Darryl Carrington on Clowning, ADHD and Finding Joy in a Box

London Theatre Doc
Jul 11
6 min read

London Theatre Doc Interviews Darryl Carrington

Darryl Carrington’s Out of the Box arrives at the Edinburgh Fringe fresh from winning Best Family Friendly Show at Brighton, and it’s a rare delight. With no words and just a simple box on stage, Carrington blends clowning, circus skills, and joyful absurdity into something quietly brilliant. I spoke with him about fear, connection, remote controlled carrier bags, and the joy of making a proper cup of tea in front of a live audience.

Darryl Carrington smiling beside a canal, holding juggling clubs on a sunny day.

First of all, huge congratulations on winning Best Family Friendly Show at Brighton Fringe this year. How did that feel, and has it changed how you're approaching Edinburgh?

Thank you. It was totally unexpected. It's an honour to be recognised by such a great institution as Brighton Fringe. It’s led to more people noticing the work and new opportunities, which is brilliant. But at its core, my aim stays the same: to connect with each audience and make sure they’re having fun.

Let’s talk about the show itself. It’s full of clowning, juggling and tech surprises. How do you even begin to describe something like that to a new audience?

It’s hard to pin down. My go-to line when flyering in Edinburgh is, “It’s like Mr Bean does tricks, or Vic and Bob join the circus.” Usually I’m wandering around with my remote controlled carrier bag, and if someone laughs, I give them a flyer. It’s a celebration of silliness and joy using circus to bring people together.

That mix of skills feels really unique. You trained as a flying trapeze catcher how does that background feed into Out of the Box?

I was actually terrified of heights, and I still am. Learning trapeze was my way of facing that fear. In the beginning, I used tricks to hide on stage, to avoid showing people the real me. I originally trained as a painter, and I hated when people would overanalyse the work. Now I’ve come full circle. I set out to make a show filled with circus tricks that hadn’t been seen in this kind of context before, but what came out was something much more about connection. Rather than hiding behind the skills, the tricks became the bridge between me and the audience. Because of my training, audiences quickly realise they’re in safe hands, which is essential since I bring people on stage. I always make sure they can say no. It’s so important to me that they leave feeling like a genuine part of the show, never the butt of a joke.

And then there’s the way your brain works. You’ve said your ADHD plays a big part how does that shape what we see on stage?

I’m constantly daydreaming and I feel very lucky to have the brain that I do. I’m always creating routines in my mind, and when I get into the rehearsal room I’ll try them out with different bits of music. Then I take them to a live audience. They let me know what works and what doesn’t.

ADHD also means I’m constantly watching and reacting to what’s happening on stage. That muscle builds over time, and eventually you learn to trust your first instinct because that’s usually where the funny is.

Sometimes ideas come from walking through tat shops or pound shops or second hand places. I’ll see an object or a toy and let my mind play. Or I’ll just sit and listen to music and allow myself to dream and see what comes out. It’s all about curiosity and staying open to whatever arrives.

Darryl Carrington with arms open wide facing the audience, seen from behind during a live show.

I love that it all starts with just a box. Where did that idea come from, and why begin there?

It came from wanting to make a street show that didn’t follow the usual formula. Most acts lay out their big props at the start so people know what’s coming. I wanted to do the opposite. I heard a story that Eddie Izzard used to do a straightjacket escape, but got so good at connecting with audiences that eventually they would just escape from a cardigan. I loved that idea.

So I thought, what’s the smallest object I could get a big reaction from? A toothbrush. That led to the idea of starting small and letting a whole circus burst out unexpectedly. I love that the audience has no idea what’s coming next.

And you don’t say a single word throughout but people really connect. That’s something I’ve always found fascinating. How does connection work when you're not saying anything at all?

I’ve always admired how Billy Connolly, Ross Noble and Eddie Izzard bring stories back around. I was never able to do that. So when Herbie Treehead (a brilliant physical comedian and clown) encouraged me to work nonverbally, I gave it a go.

The first time I tried, I was getting an elderly gentleman to remove my jacket. He didn’t understand and started bouncing me up and down. Eventually, I pulled him onstage and he took it off and stood holding it by his side. I looked at him, short, round olive face, handlebar moustache, beret tipped to the side, and just instinctively put my hands to my head like horns. We improvised a bullfight. It was ridiculous. It was magical.

When you don’t talk, people really focus. The jokes become internationally understandable.

The show has often been described as something like Pixar. Fun for kids, clever enough for adults. I’ve heard a few people compare it to that mix of fun and feeling. Did that shape your approach at all?

I never set out to make a family show. I just wanted to tour a nonverbal street show like my mentor and dear friend Fraser Hooper, who’s an extraordinary clown. But wherever I performed it, kids enjoyed it just as much as adults.

When I started doing it in theatres, they asked, “Who’s the audience?” and I said “everyone.” They said “no, who is it for?” and I said “everyone.” So the family label is where we landed. But because it wasn’t made with one audience in mind, the most common thing adults tell me is “I laughed more than my kids did.” That’s lovely, especially since they’re the ones buying the tickets.

I think it helps that I’m just gentle and silly by nature. I’m not here to push political or social boundaries, I just want to play. So I didn’t have to strike a balance — I just made something joyful and welcoming, and luckily people of all ages seem to enjoy it.

Colourful portrait of Darryl Carrington posing beside his circus wagon, surrounded by props.

You’ve performed this show in some very different settings. From traditional theatres to the wilder gigs, what have all those unexpected venues and live experiences helped you learn?

I don’t believe in the idea of a bad audience. If a show doesn’t land, it just means I haven’t figured out how to connect with that crowd yet. So I always try to perform in front of different types of audiences and learn how to communicate in a way that works for them.

One example is a street festival I did in Finland. They don’t traditionally have street performance there, and I learned quickly that they don’t like making noise with their mouths, but they love clapping. So I adjusted. The bits where I usually ask for sound, I let go of, and leaned into the parts where they could

clap along. They loved it.

I once did a charity show in a huge hall that wasn’t very full. It was a meet and greet for millionaires, in aid of a cancer charity, and it was burlesque themed. Totally surreal. But I decided to play it like I was performing in a sold-out arena. I surfed onstage on my box like I did in Batman Live and gave it everything. And they loved it. The gigs that seem toughest on paper are the ones that teach you the most.

Darryl Carrington juggling while blindfolded on stage, mid-performance of Out of the Box.

You’ve spoken about having a quiet ritual before you perform. It sounds like that’s become a meaningful habit. What’s changed for you since starting that practice?

Yes, absolutely. Backstage, I always take a moment. I tell the audience I love them, just quietly in my mind. Then I look up to the sky and tell the friends and family I’ve lost that I love them too. It’s a way of grounding myself. I feel so lucky that this is my job.

I’ve had a life that included addiction and mental health struggles, and to now be making a living doing what I love most in the world feels amazing. I also try to treat it like a job in the best way. I make loads of applications to festivals and venues and only around ten percent of them work out, if that. There’s a lot of rejection. But I remind myself that what I offer is a particular kind of dish, and if that doesn’t suit someone’s menu, that’s fine. It does suit plenty of others. I try to focus on those instead. Easier said than done sometimes, but it helps me keep going and enjoy each show for what it is.

And finally, do you have a favourite moment in the show, one you always look forward to?

Making a proper cup of British tea. It came to me as a daydream. I found the props, hit shuffle on a playlist, and the track that played is still the one I use. It’s an overly serious song paired with a very silly routine and I love that contrast.