Clarke’s performances are in a league of their own. Onstage he is a racing car wrapped in an express train inside a space rocket. It could be terrifying if it were not for two things: Clarke has wide blue eyes with remarkably long lashes that lend him the look of a startled gazelle. And he’s funny. Very funny.
It’s not just the turbo-charged engine of his delivery; it’s the sparkplugs of random connections and word associations that fire it – collisions of words and ideas that take his material beyond observational humour.