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Nat Coombs has a strangely cold delivery. Sure, it’s slick and assured, but it has all the authenticity of a Disneyland castle. It creates an impervious barrier between him and his audience, which may make him an unfazable performer, but it also means he never reacts to the response his material receives. Thus he runs through the same script time after time, oblivious to the fact that the dreadfully unnatural and ill-thought-out links, and the often one-dimensional gags between them (such as: ‘Terrorists – why not bomb a Celine Dion concert?’), can be clunkingly poor. His well-rehearsed set does sometimes demonstrate an ability to write a joke or play with an idea, and he can eke a few laughs out of the most meagre of material – which is some sort of talent in itself. But while he continues to come across as a phoney, audience s will never truly warm to him, whatever he may say.
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