It’s been a good few years since we’ve seen comedy at the Charles Bradlaugh and – apart from the obvious pandy-problem – I wonder why it’s been so long. It’s an excellent venue for this kind of show; comfortable, with great sightlines, a well-run fully-stocked bar within ten seconds walk of your seat, and with those nice people at The Comedy Crate in charge of hiring the turns, you always get a great programme to enjoy.
Unusually for us, three of the four comedians who plied their trade at last night’s show were new to us. Our MC was Paul Revill, an engaging and friendly chap who brings a positive vibe to the stage, with that rare knack of interacting with the audience and encouraging our participation without terrifying us at the same time. He elicited details about the secret hair salon on Abington Street, the lads celebrating the birth of a baby and got me to suggest that we should welcome the first act on from our collective groins of love – you had to be there. Amongst his other material I loved his explanation of how a Quality Street could be an insult after Christmas over-indulgence. He kept everything going at a great pace and set us up superbly for the fun to follow.
Our first act was Matt Richardson, of whom I’ve heard but never seen, an energetic and riotously funny guy who takes some of the more delicate aspects of relationships and explores them without fear. I loved the idea that, once you get a girlfriend, you’re no longer in charge of your bedtimes – it’s so true! Brilliant observations about over-rated sexual practices, and (literally) hands-on material about how a man deals with a tampon. Mrs Chrisparkle remarked how it’s becoming more common for male comedians to do period jokes – which, let’s face it, is where angels fear to tread – and Mr Richardson did it with great aplomb and got it absolutely right, judging from the laughter coming from Mrs C. Great work!
Next up, and another new name to us, was Fiona Ridgewell; another warm and engaging personality who uses her physical presence to excellent effect with observations about the usefulness (or otherwise) of having big nostrils and a long neck. She has great observations about what it’s like to be a member of an all-female household of three generations, and is very adept with interacting with the crowd, which was great fun. She also has a great sequence about the knock-on effect of being dumped by a boyfriend without explanation. Nicely self-deprecating and with loads of attack, she’s definitely one to watch!
Our headline act, and the only person we’ve seen before – and always enjoyed – was Dan Antopolski, as sure-footed as a mountain gazelle with his brilliant manner of setting up an intellectually-based premise and then kicking it in the teeth. With so many hilarious observations about family life, it’s a pleasure to be entertained by someone who knows their craft inside and out. Superb.
The next Comedy Crate gig at the Bradlaugh is on February 10th – we can’t go, but you should!
Our first time of attending a Screaming Blue Murder on a Saturday night – felt kinda weird because we’re already halfway through the weekend rather than it being a welcome curtain-raiser to those hallowed subsequent two days. Nevertheless, it was sold out yet again, and they’re still persisting on having the front two rows of the audience wrap around the comics’ podium, which has pros and cons. The pros are that there are more victims, I mean guests, for the comedians to interact with. The cons include… well, see paragraph 3.
Once again MC duties were in the capably hairy hands of Dan Evans, who had plenty to contend with in the front row. It was someone’s birthday. We never found out her real name, but she was given a card addressed to “Li’l Slut” so that became her epithet of the night. She’ll always be Li’l Slut to us. It turned out that half the front rows were part of the birthday party including a lady from Mexico who got upset (quite rightly) at the mention of Brexit. Furthermore, later we had the joy to discover Mike, hiding himself away some rows back, who sold jet skis. In Northampton. You couldn’t make it up.
Our first act, and someone we’ve seen a couple of times before, was Paul Ricketts. He has a relatively laid-back style and is most at home when he’s bouncing directly off the audience. He had plenty of entertaining material for us, including his bitter resentment of anyone younger than him, observations about Luton Airport, and the very funny Four Stages of an Eastenders Actor. But here’s a thing; for some reason, a number of the punters seated around the stage felt the need to go for a wee during his act, and the only way you can get out of the Underground to get to the toilets from those seats is to march out directly under the performer’s nose – even to the extent of walking on to the stage area and off again. The first time it was quite funny, but by the time four people had separately heard the call of nature it became distracting both for Paul and for us. Nevertheless, Paul battled on regardless and gave us a good half-hour’s worth of fun.
Next up was someone new to us although I know she’s got a show at the Leicester Comedy Festival coming up very shortly – Faye Treacy. She’s the 21st century’s answer to George Chisholm in that she presents a comedy act plus trombone. The novelty value of this alone is worth the ticket but, additionally, Faye’s musical madness is totally hysterical. Her trombone-influenced material is unbeatable; Trump’s brain music and her vegetable climax had us in stitches. The non-trombone material in between is also enjoyable, but deep down you really don’t want her to put her instrument down.
