Al Murray - Pub Landlord
Al Murray – Pub Landlord at the Theatre Royal
On the night Channel 4 broadcasted the comic spectacle of the hustings for the first round of Tory leadership battle, Al Murray’s pub landlord packed out the Theatre Royal, taking on the Brexit crisis that precipitated the contest. As a metaphor for life imitating art, one could hardly do better. Brexit has been going on for so long, and with so little momentum, it’s little wonder that comedians (or anyone else) have run out of funny things to say about it. Nonetheless, the heightened absurdity of where the country finds itself, and how the rest of the world views us as a consequence, was hardly a subject Murray’s grotesque creation could ignore.
The premise of the Pub Landlord is simple enough. A misogynistic little Englander, he espouses opinions so repellent that we laugh at him, and thereby exposes to ridicule those who share his views. Murray cheated a bit, as evidenced by his extended chat with the audience – the landlord is far too quick witted, and straightforwardly witty, for a man who holds such boneheaded ideas. Nonetheless, the direction of travel is clear. Introducing an “even handed” debate as being between leavers and remoaning bastards, he quickly established the landlord’s perspective on the state of affairs, before waxing lyrical over his joy at our imminent unshackling from the continent. There was fun to be had when his splenetic rage boiled over at the government’s incompetence (the one thing he felt that could bring us all together) but he very quickly found himself confronted with the central problem of this routine. As he later conceded, around half of the audience probably voted one way or the other, which made it almost impossible to carry the whole room. As the discourse of politics becomes increasingly toxic, the pub landlord’s views look almost quaint by comparison, but he still tip-toed around the elephant in the room - that Al Murray, a man who appears to be a humane and civilised human being when not in the guise of his alter ego, doesn’t find what’s happening very funny at all. So while there were quips aplenty, they fell uneasily between what the landlord would say and what Murray appears to think, leaving the uncomfortable impression that he no longer knows quite what the character should be saying.
He consequently appeared far more comfortable, and on much safer ground, when being a cuddly misogynist, flirting tragically with the “ladies”, as he would have it, having sent their boyfriends off to buy a drink at the theatre bar. Along with the ginger fellow, the plumber, the teacher, the builder, and the very small man, it’s a routine that relied on complicity between performer and victim, and a twinkle in the eye to carry it off. There was an old-fashioned, vaudevillian charm to a comic taking a pop at the first few rows of the audience, and a tangible, collective ease in the room that here, at least, we know where we stood. Murray’s very good at this, but you can’t help wonder if he tires of repeating the same old tropes and gags at the expense of a good-natured admirer. Towards the end of the first half, a routine relied on the premise that Europe is sadly no longer ready to go to war. It was an odd springboard for a joke that didn’t really work, but the accompanying lecture on Euro conflict over the centuries was fascinating, and revealed the bright, inquisitive man he really is. Again, we saw a clever man trapped by a character he has outgrown, something that was most clearly demonstrated by a wearisome song about Venezuela that, frankly, should never have made the final edit.
The landlord was capable of occasional, and welcome, flashes of sanity. He may be an awful man, but he occasionally reveals the truth that dare not speak its name. Having given the audience permission to take a picture, it was hilarious to watch as people fumbled with their phones, desperate to join in the selfie party, seemingly unaware of the point he was making. But while it is bizarre that folk look to their phones, and not to other people, for social interaction, it’s hardly an incendiary revelation, any more than noticing a potato, and therefore a chip, is technically one of your five a day. Murray seemed to be coasting, relying on familiarity rather than insight for his laughs. Given the uproarious cackling from his adoring audience it was easy to see why he wasn’t trying harder, but it was a shame.
After closing on a dispiriting song about winning the war, which was neither very clever nor very funny, Murray came close to breaking character, and thanked his audience for a lovely time. It revealed he was a personable and perfectly agreeable fellow – something we knew along, in truth. I just wonder if he’s noticed how many of his audience are now laughing with, rather than at, the landlord. Perhaps in an age where characters like Trump and Farage say and do things beyond parody, Murray should consider calling time on a character that, no longer as dreadful as the people he is supposed to be mocking, has outlived his usefulness.
