altBryony Kimmings’ ‘intimate’ forty person capacity venue was littered with old suitcases, plastic flowers and hippy trinkets; her saccharine sweetness (as if it needed to be confirmed) was further backed up by free sweets at the door and our host clad in lederhosen.

Before she had a chance to reveal the highs and lows of her rollercoaster love life through the medium of poetry and interpretive dance vignettes, the fire alarm went off. We waited on the street until an agonisingly long-awaited all-clear signalled the real start of Sex Idiot.

I wish it hadn’t. Bryony Kimmings started her shockingly unappealing flight of fancy through her frankly lacklustre romantic history with an overworked bird mating dance and things only went downhill from there. Clearly Kimmings has an eye for theatrics and doesn’t appear to be lacking in imagination, but unfortunately songs about all the different names for the female anatomy and miming every sexual position in graphic detail only served to undercut her theatrical zeal.

There were a few moments when I felt she might have rescued the performance with her cleverly crafted songs about what she’d do to her boyfriend if she caught him with another woman. But even these moments that started off with real promise, descended into angst fuelled ranting and screaming that stopped the laughter dead.

Kimmings’ show did not always rely on sexual humour; it did occasionally take a turn for the sincere and at times repentant. The eventual conclusion of this patchwork spectacle did not really serve to justify the wildly erratic show of emotions (and bare flesh) and I’m afraid to say that I left wholly unfulfilled.

Bryony Kimmings could easily come across as charming, likeable and even brave to have put such a bold production together, but it lacked the emotional depth to qualify her apparent love for sex and all the taboos that come with it. 

Zoo Roxy, 6-30 Aug (not 7), 8.20pm

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