Demi Adejuyigbe Is Going To Do One (1) Backflip Has Plenty Laughs, But Fumbles the Dismount

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Demi Adejuyigbe has been a mainstay of internet alternative comedy for years now, appearing on dozens of podcasts (as well as hosting a couple himself), going viral with parody theme songs for popular films and TV, and being a staff writer for buzzy hits like The Good Place. His Edinburgh Fringe debut, enticingly titled Demi Adejuyigbe Is Going To Do One (1) Backflip, makes a determined effort to translate his short-form, digital comedy success into an hour of absurd, disarming gold with some big time collaborators backing him; the show is directed by sketch duo BriTANick and is presented by London’s Soho Theatre. But while Backflip makes for a consistent and unexpected hour of alt-comedy, Adejuyigbe’s first Edinburgh show still doubts itself, undermining the comedian’s confident multimedia and musical jokes with a sudden jolt of vulnerability that stops the show from pulling off something fantastic.

As per the title, Demi Adejuyigbe promises to deliver a single backflip at the end of his show, but it’s not just for us audience members—he wants to impress his crush with his acrobatic skills. It’s the type of childlike, attention-grabbing stunt that perfectly suits the performer’s eccentric and scatterbrained persona, funneled into a quasi-presentation that he strides through with only a few line fumbles and breaks in energy. In the extended buildup to the flip, he introduces us to a robot companion (presumably controlled and voiced by one of the members of BriTANick), proposes Racism 2, and performs an entire one-man musical about the Ikea Monkey, which he threatens to transform into a Hamilton-style rap deep into the performance. It’s a series of energetic bits, pinned together by silliness, giving us a commendable and hyper-specific look into the comedy instincts of someone whose art has been defined by the internet.

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A word on venues at the Edinburgh Fringe: there are hundreds and hundreds of them, and an artist has no meaningful say on whether or not their venue space will be a complete nightmare, but Adejuyigbe’s 102-seater space suits him very well. His ironic showman physicality takes full advantage of the space, and his engaging stage presence balances a slideshow and music cue-heavy set. In alternative comedy, an intimacy with the audience is crucial—being able to hear individual laughs over a confused crowd and surfing the palpable discomfort of your more abstract bits can be a real weapon in a comedian’s arsenal.

But alienation is not an intended effect for Backflip, and a lot of Adejuyigbe’s jokes—even the most ironic, rug-pulling absurd ones—lean on his exhaustive pop culture knowledge to surprise and amuse us. Herein lies the first problem: the sheer variety of audiences that go to a catchy-sounding early-evening comedy show at the Edinburgh Fringe means that Adejuyigbe’s reliance on referential (usually online) humor can take the wind out of his sails, undercutting the impact of a punchline or running joke by referencing something that, at least in the show I saw, half the audience struggled to recognize.

It’s more forgivable in Adejuyigbe’s cover of “We Didn’t Start the Fire,” which breathlessly catches us up with as many contextless zeitgeist events as possible (while also getting incredibly specific on a social faux pas the performer is fixating on)—here, the intention is to overwhelm, and we don’t need an encyclopedic knowledge of meme-y jokes to enjoy. It makes less sense in a recurring bit where Adejuyigbe receives phone calls from a party his crush is attending, where Wallace Shawn and cinematographer Roger Deakins are frequently name-dropped as unlikely party guests.

It’s not helpful to say “who is this for?” (although needing to be in the in-crowd is more palpable when Adejuyigbe refers to the Ikea Monkey as something “we all went crazy over on Twitter”) because, like most weird comedy shows, there’s clearly a sizable audience for Adejuyigbe’s hour. So instead of criticizing Adejuyigbe for alienating those who didn’t get his specific references, I’ll say this: I know who Wallace Shawn and Roger Deakins are, and I didn’t find their presence in Backflip’s narrative funny. These jokes (involving lengthy pre-recorded impressions) are even tougher to forgive when all they receive is, at best, a bemused ripple from the audience.

Backflip’s biggest misfire happens near its end, when Adejuyigbe delivers a sincere, vulnerable monologue about his codependent relationship with approval and subversion in his art, undermining our expectations of seeing him perform a physical stunt. It’s a bizarre, whiplash-inducing somber note to put just before the end; rather than feeling like an authentic, natural observation for a well-structured hour, it comes across as a narrative crutch for a show that didn’t know how to end. But something we’ve learned from nearly every comedy special that takes a serious turn (especially ones that don’t weave it into a retelling of a real story) is that it’s actually quite a safe narrative choice to Sit Down and Be Serious, and it’s much harder to climax an hour with really good, satisfying humor.

If Adejuyigbe genuinely thinks that this intrusion of vulnerability was crucial to the show, he doesn’t help matters by writing a narrative that is so detached from reality (his fictional crush is late to see his backflip because she’s at the aforementioned Wallace Shawn party) that his attempt to turn serious about how willing he is to risk himself for laughs feels almost parodic. If this moment were given less significance, Backflip would be much easier to praise. As it stands, Backflip is a worthwhile hour undone by some poor storytelling instincts.

Rory Doherty is a screenwriter, playwright and culture writer based in Edinburgh, Scotland. You can follow his thoughts about all things stories @roryhasopinions.