Geoff Norcott

Ever since the alternative comedy scene of the eighties (which, inevitably ended up as the establishment) the oxymoronic idea of a right wing comedian has seemed unlikely, unwelcome and even unconscionable. Even during the Blair years there was little kick back despite a government that had a broadly (war crimes excepted) socialist agenda. Geoff Norcott is one of the few comics that bucked the trend (Simon Evans and Andrew Lawrence also spring to mind, but it’s hardly a list). Uniquely, he is on the ascendant, appearing on the MASH report, Question Time and Election night. No doubt booked to offer (and in fairness, generally providing) a counterpoint to the prevailing received wisdom, his contributions are often thought-provoking and considered.

This nevertheless begs the question what he’s like in front of compliant fans, without Nish Kumar to bounce off. I have previously dipped my toe in the waters of controversial comics, most notably (and many years ago) Bernard Manning, who was as vile as his the audience - a xenophobic cauldron of hate. I was reminded of the same uneasiness I felt then, as I wandering around the foyer of the Maddermarket theatre, although the good folk of Norwich seemed quite normal by comparison. No horns, no tridents, no pointy tails. I did bump into Lucy Harris, the (now former) Brexit MEP for Yorkshire and the Humber, but I guess she’s now got time of her hands. They couldn’t all be Guardian reading lefties on safari, as Norcott repeatedly referred to the likes of me, so where were all the spittle-flecked fascists I had come to gawp at? It was the first of many preconceptions to take a tumble.

Norcott’s support act, Konstantin Kisin, is a Russian/Jewish comic working a self-declared niche in the UK. You canimagine the furrow he chooses to plough, and was at his best when making wry observations about his adopted home. Nothing wrong foots a British crowd more than telling them they live in a wonderful, tolerant country, and he obviously had fun perplexing an audience unready for such a vicious line of attack. He was also sharp, polished and likeable, but not nearly as shocking as he imagined himself to be. After an edgy routine that revolved around living in Salisbury (you can do the maths) he quelled a protest, even though it wasn’t there- this crowd was made of sterner stuff.

Geoff Norcott closed the first half, but there was a sense that the act hadn’t really started. There was some good natured joshing with the front row, and some more rabblerousing easy wins. Describing himself as a man who looks like he knows how to hire a skip was both funny and accurate, but his claim to be a member of the BBC’s new Diversity and Inclusion Advisory Group had me groaning internally. A panel beater from King’s Lynn may well feel untouched by white male privilege – fair point – but it’s a stretch for a relatively successful comedian to see himself closely associated with that man, regardless of his working class roots. It was only a joke, as Norcott would remind his crowd repeatedly, but it’s a joke that worked because it was told to an empathic audience that agreed with the premise on which it relied. There’s not much wrong with that, you might argue, but it’s exactly the kind of echo chamber complacency he rightly decries in others.

Norcott may be an alternative to what is now the establishment, but in old money is that not a simple jobbing comic? After the interval, there was anti-woke, pro-Brexit, anti-authority rhetoric, but for much of the time this was little more than window dressing. Strip away the anti-feminist framing and a fairly standard routine emerges, of men staring haplessly in the fridge while the wife effortlessly multitasks. Edit out the Corbyn bashing, and you’re left with gags about old blokes obsessed with hobbies while mismanaging their lives. Rebecca Long-Bailey got thrown into the mix, but only to comment on her funny face – was that really the best target to aim for?