The King’s Arms, Salford; Friday 26th July, 2019
There’s a Clouooouuud Maaaaan,
waiting in the sky …
Yeah and he has all your photos, text messages, emails, credit card transactions, Likes, Shares, right-swipes – he’s got everything about you; and whether you like it or not he’ll be keeping it forever and ever and ever.
There can’t be too many people in this world who haven’t, at some point, cringed in revulsive horror at the thought of what our virtualised, digital imprints actually say about us.
What if someone (or something) is out there, looking at all your digital scraps, judging you, sneering at you? What if they actually manage to figure you out – and then decide to tell everyone else?
Enter the Cloud Man (Ronnie Leek, writer and lead performer) – he is that filthy pervert who has access to all your data; therefore he has access to all your thoughts, your fears, your weaknesses – but just remember, the only reason he has all of that is because you willingly gave it to him.
My Fitbit Called Me A Fat Bitch is an hour-long joy ride around the back streets of modern internet life – this is a grim and unforgiving neighbourhood where the audience is confronted with a series of electronic tragedies, such as the pathetic Like Hunters who burn with searing pain when supposed Friends fail to show any approval of wittily crafted comments and posts.
This is a joy ride fuelled by the energy-rich bravado of maniacally nervous laughter – some of the sketches are supremely funny, they are literally LOL funny; but this is laughter through gritted teeth and hyperventilating shoulder judders because all the piss-taking of internet dating, Instagram posting, Facebook Liking, etc is stuff we’ve all done and probably will do again.
Cloud Man is onto us all, it’s only a matter of time.
The cast of four put in outstanding performances, but star of the show has to be John O’Neill delivering a series of characters suffering from what can only be described as severe digital-addiction – pathetic *hakesperian losers who spout weeping poetry as they lament the agonising human tragedies of our modern age – such as the failure to find a phone charger.
My Fitbit Called Me A Fat Bitch has a beautifully written script with much of the narrative written in verse. Into the mix go some brilliantly timed and aptly chosen musical interludes, all set against a general background of perfectly on-point comedy – the result is a brilliantly entertaining hour of close-to-the-bone giggling where we can all have a healthy laugh at each other’s pathetic attempts to feel loved – and then go online to bang on about how good it is.