Tom Murrin, the Alien Comic, has been an altar boy, a teenage magician, an L.A. trial lawyer, a vanguard playwright, an itinerant juggler, a prop comic, and a devotee of the goddess Luna Macaroona, for whom he produces a full moon show every month. Currently, he teaches workshops, constructs masks, pens a column for Paper magazine, and writes “bad-taste sex comedies” under the nom de porn Jack Bump.
Surprisingly, Murrin and director Lucy Sexton have found sufficient time to create The Talking Show, an autobiographical monologue staged at P.S.122. While a few assistants swirl around re-creating moments from Murrin’s performances (though no one dares perform his Spaghetti-O’s hara-kiri), Murrin regales the audience with anecdotes. If the piece can seem diffuse, Murrin is one of the most extraordinarily genial men Off-Off-Broadway has ever produced, and it’s a pleasure to bask in his avuncular, mildly sleazy glow.
Though there’s an alien mask resting at Murrin’s feet, he never explains how he acquired his extraterrestrial sobriquet. Indeed, the show tops out some time in the early ’80s, suggesting that Murrin has decades of stories left to tell. Perhaps a sequel is in order. Anticipate another Alien invasion.