Review by Steve Bennett

Charity bills have a reputation for going on a bit; and this Comic Relief night, billed as a tribute to Peter Cook and Dudley Moore, was no exception. Starting a few minutes later than its scheduled 8.30pm kick-off, the comedy drew to a close a mere four-and-a-half hours later and way beyond last Tubes home, at 1am. Then the band came on…

But then you can perhaps forgive so many performers for wanting to take part, and to get the most of their time on stage. The iconic venue, Ronnie Scott’s was perfect (why doesn’t comedy have an intimate, sophisticated cabaret space like this for itself?), it was all in a good cause – and there was the small matter of the many industry faces in the audience to impress, too.

Tom Goodman-Hill and Kevin Bishop, who will play Pete and Dud in a new stage story of their lives, hosted the first section competently – but as actors, rather than comedians, their job was perfunctory.

Steve Oram, who would make several appearances, kicked off the show with a semi-affectionate caricature of a tramp: shouty, overjolly, drunk and – of course – Scottish. But the character did provide an unexpected twist on the stereotype, and although a few more jokes might have been welcome, it had all the feeling of a fully-formed persona.

Katy Brand also appeared twice: first as a Charlotte Church (‘voice of an angel; mouth like a toilet’) full of crass, ladette spirit but over-reliant on talking dirty for the laughs; then later as Katie Melua, a ridiculous low-budget half-impression in Vic and Bob style, which provided a good dose of silly fun, once you’d worked out who it was.

The riotous We Are Klang were one of the stars of the night with their initial relationship of authority-figure Greg Davies trying to control his two naughty charges, the smartarse Steve Hall and the cheeky, ADHD Marek Larwood quickly collapsing into possibly the most sexually aggressive song to have been performed on Ronnie Scott’s hallowed stage – and so vigorously too.

Then Tom Meeten entertained with his Animal Man – a creepily enthusiastic and oddly attired creation prone to dark flashbacks. Fans of The Boosh would love it, even if it was in danger of relying too much on a jaunty theme tune as a recurring punchline.

The Pros From Dover – aka Phil Whelans and Richard Glover – produced three sketches with the twin advantages of brevity and, most rare this, proper punchlines. Glover’s imitation of the late John Mills is especially memorable, a perfect parody of stilted British upper-class film acting.

Bookishly acidic storyteller Chris Neill brought along readings from Jodi Marsh’s autobiography and blog, funny enough in their own irony-free selves, though an incredulously raised eyebrow was enough to underline the humour.

The audience didn’t quite know what to make of music hall throwbacks The Congress Of Oddities, who aren’t quite as inherently funny as creators Margaret Cabourn-Smith and Zoe Gardner seem to think they are, although they do produce some good lines. Their set mostly demonstrated the inflexibility of sketch – a routine of deliberately impenetrable impressions, especially, was dying badly, yet they persisted in seeing it through to the end.

Closing the first half, surprise guest Jimmy Carr tried a few new gags from his clipboard but, in deference to the venue, to a bassline backing. ‘Everything sounds good with jazz,’ he reasoned, though it provided a bit too laid-back a vibe to allow his typically caustic one-lines to elicit the laughs they deserve.

Robin Ince compered the second third masterfully, his readings from Syd Little’s autobiography, generational navel-gazing and other surefire routines kept the energy levels at just the right steady simmer well into the midnight hour.

James Bachman made his first appearance in a one-joke sketch, miming playing a tiny ukulele to a Rage Against The Machine track. Well executed, even if the gag was slight.

Lizzie Roper’s Lady Agatha could well be the wife of Count Arthur Stong, similarly decrepit, jittery and barking – both in mental state and the manner of her speech. She’s unapologetically offensive, in the way only old people can be, and although the joke can wear a bit thing – relying on audience humiliation and the sort of non-PC jokes about gypsies and lesbians you’d never get away with out of character, the routine is enlivened by her bizarre non-sequiteurs.

Kirk and Messingham just prove too disturbing to be funny. They take the double-act aggressive-passive dynamic to its brutal conclusion, so one bullying brother forces his meek sibling to dance pathetically. It’s very well done – a bit too well done, perhaps – for the abuse seems too uncomfortably real for comedy.

Actor David Benson was the only one to take the tribute to Peter Cook literally, recreating an early EL Wisty-ish sketch the great man wrote for Kenneth Williams to perform in revue. Sadly there’s more to comedy than impersonation, and even though Benson has built a career on capturing Williams’ nasal delivery perfectly, tonight he captured none of the comedy in the sketch.

Luckily Ince, and Meeten’s second, energetic appearance as a French singer, with plenty of exaggerated physical comedy, were here to lift the mood.

After that were John Hopkins and Gareth Tunley as a couple of rootin’, tootin’, fat-chewin’, horizon-gazin’, stereotype-milkin’, compound-adjective-lovin’, forever-corpsin’, lines-forgettin’, unprofessionalism-rewardin’ cowpokes whose loosely performed sketch in that style is evokes such a spirit of carefree fun that the lines themselves are almost immaterial.

But it was James Bachman’s second appearance of the night that stole the show as Papa Christmas, an hilarious invention loosely based on despots like Papa Doc Duvalier. The character itself is the source of many deliciously dark one-liners, but better still is the brilliant postmodern twist Bachman puts on him. It’s a new character, so to reveal more might spoil the enjoyment of others, but this is a truly inspired piece of comedy.

The section was closed by the even more disturbing Andrew Lawrence, with his raspily croaked tales of murder, defecation, necrophilia and – most horrific of all – being ginger. It’s freakish, but it’s funny.

And so to the home straight, the final, musical, section hosted by Priorite a Gauche to a decimated audience, most being too mindful of that journey home to remain. Ironic enough that it was this duo who took the late shift, as it comes as something as a surprise to see them still going after all this time, too. The line-up has changed three times over the last six or so years, and although they’re still capable of good jokes, the conceit of a French pop group with a GSCE-level grasp of the language seems to be an increasingly rickety vehicle.

A character called Bobby Danker, a country and western poet, proved too elegiac for this time of night; the punchlines took so long coming you just take him at face value and let the languid wash over you. It’s not good when you forget you’re supposed to be watching comedy.

Going acoustic, though, proved a benefit for Gary Le Strange, the self-styled Byronic Lord Of Pop. Away from his electronica, the lyrics to Is My Toaster Sentient? and Grey shone out as funny in their own right, rather than as simply grist to his spoof New Romantic mill.

After Steve Oram’s reappearance, this time as as Steve Woman – a singer who is by turns incomprehensible and impassioned, came Topping & Butch. And you couldn’t hope for anything better than their leather-clad camp to raise the spirits in the dying moments of of a long night. Their tribute to Cherie Blair could have come straight from a musical of her life, while their closing number – a rap about text messaging and shopping to a Black Eyed Peas backing, was just the enthusiastic end the night needed. Never mind the lyrics, feel the energy.

Punters certainly got a lot of comedy for their dollar – even though top-price tickets were £50, it bought about two-and-a-half nights’ worth of comedy in one. But you can have too much of a funny thing, and comedy’s golden principle of timing needs to apply to a whole show as much as one gag.

Still, as the ever-dwindling number of punters drifted out into early-hours Soho, they went into the icy night exhausted, but happy.


Steve Bennett
February 1, 2006

Review date: 1 Jan 2006
Reviewed by: Steve Bennett