I have a lot of time for Stewart Lee. His material can be divisive, pushing the boundaries of conventional stand-up. When he strikes comedy gold, as he usually does, the laughs are deep and plentiful as he toys with the audience, showing off how clever he is.
This show is different. Here, he's tired and jealous of the Netflix-style comedians who make a fortune by punching down on vulnerable minorities, when he, an award-winning and highly regarded comedian, cannot secure a deal with any streaming platform. He wants a taste of it and thinks he's found the perfect vehicle to explore this idea.
His set consists of three main sections: the first, his normal, alternative schtick; the second, that of a Netflix $60 million-dollar, right-wing conservative comic; and lastly, that of a Netflix $60 million-dollar comedian if they were left-wing and libertarian, finishing with a bit of waffle at the end.
Only, he wrote the show last year, and now he's lost faith in it, he explains before the show starts. Some of the references he's included haven't aged well in this crazy news cycle world in which we now live. But he can't drop them because he forked out £6k on a prop for the second half, which acts as a callback to material he has in the first half, so he's going to have to tour the show for at least two years to make his money back, otherwise the whole endeavour would have been a complete and utter waste of his time and money.
He starts the show in his teddy boy coat and performs his material straight. He mentions his love of travelling around the country, seeking out stone circles and similar sites. He's frustrated at the audience for not giving him the replies he requires to continue his material, acting up for comic effect. He performs part of this set on a barstool in the style of Dave Allan, only he can't place one leg over the other as he's so inflexible.
As he talks about another circle he visited in Cornwall on Bodmin Moor, dry ice billows across the stage from one side. Breaking from the bit, he complains that there is supposed to be dry ice from the other side, too, and that by mucking it up, the entire setup for the next bit has been ruined. He carries in mock indignation, as he relates the incident where he was approached by a large dog standing upright on its hind legs. Cue blackout and screams. The curtain falls.
He returns in the second half, under a full moon with the face of Gregg Wallace, as Man Wulf, a Netflix $60 million-dollar, right-wing, ultra-conservative comedian, whose catchphrase is "Lick my balls, suck my dick and make me a sandwich". He's encased in a full-body werewolf suit, with massive prosthetic claws and a tiny, visible penis. He performs his set, describing all the things he hates, generating easy, reactionary laughs. He also struggles to sit in the Dave Allen stool, extending the physical aspect longer than is necessary.
Finally, he rejects the wulf persona, discards the costume, except for the head and feet and performs a Netflix $60 million-dollar set as a far-left, libertarian comedian, whose catchphrase starts as "suck my dick, lick my balls and make me a sliced avocado open-topped sandwich on sourdough bread (or something like that) then morphs into something more politically correct.
The point is, the Right can say what they want and get away with it. The Left are held accountable for their words. As Lee admits, the hate speech is the most entertaining part of the show. He enjoyed saying it, and we enjoyed hearing it. This is the problem that today's society is facing, and he doesn't have an answer.
He finished with a glimmer of hope for the future regarding his seventeen-year-old son's activism against the far right, going into detail about every step the boy took to bring the community together. Only, he didn't do any of that. He spent all day in his room on his phone like every other teenager in the country.
That was the end of the show, except it wasn't. We were in for an extra treat. Lee had invited the local band, The Primevals, to finish the night by playing the "Man Wulf" theme. So they did. Probably the best bit of the show.
I didn't engage with Lee's material tonight. I'm not sure why. I was there on my own, wedged into my tiny stall's seat, with two ladies on either side, one of whom was also on the large side. I remained self-conscious throughout, trying to shrink myself to avoid making contact with either of them. The larger lady couldn't help but nudge me occasionally as she laughed, making a point of correcting her position to keep to her side.
His usual shtick is to use repetition for comic effect, and that was on display, but to a much lesser extent. His use of slapstick and theatrical technical errors was a new area for him, which I felt didn't work. I much prefer it when his words and reactions generate the laughs.
Perhaps this was the first step in his transformation into a more mainstream comedian, moving further away from the club comic mentality into the theatrical.
Ticket Price: £36.91 including £3.95 transaction fee from ATG Tickets.
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