Spymonkey in Cooped runs Mar 5-14. $40. Tue-Fri 8pm; Sat 2pm, 8pm; Sun 2pm. Premiere Dance Theatre, 207 Queens Quay W. 416-973-4000,
tickets.harbourfrontcentre.com.
Here in the colonies, especially these days, a fellow could be forgiven for thinking that British comedy is all about being subtle and awkward. Blame it on that Ricky Gervais bloke, always stammering his way through those excruciating silences on Extras, or lording over the low-key horror show of The Office. It’s all so talkative, so painfully restrained. It’s enough to make you forget the broad, balls-out operas of over-the-top that were the stock in trade of Monty Python or even the 20 years of giggling and jiggling put out by Benny Hill.
And then there’s Spymonkey. The sort-of British foursome (one’s German, another is Spanish) have for 10 years made their mark by being as loud, profane and naked as possible on stages at home and abroad, including a stop last year in Montreal, where they bowled over the crowds at Just for Laughs.
“When we first started doing this we were in our early 30s and our bodies were a bit better,” says Petra Massey, nodding to the time she and the others put in doing wildly physical work with an “unpronounceable” theatre troupe in Sweden, and with clown guru Philip Gaulier. “Now we all have what are known as ‘comedy bodies.’”
The troupe has brought its genre-bending show Cooped to Toronto for the first time for a week-and-a-half run. Part drawing room drama, part 1960s pulp romance — it puts Massey center stage as a “fawn-like, farting” lass who is locked away in a remote manor with its sinister owner, a lawyer and, of course, a butler. Co-founders Toby Park and Aitor Basauri also star with Stephan Kreiss.
The plot sort of roller-coasters from there, says Massey. “We’re not from what I call the ‘pulled back’ kind of comedy,” she explains, nodding to Gervais. “We’re on the other side. Overzealous. Overexcited. Huge amounts of energy.”
Which has earned frequent comparisons to Monty Python, who 20 years on, still cast an immense shadow across British comedy. Kreiss — tall and menacing — recalls the pent-up fury of a young John Cleese, while Basauri could be equal parts Peter Sellers and Andrew “Manuel” Sachs of Fawlty Towers.
The Monkies are flattered by the comparison, of course, says Massey, and look to ape the Pythons’ ability to push comic boundaries. To take the piss out of things, she says. “But there’s no stone left unturned including ourselves. And I think that is the greatness of British comedy. Taking the piss and being able to laugh at yourself.”
Their shows are directed by Cal McCrystal, credited with much of the troupe's chemistry.
“Our comedy is very edgy because we can take it really, really far. We’ve worked together pretty much non-stop for ten years” — including a two-year, 900-show run with Cirque du Soleil in Las Vegas — “and I think with that you get a certain telepathy and a certain understanding of how far you can go with it.”
“The great British taboos are fertile ground for comedy.”
Sean Davidson writes about Comedy every Wednesday at eyeweekly.com.