Nina Conti at the Richmond Theatre review: virtuoso ventriloquist delivers unique night
Nina Conti at the Richmond Theatre review: virtuoso ventriloquist delivers unique night
Share:
.jpeg?trim=103,0,1314,0&quality=75&auto=webp&width=1000)
I thought I'd seen enough masks to last me a lifetime during the pandemic. But ventriloquist Nina Conti makes a persuasive case for bringing them back. At least bringing back the ingenious latex face coverings that she uses to exquisite effect turning people into human puppets in her latest show, Whose Face Is It Anyway?. Cartoonish masks covering the lower half of audience members' faces and featuring jaws controlled by a wired hand-held pump have been used by various performers over the years, such as fellow contemporary vent act Paul Zerdin, but here they are the entire evening, with the virtuoso star conjuring up spontaneous scenarios and comical conversations.
![[Nina Conti]](https://static.standard.co.uk/2025/02/03/12/22/Nina-Conti-(Credit_Steve-Best).jpeg?quality=75&auto=webp&width=960)
There is no script so every production flies by the seat of its improvised pants, but she is so skilled at selecting the correct people to come onstage that, famous last words, one can almost guarantee that things are going to work out. It is akin to the way a hypnotist can spot the wallflower most susceptible to slipping into a trance and unleashing their inner Beyonce. Last night in Richmond, her first 'victim' – not really the right word as they are all more than willing participants – claimed that he was a scuba diving instructor. Maybe he was, maybe he wasn't, but as Conti probed him about his work and then answered her own questions he was more than happy to play along, mimicking swimming strokes and waving his hands around like fins.
She is intermittently aided by her long-standing puppet sidekick, Monkey, who has his own moment in the spotlight offering consenting adults quickfire therapy advice that in real-life would promptly get him struck off by the NHS. The smutty simian specialises in potty-mouthed backchat and repeatedly reminded everyone, perhaps a few too many times, that a woman puts her hand up his bottom every night.
It is easy to overlook Conti as one's eyes are inexorably drawn to the men and women in the ironic masks. This itself is a tribute to her talents. In another stand-out set-piece she simultaneously wrangled three siblings, who merrily gesticulated and danced as Conti riffed about their careers on their behalf. This is verbal juggling of the highest order. The format could easily be a novelty act stretched too thin, and shrewdly she kept her set to a tight hour, with crowd-pleasing support from eloquent Lily Phillips loosening everyone up. But Conti maintains the momentum throughout and delivers a unique night to remember. She is clearly no dummy.
