Scampering off to Europe in one's 20s for a good long while has been a dream of many realized by remarkably few without benefit of trust funds. Brendan Hunt's recounting of his lustrum abroad thus serves, if nothing else, as a vicarious pleasure to those of us not encumbered by unearned income. As a performer, Hunt is unfailingly engaging; his overscaled features bring to mind a young Robert Downey Jr., while his energetic style and distinctively punchy delivery remind one of Christopher Lloyd. His tale, directed at a zesty clip by Dave Razowsky, is interesting, and the accompanying slides are a welcome addition, but there's a sort of pointlessness to the endeavor.
He starts with his childhood, which was unfortunate as his parents married young and unwisely. He emerged from college only to enter into the early marriage he promised he'd never get trapped in, followed by a divorce. Suddenly comes an offer to work at Bang Chicago, an improv club in Amsterdam. This is the first indication we have that he's even involved in performance, and it relates not at all to the childhood stories. While in the Netherlands he discovers all manner of recreational chemicals, and he couples with many, many women from various nations. For reasons never made clear, he gives this up to come to L.A.
This is one of those shows in which it's the journey, not the destination. The evening is filled with abundant bright spots, among them an international tour of how the female orgasm is manifested. His cultural observations are acute, but the wardrobe he resurrects from his sojourn is deplorable. He knows it, though, and is quite game about modeling fetish-wear for which he no longer has the body. The show is short enough that it doesn't require much of an arc, but it would be nice to know where he is now and how his wayward youth influenced this. At present, it's more of a roguish travelogue to places nobody over 30 should probably be going anyway.