Masud Milas: Routes
Decent material stretched far too thin
Condensed, there would be a really good routine of about ten, maybe 20 minutes in Masud Milas' show about his life, but it's stretched far too thin over his 50 or so minutes. As the son of an emotionally repressed but surprisingly fertile Englishman and a confident, aggressive Kenyan woman, Milas has never really fitted in, especially at his Hong Kong Chinese primary school where he got a jaw-droppingly awful nickname.
He's amiable enough, and delivers well a few new insights into life where, thanks to the 'upcoming race war', even a drunk white New Zealander is more easily accepted by his mother's black friends than he is. There's not much depth to many of the routines, glossing over potentially meaty subjects – such as that promised 'war' or his father's time in an Indonesian cult – for weaker stories about sneaking into Glastonbury Festival or his girlfriend's shower habits.
It's not a bad show, it's just that large chunks of the story are not nearly as interesting as he thinks they are, and rely on the audience finding the situations unusual. In the homogeneous comedy circuit they might well be; in the cosmopolitan milieu of the festival, less so.
Underbelly Med Quad, until 28 Aug, 6.50pm, £9–£10 (£8–£9).