Our tickets were for the balcony. A staff member inside the entrance directed us to go through a set of double doors and then take the stairs on the left to the top. As we ascended, the air had that fresh carpet smell, the tread underfoot soft and luxurious. Arriving at the first floor, the Gallery level, we were instructed to turn around and continue up. Another flight of stairs brought us to a silent area empty of people. It felt almost forbidden, like we'd climbed too far and were now one door away from finding ourselves outside on the roof. Then, a young gentleman in a OneRen T-shirt appeared, examined our tickets and told us where to sit - in the very back row.
When I purchased the tickets, I hadn't even realised the Town Hall had two tiers or that our seats would be the absolute furthest from the stage, so I was slightly disappointed. The view was ever-so-slightly restricted thanks to a lighting rig obscuring the upper part of the big screen on the stage.
Thankfully, this got raised to the level of the others prior to the show beginning, but that didn't change the fact that we were so far from the stage. The temperature on the Balcony was sub-tropical, with various patrons fanning themselves furiously with their paper tickets to cool down. At least the seats were comfy.
I was tired and occasionally found myself resting my chin on my hand as John, without a support act, did some crowd work sprinkled with anecdotes in the first half. I had a little difficulty making out what he was saying, partly due to his jowly Scouse accent and partly due to the hall sound.
It didn't get better in the second half, though his prepared material did. Discussing his case of 'The Manopause', he acknowledged he'd been feeling out of sorts until a gynaecologist (long story) put him on testosterone. This, and forgetting Tommo, a childhood friend, during a random encounter with them, inspired him to complete the bucket list he'd written when he was seven.
We hear how he managed to achieve most of them, including killing a Dalek and shooting a laser gun. My pedantic brain would not let me enjoy this bit. Nick (Briggs) isn't seventy and hasn't been doing the Dalek voices for over forty years (or so I thought at the time - he's been doing them on TV since 2005 and with Big Finish since 1996, but I'd forgotten about the Audio Visuals that started in the late '80s). Anyway, at the time, these inaccuracies quashed the comedy for me.
His dilemma over whether to accept Sir Ian McKellen's personal request to appear with him in pantomime was funny. It could also have been interpreted as an attempt by Gandalf to groom the comic into snogging nightly for one hundred shows (semis optional). But that's theatre for you, darling.
A couple of pointless heckles irritated me. Someone shouting out 'Huw Edwards' while John was discussing Hugh Bonneville just seemed moronic, as John pointed out. He'd been discussing genetic Englishness, and Edwards is Welsh. Maybe the individual got triggered by the two sharing a similar-sounding first name. Fortunately, the heckles were few and far between, perhaps because John couldn't make out what was being said.
The people I was with thoroughly enjoyed the show. I found it a bit shabby, a bit like his stage outfit. Maybe he's still perfecting his routines because it didn't feel like a polished, finished product. Or maybe my next expensive purchase should be a pair of luxury hearing aids to combat my own version of the manopause.
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