Slapstick Festival: Sunday at Bristol's Old Vic - Brazil, Terry Gilliam, Adam Hills & Robert Lindsay

Tomorrow was another day,

The morning found me miles away

With still a million things to say.

Now, when twilight dims the sky above,

Recalling thrills of our love,

There's one thing I'm certain of,

Return I will to old Brazil.

ONSCREEN: BRAZIL WITH TERRY GILLIAM

I saw the film Brazil for the first time in a lecture hall at Uni on a square TV screen suspended from the ceiling. The film sparked debate between my mate and me as we disagreed over what actually happened at the end (sidebar: Terry confirmed I was correct). The dystopian fantasy, full of grotesque characters, was so imaginative, bitingly funny, romantic and bleak that I absolutely adored the movie. It is still one of my all-time favourite films. So when the Slapstick Festival announced a screening introduced by its director, Terry Gilliam, that was the convincer to attend. 

In the theatre, the first thing I notice is the stage monitor. Some poor bugger (me) is not going to see either the guest or the interviewer because of it. 

The permed giant from last night is back, but he's sitting in the same row as me this time. (I feel ashamed for being angry at him for blocking my view at the Sylvester event. The issue was mine, not his. I notice we're attending all the same events. He appears to be on his own, sitting alone between events, but I didn't have the confidence to initiate a conversation). 

Two bald, tall men edge along the row in front. Guess where they sit.

My luck wasn't in. Terry sat on the right. I could see him when I leaned or if he stood, but I had no chance of snapping any decent pics. The chat with Robin Ince was great, though. Terry admitted that in Brazil, he got everything right: the casting, the shots and the writing, which he credited to Tom Stoppard, who reworked his script and put in all the good lines. He revealed they used his daughter Holly as the child who tells Sam if he gets changed, she won't look at his willy. But he and his wife shot the scene after hours without the crew because Holly was tired and fed up and wouldn't say her lines.

I loved watching the film again. My knees ached, though, so I made sure I took Paracetamol before the next event. 

Ticket Price £22

ADAM HILL's DESERT ISLAND COMEDY FLICKS

This event was arranged to replace the postponed GBH retrospective when one of the guests couldn't make it (they didn't say who). I swapped my tickets for this figuring what else was I going to do.

Robin Ince hosted again, with Adam confessing these were not his all-time favourite comedy films but more the ones he wouldn't mind rewatching if on a desert island. Or at least the ones the Festival could get permission to show clips. 

His choices were: The General (1926), Duck Soup (1933), Singing In the Rain (1952), Big (1988), Blazing Saddles (1974), Good Morning Vietnam (1987), Who Framed Roger Rabbit (1988), Planes, Trains and Automobiles (1987), Crocodile Dundee (1986) and Pitch Perfect (2012). (I may have missed a couple).

Discussing the films, he shared anecdotes about meeting Gene Kelly's wife; being invited to a movie night at the Playboy mansion, then returning a couple of days later with his young daughter to visit its zoo; how he was a huge Marx Brothers fan, spending thousands of dollars at an auction to buy an item signed by Groucho. And lots of other stories over the hour.

Adam is such an upbeat comedian; it's difficult not to warm to his company. A fine set of choices.

Ticket price £32

THE DARK COMIC GENIUS OF TERRY GILLIAM

I have a deep fondness for Terry Gilliam's early career: Python, Time Bandits, Brazil, The Fisher King, and 12 Monkeys all contain a visual flair and comic quirkiness that appeals to my imagination. Terry doesn't look at the world in the same way as anyone else. 

I'm sitting in the second row this time, with a perfect view of both Terry and the interviewer, Matthew Sweet. Terry disagrees that there is such a thing as Gilliamesque as his films are the product of hundreds of people's input. He sees his talents as being creative when the chips are down, casting the right actors, and letting them interpret his work to make it the best it can be.

