FRINGE
REPORT
www.fringereport.com
In 1977,
according to his one-man show, Mike Gunn injected himself with heroin for the
first time. He was 17. He finally gave it up when he was 30. Uncut is the story
of the missing years.
At first sight, it's not
promising material for stand-up. An engaging chap, head shaved, wearing a loose
clean white shirt, well-cut grey silk suit with red ribbon and radio mike
attached to his lapel, black shoes fashionably scuffed, strolls on stage with a
slide changer. Defusing some heckles adroitly, he
shows slides of his progression into heroin hell.
It's a long time since
cripples and spastics were funny, or the words used. Initially it's a difficult
concept to laugh at the mental damage sported by an addict, even when it's at
his own invitation. And in Mike Gunn's brutally torrid show he doesn't ask for
the laughter to come alongside him. Rather, he holds his former self up as a
figure worthy of the audience's contempt. It's brave. It's astonishingly
refreshing. And there are photographs.
The whining
self-justification of celebrity detox confessions has
become a Hello! genre all of its own. Mike Gunn picks
up the mould of it-wasn't-my-fault-says-b-list-celebrity-has-been, and smashes
it into a million razor-sharp fragments. Chilling and
magnificent.
Mike Gunn's account
starts with the plunge of the first needle into his vein, and his ability to
keep a wide hole open in his arm. There's the first year of delight, the second
of job loss, theft (a handy supermarket scam's described), drug burial and
dog-blaming (did Fido dig up the stash?), injection
of red wine, water, and vinegar. There's also a garden full of squirrels. Hallucination? Mike Gunn's heroin-addled eyes saw them. His
effectiveness as a storyteller brings them vividly alive.
Mike Gunn's searing show
re-defines what stand-up can be about. His engaging humour and personal warmth
underscores a shocking journey of self-discovery.
John Park
reviewed Thursday 21
August 03 / Edinburgh / Pleasance Dome
(c) Fringe Report 2003