Randy Feltface has never taken the easy route, which is surprising for a purple felt philosopher who occasionally spirals into existential meltdowns.
But the unconventionally charismatic comedian—co-created and portrayed by Australian Heath McIvor—has carved out one of the most distinctive careers in modern stand-up.
As seen on Netflix and heard on BBC Radio 4, Feltface has written and performed more than a dozen solo shows, released eight comedy specials, toured the world, and earned a Best Comedy nomination at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival.
His U.S. television debut on NBC’s “Bring The Funny” in 2019 broadened his American audience, while widely pirated uploads of his specials on YouTube have turned him into a global cult phenomenon — something he embraces with a sly grin, calling himself “a total gimmick” before critics ever get the chance.
Now he’s ending the tour for his latest show, cheekily called “Gimmick,” here in Grand Rapids, where he will perform for the very first time at Dr. Grins Comedy Club Dec. 11-13.
“A lot of other comedians would choose to go to Grand Rapids in sort of warmer weather when the sun is shining,” Feltface told REVUE enroute from Canada via Buffalo last week. “But I thought I would strike at the heart of the cold. And, you know, I feel like that’s when you need the most warming entertainment, right?”
Few comedians have embraced America’s vastness with as much enthusiasm as Feltface. Over the past several years, he’s taken on the country like a sightseeing comic folklorist—popping into big cities, small towns, national parks, and anywhere willing to host a purple agent of chaos.
“Oh, it's been incredible,” he said. “I love touring this country. It's the best country in the world to do comedy, I think… (And) this is probably my best show. It's such a fun, silly, kind of fast-paced show… everybody's really, really enjoying it across the country.”
He rattles off recent tour stops like a collector showing off rare finds: Yellowstone, Utah, Colorado, Arizona, Ohio — lots of Ohio — and most recently, Detroit, where he also appeared for the first time.
“It's such a huge country, I'm kind of picking each place off as I go,” he said. “It's beautiful, man. I've seen some amazing stuff… I think you should probably take better care of it.”
It’s a pointed political jab that lands softly because as an Aussie, it’s easy to tell he’s rooting for things to turn around here.
While he’s coming up on 20 years as a comedian, hitting the road has become something of a lifestyle for him ever since the end of the pandemic.
“I tour pretty hard,” he said. “I don't take breaks very much. I've been on the road pretty much nonstop since 2021.”
And what does that do to a puppet?
“I'm tired,” he said flatly.
He laughs, but the sentiment is unmistakable.
“There's that old saying, you know, travelling keeps you young and touring makes you old,” he said. “I think there's something in that. I'm getting a bit haggard.”
Yet, for now, he refuses to slow down. His calendar is booked through 2027. Maybe then he says he might take a break.
“I wouldn't change it for the world,” he added about spending so much time on tour. “I love it. It's the best.”
For many fans, their first glimpse of Randy comes through clips of his crowd work on TikTok or Instagram where he shows off his rapid-fire improvisation skills in clips that feel both dangerous and delightful. But according to him, it’s never a lifeline. It’s a tool.
“I never go to crowd work because I'm in trouble,” he said. “I go to crowd work because it lifts and enhances the show. That bit of crowd work in the middle is my little tightrope walk moment… keeps me sharp.”
He says more audience members show up ready for a moment in the spotlight these days. But being a puppet, even those who show up in the front row eager to participate aren’t really visible to him.
“Because I can't see very well, I'll just say, ‘Hello there, what's your name,’ in the general direction of where I think the audience is, and whoever answers first is who I talk to,” he said, breaking the fourth wall, as he often does, shattering the mystery surrounding his existence as a puppet onstage.
Even with the added unpredictability, the show always has a spine keeping it upright.
“I always have a safe point,” he said about how he weaves in and out of crowd work. “I always know where I'm coming back to. Once the show is really bedded in… then you can fuck around a bit because you know where you've got something to come back to.”
His latest show doesn’t just defend against accusations of him being a gimmick, it digs deep into the world of old-school stunts and strange human achievements, the kind of analog oddities that thrived long before social media algorithms dictated attention spans.
“I love old-school gimmicks,” he said. “Pre-internet gimmicks and old-school gimmicks are… where the most joy comes from, in my opinion. Whereas new-school gimmicks are kind of putrid.”
Modern influencers might curate perfect lighting and precise aesthetics, but Feltface finds more magic in the bizarre traditions of sideshows.
“Old-school gimmicks, like hammering a nail into your nose or swinging a bowling ball off your nut sack—that's where I think the gold is,” he added.
Beneath the manic energy, Feltface’s comedy is grounded in genuine introspection. His shows, for all their silliness, wrestle with big questions: mortality, self-discipline, addiction, creativity, improvement.
“All of my comedy comes from topics that I just grapple with myself,” he said. “If I wasn't trying to find comedy in that, it'd be a lecture or a TED talk.”
He doesn’t pretend to be a sage, just a student of life willing to throw a few anatomical jokes into the syllabus.
“I'm not painting myself as some grand philosopher,” he said. “I'm standing on the shoulders of the giants before me and just throwing a few dick jokes at the wall, really, a lot of the time.”
Growing up in Australia, he listened to a lot of Bill Hicks CDs, and took inspiration from the physical comedy of silent movie icon Buster Keaton. He also looks up to contemporaries like Maria Bamford and Rory Scovel, as well as fellow Aussies David Quirk, Damien Power, and his opening act Brodi Snook.
Part of what makes Feltface so compelling is how carefully he manages his puppet persona. His backstory remains fluid – a free flow of fact and fiction — allowing him to create without the burden of revealing too much.
“People believe what they read,” he said. “I prefer to have a few degrees of separation… between what I believe is my own story, and what I’m willing to let other people grab hold of.”
By performing as a puppet he isn’t hiding per se, he’s just choosing boundaries.
“If people are entertained… why do you have a right to know everything about them?” he said. “I don't have anything to hide, but I'm not really in the business of being too available.”
After Grand Rapids, Feltface will return to Australia for a brief, sun-soaked reset over the holiday season.
“I'll get home, I'll jump on the kangaroo, and head out to the bush and cook up some damper and have some Billy tea,” he joked. “I'll be like some sort of frozen steak on the benchtop of Australia for three weeks, and then put my coat back on and go to fucking Oslo in February.”
From Midwest winters to Scandinavian ice, the purple puppet persists on his path to turn thoughtful chaos into a global comedy phenomenon.
Randy Feltface: Gimmick
Dr. Grins Comedy Club (Inside The B.O.B.), 20 Monroe Ave. NW, Grand Rapids
Dec. 11-13, Thursday 8 p.m., Friday Two Shows 7 p.m. and 9:30 p.m., Saturday Two shows 7 p.m. and 9:30 p.m., $32.95
