RICHARD HERRING A solo adventure I...
L1
lhe years are finally catching up on Richard Herring. Before long. he Will he lll his ‘10s and this dawning revelation leads him to hint throughout tli s show that he should hang up his rule before it all gets just too embarrassing. Yet. like his cornpadre {Stewart lee. llerring sirnplyimproves wrth age. In any case, seasoned
l lerring watchers know only too well that what comes out of his mouth can be taken With a massive backpack of sodium chloride. Do we really believe that he would herate burly mechanics for working in a doubly entendred garage or that he finds Maxrne Carr rernolely attractive (his claim that Steve Martin should beheld in lower esteem than Ian lluntley’s ex is another argument altogether).
l lis niggles and worries are also his keys to success. Being alone again has brought a renewed sense of wrt and Wisdom alongside an unhealthy barrel of doubt and paranoia. His desperate pleas for sexual congress with young women in the audience are both funny and. he insists. guite genuine. lf being by yourself produces this kind of entertainment. Herring should be confined to his own company indefinitely.
(Brian Donaldson)
I Underbe/lv, 08/0 745 3083, i/ntr/ 27 Aug (not 75), 8.30pm, f‘S).50—L‘10.50 (5‘8 mi.
SIMON BRODKIN Bold character comedy 000.
It's not every day that you see a stand- up browning up before your very eyes. But there is Simon Brodkin (who surely boasts the hairiest back in comedy) with three of hrs four characters in the bag and preparing to transform himself into Dr Omprakash. Touching up his face wrth the greasepaint (or whatever make—up substance these young ‘uns utilise these days) Brodkin uses these costunie/identity changes to play 'himself', amusineg explaining and, or deconstructing the processes
of character corned, This Is hold a'itt |llllt)‘.’{ll|'.": thinking how a gun .-.li~ rather handily (an also .‘.’lll‘,‘ killer llllt‘ after killer line.
And when the white U rat and the face glr ss is applied. fear not. this character Just so happens to be Asian. the humour more about uncaring rnedics than £lll‘,’llllll(] national Indeed. those who seek to protect the rights of holiday reps. chavs and trustafarians Wlll be more outraged at the scintillating and hilarious portrayals of those from Wlllllll that community Apparently. llarry lllll is credited wrth the discovery of Simon Brodkin. It's the best thing the big collared surrealist has done lll years.
(Brian Donaldson)
I P/easa/ice Courtyard, 6:30 (5:350. until 28 Aug (not 133). 5.535;)rri,
5‘8. 50’“! ‘5). :30 (l 7—! ‘8).
GAMARJOBAT Silence is golden for Japanese duo O...
It's only at the end, when they take a microphone to thank the audience and request that if they liked the show they spread the word. that Japanese duo Hiropon and Ketch use a language that you can understand with your eyes closed. During this, their second instalment of A Shut-Up Comedy From Japan, they deal in mime. magic and physical theatre, often at a wonderfully frenetic pace.
The performance hangs around a fantastic concatenation of plot strands from 60s and 70s American films into a story of larceny and love. A bank robber on the run encounters a blind rose seller. and they fall for each other. She needs money for an operation on her eyes. and he works myriad lOl)S to raise the cash. Alas. he must evade the police once more. and they part. But can there be a happy ending?
Opening wrth a series of physical gags straight out of the ‘Dad's Guide To Making Kids Laugh' book — pretending you've pulled y0ur thumb off, making your index finger move from one hand to the other etc — and also embracrng the risque wrth a penis size gag, it's routiner hilarious. and in the love story's concluscn. qurte t0uching. lRODlll Lee)
I Gilded BaI/oon Tewot. 668 7633. untr/ 28 Aug (not 75, 22). 5pm. fro-£77 7 (58.50—59.50).
22 THE LIST FESTIVAL MAGAZINE 10—17 Aug 2006
TERRY ALDERTON
Masterful, innovative and lunatic 000..
Now this - take note all who go the perilous route of ‘multimedia’ comedy — is how to do it. It could have gone either way after the artsy, expressionistic video intro, but happily for his wide-eyed audience, Terry Alderton has all the pretentiousness of a Jack Russell, with which he also shares the attributes of endless enthusiasm and inexhaustible energy. But that’s not quite enough to deliver a superlative act, is it Mr L Evans? No, you would need to add things like, let’s see: expert mime; inspired voice characterisation and impersonations; exquisitely executed dance numbers; and achingly funny physical comedy. That could well be enough. But in the present case we can also throw in clandestinely clever narratives, swift material and a gleeful sense of sexual macabre.
Alderton has the kind of maniacal physical presence, the kind of weapons-grade performative energy that seems one ligament-snap or artery-pop away from total meltdown. Which never happens, of course. Because in truth, far from being a chaotic prayer to chance, the show is, beneath the veneer of frenzy, choreographed to a precision which defies belief. The audience laugh — do they ever — but there are also gasps of the type more appropriate to air shows, such is the sub-millisecond conspiracy of timing between Alderton’s semi-improvisational transports and the pre- recorded samples.
If his work with the front row is done with plants (which seems unlikely), they deserve credit for their naturalistic performances; if not, Alderton’s ability to meld extemporisation with script borders on the clairvoyant. The comedian does well to credit his director and sound designer in the show’s outro, their skills being more than evident. But there's no debating who is the star of this masterful, innovative, punctiliously lunatic spectacle. Flaws are limited to a slight over-reliance on laddish themes and some recurring linguistic gags. Otherwise, this is ruddy bloody close to the ideal comedy gig. (Sam Healy)
I Pleasance Courtyard, 556 6550. untr/ 28 Aug (not 7‘3), 70.20am, E7 7—872 (£.‘9.50—E70.50).