by Steve Bennett

At Edinburgh, Russell Kane will launch his next show, entitled Smallness, which he explains is both about Britons’ desire to be modest and not stand out; and also to define themselves by the narrowest parameters, not seeking to connect with people from the next country, town or even street. It’s a partial return to the idea of an Englishman’s home being his castle, fortified against the world, on which his best show yet – an award-winner no less – was built.

However he only touches upon this interesting idea in his 45-minute Latitude set, which is instead built on two cornerstone anecdotes: one about an encounter with celebrities of much greater fame than himself; the second about a recent confrontation with some homophobic British thugs in Thailand.

First, though, we need to go through the obligatory class stereotypes. You could run a book on how long into his set it will be before Kane says the word ‘hummus’, and it was about three minutes here. Each broad reference of Jemima buying The Guardian at Waitrose, or whatever, is followed with an argument with the critic in his head, accusing him of being simplistic. That fictitious reviewer has a point... but it means Kane gets have his cake and eat it: he can do the jokes while giving himself some ironic distance by satirising them. It’s the same when he prances around the stage, feyly commenting ‘it’s so random I don’t need punchlines’ to epitomise carefree youth and the comedians they supposedly want. It is, of course, the energy of his own performance that sets him apart.

Once this is dispatched, Kane moves on to more substantial routines, including some witty material about the north-south divide, especially how each region has different breeds of strong women, and an affectionate mockery of his girlfriend’s Manchunian accent. There’s also a rare, if slight, diversion into politics as he floats the hardly contentious idea that multinational corporations should pay their taxes.

Of the two extended anecdotes, the first, about running into Nichole Scherzinger and Lewis Hamilton at an exclusive spa, is expertly told as the Essex boy who still thinks he’s an imposter into the high life exposes his insecurities when confronted with a pop icon of impeccable glamour – social fears we can all surely identify with on one level – and the racing driver brilliantly caricatures.

Despite being the climax of the set, the holiday showdown routine is less fulfilling. Though the menacing incident is certainly a defining moment for him – and he plays up every heartbeat of drama in well-described detail – the funnies are less forthcoming, and the denouement anti-climactic.

Review date: 22 Jul 2013
Reviewed by: Steve Bennett
Reviewed at: Latitude