Festival Comedy GAVIN WEBSTER Surreal banter with a strong accent ●●●●●
The only thing worse than a comedian having a bad night is when he blames his audience for ‘not getting it’. So, it’s to Gavin Webster’s credit that he avoids addressing this particular elephant in the room until the very end of his Falderal hour, when he remarks that his crowd is ‘having a second wind’, apparently unaware that it’s because he’s left his better material to last.
Looking and sounding remarkably like a young Tim Healy, Webster meanders around in a disparate daze, prodding at various topics without much rhyme or reason. His surreal ambitions often smack of disorganisation, although preoccupations on class issues keep rising to the fore, all wrapped up in a treacly Geordie accent. After a few fleeting greetings at the top of the show, Webster never really connects with his audience and this aloofness sees him quite happy to indulge in long set-ups, seemingly unfazed by the quiet spells between gags. None of the jokes really bomb, it all just seems a bit inconsequential. Perhaps by developing his rapport he might have won us over. (Murray Robertson) ■ The Stand II, 558 7272, until 30 Aug, 10.20pm, £8 (£7).
FRISKY AND MANNISH Simply top of the pops ●●●●●
Attention! Class is in session and pop parodies are on the syllabus. Within the structure of a school day, cabaret duo Laura Corcoran and Matthew Jones slip into their F&M alter egos (and Jones into some physics-defying leather-effect leggings) and present pop covers, reworkings and mash- ups. Kate Bush’s ‘Wuthering Heights’ is mangled by Kate Nash’s estuary vowels, TLC’s ‘No Scrubs’ is given a Renaissance folk twist and Lady
Gaga’s robotic moves fail to go down well with Brucie in a Strictly Come Dancing skit. The odds are you’ll know most of the anachronistic pairings and the best bit is when the penny drops. Sorting hats, audience participation and mock stage one-upmanship aside, the duo’s vocal chops and range, plus Mannish’s piano fondlings, are of such quality that they could perform straight if they wanted, which would be a sad loss of their comic skills. The Leipzig Conervatoire training of their characters may be fictional, but Mannish and Frisky (getting their names wrong will result in the wrath of the Ting Tings) have done their homework, and it shows. (Suzanne Black) ■ Underbelly, 08445 458 252, until 30 Aug, 9pm, £6.50–£10.50 (£8–£9.50).
SHAPPI KHORSANDI Making stand-up look a little bit too easy ●●●●●
SEAN HUGHES Sex, anti-depressants and rock’n’roll ●●●●●
Sean Hughes must have wailed with delight when he learned that The Chippendales would be taking to the Debating Hall stage straight after him during his short run of What I Meant to Say Was . . . Sex has always been a big theme for the Dubliner and here he gets
ripped into it from all angles. Although it’s gratifying that he wants to give us more of himself (the show eventually runs to 80 minutes), the overall experience would have benefited with a tighter, more stripped-down affair (yes, like the one that is to follow him). Not a fan of the 24-hour news media – there’s only about three minutes of real news produced every day, he reckons – Hughes zips through the main headlines of the last couple of months (Libya versus Compassionate Scotland, swine flu, Michael Jackson) with a pleasingly cynical eye.
In his own life, big changes have also occurred: he’s quit smoking but gained a ‘fat face’. Now in his 40s, the only drugs he gets offered these days are anti-depressants, but he’s keeping his own flame burning with an enduring love of music. Hughes delivers his show in a couple of tones, mainly a high-pitched incredulity, with the world’s various nonsenses, and a sighing resignation at the lack of fist-punching hilarity going on in the room. While he is clearly keen to keep the spirit of his good pal Bill Hicks alive with his outraged material about safe comedians, vapid DJs and religious dogma, you have to wonder quite how the dead Texan would have reacted to news that Hughes is pocketing cash for a small roles in a forthcoming Miss Marple drama (it seems unclear yet whether he is accepting the offer of the Christmas Casualty special). And all this comes just a moment or two after he has slaughtered Stephen Fry for the endless stream of ad campaigns to which he lends his fruity vocals. While occasionally over- indulgent (the majority of the room probably don’t really care that he won the Perrier back in the Stone Age), Hughes is still a vibrant comic who has lines to kill for and a presence to match. (Brian Donaldson) ■ Gilded Balloon Teviot, 622 6552, until 30 Aug (not 27), 8.30pm, £14 (£13).
The title of Distracted Activist sums up Shappi Khorsandi’s predicament. As one of the few female comedians to get airtime, and an Iranian at that, she should be well versed on all debates that this inevitably enables. Khorsandi is certainly a compelling, thought- provoking speaker but, as she tells us via her personal history with causes, she’s a bit of a rubbish activist; and as a comedian, her material is too down- to-earth to be polemic. One routine, relating to a newspaper interview she did, attacks her own ego and it’s refreshing to see a comedian admitting to the self-centred nature of the business.
Khorsandi is uncomfortable with labels yet she does manage to get her political beliefs across, using a softly- softly approach, as well as talk of motherhood and marriage. Her natural, conversational style is so easy to enjoy it makes you forget that stand-up is difficult, and her many digressions will have sharp and witty outcomes. This is not an obtusely political show, but a quietly cunning set from one of the undoubted top comics in the country. (Emma Lennox) ■ Pleasance Courtyard, 556 6550, until 31 Aug, 7.40pm, £11–£12 (£9.50–£10.50).
for GLASGOW COMEDY see page 27
76 THE LIST FESTIVAL MAGAZINE 27 Aug–10 Sep 2009