WINNIPEG -- Little did I know I'd find myself slow-dancing to U2 with Rick Miller on Thursday night.

Yep. Just me, him and Bono.

But that's what you get for being in an aisle seat at MTC Warehouse when the stage virtuoso is hunting for a dancing partner for a musical bit in his new tragicomedy HARDSELL.

Don't ask me what the bit was about -- I was too busy being embarrassed. In fact, the entire show was a bit of a blur, given the sensory overload it drums up -- thanks to a mix of multimedia and Miller's own huge presence -- in a mere 70 minutes.

A one-man anti-commercialism circus that's not afraid to let out a fart joke, HARDSELL is the latest from Toronto's Miller (MacHomer) and collaborator Daniel Brooks.

With a crisp white suit and a face like Batman's Joker, Miller embodies a cocky vaudevillian named Arnold whose soul has long been sold, and who claims to be Miller's (undoubtedly evil) twin brother.

An ad-driven theatre industry has led Arnie to become a ruthless, husky-voiced salesman -- or "institutionalized liar" -- who shamelessly promotes sponsors, peddles MTC subscriptions and claims to have sold crack to your children.

But given that Miller is a talented impressionist, Arnie is not HARDSELL's only character. Miller also calls on the expertise of Selfish Gene author Richard Dawkins, author Ayn Rand, a Buddhist and several other philosophical types -- one of whom makes his point from the crapper.

Pop culture characters also come into play, including Edith and Archie Bunker, James Brown, the Looney Tunes (groan) and Morgan Freeman -- whose voice can, apparently, sell anything. Miller also showcases his talent with improv, standup and puppetry.

Put all that against an endless supply of corny sound effects and a screen that projects everything from Miller onstage to trippy duplicating cells, and you're sure to feel that overwhelming sensation people feel before they, well, buy something.

As exhilarating as it is, HARDSELL comes with a message about advertising being the end-all of it all. Miller narrows in on the vulnerable minds of kids (he and Brooks are both fathers), and goes into a borderline-preachy rant delivered much like U2's 1993 mantra Numb.

But Miller also keeps it entertaining, having good knowledge of the product he's really selling: Himself.

Sun Rating: 4 out of 5