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Sometimes reviewers get all the luck - front row seats at
the theatre for instance. And sometimes generosity can look like plain
conspiracy - front row seats for an evening of stand-up comedy (being
just one example, plucked out of the air.) As the ever-excellent compere,
MC Silky, pointed out to everyone, "don't heckle, please don't heckle
- unless you want to look like a complete tit. These people spend their
lives being funny, and if you tell them they're not then, trust me, they
will destroy you." Sage advice. He might also have added that anybody
in the front seats would receive a similar treatment ...
This was certainly the fate of a fresh-faced BBC journalist who had stationed
his camera-tripod combo by the table adjacent to us. Successive acts were
merciless and, at one point, Silky even persuaded him to check that his
lens-cap hadn't been on all along. Even without photographic equipment
and my note pad judiciously left at home, there was no shortage of anarchic
comedic bile directed at me. As the first act came toward an end and our
wine was running at a trickle, Andre Vincent delighted in pointing out
that I was taking sips from my girlfriend's glass. Our stocks were replenished
at the interval, but Silky took no less pleasure in pointing out how rampantly
alcoholic we appeared to be. Too little, too much - you just can't win.
Not in the front row anyway.
Aside from the near-compulsory humiliation, stand-up can be truly mesmerising
as an art-form - just one man and his stage. Silky has a talent for creating
a great mood with his talent and polished routine, while remembering that
his role is not to over-shadow or compete with the main acts. Following
him was the aforementioned Andre Vincent, a very funny man who never quite
grabbed his audience. His act swung from toilet humour to nineteenth century
literary allusion and, in one inspired moment, phenomenal sonority (this
man can do opera!) Dave Skinner provided a middle slot to be envied. Young,
pretty and self-possessed, Skinner's laid-back style was surprisingly
comfortable given that he only had ten minutes to perform. Following his
all too brief appearance was Noel James - an acclaimed comic, but a man
with a style not suited to the closing minutes of a drink soaked 'Back
Room at the Bully.' Quick-fire, punning and abstracted, James could have
been performing in front of almost any audience - he ignored Aunty and
his camera, and everybody else. Being the last act can be the best fun.
Alcohol spills much mirth if poured at the right angle but, clever though
Noel James was, he did not have anybody rolling in the aisles as many
(far less talented) performers have.
Comedy nights provide an adrenaline much like that of a gig performed
by your favourite band. The performance will always leave a warm feeling,
even if below par. The Bullingdon runs its comedy nights extremely well,
and the Back Room is an excellent venue. Analysed: this line-up was not
inspired. But a brilliant night out? Yes it was - even for those in the
front row (who weren't possessed of a 'kick-me-now' camera...)
Leif Dixon, 3rd March 2004
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