Show caption Cartoonish lack of subtlety ... Trixie Mattel. Photograph: FilmMagic for Life Is Beautiful Stage Trixie Mattel review – glittering, belittling comedy from Drag Race star O2 Academy, Newcastle

Ill-judged jokes and a lack of wit and grit make for a tedious set from one of the queens on RuPaul’s series Kate Wyver Tue 5 Mar 2019 12.12 GMT Share on Facebook

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In an interview with Rolling Stone, drag queen Trixie Mattel said she was taken aback by the positive response to her unique combination of drag, folk and standup. “I’m surprised it worked,” she said. Oh honey, it doesn’t.

Mattel is the drag persona of 29-year-old Brian Firkus. She’s been the subject of a series of controversial wins and losses on RuPaul’s Drag Race, twice kicked off season seven in 2015 and coming back three years later to win season three of All Stars, a spin-off for fan-favourite queens who didn’t get a crown the first time around. Mattel’s popularity continued to grow with UNHhhh, her bombastic vlog with fellow season seven queen Katya Zamolodchikova.

When edited online, Mattel’s cartoonish lack of subtlety is what makes her so entertaining, yet, alone on stage, her energy is flatter and crasser; not strong enough to hold up a one-woman show. She’s far less funny without her co-star to guffaw and flap at the audacity of it all.

The entirely skippable first hour of the evening features electropop drag music videos. The second is led by Dublin-based compere Victoria Secret, who delves into vaguely political waters as she pushes Piers Morgan, Brexit and Tracy Beaker’s “Elaine the Pain” off a screen in a witty version of Ariana Grande’s Thank U, Next. She’s funniest when interacting with the heckling crowd, and brilliant when she brings on four fearless locals to lip-sync for their legacy.

Meandering ... Trixie Mattel. Photograph: FilmMagic for Life Is Beautiful

When Mattel finally arrives in a mermaid-like glittering flared pink jumpsuit and signature cut-glass contours, she says she’s working on some new material. She keeps an iPad by her side for reference – the stage bare bar the screen, microphone and two cheap fair banners – strutting over every few minutes to remember where she’s headed in her meandering script.

She needn’t bother; there’s little structure. Ill-judged jokes about cancer, homelessness, race, serial killers, women’s weight and underage sex all feel childishly indignant – what can I say that will get the snowflakes going? – and when audience members are picked out, it’s not funny, just belittling. When Mattel mentions fans opening up about personal experiences, she imitates one telling her they’d been abused. Feigning shock, she replies: “Just now?” Pause, pout, smile. “Is he still here?” She makes an effort to cover her back from criticism by launching a tirade against overly sensitive political correctness. She seems to revel in the repulsion she exudes but if her objective is for knife-edge jokes to fall on the funny side of crude, she lacks the necessary wit and grit to carry them off. The 90-minute set feels wearily long; articulating the desire to offend can only create so much material.

She performs just a couple of her original toe-tapping folk songs but music is where she seems most at ease, particularly with her pink autoharp for the final performance of RuPaul’s Kitty Girl.