I love Terry's impish giggle. He may well be in his eighties, but he retains his child-like 

glee about his work and comedy. He's grateful for the opportunity Python afforded him. It was fun seeing the clips of his work, though I noticed they showed nothing from The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus. Video tributes were paid by stars like Mercedes Ruehl, Robert De Niro, Michael Palin, Jonathan Pryce, Sting and John Cleese, who, clean-shaven, looked pale, nobbly-faced and ill.

Terry received his Aardman Slapstick Award for 'Excellence in Visual Comedy' and was presented with a super-cool Morph statue in the style of Don Quixote.

I left the event with a big smile on my face.

Ticket price: £35

CELEBRATING THE ONSCREEN COMEDY OF ROBERT LINDSAY 

I bought a ticket for this event more as an afterthought, figuring I'd been to everything else at the Old Vic that day so I could stay till the end. I remember watching him in Get Some In, Citizen Smith and My Family, but I couldn't say I was a huge fan (I did enjoy his turn in GBH). 

He admits to being quite shy, which came across on the stage tonight. He sometimes squirmed while watching his performances, though he knew how to tell a good anecdote. The clips often contained actors who have since passed away, and he lamented the significant loss. I'd forgotten he'd been a massive Broadway star in the '80s with Me and My Girl. He cited Ian Bleasdale as saving his confidence after Bert Rigby, You're a Fool flopped, quoting Barry Norman's savage line, "It's not often you see an actor knocked down by his own star vehicle". 

He also received the Aardman/Slapstick Comedy Award, which was a Morph posing as Wolfie from Citizen Smith. 

 Ticket price £35.

The Festival is now over. I enjoyed my second day tremendously. The Bristol Old Vic was a great venue. The staff were laid back, the events ran on time, and there were plenty of spaces to relax. In fact, the event timings were perfect for nipping away for dinner to the nearest Chinese restaurant (other choices were available). 

I learned not to buy tickets for the centre of a row (nor middle right, in case of pesky, view-obscuring monitors). 

The Slapstick Festival is a great place for a comedy fan to celebrate comedy. 

Return I will to old Bristol.

.

Slapstick Festival: Saturday - 'Bristol' & 'Sylvester McCoy: WHO's Funny', Bristol Beacon. Sat 17th Feb, 2024

 

My second-ever trip to Bristol. The first visit was back in 2016 to attend the launch of the "To Hull and Back" anthology, which contained my first published story. As such, I wasn't entirely nervous about travelling alone. I was nervous about catching the EasyJet flight down, having realised I couldn't get the day off work, so had to leave work after 6pm for an 8.30 pm flight. Everyone assured me I would be fine, bored even, I'd have plenty of time. And they were right. I did somehow manage to trigger the metal detector going through security and was forced to take off my shoes and pull that awkward statue position in the scanner. I still don't know if it was my glasses or the forgotten Tepe brush in my shirt pocket that set it off. Anyway, a minor delay.

The bus from Bristol Airport was bumpy and so noisy I couldn't hear my music properly, even with the earbuds at full volume. Other than that, it was fine. As was my walk to the hotel in the dark. I'd stayed at the Premier Inn at Lewins Mead last time, so I knew where it was and what it looked like.  My room was on the top floor. It took me a while to realise the stop/start noise I could hear all night was the drone of the motor operating the lifts. 

Premier Inn, Lewins Mead

The view from my window

The room itself

Somewhere to recline

A fancy rain shower.

No intention of using this

Next day, after a standard buffet breakfast at the Brewer's Fayre attached to the hotel, I went for a wander around the city. The streets were remarkably familiar even though I'd only spent a day here last time. I knew the Forbidden Planet was closed due to a fire in the building above, but I still went for a wander in that direction, having already located the venue for Sylvester's event. Bristol isn't a clean city, with dirty walls, rusty staircases and graffiti everywhere. It is old, and it shows, with ancient buildings hidden amongst the newer ones. I found some interesting sights. 

Building art

Bristol Cathedral

The Almshouse

Street art

Bristol does have a vibrant arts scene with plenty of theatres, comedy venues and art spaces.  I decided the Wicked matinee at the Hippodrome was not worth my £60, plus booking fees, so instead, I spent the afternoon writing.

