Bursting from a fridge with trouser-less mirth, you begin to wonder what awaits you from the realms of fantastic surrealism. Especially when the performer stood in front of you claims his entrance to be even more bizarre with a side step dance, applauded continuously by himself (and luckily, the audience) for the first 3 minutes of his show.
It takes a while to be guided away from this senseless jest, and towards feeling sympathetic for his endearing yet quirky tales of childhood mistakes and misunderstandings. These recounted moments intermingle with charming surreal bursts of thought and even mime, which happen to bring many more chuckles.
Gradually he turns to the tiresome trick of the comedian who lacks imagination and begins to interweave these innocent anecdotes with punchy and altogether pointless offensive gags. Now more than ever is it apparent that bad taste insults and fantasy just don’t mix.
Despite this comedic faux pas, not only is his humor freshly self-deprecating but we are also encouraged to laugh at his short-sightedness. This is unconditionally hard to sit through. But should you miss the full show, you would sadly not be tamed back to his side, asking for another 9 minutes of snooze time (He claims that the show is clearly a dream of his, that he is merely entertaining us or at best himself until his alarm sounds.)
The show creates a platform for imagined insults which, being far too obnoxiously insensitive to be truly considered, manage to win over the crowd. As this show is largely dependent on cultural and social stereotypes and prejudices, the man is clearly going to need some audience participation. Only the skilful can get away with those ridiculous one-liners. And, by the hairs on his bare legs, he just about does it.
Despite the shows faults, Micha Wertheim’s seemingly self-conscious and otherwise charming persona makes it more than bearable, not just to sit through but to laugh with. A cheerful sardonic little show, the politically correct need not attend.
3/5 
Celia Philips
