Hoots Apex
Until 25th (16.50-17.50)
One of the great joys of reviewing at The Fringe is coming across hitherto unheard of performers you wouldn’t have been drawn to see otherwise. Hoots at The Apex hotel is the kind of central events hub which draws in tourists seeking a show to fill a couple of hours of their touring itinerary, and the foyer is filled with a churning crowd of comedy seekers from across the globe. As the lucky forty or so folk who managed to get tickets for Aaron’s show enter the small, cloth draped, meeting room, our host warmly greets each little group with a beaming smile and warm handshakes. He’s clearly very happy to be here.
He is a self-described ‘circuit comedian’, who spends his weekends driving up and down England between gigs across every part of the country. This kind of experience of playing to a variety of audiences week in, week out, is evident in both the material, and the performance we are treated to over the next hour. Crafting a full Fringe show from what are often 10-15 minute sets is no mean feat, and one which first or second timers to The Fringe often try to tackle with a theme wedged in to bridge the sections. No such approach from Mr Wood here, instead simply treating this multicultural afternoon crowd to the pleasure of his company, anecdotes, one liners and observations on life growing up, and living, in a distinctly thin end of the wedge part of a working-class area in Stockport.
That this material, referencing a town which you’d be surprised if anyone outside of the UK had ever heard of, lands so well with the international audience is a testament to the excellent crowd work on display. Aaron clearly has plenty of experience compering form his circuit work as he masterfully engages with, charms, and prises information and laughs from everyone he speaks to in the crowd.
Throughout the hour he throws in callback after callback to each of his ‘guests’ he’s spoken with, and this adds an extra layer of entertainment, and frankly fun, to proceedings. One and all are charmed, rapt, and bubbling away with chuckles, titters, and guffaws throughout the entire show.
The show itself is loosely focussed around Aaron’s reflections on himself, his ambitions, his relationships, and on more than one occasion self-deprecating analysis of his own foibles. He begins by riffing on the challenges of leaving behind your social upbringing, likening the experience of breaking through socioeconomic barriers to Stockholm syndrome. Having spent my own teenage years in a West Coast New Town, his descriptions of ‘missing the danger and excitement’ resonated, and this kind of universality of human experience was adroitly applied to all of the more niche references in his set. I could hear Americans, Kiwi’s and Canadians laughing away. Every country has ‘a Stockport’ it would seem (In Canada I believe it’s called ‘Hamilton’).
The specific ‘dangers’ he goes on to describe involve some fantastic physical comedy, a reflection on the role a feminist attitude should play during burglaries, erections as self-defence devices, and an almost surreal section which covers bush tucker trials, toasties, and rimming. None of this material feels crass, or forced, let alone ‘lad banter’. Lightly touching on his recent neurodivergent diagnosis is one of many moments of vulnerability tossed in to ensure that the crowd stays onside, and engaged, throughout. Though tell that to the couple who brought their 15-year-old kid. Still, even they laughed at the horrified look on Wood’s face when he realised that there was an ‘underager’ in the crowd, indeed we all did. Then laughed some more.
If you’re looking for a show which emulates the experience of a Friday or Saturday night in a comedy club, broad laughs for a broad audience, and material you and your friends can joke about over a pint after, then this is definitely the show for you. As I left, one of the audience bumped into a friend, and I heard them chat behind me. “Who have you just been to see?” “Aaron Wood.” “Was he good?” “He was funny, VERY funny.”
Ewan Law
themumble.uk 