For dinner, I booked a table at The Colonnade, a posh restaurant next to the Bristol Beacon.  The reservation stated I must return the table by 6.30 pm. Upon arrival, I was greeted by a waiter and shown a table near the entrance. The place was empty, bar one other table of four seated near the window. My social inhibitions kicked in almost immediately, not helped by the waiter tricking me into buying a bottle of water for the table after I'd already ordered a Coke Zero. That annoyed me because, by the time my brain realised he wasn't talking about tap water, it was already too late. My bad. I should have listened better and not let my nerves take over.  A waitress later used the same line at another table, so I guess they are trained to upsell. 

My meal was fine, in the sense of it being fine dining, i.e. small portions lovingly presented and full of flavour. I relaxed later as more patrons arrived, their chatter making me feel less awkward. I decided then I would have a dessert and use up my entire time allocation, slowly imbibing every last drop of the extra drink I'd inadvertently purchased. I ignored the hovering waiters wanting me to leave by exchanging WhatsApp messages with my wife, describing my evening so far. The addition of an automatic 10% service charge was the final insult. 

I didn't think to snap my mains.

Well, not quite. After I paid, I asked the maître d' if there were toilets (I couldn't see any signs). He deadpanned 'No', so I deadpanned back, "I'll have to go here then." I didn't get as far as unzipping my fly before he chuckled and directed me towards the practically invisible gent's toilet door. 

Afterwards, I went next door to the Bristol Loaf Cafe, located within the Bristol Beacon, and had a pot of tea to kill time. More WhatsApp exchanges with my wife amused me further. After I'd finished the pot, and been to the toilet, I spotted Robin Ince, the standup who'd recorded a 'thank you' video to me after I donated to the Festival fundraiser during its Covid cancellation years. I didn't talk to him but I do get a buzz being in the vicinity of celebrities. (I also spotted Laura Kuenssberg at Glasgow Airport).

A great view, or so I thought.

My seat in the Lantern Hall was bang in the middle of row E. Great view, I thought. Then a giant of a man with a curly perm sat in front of me in row D. No longer could I see the chair stage left. I crossed my fingers that Sylvester would sit on the right. 

He didn't. 

Hellfire and buggeration, I spent most of the event watching Sylvester's contorted reflection on the side panel of the stage's grand piano. Whenever I leaned over to get a more direct view, the person behind me audibly huffed like a teenager, so I ended up listening to the interview rather than watching it. If I'd been bolder, I could have changed seats as there were empty ones beside me. But I didn't because I didn't want to upset anyone. Sylvester was highly entertaining, and the interview was excellent. I was able to watch the video clips on the screen and see Sylvester when he came down into the audience at the end for the Q&A, so it wasn't a total bust, which was a relief. 

Why didn't I swap to one of these?
Social anxiety

Speaking of which (forced segway), my bladder was not entirely happy with all that extra fluid I'd drunk earlier. The pain grew so bad, I considered abandoning the event. As soon as it finished, I rushed to the nearest loo. Of course, being first to the loo also meant being last to Sylvester's autograph session, so I didn't wait. The queue was so long and snaking, the fans each taking an age to chat to him, it wasn't worth my time.  

Of course, by then, the venue had no Slapstick Festival brochures left, and outside, the rain was pouring. 

My tale of woe didn't end there. My keycard allowing me access to the hotel lift (and floor and room) no longer worked so I had to get reception to restore it. And it took me an age to work out why the laptop couldn't access the photos on my phone (OneDrive needed to be told to sync data on a metered connection),

It's sad when you've spent an evening in the company of one of your childhood heroes, and the highlight of your night is still the text exchanges you shared with your wife. Let's hope tomorrow is better.

Ticket price £16. 

Ania Magliano: "I can't believe you've done this" The Stand, Glasgow. Thursday 15th February 2024

It's a gamble when you decide to buy tickets for an unfamiliar act purely because she sold out her entire Edinburgh Fringe run before you'd even finished browsing the listings. Obviously, I missed the memo about how good she is. 

