HE may spend his show gagged by gaffer tape, communicating only through scowls, grimaces and piercing stares, but in real life Tape Boy, Christian name Sam Wills, is a chatterbox.

The tape, he confesses, is not so much a gimmick as a necessary muzzle. In fact the act was born of his pitiful effort and ultimate failure to shut his trap.

"I was doing another show where I talked a lot and I won a comedy award in 2005 and all of my peers just thought, 'He's keep going to do more talking shows and silly jokes so I decided to surprise everyone with what they wouldn't expect, which was a silent show," chuckles the New Zealander. "I developed the silent character and went down to the comedy club to perform and within the first five minutes I ruined it by talking to the front row. We joked that I should get tape to keep my mouth shut. It was just to physically shut me up."

With his eyes heavily contoured in black eye-liner, signature spiky do and eccentric get-up of Breton top and blazer, he would be right at home in a Tim Burton movie. There is also something of the French mime about him, albeit a little more on the Goth side. Though Sam eschew the 'M word'.

He names a motley crew of role models and inspirations for the act from godfathers of daft Mr Bean and Buster Keaton, to the more offbeat (and fictional) Wile E. Coyote.

Blending slapstick, music and impossibly surreal gags involving blinged-up props, he has done everything from recreating a scene from the movie Ghost to a bananas routine involving lascivious oven mitts - a skit which reduced Simon Cowell, Heidi Klum and co in fits of giggles on America's Got Talent. Not to mention a Victor-Victoria sketch during which one side of his body acts as a handsy suitor attempting to unhook his conquest's (his other half) bra.

His predilection for physical comedy stems from his early clowning training. At the tender age of 14, Sam apprenticed with a clown, before enrolling in circus school, learning the ins and outs of the craft. He moonlighted as a juggler before graduating to full-fledged street performer. Eventually though he jumped ship to test the waters as a stand-up comedian. In no time The Boy With Tape On His Face was born. He has since shortened the moniker to the snappier Tape Face.

"I tried my hand at all sorts of comedy but this is the one that, ironically, stuck," he says. "The inspiration for the character was to maintain a child-like approach, remember what it's like to play. You should be able to enjoy little moments and use your imagination. So every time I looked at something I looked at it in three different ways and found something funny in it."

He initially used generic slippery tape but was eventually taken aside by a technician while on tour, who turned him on to the sturdier and, far less likely to come unstuck, Nashua 357. It has been his duct tape of choice ever since.

"It was like a dodgy drug dealer, he said, 'Eh, have you tried this?' he laughs. "Now I'm hooked on it."

While the whole silent boy shtick may seem simple enough - in one routine, he "essentially shakes two horses' heads", the gags are carefully crafted, and perfectly timed to music. One move out a beat and a number can collapse.

"That routine I spent about three months on, fine-tuning everything," he says of the hobby-horse sketch. "It's like a choreographed dance. It has to be exactly the same every time. But other times you work on an idea and it can form itself completely in one afternoon."

The act gained huge momentum in his native land and nearby Australia but when he decided to relocate to England in 2007 and introduce his muted alter-ego to British crowds, he found himself back at square one.

The new kid on the block, it didn't take long for the intriguing character to earn swathes of new fans and catch critics' fancy. He has since performed at the Royal Variety Show and won best breakthrough act at Chortle Awards in 2011.

On his way to conquer the UK, he has now set his sight on tickling America's (and the rest of the world's) funny bone. Which is why he took the stomach-churning decision to throw himself to the wolves on America's Got Talent this year.

He admits he wavered at first - this would either be a defining moment or sheer career suicide. Thankfully, after a rather awkward introduction, during which he stared blankly at the gobsmacked judges unable to answer their questions, he stole the show.

"I never considered talking to them, not in the slightest; there was something more powerful about not speaking," he volunteers. "Lucky for me they liked it. It's increased my audience."

His profile has undeniably risen but fame has not given him delusions of grandeur. In fact humble as ever, his MO remains virtually unchanged and he can still be found trawling the aisles of pound shops for rudimental props and flickers of inspiration. He also pimps his finds himself - with the means at hand.

"Most of the show is held together with tape," he laughs, not immune to the irony.

There is one small perk to notoriety though he has taken full advantage of since America's Got Talent. Free tape.

"I used to have to ask my parents to send me boxes of Nashua 357 for my birthday from New Zealand but the company that does it in America has kindly sent me a box," he chuckles. "I'm working my way through that."

Tape Face comes to the Arts Centre on September 19. To book go to swindontheatres.co.uk or call 01793 524481.