Review: MIDGITTE BARDOT: SHOOTING FROM BELOW, Southbank Centre

As the name suggests, Midgitte Bardot is physically short albeit not short on ideas, impact, or charisma. And not just short but, at just 129cm, the shortest drag performer in the world according to the Guinness Book of Records.

Co-written by Nicol Parkinson and Bardot’s alter ego Tamm Reynolds, there is something gloriously subversive about Shooting From Below. Despite possessing a title that smells of second-rate standup special, there are no shortage of punches slyly delivered from the stage. The cabaret scene has long been the preferred refuge for the unsayable (a place surrendered by classical theatre around the time Macbeth received its nine hundred and twelfth revival), but Bardot sharpens that tradition into something scalpel-sharp. 

Bardot’s deadpan delivery is key: pointed jokes about dwarfism, fetishisation and casual cruelty land not with a nudge but with a thud, forcing at-first-awkward laughs to emerge as she plunges headlong into her set. Her uncompromising style holds up a mirror to how society and government look upon disabled artists, her raw words cut through any sentimental feelings.

This style lends itself to inevitable comparisons with Lenny Bruce but there’s more than a dash of David Hoyle (another anti-drag controversalist), especially in the way she turns personal anecdote into cultural critique, exposing how short bodies are framed as novelty, punchline or object, before coolly reclaiming the narrative. 

Emerging from Liverpool’s fringe scene in 2017, Bardot has since specialised into a hybrid of cabaret and curated underground platforms, most notably through her ongoing Personal Spot nights in Peckham. These shows are less a fixed performance than a shifting ecosystem: a monthly residency at Peckham Levels where Bardot hosts and co-curates evenings that deliberately blur structure and chaos, pairing her own semi-autobiographical sets with a rotating line-up of radical guest artists spanning drag, dance, music and performances that defy cosy labels and genres.

And here Reynolds is at the Southbank Centre, one of London’s cultural temples to high art. They’re not a complete stranger to such establishments: in 2023, they brought absolute chaos to Sound of the Underground at the Royal Court alongside other queer performers like burlesque royalty Lilly SnatchDragon. Still, the setup in the Purcell Room is not a natural or ideal one for cabaret folk: too much space between platform and audience so too little opportunity for direct audience interaction. Sensibly, they rely on storytelling, dance and music to bridge the gulf.

The self-described “tall tale” Bardot reels out during the length of Shooting From Below starts with a seemingly earnest apology. What for, you may ask? Well, apparently, her words and actions have led to many cutting off their shins. Responsible for a swathe of “kneecapitations” from her faithful followers, she offers up a mea culpa with all the knowing insincerity of a politician at the front gate of their house admitting to their latest bout of infidelity, corruption or being good buddies with the wrong sex offender.

The rest of the show is all backstory: how she escaped her dwarven kin and was appointed as a court jester before journeying onward with the royal tailor Gay Simon and starting her own cult. Mostly fiction, Bardot occasionally illustrates her grievances with real-life incidents, not least the time Princess Eugenie hired seven dwarves for her Disney-themed 25th birthday party and then refused to let her guests dance with them without asking her for permission.

The Odyssean journey plays out amid Maisie Frater’s cultured set design, a sea of disembodied mannequin legs, pots of tall grass and mirror balls. Bardot weaves between these, undressing then re-dressing as she goes, swapping between outfits (designed by Lambdog 1066) with all the regularity of a Eurovision host. For someone who (quite rightly) bemoans the financial constraints put upon cabaret artistes and those struggling to make ends meet on disability benefits, she has an impressive wardrobe. Her array of impressive wigs (some of which look like they have their own postcode) vie for attention with white face paint, purple shades and outsized coats. 

Directed by Izzy Rabey, the pacing is occasionally uneven and not all the left-field gags come off. Some jokes outstay their welcome and costume changes break up the momentum. Even Lou Reed – a man who made a whole album from the stuff — would wince at the amount of guitar feedback which suffixes a triumphant finale rendition of Sinatra standard “That’s Life”. That said, there’s denying the memorable power of this blend of lived experience, fantastical plot-weaving and vivid visuals.

 Photo credit: Holly Revell