A cacophony of colour and sound and odd props and frantic vignettes make up this near impenetrable show; but impenetrability is the point.
In his piece for the Guardian, Lee describes a Fringe show from in 1993 which involved “One man vomiting mayonnaise into a circle while a woman shows slides of clouds” and proclaims it is shows like this that are the true Edinburgh Fringe and are worth “50 Live at the Apollo wannabes”. This almost perfectly sums up Klip. I can't imagine it having much commercial success in any other setting than Summerhall's Dissection Room during a rainy August but you've got to give it to them – it's really like nothing else out there.
A cacophony of colour and sound and odd props and frantic vignettes make up this near impenetrable show; but impenetrability is the point. A projection at the beginning warns that any comprehension of what is happening is coincidental and unintentional. They do, admittedly, present some ideas which are reasonably understandable (which almost feels like a failure on their part when positioned within the context of the rest of the show). A woman's nervous deconstruction of the well-worn phrase “come back to mine and I'll show you a good time” is an amusing monologue and is oddly reminiscent of a Stewart Lee gag.
For the most part, however, this show is a thrillingly confusing dreamscape of nonsense and non-sequiturs.It will divide audiences and probably lead to many gesticular arguments regarding its contents and hidden meanings: ‘What about that leg of cured meat? That headless chicken? The yellow lorry bit? It must all add up to something.’ Maybe it does or maybe the cast of Klip are having a huge joke at our expense as we try to decipher their idiosyncratic creation. Whatever the hidden meaning, if there is one, it eluded me - but the experience will stay with me for some time.
