It’s not often you hear an entire theatre erupt into belly laughs over the phrase “bum gas” – but then again, it’s not every day you see the Godfather of children’s stand-up comedy back on stage, firing on all cylinders. James Campbell’s Comedy 4 Kids, playing to a packed house at the Brighton Fringe in the Komedia, is an unfiltered hour of pure, joyful chaos. The jokes are anarchic, surreal, and deliciously irreverent – and the children were spellbound and engaged.
From the moment he bounds onto the stage, Campbell’s energy is infectious. He’s been performing this show, in one form or another, for 25 years and it shows. He has a self-possession with his act and an ease of engagement with his youthful audience. What began as James Campbell Is Not Made of Cheese at the Edinburgh Fringe in 2000 has since become a country-hopping juggernaut, taking him from the South Bank Centre to Singapore, from Hay Festival to Off-Broadway in New York. Now, after a decade mostly spent writing books and raising his own children off grid, he’s back — and clearly enjoying every second.
James Campbell’s show has a loose structure which mirrors its somewhat chaotic audience who need to wee often during his performance… “I don’t really know what I’m doing,” he declares early on, and while that’s obviously not true (his improvisational skill and wit and wordplay is razor-sharp), the air of spontaneity is part of the magic.
For the last ten years he has mainly been concentrating on writing funny books and parenting his own children. Now he is bored of that and returns to the world of festivals to reboot comedy for kids with a face full of wrinkles and a reconstructed show that may include exploding penguins; seventeen ways to eat jam; and songs to sing to the worms in your dog’s bottom.
One moment we’re discussing snow leopards; the next, we’re banishing Norman (from Fireman Sam) for his long list of unmet needs. In between, we hear musings on lollipop ladies as an endangered species, the mysterious world of football punditry (yep, me neither), and what to do when you’ve run out of chamomile tea and your bottom’s on fire. Better call Fireman Sam, apparently.
Audience participation is key. Children are actively invited — to shout, heckle, correct, and derail. Campbell responds to every interjection with wit and agility, whether it’s a five-year-old demanding an explanation of potty training, or a seven-year-old insisting he once saw pants in a tree.
Managing older kids is handled adeptly too (there are a few ruder heckles from a cohort of tweenagers) – this show really is for ages 0-10 years old (and their grown-ups), I’d say after that, the all too sophisticated Year 6s (age 11 upwards) are far too world-weary to appreciate this in quite the same way. However as a seasoned professional, the chaos is embraced, not suppressed, and that’s what makes it work so well in this hour-long show.
In this performance, a strength of Campbell is the way he weaves big ideas into accessible absurdity. There are quiet reflections on responsibility and adult decision-making, a cheeky riff on how the world still hasn’t sorted out pants falling from washing lines into trees, and an ever-so-slightly subversive joke about “the system” that flies safely over younger heads but earns knowing laughs of agreement from the grown-ups.
Campbell’s background in traditional stand-up is evident in his timing and crowd work, but he’s adapted beautifully to a younger audience without talking down to them. Instead, he meets children where they are — curious, silly, and full of questions — and treats their contributions as the gold they are. It’s a far cry from the patronising “children’s entertainer” stereotype; this is comedy that respects its audience, however small they may be.
The venue is buzzing throughout, with parents as engaged as the kids (the adjacent bar helped with this!). In an era where family shows can sometimes feel overly polished or overly moralistic, Comedy 4 Kids is a breath of fresh air: messy, mischievous, and gloriously real. There’s no attempt to wrap things up in a neat moral bow. Instead, we get songs to sing to the worms in your dog’s bottom, seventeen ways to eat jam, and the question: what if your pants are on fire and stuck in a tree?
At the end, there’s no big finale — just a warm thank you and the sense that something magical has happened. As the children tumble out of the theatre still giggling about “bum gas”, and queueing for signed books by the author, it’s obvious that Camobell’s comedy still fizzes with originality. He proves that children’s comedy can be smart, surreal, and uproariously funny without relying on gimmicks or preaching.
