Monday afternoon is usually bingo time at the Madelayne Court care home, in the village of Broomfield, near Chelmsford. So today’s activity comes as a surprise to many comfortably seated residents: striding on stage in front of them is former Neighbours actor Nathan Lang – he’s dressed as a stuntman and preparing to leap through a hoop he’s pretending is on fire.

“You’ve lost it!” hollers one elderly spectator, and Lang does look momentarily perplexed. How do you deal with hecklers here?

This curious show is the pilot outing for the Care Home Tour, a new venture bringing alternative, visual comedy to an unusual demographic. Madelayne Court houses 112 people, most aged over 80 and with varying degrees of dementia. This afternoon, they’ll be visited by six niche comedians.

The catalyst is Liam “Pope” Lonergan, a part-time standup and full-time carer, who is compering the show. “I do a bit about how old people are treated like plants: ‘Keep them out of direct sunlight, keep them watered, do the bare minimum,’” he says. “But why does it have to be like that? Why can’t you do more, something to enhance their day?”

I initially meet Lonergan and his co-organiser, Ben Target, at an Alzheimer’s Society benefit gig they’ve put on the week before the care home show. It’s called Forgetting But Not Forgotten. The slightly unlikely partners – Target is quietly thoughtful, if a little silly, on stage – were introduced earlier this year by their fellow comic Josie Long after she heard that Lonergan was searching for oddball acts.

“My gut reaction: I was terrified,” says Target. “I couldn’t imagine anything worse than me bombing on stage in a care home. But Pope mentioned how little interaction and stimulation people with dementia often experience, and I’ve been looking for projects where I can use these peculiar skills in a proactive way.”

The idea emerged from Lonergan’s own experiences working as a carer. He realised that traditional jokes often fell flat with residents, and that was “because people with dementia can’t always follow the logic”, whereas a “visual spectacle” might just spark a reaction, even from the least responsive residents.

Of course, dementia incorporates a diverse array of conditions – Alzheimer’s being the most common – with symptoms ranging from memory and eyesight issues to dramatic personality changes. Making everyone laugh is always going to be unlikely, but there are solid reasons to keep trying.

“Unfortunately, activities are one of the things that tend to be forgotten in care homes,” says Gemma Jolly, knowledge officer at the Alzheimer’s Society. Jolly cautiously approves of Lonergan’s idea, providing that residents aren’t ever “forced to sit and watch comedy for two hours”.

There’s certainly evidence to back up the theory that humour can alleviate dementia-related distress. A major study called SMILE worked with 35 nursing homes in Sydney, Australia, 17 of which integrated comedy into the daily routine from 2009 to 2011. They observed significant reductions in “agitation” behaviours that SMILE’s Dr Lee-Fay Low categorises as “yelling, swearing, being nasty”. Boredom is a likely factor in triggering such behaviour and so it’s no surprise regular doses of humour helped. Nursing home entertainment tends to be “very safe,” says Low. “Every facility here has a whole stack of André Rieu videos.”

Back at Madelayne Court I meet a resident already seated near the stage area. Margaret is 86 and chats happily about classic comedy; the droll, dry Dave Allen was a favourite of hers. What response can these visual comics expect, I wonder? “You’ll get a mixture in here,” she says, surveying her neighbours. “Probably dead silence.”

The comics are ready for that, although the first act does raise a few eyebrows in the crowd. Lonergan introduces Lang, whose stuntman act ends with a striptease, which clearly alarms the care home manager. When Lang reaches his underwear – decorated with drawn-on genitalia – I’m briefly concerned that the gig might be abruptly shut down. But Lang gets the message, and hops off sharpish.

In truth, numerous residents have barely noticed the routine. Holding their attention is difficult and it quickly becomes apparent that visual spectacle alone won’t be enough. The second comic, Kat Bond, gamely attempts a prop-based set despite disruption from distracted residents, but manages to win back the room with a Railway Children pastiche: everyone waves toilet paper.

Interaction is clearly the way forward, and the remaining acts rapidly revise their sets. “Walking on, I decided to drop all of my material,” admits Target at the interval, having spent much of his 15 minutes onstage tossing a beach-ball.

Part two begins with Lucy Hopkins, usually theatrically flamboyant but now conjuring gentle songs from audience suggestions. And the most successful bit by Adam Riches – the show’s acclaimed headliner – involves him persuading a previously uninvolved woman to spit out a strawberry. Any response here feels positive.

The most impactful performer, though, is Helen Duff, who wades into the audience with random postcards. “Have you ever milked a cow?” she asks a lady called Audrey, and memories of life on a farm suddenly re-emerge. It’s a lovely, unforeseen moment. Their conversation continues as the show concludes.

“I’m thrilled at that,” says a relieved, exhausted Lonergan afterwards. “You probably couldn’t tell, but people there who are usually lethargic were really alert.” It clearly sparked something profound in Target too. “I felt helpful,” he says, “useful.”

The Care Home Tour will hopefully continue. The team already have offers from elsewhere, but with some adjustments: the next show will probably be more like a party, says Lonergan, with friends, relatives and cakes alongside the comedians. As long as striptease is kept to a minimum, it should be a success.

• This article was amended on 21 October 2021 to remove some personal information.