Review by Steve Bennett

Matt Tiller’s show is ostensibly about niceness and badness, and he seems to personify the former. For example, as an act of kindness to those already assembled in the rows before him, he starts his show ten minutes early. A couple of extra songs, he says, they’re new and I’m trying them out. One of them works, the other doesn’t, but it whiles away the tiresome process of everyone finding their seat.

His intention is to discover the best and worst people in the room inviting the audience to share tales of their benevolence or confess the grimiest fug of their minds. Well, not too grimy, preferably, though many animal killers have passed this way in recent days.

Tiller appoints a moral arbiter and seats him in front of the whiteboard and starts strumming his guitar. What with the charm and the song about man flu, he very nearly won me over; so it must have been the lack of substance that caused the hour to drag.

It’s a feelgood show, though, and for a while we all contemplate the relative of merits of making partners breakfast in bed against putting near road-kill out of its misery. Does it count if it’s only tea and toast? Can only heroic platefuls of eggs Benedict be written up in nice green pen?

Tiller has a very easy manner and a deal of charisma, but no material to speak of. True, there is a beguiling confession of childhood misdemeanours, via a video link to his mum, to add to the growing list of deeds evil and kind on the whiteboard.

He has made a little cartoon about the Russian space dogs for his finale, which is amusing enough and features a T-shirt emblazoned by his own hand. An advisory ditty warning of the ill-effects of middle class guilt is appended to a worthy jibe at the Daily Mail. Nothing not to like about this man, he’s just not yet all that funny. I have faith.

Reviewed by: Chloe Smith

Review date: 1 Jan 2008
Reviewed by: Steve Bennett