Mick Is Sick

There are fantasy horror embarrassment bombs that blow up in your face, but don't, luckily, because they are worse case scenario daymares and not REAL real.

Occasionally, an absolute yukarama massive explodes and that's it! Cultural meltdown. The end of civilisation as you remember it.

Mick (Paul Elliott) is an unshaven, slob-shaped, greasy haired minicab driver, with a burgeoning case of Montezuma's Revenge. He picks up a client (Napoleon Ryan), en route to his life-defying job in the City, when bubbly loud farts start bursting out of his trousers.

Mick is not a man to apologise for contaminating an enclosed space - the windows in the back are stuck shut. In fact, he appreciates, in his own way, the extreme deadness of the rat smell. Meanwhile, his too-polite-to-complain passenger is paralised with nausea.

Things go from bad to badder and you don't need a written statement to realise where this is going. Let's just say, it's a runner.

The performances are excellent, espeically Elliott, who co-directed with Ben Slotover. Although a one-trick pony, the comedy has legs. No-one is ever going to say, "The bag's leaking," in future, without resurrecting appaling memories of sick Mick.

That's fame for you.