Scraggy US comic Dave Fulton easily demolishes two misplaced national stereotypes: that Americans have no sense of irony, and that they’re all a bunch of right-wing gung-ho warmongers.
Such a liberal stance is de rigueur for British comics, but much less common in Fulton’s homeland; which is, perhaps, why he’s chosen to make London his base. It’s our gain.
But should you think his anti-Bush stance singles him out as a woolly-minded ‘be-nice-to-each –other’ leftie, think again. It may be contradictory, but he has little truck with political correctness and his fiercely opinionated set is just as likely to turn against women or (worse yet) Canadians as it is to assault the fundamental iniquities of life.
Such conflicting traits are a hallmark of his act. He’s laid-back, but it conceals a steely aggression; he’s no-nonsense and down-to-earth, but impressively well-read; he’s relaxed but arrogant.
The routine is more about this complex attitude than anything more concrete. Don’t go looking for clear-cut gags, for example, but instead enjoy the company of a innately funny guy.
That he is such a natural performer can sometimes make the material a little woolly, as he chatters comfortably and calmly around a topic for a while before honing in on the jokes. But when he does move in for a killer rant, it can be a virtuoso display.
