Doctor Brown (picture by LensOnLegs)
Doctor Brown is the kind of act that makes audiences nervous: a rampant bearded clown who speaks largely gibberish and literally gets in your face, clambering over seats to sit in people’s laps, kiss them, even slap them. What kind of person would volunteer to spend an entire day trapped in an enclosed space with such a character? Well, I did. And it was fascinating.
Trained by the best (at Ecole Philippe Gaulier) and feted from on high (winning the 2012 Fosters Edinburgh Comedy award), Doctor Brown – aka American performer Phil Burgers – thrives on the unexpected gifts an activated audience can throw his way. For all the confrontation, he is actually much more dependent on those in the room than a conventional stand-up or actor.
At the same time, there’s much more structure to one of his shows than you might think: parts that are fixed, parts that are calculatedly wide open, a set of strategies for dealing with whatever crops up without stifling the unique happenstance that gives his shows such a frisson. This structure is developed the only way it can be: through trial and error. Whole shows have been created over months spent in front of audiences by turning up empty-handed, experimenting with different approaches, rejecting some, refining others, until there’s a show.
Recently, Burgers has been experimenting with making this process part of the show itself. At last year’s Edinburgh, as well as showcasing his three standing sets – Because, Becaves and Befrdfgth – he introduced his Bexperiment. In a single day, he would do eight hour-long ‘shows’ (improvisations? workshops? indulgences?) back to back, starting from scratch and seeing what developed. The thinking was that by the end of the day he might just have a real show.
Now he’s bringing Bexperiment to Soho Theatre, spreading it into six stints over 10 days – an hour a night tomorrow (Thursday June 26), Friday and Saturday and the same next week. You can get a bumper ticket to watch the whole thing develop. It will undoubtedly be extremely interesting. But the half-dozen or so of us who went through the full eight-hour stretch last August – the sparks! the longueurs! the hysteria! – will look on with the wryly curled lip of the grizzled ranch hand watching the dudes from the city mounting the saddle for an afternoon trot round the coral. Sure, you’ll have a good time. But we rode that bronco clear across the valley.
Obviously, I’m being hyperbolic. But that full-day experience really was remarkable in ways that will be impossible to revisit across a more distended timetable. There was a sense of excitement among those who pitched up at the first show in the dank Underbelly venue – Doctor Brown has some devoted fans – but it was at the start of the second show, when we saw who was back again, who might be in it for the long haul, that a sense of camaraderie began to develop.
This was a different Doctor Brown to the familiar innocent-ogre-sexy-idiot; really it was Burgers, being openly conversational about the ideas behind the project, asking why were there, framing bits of performance as if in a workshop, alternating between solicitous inquiry and alpha-male fiat.
The first couple of shows were more or less spitballing: ideas came, went, sometimes returned. By the time of the fourth show, you could discern a structure taking shape and a cluster of bits with real potential: a game involving having to cross the stage without laughing, for instance, or a weird courtship ritual of slaps and hugs. Later came an entirely improvised group singalong, each word somehow following stumblingly upon the last, voices nudging each other forward blindly (“We… went… to the… mountain… and… looked… at the… flowers…” I paraphrase but that kind of thing.)
As the day continued, we increasingly felt ourselves part of a gang. There was pleasure in seeing moments coagulate from wild random improvisations to integral parts of the embryonic show. At Burgers’s invitation, we’d make observations and suggestions (“you have to keep that!” or “that just didn’t work”), some of which he’d act on, some reject. Burgers himself in between shows was like nothing so much as a boxer between bouts, all pep talks, gulps of water, mouthfuls of nutritious sustenance and, later, precious minutes lying horizontal. Elements of cabin fever set in, perhaps laced with Stockholm Syndrome for us.
As the show started to solidify, the audience began to divide. There were those spectators who arrived with each show – dabblers! – and then there was us, the hard core. We envied and looked down on the newbies because we knew something of what was in store and they didn’t. There was probably a hint of smugness but also a sense of responsibility. We found ourselves taking on the role of comedy Sherpas, gently nudging slightly confused newcomers up this or that path through our responses. At the same time, our familiarity with the mechanics of the work increasingly disqualified us from consideration when Doctor Brown needed volunteers to join him in a bit onstage (this was a relief for some, a shame for others). Simply put, we had a different frame of reference to those who hadn’t seen the whole journey, and it was impossible for Burgers truly to do justice to both categories of spectator.
On a creative level, the process seemed to run ahead of schedule. The show, such as it was, was almost complete by round six. What could be done had been done. By the time of the seventh iteration, Burgers was tightening some parts but also, he recognised, self-consciously trying to repeat himself. And by the eighth, it was clear he was as interested in mixing things up and experimenting with entirely new ideas as he was in trying to “get it right”.
We, meanwhile, felt a bit like we’d been through a tumble dryer. In a good way. We felt proud – proud of Doctor Brown for his accomplishment but also proud of ourselves for the part we played in it. This was no passive box-set binge. There’s no question Burgers was leading proceedings and doing all the heavy lifting – it was a truly impressive achievement to see his crazy mission through. But it was also a collaboration with everyone else in the room, especially those of us who witnessed the whole thing.
It was all a bit like that improvised singalong: absurd, joyous, constantly teetering on collapse but somehow feeling its way through. And possible only by working together. “He came to see a show and he was the fucking show!” Doctor Brown exalted of one young dabbler who played a blinder when lured on stage. “This is the future!” It kind of felt like it. But then we were very tired.
Doctor Brown: The Bexperiment is at Soho Theatre from June 26 to July 5. Click here for details.
