Review from the Suffolk festival

As a last-minute replacement, Ben Pope feared he wasn’t well enough prepared for his mid-afternoon Latitude appearance. He needn't have worried, as he went down a storm. The warm and generous ovation he received as he wrapped up was proof of that.

Taking up one of the festival’s recurring themes, the 33-year-old spoke about generational differences, but with plenty of distinctively wry comments. The section culminated in a hilariously bleak dispatch from the frontline of the rental crisis, wonderfully describing every horror from the mice in the walls to the landlord’s unbelievable response, which had the comic questioning the very nature of reality.

When not being a stand-up, Pope works in a bookshop, informing another strong strand of his set as he offered a quirky description of what a book actually is for unfamiliar Gen-Zers, before unleashing some gripes about his customers, the worst of whom, by far, are feral children. The pent-up frustration is palpable. 

After another strong chunk about Where's Wally? Pope suggests he’s something of an author himself, sharing with us the opening chapters of an airport spy thriller he's writing, full of clichés, bad prose, and corny dialogue. It's a parody that’s both clever and silly, in keeping with the rest of his set, and rightly earned him that appreciative response. 

He prepped the tent perfectly for what – surprisingly – was the first appearance at any festival for Sue Perkins, who served up a cut-down version of her current tour show all about shame.

But first to dispel the ghosts of Bake Off past. Those who came to see that version of her were rewarded with a rapid, intense volley of pastry-based buns – pleasing or irritating, depending on your attitude to such double entendres. In this very different tent, however, she’s dealing in a more mature brand of comedy – if you can call conjuring up an horrifically memorable mental image of Paul Hollywood's gonads ‘mature’.

After clarifying that she's not her namesake, the 1978 Miss America, Perkins embarked on a beautifully self-deprecating routine about her failures to lose weight via the Zoe app, hilariously recreating the software’s robotic voice at increasing levels from gentle encouragement, through mild concern, and up to the absolute panic at the quality and quantity of food Perkins was shovelling into her mouth.

But her biggest moment of shame came while filming her Netflix show Perfectly Legal, in which she took on various endeavours that are forbidden in the UK, but acceptable elsewhere. Which is how she came to be in Bolivia, taking mescaline for the first time. What had been planned as a humorous segment of her on a hallucinogenic trip turned very sour. Her visceral act-out of her body’s violent reaction to the drug brings an already funny routine of abject misery to even more vividly horrific life. Brilliant stuff, and hopefully not her last festival appearance. 

Another hit, not unexpectedly, was Latitude regular David O'Doherty, acutely aware of how ridiculous his career of playing a child's keyboard while telling silly jokes truly is. After nearly 30 years, has this shtick reached the end of its road?, he asks at the start, and the ensuing 30 minutes is something of an analysis of that. The conclusion, of course, is no.

His style is a sort of pleasant anger. He starts with whimsy, or the molehill of a mild gripe exaggerated into a mountain – yet can unexpectedly alight on heavyweight topics such as Gaza, abuse in Irish religious schools, and humanity’s hubristic approach to climate catastrophe with the most charming and light approach. Appearing so benignly unconfrontational – as evidenced by his ironic bid to be a more high-performance alpha in a Diary Of A CEO-type way – is a highly effective disguise.

Also, for a man who's also a children’s author, he can be surprisingly blue. But for all these aspects, the lasting feeling is of him being silly, such as the unique way he plays Miles Davis’s So What on that iconic instrument.

The day's headliner, Jack Dee, was a little more muted as he brought his trademark ‘ray of sunshine’ attitude to Latitude.

Surprisingly, he didn't complain too much about the travails of attending a festival, but that was pretty much the only thing not on his bitch list. He hates every day of the week, every month of the year. Ageing is shit. Christmas presents are shit. Even Where's Wally? is shit – though you have to wonder what the stripy-jumpered buffoon has done to warrant two monsterings in one day. 

Dee starts one routine: ‘This’ll depress you…’ - though he could have started them all that way. Fast approaching 65, the comedian’s advancing years inform much of his comedy, about, for example, various sub-brands of Neurofen and the misery of visiting the pharmacist. 

The best of his gripes have a weary drollery, slightly old-fashioned in some ways, such as his complaint that ‘I can't even go to the doctor without feeling ill.’ The grouchiness cuts through a lot of bullshit, such as aggrandising a doze into a ‘power nap’. Although other of his complaints about, for example, dealing with call centre workers working from home, are a little more everyday, more crotchety than funny and with no performative showmanship to zhuzh it up. But there’s enough in the deadpan half-hour to amuse, even with Dee’s minimal attempt at selling the material.

Review date: 27 Jul 2026
Reviewed by: Steve Bennett
Reviewed at: Latitude