After an introduction by The Mighty Boosh‘s “lunar simpleton“, Noel Fielding strides on to stage resplendent in cosmic cape and fantasy bat ears. The costume, swiftly discarded (“I’m not Madonna; if I go down, I’m not bouncing back up”), is one of the more exciting things in this early stage of the evening.

There’s a prop torso on stage – a woman’s breasts, the face of Lionel Messi and the make-up of Kiss – a trinket from the junk-chest of Fielding’s mind. While he rarely refers to it, a throwaway comment – that he keeps Messi on stage so he can still pretend he’s in a double act – adds a touch of ‘Noel No-Mates’ sadness to the evening. A later reference – “If it hadn’t been for Julian [Barratt, The Mighty Boosh], I’d still be in red dungarees eating eclairs without my hands” – makes you feel the absence of the balanced respectability of Howard Moon.

The opening half hour suggests that the gig will be fairly straight: one man and his audience, riffing and rolling with stand-up material.

He says a few things about Russell Brand that he begs the audience not to Tweet, then dives right into some heavy pedophile gags. A too-early embarkation into the Milk Song invites some nervous squirms from the audience, but Fielding impishly brushes any weird feelings away.

Some of his jokes have been heard before, but they still hold up well live.

Fresh lamentations about his age (“I’m 41,” he repeats, incredulous) mark the passage of time. Fielding is no longer the young man who seized the Edinburgh Fringe’s esteemed Perrier Award for emerging talent. He’s an established personality now, with “an easy charm that mums love”. It’s in fighting this rather docile, understated reputation that Fielding begins to get weird.

An extended bit on the secret lives of teabags and a squalling, Old Gregg-scented invitation to meet “Chicken Boy” kicks the evening into the weird dimension we were wanting.

We go with him on his holiday to Costa Rica, where he embraces his true identity as “Mowgli in flares”. Here, we’re introduced to a double-clap callback that Fielding cleverly uses throughout the evening to frighten away unruly hecklers.

While he explains that whimsy and farce are enough to satisfy the younger audience, Fielding adds some “gravity” to appease his older viewers. “You want bleakness,” he says.

It’s this bit – about his wife leaving him for a triangle – that spirals the evening into a four-medium pile-up of comedy, theatre, animation and audience interaction.

A narrative unfolds, bringing his Luxury Comedy characters to life. He’s no longer alone; Fielding’s long-suffering brother Mike (Naboo, The Mighty Boosh) and fellow actor Tom Meeten (Noel Fielding’s Luxury Comedy) join him to fill out the remainder of the evening.

Fantasy Man, Gordon the Triangle, Sergeant Raymond Boombox, Hawk-Eye, Plasticine Joey Ramone and more come to life as we get swept along with the darkly-tinged bizarreness.

A mad dash through the audience leaves Fielding struggling to contain a rowdy audience – a woman who calls her date “a cunt” on the big screen projection manages to leave Fielding struggling for words, as does a flasher in the third row – and he later comments: “This is the weirdest fucking gig I’ve ever played. I thought we were weird – this is like a documentary for you.”

To out-weird Noel Fielding is the supreme achievement for any lover of the absurd and fantastical. The fact that we are able to suggests that Fielding might be losing his footing in the imaginary world where we came to love him.

While An Evening with Noel Fielding is undeniably a fabulous night out, it seems to be a crystalised version of a comic’s greatest hits. His ability to be spontaneous is clear, but these breaks from script come unwillingly. Even when his dialogue with his animated characters gets out of synch, there’s a cemented feeling that it has been staged. Perhaps it’s fear – or professionalism – that sees him so rigidly drawn to the set lines and gags, but the magic really shines when he does allow himself to play with unplanned sparks of creativity.

To counter his panel-show familiarity and without the staid discipline of Julian Barratt – or even Richard Ayoade’s ‘Reality Man’ foil – Fielding is driven to greater and greater heights of the ridiculous. He may wish to be wary. What goes up must come down, after all.

GALLERY: NOEL FIELDING LIVE AT THEBARTON THEATRE

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What

An Evening with Noel Fielding

Where

Thebarton Theatre, Adelaide

When

Friday, April 17

Rating

6/8