jessica aszkenasy waits for her audience on a trestle table covered in a clear plastic sheet. Kneeling, bent over, with one hand out – just to say hello. French club music sounds out and TITCLOWN declares itself as a delightfully bizarre hour of clowning. Lipstick, paint, sweat – aszkenasy invites us into her sticky solo hour of breast-based comedy.
It’s not that deep – but it is, maybe, if you want it to be. Although aszkenasy refutes any socio-political potential, the depth of TITCLOWN lies in its absurdity: that a show can position breasts both as a sex symbol when paired with Victoria’s Secret runway audio and as a maternal emblem when alongside an informative breast-feeding advert; that a show with paint covered breasts centre-stage can, perhaps, simply be a show with paint covered breasts centre-stage.
As a screen behind aszkenasy declares, “The show is in French, get over it.” In this (for non-French speakers, at least), aszkenasy offers a joyful ambiguity to bond us, her audience. Such uncertainty also focuses the spotlight upon aszkenasy’s clowning: language is insufficient for such corporeal matters. Always, we return to the body and its comedy.
TITCLOWN is brilliantly relentless; each moment is obnoxiously mined for its comedic flair. aszkenasy refuses to allow her audience to tire and we are lucky to participate in such pursuits.
jessica aszkenasy: TITCLOWN, Assembly Roxy, until 24 Aug (not 13), 10.20pm