Review by Emily Stevens
I was still chuckling halfway across Edinburgh after seeing Ian Lyman’s Autistic License, cracking up on the bus remembering great lines.
To get the most out of Ian Lynam’s Autistic License you probably need a bit of context on standup comedy, Ireland, and pop culture, but I don’t think you really need a huge amount of background on autism. Lynam does a pretty good job of explaining it and one of the framing devices is a history autism—or rather a history of the often alarming actions and affiliations of the psychiatrists, or, often, non-psychiatrists, that have defined or hypothesised about autism.
There are, however, a number of jokes that I think are more hilarious because they are relatable. For instance the experience of reading Nietzche and thinking, oh no! not you too! when you realize that “even the abyss wants me to make eye contact” or wondering “how do I fight crime dressed as the concept of change” in response to Batman’s costume being due to his fear of bats.
At one point Lynam mentions being described as having created “his own sense of humor” rather than engaging in neurotypical humor, but far as I can tell the show is full of the kind of stuff neurotypical people laugh at, only without the sense of, uh… threat. I’m used to not feeling especially safe in the context of watching stand-up comedy for many of the reasons Lynam alludes to throughout the set. I think this may have actually been the first time I felt entirely un-threatened watching a comedian.
I would describe the overall mood of the show as warm-cool, calm-frantic and melancholy-delighted. It’s complicated. Life is complicated.
The tone of the show is profoundly conversational, made more so by the fact that the set is occasionally a dialogue between Lynam and an increasingly non-sequitor voiceover.
The voiceover interjects throughout, questioning Ian’s choice of topics and how he’s talking about things and as the piece continues it became more confusing to me how what the voiceover is arguing applied to what he had just said.
In addition to conversing with the voiceover and giving the history presentation, Lynam presents moments of his life from childhood to the present, often illustrating the difference between what he thought was going to happen and what actually happened.
There are several jokes that pull out of plunges towards sad and upsetting and I deeply appreciated the mixture of carefulness and flippancy.
He interrogates the act of editing stories or changing the endings so they don’t get too sad. Perhaps, in a way, the whole show is an interrogation of the comedy rule book, from Aristotle to the present. This also creates a perspective on the pressure for disabled people to be ‘great’ and ‘inspiring’ as opposed to ordinary and fallible.
The show has a surprise ending that feels like a vindication, and is made all the more satisfying by the suggestion of leaving the audience at a loose end.
4/5 Stars
⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️
Ian Lynam is Gilded Balloon Patter Hoose at 15:00, August 7-15, 17-22, 24-28
Luvvie With A Rollaboard 