A wellspring of outré alternative clowning has flown to these shores from America over the past decade, from satanic prince Doctor Brown and banana enthusiast Bill O’Neill to the sex robot shenanigans of Courtney Pauroso. Merging the no-holds barred maulings of Jackass with the Rabelaisian theatrics of Alfred Jarry, they’ve reshaped clowning into something invigorating, coolly subversive and a little bit dangerous. 

The reigning champ of the group, Natalie Palamides, has crashed back onstage with Weer, her most accessible work yet after the breakout hit Nate introduced her to a host of new fans and earned her a shiny Netflix special. Mining 90s romcoms for inspiration, Weer finds her playing couple Mark and Christina simultaneously, Mark played by one half of her body and Christina the other. The result is a ‘romantic dramedy’ strained through a demented kaleidoscope of explicit gags and body-warping physicality in awe of Looney Tunes-style anarchy (it’s no coincidence that Elmer Fudd is mentioned at length in one scene). 

Although presented as cartoon grotesques, there’s an entertaining drama in Mark and Christina’s fractious relationship, brought to life with comic broad strokes and sweet character flaws that make an audience root for them. Viewers of a certain vintage may even get a little dewy-eyed by the expertly curated song selection, which embeds the shows in its period setting (1996 and 1999) like the soundtrack of some long-forgotten teen comedy.  That same sense of depth is carried over to the technical aspects of the show; there’s a mind-boggling array of moving parts onstage, with Palamides resembling a Heath Robinson tribute act as she pulls wires, stumbles over props and changes costumes to cram more sight gags into one scene than most acts fill in an hour. 

Within the controlled chaos of these intricately structured skits, the excitable tension of her hyperreal world creates an atmosphere of pure joyous panto in the audience, whooping, cheering, clapping and hollering. Nate may mean there’s plenty of good will in the room already, but even newcomers to her work would struggle not to join in on the carnal carnival lighting up in front of them.

The audience interaction that Palamides has become known for returns here, but it’s more light touch and less invasive than in previous shows, mimicking the delicate heart at the centre of Weer’s delightful violence. It may be wild, gory and nerve-shredding, but Palamides’ latest creation is a heart-warming and elaborate paean to love. 

Natalie Palamides: Weer, Traverse Theatre, until 25 August, 9.30pm.