Quarehawk

It’s fair to say that Lee Evans is a nice guy. And you can always rely on him to knock the stuffing out of it when he’s on stage. Last night at the Olympia he was testing out new material for his upcoming BIG tour. Of course this ‘testing’ element wasn’t mentioned when the tickets were being sold. Because would you pay to see a performer rehearse?

Bollocks. I suppose someone has to be the test audience.

So he’s brought a bunch of crib-notes along with him tonight, and he’s off …

[I'm not totally sure this drawing looks like him, but my friend Anna says yes so I'm going with it]

Well the jokes aren’t anything side-splitting, but his gurning and capering is a total riot. With crazy walks, cartoonish voices, and face-pulling that would embarrass a capuchin monkey, Evans gets most of the laughs from his physicality.

And the sweat. Oh dear Jesus the sweat! Is it even theoretically possible to out-perspire this man? Someone needs to get him and Christy Moore on a stage together and settle this once and for all. It could be a fund-raiser for hyperhydrosis.

And to clear the venue at the end he could threaten to throw his brow-mopping towel into the audience.

Part of Evans’ shtick is to be jittery and nervous. So there’s plenty of stammering around scratching his head. He likes to transpose outlandish stuff into humdrum situations. He did a great bit where instead of fending off a burglar with a baseball bat, he acted out using alternative sports equipment, hurdles, rings from the Olympics etc. This was classic stuff, and a pretty physical routine for a forty-something year old. And his age is noted in the act …

“I’ve started to make a noise now when I bend down.”

Oh right. Is it similar to the noise Billy Connolly makes before calling his legal people?

“When I went on dates my Dad used to say … ‘Give her one for me, son’ “

He imagines actually taking that advice literally, and mimes a sexual thrust before saying to the girl …

“This one’s for my Dad !”

HAR ! Although watching how Lee Evans leaks fluid does not make it fun to think about his sex life.

He takes a 10 minute break eventually, but that was probably more about changing to a fresh one-button suit than anything else. I would imagine they have to burn his old ones.

During the interval the powers-that-be in the Olympia saw fit to wheel out a fridge, and people queued up and bought ice-cream. At 10pm. Ice-cream to go with their beer. And they probably went for chips afterwards. You’d have to wonder is there anything that wouldn’t sell if presented to a gathering of the public at an “Event”, anything people would judge to be too stupid or inappropriate? Hoover bags? Pile ointment? What over-programmed idiot consumers we all are. I made a note of that on my iPhone. Shut up.

And the second half of the show? Meh. The second half was weak.

Did you know that professional footballers get paid a lot? Do you ever find it annoying when people talk loudly into their mobile phones? Are you aware at all, that women don’t always wear sexy knickers around the house? Isn’t driving stressful? And what is the deal with airline food?

Okay he didn’t do the airline food one, but he might as well have. I don’t know how comedians can get away with ploughing the same old furrows like this. It might be because there’s no such thing as an old joke, since every joke is going to be new to someone (ie a sheltered cretin). The dudes behind me were certainly shitting themselves laughing. I’d guess these were chaps who don’t go to many comedy gigs. And well, fine, good luck to them.

That wasn’t the problem.

The problem was that at three bastard hours this gig was too long. A good comedy night has a flow to it. You need to be able to get a few jars afterwards with your mates while you’re still buzzing and talk it over.

It’s not like live music. At a rock concert your legs can be tired and you might need to piss but WOO the big songs keep coming and the more the better. And afterwards you can stagger home jaded in the lovely cooling night air, and then flop onto your bed and listen to the WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE sound in your ears, satisfied and spent.

But you’ve only got so much laughter in the tank for a comedy night. There’s a mirth quota (Not enforced by the EU). Keep tickling and tickling a kid and eventually they’ll get all stony-faced, and if you keep going after that they’ll start crying. No-one was openly weeping by the end of this marathon, but I was starting to hate Lee Evans and wish he’d fuck off.

I rode out the dying half-hour of Evans’ three-hour bladder-buster in my cramped seat by counting off how many crib-sheets he had left. (Oh and here’s a tip - If you’re ever going to the Olympia try to get row G in the stalls. Loads of legroom).

And he did a weird song near the end. Something I’ve heard him do before.

It must be to showcase his many talents, but it’s an awful jarring change of pace. When he grabs a ukelele you expect a funny ditty, but instead it’s some bleak philosophical dirge about people fucking each other over or somesuch.

You can appreciate that he’s a thoughtful guy possessed of a degree of humanity, but the point is his music wouldn’t stand alone. He can indulge himself like this only because he already has the audience onside at that point. Imagine The Rolling Stones pausing a gig to take us through a slideshow of Ronnie Wood’s paintings (Terrifyingly, this might actually happen!).

The finale was an old classic sketch where he tears around the stage miming to Bohemian Rhapsody.

And then the standing ovation.

So that was Lee Evans. Definitely go to see him if you’re a once-in-a-while comedy fan, but not if you’re a regular because you’ll have heard too much of the material before. And definitely piss before he comes on.

[PS: I believe this is the first Lee Evans review in history not to mention Norman Wisdom]