Cambridge comedy can be rather like Forrest Gump’s box of chocolates, in that you never quite know what you’re going to get. In Chameleon at The Corpus Playroom, we were promised “an hour of self-indulgent feel-good” entertainment. Anticipating the feel-good aspect filled me with hope. Anticipating the self-indulgent elements filled me with dread. On paper, the structure of the evening appeared rather predictable: sketches, songs and comedy with low budget and low production values.

But none of this takes into account the one-woman-comedy-whirlwind of Ash Weir. With her curious approach to writing and delivery, she has given birth to a grotesquely intense giggle monster, rather than just another hour of student comedy. Having gathered an enviable team of performers and musicians, she remains at the helm of the group and steers them into the unique energy of her world. And with one flick of an eyebrow, or one word spoken to a fellow cast member, Weir can transform the audience reaction from low level giggles to full blown spasm-inducing laughter.

"With her curious approach to writing and delivery, she has given birth to a grotesquely intense giggle monster"

Innovation in comedy is rare. It is rather difficult to find a totally original way to present an hour, and Chameleon sticks to convention in many ways. This is the perfect choice however, because when the personalities and the delivery are so individual, then the originality shines through without having to impose a forced format. Weir bounces along on her spring-loaded wits, and plays on the concept of adaptation and disguise. Just when we think we have pigeon-holed her style, she back-flips into something new and entirely different. There is no showboating, no arrogance. Her charisma draws the audience in, and she is particularly clever at playing on her apparent vulnerability before pouncing with an explosive comedy payoff. In this case, self-indulgence is her huge strength.

The supporting cast have been skilfully assembled: not only are Ruby Keane and John Tothill fantastic comedy performers in the own right, they handle Weir’s material as if it was their own, and in the spirit of the evening, they adapt seamlessly to her direction. Tothill in particular appears to have immense fun bouncing off Weir, and there were many moments where these two simmered and bubbled with the dynamics of a well-seasoned double act. The energy and tension between them lifted the audience response to an even higher level than the script alone could have achieved. At certain points, there was just the perfect storm of writing, performing, atmosphere, energy and audience. Henry Wilkinson, Kate Collins and Natalie Jobbins complete the well-rounded cast, with direction by Daniel Emery.

Highlights of the evening included Weir’s musings on who exactly she is, her musical manipulation of the audience, and a sketch on just becoming someone else for the sake of it. The lyric writing was an absolute joy, with word play and ridiculously fantastic rhyming. The complexity of the writing resulted in a few potentially hairy moments; but this only served to showcase the strength of the performers to adapt, to play off each other and to engage the audience.

Past frogs: a journey into the comedic psyche

The evening blends stand up, monologue, sketches and songs: there is quite a lot thrown into the mix. While there are hints of Victoria Wood, Tim Minchin and EastEnd Cabaret, the overwhelming flavour is Ash Weir’s idiosyncratic and inexplicable approach to the world. The material itself deserves some more work and development, and a little bit of pruning. But perhaps the show will evolve during the run, and it isn’t up to me to say which bits to keep and which to eliminate.  Because if there is one thing that I have learned from Chameleon, it is that Ash Weir knows her own mind: her own dazzling, energetic, multi-personed, funny funny funny mind