Original Review:

But first some gentler content to ease us in, as he warmly discusses the simple joys in his life which – taking himself far too seriously, as is his wont – he has ranked and rated. The pleasures may be basic, but his descriptions of them are rich and mature. Often it’s what’s unsaid and undone that raises a knowing chuckle. No, not belly laughs, but a satisfying laugh of getting to know someone, enhanced by the recognitions of the minutiae he exposes.

From such soft beginnings, deeper layers of his personality are revealed: the brutal honesty from his mother, the lack of validation from his father – which surely set him on the road to stand-up – and the awkward tensions within his wider family which he opens up with frankness and wit. Was this a therapy session, the psychiatrist would surely tell him ‘we’ve made real progress here…’

Then comes the first of many sucker-punches: the wretched anecdotes we’d been forewarned about. Without being pointedly edgy, he skilfully takes us into dark corners, first of brutal reality, then of uncompromising opinion. Dead kittens and insulting the paraplegic are perfectly acceptable areas for comedy in Vincent’s black book.

And yet he seemed such a polite boy, who kept himself to himself… and yes, that does read like the testimony of a serial killer’s neighbour after he’s gone on a murderous rampage.

This is smartly told, satisfyingly structured hour – he even pulls back from that abyss to make himself seem almost well-adjusted in the end. Yes, there could probably be more laughs, but the hour is a pleasure, albeit a guilty one.

Reviewed by: Steve Bennett
Melbourne, April 2009