It’s not often that the Last Laugh lineup consists of three comedians that I’ve never seen before. Admittedly, this week wasn’t one of them, but I didn’t recognise two of the three, and it’s certainly been a long time since I last saw Paul Sinha, who I doubt I’ve seen more than once before. So that got me excited. And deservedly so.
Compére James Cook caught my interest before he’d even begun, and for some slightly odd reasons. Firstly, because his name bears a distinct resemblance to that of one of my favourites. And secondly because he was wearing an awesome t-shirt, and comedians who wear awesome t-shirts, in my experience, tend to be good. It’s a strange observation, but one which has not yet been disproved. But, digressions over, he quickly lived up to all expectations; his act revolved around audience interaction, which he has an amazing skill for, and he knows it. He puts on a show of condescension and patronisation, picking up and exploiting the idiosyncrasies and quirks of the audience, be it the check-shirted ‘Brokeback Mountain’ group on the front row or the man who was very precise about the exact geographical location of his hometown, and teases them in a way that could be described as ‘merciless’, were it not for the fact that both he and his victims were so obviously loving every second of it. In his own words, Cook ‘teases with love’, and is perfectly able to make fun of his audience without intimidating them, which is exactly how the sadomasochistic game of audience participation is meant to be. Other parts of his set did fall a little flat compared to his audience interaction, but considering how immensely entertaining it is to watch him tease the entirety of the second row (because everyone’s bored of watching people tease the front row, apparently), it’d be very difficult for it not to. And besides which, it was still very funny.
First act Andy Watson, who was also unfamiliar to me, performed in an entirely different style. His act was built around a series of connected vignettes, taking us from a naturalistic beginning delivered in a dulled, deadpan style, which allowed him to make a few wonderfully witty one-liners without sounding at all forced, through to a semi-surreal conclusion, complete with acted-out scenes of the Hulk having sex and the bizarre combination of pornography and Alton Towers. He is a master of his own rather awkward-looking physicality, which pushes him quickly yet naturally from the restrained sedateness of his snarky deadpan to the infectious mania of his jumpy acted scenes, adding an extra layer of brilliance to every gag, and particularly to those perfectly-placed references to earlier gags, which brought the laughter flooding back.
James Cook’s second spot brought in more of the same fantastic audience-mocking, at the expense of the man who named Slash as his hero, despite seeming about as far from Slash as it’s possible to be, and a man whose name sounded rather unfortunately similar to ‘Ferngully’. Just as impressive were his unashamedly geeky reworkings of clichéd old jokes; a mother-in-law joke from the persona of Stephen Hawking doesn’t sound particularly funny, but trust me when I say that it bloody is.
Headliner Paul Sinha’s set was in another entirely different style, and presented a far more relaxed affair in comparison to the other two. His long extended monologue was personal yet universal, taking us on a hilarious journey through moments of intense bafflement, stupidity and frustration, but in a way that was intelligent, ironic, and laced with the awesome philosophy of Bonnie Tyler. Regular asides, about such things as the hypocrisy of the Daily Express and the two ways of shitting yourself, prevented any hint of monotony, in a way that was insightful, satirical and very very funny. And as well as being so brilliantly funny, through tales of standing up to the stupidity of the BNP and shouting at an Islamic fundamentalist on national radio, his advice to ‘stand up to twats’ was actually quite inspiring. And this was in no way undermined by Sinha ending his set with an unconventional though rather sweet attempt to pick up a boy at the bar. Which made me, for one, grin.
Next time is the Sheffield heats of the Chortle Student Comedy Award. Which should be, as always, a pretty exciting night.
Emily Cresswell
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