Few fringe trajectories have been as joyful to trace these last few years as that of Natalie Palamides. From best newcomer in 2017 via the terrific cross-dressing comedy Nate (which graduated to Netflix) and beyond, any new show from this outrageously bold LA clown is now a must-see event. And say what you like about Weer, which builds on the 34-year-old’s record in gender-splicing comedy, but on that thrill of anticipation it does not underdeliver.
Laying siege to the Traverse main stage for 75 minutes plus, this is a hot mess of a clown romcom in which Palamides plays both parties in a three-year relationship. The twist: Mark is played by one half of her body, Christina by the other. She faces stage left: plaid-shirted Mark begs Christina to stay at a New Year’s Eve party in the woods. She pivots stage right: dressed-up Christina tearily accuses Mark of flirting with other girls. Christina leaves, there’s an accident, then the show flashes back to recount the romance so far.
By that point, the playing space already resembles a bombsite: Palamides has taken a catholic – and chaotic – approach to stagecraft, where effects can be constructed with whatever gimcrack device fits, then tossed aside. The discipline of her dual-role performance soon breaks down and she teases its absurdities to destruction. It’s fun, but all of this havoc might have been better held within a tighter storytelling frame. Weer lacks Nate’s economy, as this love affair veers dizzyingly back and forth between meet-cute, love, abuse, betrayal and – with Palamides’ characteristic explicitness – the throes of sexual ecstasy.
Why their relationship must be so sordid, or what Palamides wishes to communicate by inviting us into Mark and Christina’s company, is anyone’s guess. The show’s battery of cartoonish false endings suggests emotional significance isn’t high up the show’s list of priorities. But goodness me that cartoon is fun, and endlessly inventive, as Palamides dances with herself, snogs herself, animates her dying breaths with talcum powder, gets the audience intimately involved and sends up with love the 1990s and romcom cliche. It’s a lot – but it’s also pretty unforgettable.
At the Traverse, Edinburgh, until 25 August
