Jayde Adams has set herself a mighty task: to save mankind. Not humankind, as the two sometimes get conflated, but men. It’s unclear how Adams could accomplish this in an hour of comedy, but the men in the audience seem willing at least.
Her confident entry in an all-white ensemble with a contrasting red lipstick (this is important) is welcomed with hoots and applause. She has been inspired by self-help gurus, we are told, and it obviously informs her routine; notably, when she makes the audience chant with her to admit that we’re not always in control. But that’s not all. Through the hour, we set sail upon a sea of emotions. Some you’d expect, such as incredulous laughs. Though you probably won’t think of ending the show in tears that you’re busy rubbing away so you can join Adams in a Conga line to the exit, where she thanks and hugs everyone, which we’re all too eager to return.
Adams indulges us with personal anecdotes, risqué jokes, hilarious audience engagement, the playful utilisation of silences, and physical humour. The latter stands out especially. The highlight of the show is definitely Adams’s interpretive dance on the ‘contemporary sad clown’– or white cis hetero men. She converts to the clown figure by adapting her outfit onstage and cleverly dabbing the red from her lips to her nose. Queuing early to sit in the front row is highly recommended if you want to be a secondary contributor to this performance, and laugh uncontrollably.
While saving men forms the framing structure for the show, a few connections between the various segments aren’t immediately clear in the writing and transitions. However, this never dulls the enjoyment during the show or needing time afterwards to truly absorb what you have witnessed. Catch Jayde Adams if you’re after a genuinely funny, heartfelt show.