Review of the Taskmaster star's first tour in seven years

People apparently shout ’legend’ to Greg Davies on a regular basis – usually men of a certain age still harking back to The Inbetweeners.

As a desperate-for-approval comedian, he might want to believe he’s worthy of that stature, but every day of his clumsy existence brings a fresh reminder that he’s no more than a fat, inadequate laughing stock. This show is a catalogue of just some of those humiliations.

That he projects an air of authority – especially in his role as the tyrannical Taskmaster – only makes the many falls from dignity all the more sweet. Meanwhile, the fact he finds everything below the belt endlessly amusing further undermines any aspirations of high status.

‘Bum, willy, poo’ is the set list from this unapologetically puerile comedian. He still sniggers at the word ‘growler’, even at 57. Or should that be *especially* at 57, as the disconnect between the immaturity and his chronological age – a trait Davies shares with his comedy hero Rik Mayall – gets ever more ridiculous with every passing year.

It’s always been thus. A scary story from his time as a terrible teacher proves that there’s always been an idiot inside him. And an old man’s indignity will always be funny – especially in the hilarious tale here of Davies giving himself an accidental high-powered enema.

He celebrates little victories amid the big disasters, from getting away with a charity scam to successfully making his sister squirm, a hobby he’s never grown out of.

Yet he also takes pride in how he’s turned out, given the low bar set by the unenlightened attitudes of rural Shropshire in the 1970s. Indeed, he’s lucky to be here at all, given how neglectful parenting was in the past. 

‘It was a different time, it was an awful time’ is a constant refrain in this secondary strand, away from the litany of anecdotes bringing his ego down a peg or two.

Davies is not the first comedian to contrast his upbringing with that of kids today with their safeguarding and empathy – nor to consider the sexy delights of the Freemans lingerie catalogue before the days of internet porn –  but his writing explores this with flair, while being delivered with his customary full-throttle relish.

The imagery is vivid – even in the grim moments when you might not want it to be – with witty metaphors and very precise asides that bring the anecdotes to life.

He shares a few celebrity indiscretions, though nothing as bad as he reveals about himself, and sets up running jokes that stick in the collective consciousness. You’ll certainly never see the seduction techniques of Sean Connery’s James Bond in quite the same way again.

Davies’s biggest power is being ever-playful with the audience, whether it be trying to shift the blame for a hilariously dubious foreign accent on to the crowd, or berating fellow middle-aged men in the room for their lack of solidarity when he’s sharing prostate problems. 

 And he blurs the line between the spontaneous and scripted, making it feel like he’s sharing indiscretions or thoughts for the very first time

The ‘legend’ tag, as seen on the poorly fitting tracksuit he sports, is meant ironically. But as a comedian, this pudgy purveyor of puerility is playing arenas now, which mere mortals do not get to do. And when it comes to being a klutz, Davis deserves his legendary status.

» Greg ​Davies: Full Fat Legend tour dates, running until April

Review date: 13 Jun 2025
Reviewed by: Steve Bennett
Reviewed at: Ovo Arena Wembley