Review by Steve Bennett

The spectre of that thoroughly unpleasant character hangs over her stand-up, too. The audience expect the same bilious outbursts, and she’s keen to play up the image,

She immediately exudes the no-nonsense aura befitting her status as a battle-hardened New York Jewess and is blunt to the point of rudeness, not that she would give a damn about causing any offence.

When she sticks to that tale-no-prisoners approach, she hits the mark, sounding at her best like Joan Rivers in her acidic prime. But her tough façade slowly slips, and so does the power of her act.

She isn’t, it turns out, quite so thick-skinned about how she’s conceived on her debut UK show, fearing the reaction of the uptight English folk of genteel Newbury – or New-berry as she insists on pronouncing it. She keeps seeking reassurance that we get the references or that we understand the odd Yiddish idiom, which undermines that crucial brash confidence.

She performs almost entirely to the front row, badgering them with ceasesless questions about their jobs, their relationships, their sex lives. At first it builds rapport, and finds her a few stooges to play the role of randy youngster or rich-but-impotent senior. But it’s subject to diminishing returns, especially with an audience who don’t particularly want to play along. We want the act, not a conversation.

And what of that act? Again it starts strong but soon withers as she starts what seems to be the core of the show: a list of 20 pieces of advice she wants to give to her step-daughter – and yes, they are all about sex. Essman said she wrote it on the plane over from the States, which if it’s true shows a reckless disrespect for an audience who might expect honed material. If it’s just a line to perpetuate the stand-up’s illusion of spontaneity,, then why does the idea feel so lightweight and underdeveloped?

The piece peters out, with Essman not bothering to get beyond about point 14 or so. I’m not sure the exact point, as I stopped counting. And caring.

The audience’s attention saps , too. It may be an obvious thing to say, but their enthusiasm quickly curbs itself.

She tries to turn things around, but nothing really works. She desperately asks if there are any questions from the crowd about her TV show. There are none, embarrassingly.

Then she invents a tedious survey in which the type of dog a man has is supposed to reveal what he’s like in the bedroom. People shout out a few breeds, she slings back a few basic insults. Then even she seems to get bored with how vacuous and unsuccessful this is, and calls an abrupt end to the show. No climax, no big finish. She just says it’s over, and walks off.

Along the way, she occasionally found some enjoyable material,, such as the impression of her Jewish mother that avoided the obvious stereotype. But too often the ideas are tired – how often have we heard about the spark going out of long-term relationships? - and her pronouncements not quite as shocking as she seems to think they are.

It’s possible her abrasive shtick and lascivious banter would work better in the rough-and-tumble of a rowdy comedy club. But put her in a theatre, raise expectations, and the deficiencies in her material become all-too apparent.

Reviewed by: Steve Bennett
Newbury Comedy Festival

Review date: 1 Jan 2007
Reviewed by: Steve Bennett