Performers: Les Foutoukours
Venue: McEwan Hall at Underbelly, Bristo Square
Date and time: Saturday 15th August, 3pm
Ticket price: £23.50
Reviewed by: Sarah Turnbull
Rating: ★★★★★ (5/5)
Les Foutoukours’ Glob is a balm for a busy Fringe day: a slow, sparkling hour of circus and clowning that invites you to breathe, smile and remember how to play. Two fluffy, ageless beings shuffle into a frosty, dreamlike world and, without uttering a single word, build a language from glances, squeaks and shared discoveries. It’s gentle, funny and, at times, quietly breathtaking – a show that proves emotion really can speak louder than words.
The pair are essentially mimes in marshmallow coats, and their design is irresistibly huggable; I left genuinely wanting a Glob plush to take home. Their physical vocabulary is crystal clear: a shoulder droop becomes heartbreak; a hop turns into triumph, and a puzzled tilt blossoms into shared understanding. That level of communication is deceptively hard to pull off, and it’s sustained with charm from first entrance to final bow. You understand them instantly, and the whole room finds itself breathing at the same tempo.
For all its softness, Glob is never slight. These are seriously skilled circus artists who fold their technique into the narrative with finesse. A solo on a towering, freestanding ladder is a genuine showstopper – equal parts delicacy and nerve – and it earns an audible intake of breath across the audience. Elsewhere, a deft diabolo (the spinning spool on string) routine adds a satisfying dash of dexterity, and a cheeky burst of tap brings rhythm and surprise (the reveal of those tap shoes is a tiny theatrical thrill). That all of this lands while they remain zipped into bulky, floofy costumes is no small feat; the control and stamina required are quietly astonishing.
What makes Glob feel special is the way it listens. The show luxuriates in pauses and in the simple act of waiting: for courage, for a friend’s hand, for a mystery object to reveal what it can do. That theme of “taking time to take time” runs through everything, and it’s deeply humane. Younger viewers get the pleasure of discovery; older ones are gifted a rare deceleration from the frantic pace outside.
The clowns’ sensitivity to the room is also exemplary. When giggles snowball or a moment catches the crowd off guard, they fold it in with a glance, a squeak or a perfectly timed beat, transforming interruptions into shared jokes without ever breaking the spell.
Visually, the world is wintry and abstract rather than literal, with large shapes and simple textures that invite the imagination to fill in the gaps. There’s a light dusting of absurdity throughout – enough to keep the laughs bubbling without tipping into chaos – and a palpable tenderness in how the characters meet, misread, bruise feelings and mend them again. Fear gives way to trust, curiosity to delight.
Because Glob is wordless, it’s genuinely all-ages and all-languages friendly. Kids are delighted to be in on the joke, and grown-ups get the warm ache of nostalgia – the feeling of playing in new snow, of making up rules as you go. Families around me were engaged from start to finish, and solo adults were no less charmed. It’s the kind of show you could confidently recommend to visiting relatives, to friends who “don’t do clowning”, or to anyone who needs the world to slow down a notch.
In a festival bursting with noise, it’s wonderfully charming: a pocket of innocence, curiosity and whimsy that speaks fluently without words. I left lighter, wanting to hug a giant fluffy friend, and quietly grateful for a show that trusts tenderness as its headline act.
★★★★★
