Myra Dubois sparkles like a diamante in the rough as a struggling children’s entertainer. With dramatically underwhelming magic tricks, Disney sing-along (complete with ordinary effects) and the occasional cocaine gag, she is ferociously working her dark craft for this hour-long potential repressed memory.
It isn’t just about entertainment, though, boys and girls. Alongside the raucous comedy Auntie Myra still finds time to dispense immoral lessons of conformity, materialism and she might even chuck in an exorcism for good measure. As the lady herself admits “it’s quite hard to crack kids entertainment with a name like Myra”. There is clearly nothing and no one she won’t do as she clutches at her dreams of success like a cheap bottle of supermarket plonk.
Rotherham’s own Mary Poppins vies for the spotlight from time to time with her mute ventriloquist’s dummy, Edward, whose psychotic stare could cure narcolepsy instantly.
The whole set is flawlessly disheveled and expertly mismanaged. Her funbags, hopeless props and the world’s most macabre game of pass the parcel are as endearing as they are distasteful. Dubois is seriously hilarious and every middle-aged man’s inner eight year old princess will wish his overbearing mother had booked Auntie Myra for his birthday party.
Who needs a cohesive narrative when you can conjure up this standard of character comedy?