A lot of things about Mr Chonkers remain unclear to me.
For starters, the words ‘Mr Chonkers’ are never at any point uttered in this show from weirdy American clown John Norris, who solely introduces himself by his actual name. Is Mr Chonkers an abandoned pseudonym? The umbrella name for all of Norris’s shows, which aren’t in any way identified as being different from each other? I first heard of Mr Chonkers in 2022, when he played a midnight slot at Monkey Barrel Comedy, and I was basically too lazy to go to out that late – surely this isn’t the exact same show??
Whatever the case, this hour – either by Mr Chonkers or called Mr Chonkers – is a delight. If a run at Summerhall gives it a dollop of hipster cred then it’s worth stating for the record that despite moments of extreme weirdness, it’s a very funny show that’ll be entirely accessible to fans of the other Yank neo-clowns who have lit up the Fringe in recent years – think Natalie Palamides, Bill O’Neill and Courtney Pauroso.
After a very strange opening section in which Norris comes out dressed as a faceless monk and sort of gestures at us oddly, he reveals himself to be an unkempt American who looks like he’d have fitted it well with any given ’80s cast of SNL.
To say the show is really ‘about’ anything would be pushing it, but Norris’s persona is that of a near hysterical, on-edge performer with a deeply complicated relationship with his audience. Early on, the man sitting next to me is given a bell to ring if Norris crosses the line with any of his material: the performer repeatedly tells him off for not ringing it early enough. Skits revolve around Norris wearing lots of hats, Hugh Jackman, some very funny poetry, and a truly bizarre section about an Italian family having tea that is repeated in a series of increasingly bewildering permutations.
Norris seems to constantly be vaguely put out that we’re here and that we must want something from him, while remaining thoroughly cuddly. He’s like a giant overgrown child, putting on an elaborate show whose rules are only apparent to him, vexed that we don’t quite understand it. And that’s the magic of Chonkers. At least, I think it is.
