Middle school is rough. That’s a fact. With the constant onslaught of hormones, hair appearing in strange places, and so many feeeeeelings, it’s an uncomfortable time to be alive. To anyone who disagrees: frankly, sorry, because you peaked way, way early, my friend.
But when you add being practically friendless, the new kid, swathed in ill-fitting Dockers and an extra 100 pounds of gelatinous belly “heft” to that terrible potion of awkwardness, that metamorphic life stage becomes damn near impossible.
That terribly pathetic state of affairs was Spencer James’ adolescent reality growing up in a constantly-mobile military family and is highlighted in the opening scene of “How to Hide a Fat Kid,” James’ one-man comedy whirlwind wrapping up Nov. 15 at the Vintage Theater. Woven through a few decades of the starring comic’s life, the show follows James as he goes from the wallowing, lovably-eccentric “fat kid” (his description, not ours) to eventually breaking out of his lipid-packed chrysalis and emerging as a successful comic – with more than 25 years of self-deprecating material to rap with. James’ tale mirrors the countless weight loss stories that constantly flutter across news feeds and television screens, however the protagonist’s incendiary delivery and poignant reflection provides a pleasant take on what is now a stodgy premise.
James bobs and weaves through his socially turbulent childhood — from his testy relationship with his father, to his permanent fear of pool parties — with an amalgamation of narration, bits, and sometimes straight-up slapstick sequences. There’s certainly a dose of pandering, but the quirky loudmouth’s description of practicing to be the captain of the varsity masturbation team (an ongoing theme), the heartbreaking way he pines for the game of basketball and the hilarious dance moves he learns compliments of BET, make it excusable. He’s a deftly wry combination of Napoleon Dynamite and Sweat Lodge 12’s Wilderness Explorer Russell from Pixar’s “Up.” More accurately, a disturbingly accurate depiction of the lovably detestable Schmidt from Fox’s “New Girl” — the flashback fat version, of course.
While there is no doubt James is a talented performer, and his genuine passion for sharing his journey is palpable, the production falters in its somewhat jumbled slurry of narrative devices and the myriad styles it employs. James constantly bounces from laugh-track-ready sitcom moments, to straight comedy bits riddled with “you knows?” It’s not that his timing or general cadence is off, it’s that the constant teardown/repair, teardown/repair, teardown/repair of the third wall leaves the audience scatterbrained in an ambiguous comedic purgatory. His shotgun attempt to get all of his comedic styles, moments of solace and entire life story into one show leans toward un-sculpted. The story’s relevant and entertaining, but it seems better suited for one medium: stand-up, a sit-com or a truly dramatic play. When they’re all forced to share one stage at the same time, there’s some noticeable cannabilization.
There certainly, however, is no lack of laughs. Those laugh-track ready punchlines certainly delivered the yuk-yuks, and the comedic walkthroughs of his tormented, teenage self are undoubtedly funny universal truths. James’ description of his father being a coach on the third base foul line and not the first, is wildly funny, but remains profound – one of those rare funny man rants that speaks volumes on parenting styles hiding under only a thin veil of laughter.
Forgoing some of the narrative limbo, the show remains one worth seeing if not only to see James fearlessly pour his guts onto the stage, while simultaneously serving up sincere knee-slappers. It’s not often Aurora gets graced with true comedy, and when it’s a high-octane Dane Cook/Dana Carvey-esque tornado, it’s undoubtedly worth the frigid walk from the car to the theater.