Stupidly, I entered this gig into the wrong week of my calendar and then compounded the error further by arranging time off for that date. As such, I didn't have a great deal of time after work to get to the venue. It became a bit of a rush job. Fortunately, everyone else was in the same state of mind so I fitted right in. One incident turned my stomach, though. Stuck in traffic on Byres Road, the white Range Rover in front of me decided to speed off down a side street, only to be stopped by a cyclist crossing the road. The altercation that followed resulted in the car driver trying to reverse back over the cyclist in revenge for the cyclist striking his car. Sickening (and stupid - he'd have damage to the front and back of his car).

I found a space on Woodlands Road, parking perfectly for once, only to notice I was on double yellow lines. They stopped in the space behind me. Sitting in that space was a car with its headlights on, the engine running, and two people in the front. I delayed my exit, hoping they'd move. But they just sat there, chatting and flicking through their phones, so eventually, I gave up and found somewhere else. The time I'd wasted sent my brain into stress mode, fearing we'd end up at the end of a long queue and not get a seat inside.

We were second in the queue. 

Fortunately, my wife puts up with my insane quirks.

She decided against sitting in my usual spot, preferring to sit at a table where she could rest her wine glass. So we sat in the raised area behind my usual spot.

There's a man in my chair?
(I no longer care - see later)

The venue filled up fast. If it wasn't a sellout, it was close. I'll admit to taking a modicum of pleasure in watching latecomers (i.e. anyone not there for doors open) struggling to find a seat, searching in vain, then standing somewhere they shouldn't and being asked to move by the staff. The gentleman in front of us, who sat in my usual spot, had an empty space beside him, big enough for one. An older couple, arriving late, wanted to sit together and decided to ask the people near him to bunch down so they could both fit in the space. The dungaree-clad girl relented but fumed to her date about having her angle of view narrowed. It was priceless. Even then, the interlopers couldn't sit properly with insufficient space for both of them, the man having to sit forward on the edge of the bench. I was so glad we hadn't sat there. 

As such, I now have a new best seat. 

I couldn't make out the name of the support act, but he was a thirty-two-year-old English comic who sold us his status as a low self-esteem chap whose first-ever girlfriend dumped him, leaving him bereft of house contents as she took everything she bought with her. I warmed to him despite his loser status. He finished on a bit about how his new girlfriend, also a stand-up, asked him for a "hall pass", having been asked by Dan from Bastille if she'd like to go for a drink. 

He never revealed what happened.

After a short interval, Ania came on to deliver her show and I'll admit I was not expecting to be so entertained by someone so young. The quality of her writing is outstanding. Her delivery reminded me of a GenZ Josie Long, only with less interest in social commentary and more on the joys of gossip, relationships and being bisexual. She's a product of her time. The various threads about her life (her reaction to her bad haircut, her taking up boxing, her therapy, her love life, her breast reduction) all weaved together to finish on a sucker punch that I didn't see coming despite the bomb she lobbed in halfway through her set. The journey she shared was well worth travelling. 

A great first gig of the year.

Later research revealed that this show was named by The Times in their Top 4 Comedy Shows of  2023. I also discovered Ania was previously a member of the Cambridge Footlights. I didn't find out, however, how she got on with Dan from Bastille. Perhaps that will be revealed in her Edinburgh show later this year.

Ticket Price £14 plus booking fee.

Tour blurb:

To the hairdresser at [redacted] Salon: You can take my money. You can take my dignity. You can take too much off the ends. But you cannot take my right to talk about it on stage.

This is a show about the worst haircut of Ania Magliano's life.

Ania's critically acclaimed 2022 debut run sold out at Edinburgh, Soho Theatre and Leicester Square Theatre.

She's supported Marc Maron, Cat Cohen and Ed Gamble on tour, and writes for Amelia Dimoldenberg's Chicken Shop Date.