‘Ink Addicted’ struggles to find focus

Chris Travato’s one-man show wants to be a genre-bending roller coaster, but somewhere between the poetry, dancing and the punchlines, Ink Addicted loses its way.

This solo piece was created by Chris, a tattoo artist and comedian originally from Florida who now lives and works in LA. But he’s traveled out to the Mile High City to participate in the sixth annual Denver Fringe Festival with his show, Ink Addicted, which just closed its final performances at the oddities shop Learned Lemur on East Colfax in Denver.

Ink Addicted is billed as an explosive blend of stand-up, painting, poetry, music, dancing and improv, all in the wild world of tattoos. While it does deliver on all those ideas and, somehow, more, the result is an unfocused, tonally inconsistent comedy show that’s light on laughs.

The show begins with Chris coming out and doing a pretty solid rap to introduce himself. Then he does some crowd work discussing why people do or don’t have tattoos.

As someone who doesn’t have any tattoos, I was put on the spot to share my reasoning, which essentially boils down to my commitment issues. I can never decide what I want to have on my body for the rest of my life, which Chris then quips, “Hey, it’s only forever.” So that was pretty funny.

This leads into a story about his Puerto Rican mother’s transformation when it comes to tattoos, because when he was growing up, she was very against tattoos, saying that they would be addictive and would lead you down a dark path. But now she has a bunch of tattoos herself and is essentially working as Chris’s marketing manager, helping him get gigs.

After this initial setup, we then throw to a slick video that Chris has produced that plays on a screen in the space that shows him in a fight scene in a tattoo shop. Then we go back to him on stage, where he’s drawing people while we’re all clapping and hyping him up. He shares more stories, and then he shows more videos.

This is the loose format of Ink Addicted: Chris performs, we cut to a video, Chris comes back out and he performs in a new style.

The videos he shows range from him impersonating his mother to clients sharing stories about their tattoos to the history of tattoos in general, and the types of performances he does are as diverse as him coming out in a black onesie, dancing to Swan Lake music, sharing stories about his suicidal ideation and performing mock slam poetry about his clients.

The effect is a show that never quite finds its groove. Just as you’re starting to enjoy one element, the show pauses and switches to something else.

Having multiple styles in a show isn’t in itself an issue. You can combine multiple forms in one show and it works. The problem with Ink Addicted is how it’s all packaged. The show isn’t sure if it wants to be about the history of tattoos, Chris’s experience as a tattoo artist, why people get tattoos in the first place, stories about weird tattoos or a deeply personal solo show about how Chris was saved by joining an improv team.

Because of its constantly fluctuating tone and subject matter, Ink Addicted is a disjointed experience that never quite feels like it knows what it wants to be. Chris seems like a funny guy and is absolutely a strong communicator, as demonstrated through the crowd work portions of his show, but I’m not sure if Ink Addicted in its current form is the best showcase of his skills.

Like a full tattoo sleeve in progress, Ink Addicted shows flashes of color and meaning, but the full picture isn’t quite there yet. Chris is clearly brimming with stories, style, and sincerity, but the show struggles to give those gifts the structure they deserve.

As it stands, it’s more collage than composition — ambitious, raw and messy. With some editing, a clearer narrative focus and a stronger throughline, Ink Addicted could become a truly memorable hybrid performance. Right now, it’s a collection of moments looking for a story to belong to.