{COMEDY} Reviews
LUKE WRIGHT Wonderful slices of fractured Britain ●●●●●
As part of ‘poetry boyband’ Aisle 16, Luke Wright helped to bring spoken verse to a new generation. In his previous solo shows, he has had a dig at Andrew Motion for having the temerity to be Poet Laureate when clearly Luke was the right man for the job (Poet Laureate), riffed about being a grown- up in the 21st century (Poet and Man) and tackled his own petty concerns (The Petty Concerns of Luke Wright). All of which have been laudable showcases for his vibrant comedic and poetic talents. But Cynical Ballads is truly the real deal. This exquisite hour is partly a history lesson about the origins and development of balladry but mainly taken up by a set of poems about a Britain that Wright views as not so much broken as fractured with characters and stories representing the delicate and chaotic nature of this sceptred isle.
There’s Fat Josh, a wannabe Al Capone who goes on an
extreme diet to snare the object of his swollen desire; a tale of inheritance which ends in brittle and ironic calamity; and a soured love story set in a chip shop. When he really gets down to brass tacks, as in ‘The Ballad of Barlow Burton’ (a powerful piece influenced by the case of Fiona Pilkington who killed herself and her disabled daughter after years of abuse from local kids), the result is truly mesmerising.
But while the poet on stage might often cut an isolated figure, Wright is not alone. The screen illustrations by Sam Ratcliffe offer an extra Steadman-esque charge and there are recorded vocals on the final story about a war hero and the addict who burgles him, a raw and uplifting tale where redemption is victorious against retribution. John Cooper Clarke has said of the poet: ‘He must be on some kind of dope’. Whatever it is that Luke Wright has been ingesting, artists of all genres need to get it bottled right now. (Brian Donaldson) ■ Underbelly, 0844 545 8252, until 28 Aug (not 16), 4.15pm, £9.50–£10.50 (£8.50–£9.50).
NATHAN DEAN WILLIAMS Twisted pick ’n’ mix ●●●●●
NEIL BY MOUTH Energy and whimsy but far too many groans ●●●●● PAUL DANIELS You’re going to like this . . . ●●●●●
L A V I T S E F
A clown accidentally sending a child into anaphylactic shock. A bullied teacher forcing chocolate cake into the mouth of a sex doll he calls ‘mummy’. A put-upon husband dressing up like Velma from Scooby Doo to meet the demands of his dominatrix wife. These are just a few of the monologues that Nathan Dean Williams has crammed into his hour of dark comedy from the very fringes of bad taste. Every scatty costume change brings with it a wave
of disgusted giggles as Williams transforms from man to woman and back again. The initial laughs as each character is revealed make up the best bits of this rollercoaster show but every one of Williams’ weirdos manages to outstay his or her welcome.
The performance is more than shambolic, it’s deranged, and lacks the jokes that would help the audience to not mind being covered in cake and spit. Some well-chosen turns of phrase, and one exceptional performance of the dance routine from Beyoncé’s ‘Girls’, rescue a show that otherwise takes League of Gentleman-style creepiness to unnecessary extremes. (Jonny Ensall) ■ The Store, 556 5375, until 28 Aug (not 16), 8pm, £6.50–£7.50 (£5–£6).
50 THE LIST 11–18 Aug 2011
In his first and foremost career as a presenter on MTV and covering all manner of extreme sports, Neil Cole may have come across as a funny guy, but here he flatly fails to make the leap into live stand-up. It’s certainly not for a lack of energy: he leaps onto the stage to a rock anthems mash-up soundtrack, all scissor-kicks and windmill arms, roaring his welcome song into the mic in the manner of many a frustrated rock star. ‘Do I look better than Donald Trump?’ asks Paul Daniels as he walks on, wigged up. He shouldn’t be here, really. The Sun newspaper has run a story saying he’s been hospitalised at the hands of Sooty and a flying piece of pizza. Silly tabloids. The audience chortles. Ten minutes of chit-chat later and the magic begins. Comedy too (so says the Fringe programme). Certainly his comic commentary isn’t that shabby for a man who has been far longer in the magic business than he’s been out of it.
But for all his physical vigour, the jokes are The obligatory card tricks, note tricks, rabbit in-a-
decidedly lazy, and sometimes repeated for extra cringe. It’s one thing to play with the boundaries of naff with the occasional self-conscious clanger, but the groan-worthy punchlines come thick and fast.
There are a few nicely whimsical musings, but they’re lost amid the ragged waffling. The odd fluffed line, a failed attempt to hide cribbed notes for one of the more amusing parts of the show, and an inability to make anything of frequent exchanges with the audience set the seal on this underwhelming experience. (Laura Ennor) ■ Cabaret Voltaire, 226 0000, until 29 Aug (not 15, 25), 6.15pm, £5—£8 (£4—£5).
hat tricks and ball-in-the-cup tricks ensue. To his credit, Daniels’ rapport with the audience and his obvious love of the game help things along nicely, duly assisted by the (unintentionally) hapless comedy duo from the front row, called upon to help him on stage. Lovely Debbie’s there too, of course, shimmying on in a pink 90s-style cocktail number. ‘Shall I clear up after you?’ she coos as the pair exchange their trademark (and somewhat tired) domestic interplay. There’s nothing fresh here, but if some old-school retro magic is your bag, this could be your ticket. (Anna Millar) ■ Assembly George Square, 623 3030, until 28 Aug, 5pm, £14—£15 (£13—£14).