byre’s website, to be about ‘a clown who gives in to society and gets a real job not knowing who he is anymore, Tweedy gets a job in a Lost Property Office to try and find himself.’ If this description does not at least hint at a deeply ironic, angst-filled existentialist play with a pitiful clown-protagonist coping with a severe identity crisis and trying to find ultimate meaning in an ultimately meaningless universe, which also possibly contains Beckett-esque overtones and razor-sharp, dark humour, then strike me down and call me Betsy.

Hi, my name is Betsy and yesterday I watched ‘Tweedy’s Lost Property’. As quicker readers will already have guessed, it is a family show, primarily aimed at five to ten year olds, about a clown who falls over. A lot.

Never have I felt more awkward and uncomfortable in a theatre (and I have been to see The Sound of Music with Germans). The only student, looking dishevelled and lost, among an audience of children. I was tempted to attach myself to one, to look like an older brother and giving me a reason to be there, but decided against it; let’s not make this any weirder than it needs to be, Betsy.

However, when the lights went down and Tweedy began to do his thing, I surprised myself by laughing along with the children. Contrary to the website, this play has no backstory. It has no story. It is just two hours of pure physical comedy, take it or leave it (the ticket was free – I took it). And it works. Tweedy, played by circus legend Alan Digweed, is a character who manages to combine the lovability of Mr Bean with the surrealism of Monty Python and the energetic charm of Jackie Chan. Not that this mattered to the audience. Too young for my pop culture references.

Digweed’s skill in juggling, balancing, falling, dancing, catching, defying death and playing multiple instruments, whilst making it all look like an accident, was incredible. If a trick went wrong he would make a game of it. If a trick went right he would instantly capitalise on the energy and move on to the next one.

However, for a two hour show it was a bit one note. An element of horror, no matter how small, is always appropriate for a children’s show, but this lacked the variation of the best children’s entertainment. Indeed, the darkest element of the whole thing was the obviously ill-suited twenty something with severe admin problems, who just hoped that no-one would spot him. 

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