Kiri Pritchard-McLean: Victim, Complex
I can’t tell you what Kiri Pritchard-McLean’s third solo show is about. Nor do I want to. As she so rightly implores at the end of the show, to do so might ruin the experience for someone who needs to see it. What I will tell you, though, is that it’s an immeasurable feat of humour, bathos, kindness, fearlessness, wit and sass.
Striding out onto the stage in a dazzling sequin bodysuit and matching yellow cape, this is a woman who has something to say. Respectfully asking us not to applaud throughout - because the show is actually over an hour in length and she keeps getting into trouble for running over - Kiri is an instantly likeable comic. Warm, funny and confident, she seems like the kind of gal you want on your side: a fiercely encouraging build-you-up-and-fight-your-corner friend; the kind who’s as comfortable down the pub cracking crude jokes as she is holding back your hair when you vomit from too many tequilas - or holding your hand when you cry from too many fuckboys. (TL; DR: I want to be her best friend.)
All gushing aside, Kiri’s inimitable personality instead of detracting from, complements and enhances her whip smart humour. A few favourite jokes include: an impression of a female cat on heat (remarkably accurate); a shout out to all the drunk women we’ve taken advice from in club toilets at 2am (universally relatable); and the invisible tests women like to set for men (ashamedly relatable).
Though I can’t tell you what the show is about, I can tell you that you won’t regret seeing it. If you’re headed to Edinburgh in August or can squeeze in a showing this week at the Soho Theatre, then do. It might just be the best thing you ever see.