Olaf Falafel needs no introduction. A bona-fide legend of the Edinburgh Fringe, his unique brand of family friendly quasi-lunacy has been entertaining the masses for over a decade now.
You’d be hard pushed to find a box in which to contain Olaf, not least as he’s rather tall, but more because his grasshopper mind leaps about with near-reckless abandon. He may have a fine ear for word-play and punnery, but he’s never far from a deep dive into the utterly absurd.
For many, many years of my life, those who had the poor fortune to ask my favourite joke, would have been answered without hesitation. “What is Brown and Sticky?” Select the black box for the answer (if needed) “A Stick.”. Had I encountered Olaf during those decades I suspect he would have endangered my life. That danger of death may have receded a little with age, but he’s still a comedian after my own heart. It’s terrific stuff.
There’s some sparkling material here, roping in Kenny Rogers ‘The Gambler’ to discuss avian safety, translating Hilary Clinton’s name into surprising latin, and finally explaining Yoko Ono’s full name. The punchlines I shall not desecrate, but in each case they are bang on the laugh-out-loud money. There’s a particular joke about New Zealand ducks which will surely compete for best joke of the Fringe.
Sure, like every second performer during these first days of the Fringe, Olaf ran into a few technical difficulties. Where others might crumble, Olaf ploughed on undaunted. Poorly-behaved multimedia be damned, he knows how to keep an audience merrily engaged. Merry is a good word for Olaf, this is arch-merriment in stand-up form.
There’s pass the parcel where intermediary ‘winners’ bag themselves a feeling. Not just any feeling, this is an Olaf Falafel feeling. You’re not just feeling good, you won the feeling of dropping your toast jam side up – and that feeling is for you, no one else! Then there’s ‘The Cheese of Truth’ whereby he relays recorded footage of increasingly barmy ways to cast Emmental cheese at open books. Yes, there are punch-lines even here – read from between the holes!
If he were less likeable, if he weren’t so invested in playing the modern jester, the show might not work. On closer inspection, the ‘live colonoscopy’ is drawn out a little much, and perhaps the ‘blow down tiny figures of the Top Gear team with a party horn’ is sillier than it is funny, but these are minor quibbles. It’s an overused term, but there really is something for everyone in ‘Look What Fell Out Of My Head.’
You’ll look forward to the perky alarms declaring the titular ‘Look What Fell Out of my Head!’ and the arch-silliness to follow. You’ll grow to admire the banana he can only eat if he manages to tell a joke inspired by every prompt scribbled on the skin. When it comes time for a crowd-sourced orchestral finale, it makes perfect sense.
Amidst a Fringe where comedic sophistication can often be equated with the soul searching & deeply meaningful, it’s refreshing to find a master of a different sort. Olaf Falafel offers unqualified, unadulterated, and deceptively astute fun. Go find out what falls out of his head.
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