Russell Kane
It was gone ten o’clock and Russell Kane still hadn’t appeared on stage. Not because of problems, or a late start, but rather because of a packed programme. Three other comics had already appeared at the On the Spot Comedy Club, and given the hefty ticket price I guess it was only fair. Granted, there was lots to see, but it’s been a long time since I’ve out this late, and I’m beginning to wonder if you can have too much of a good thing.
While there have been sporadic events over the last eighteen months, most notably in a tent within Chapelfield Gardens, this was the first time that folk gathered in an actual indoor room, to listen and laugh, for a very long time. Despite a three line whip to review the comedy, not the venue, I can’t resist giving a shout out to Epic Studios. Having been to a few socially distanced events, carried out with varying degrees of success, I thought Epic did a cracking job. All of the staff behaved in a clear, calm and courteous way, guiding patrons through subtle hoops without fuss or rancour. The auditorium was laid out in a way what was roomy without seeming desolate, enabling people to grab their pre-allocated seats quickly and efficiently, and all with the help of a nice person with a clip board. There was something going on with drinks that involved QR codes which may have gone wrong at some point, but it didn’t seem to matter. Bar staff skittered around delivering drinks with speed and good humour.
Compere for the evening was Karen Bayley, who quickly established that getting the crowd going was like pushing against an open door. This was an audience raring to go after being locked away for so long, and perhaps sensing they had already warmed themselves up, she dispensed with the ribbing traditionally dished out to the front row, and launched into a routine of her own. With much talk of MILFs, Cougars, weight and sex it hardly confounded expectation, but was a solid and assured performance. The lugubrious Mike Gunn followed with an extended routine involving feathers, but thereafter settled into a groove that ticked off cars, kids and Viagra. Another circuit pro, there was nothing wrong with his routine, and he won a few big laughs along the way, but I can’t have been the only one with an eye on what was to come.
Perhaps I should say what I thought was to come. Paul Sinhais a cut above – a thoughtful and intelligent performer that was as big a draw, at least for me, as the headliner. It was, therefore, hugely disappointing that, unannounced and unexplained, he failed to appear. One has to hope that his absence had nothing to do with his health issues. Filling his considerable shoes was Emmanuel Sonubi, a giant of a man who had the unenviable task of taking Sinha’s place. Yet another bloke who is convinced he doesn’t have a face for comedy, and ploughing a similar furrow to Gunn, his misanthropic routine was fooling no one – he’s clearly a likeable and warm hearted fellow. No one seemed to be enjoying his time on stage more than he was, except a woman in the audience who took a shine to him, flooring him with her lascivious lechery, and thereby giving us some of the biggest laughs on the night.
So far, so comedy night, and while there’s nothing exactly wrong with that, a run of journeyman comics can’t help but leave you leaning in, hoping for the headliner to rear his coiffured head. It’s a bit mean, really, as any one of them would be thought a hit at a local comedy night, but when Russell Kane is topping the bill, there’s a palpable imbalance to the night that only his anticipated appearance can resolve. As the big hand edged to towards ten, we already knew we were getting less Kane that we might have expected, and that’s hardly fair on the acts that preceded him. To my mind, less would definitely have been more, leaving elbow room and head space for the whirlwind that Kane is.
Starting as he meant to go on, Russell Kane was an exhausting bundle of energy on stage, flitting like a gadfly from one subject to another. His observations are funny, obviously, but they are interesting too, and comics are always at their best when they manage to be both. The earlier acts had deftly avoided the elephant in the room, choosing instead to focus on toilets, transvestites and transport, but Kane confronted covidhead on. After a brief prelude, where fourteen year old Reece was informed that his mum Clare was fit, Kane dived into the ramifications of a pandemic. It’s not news that that the lives, and livelihoods, of performers have been decimated, but Kane’s atrophied self-worth was a revelation. He confessed to being unable to take the mickey out of anyone in the audience on the grounds they are bound to be of more use to the world than he is. Of course, he then went on to do exactly that, albeit in a way that felt inclusive rather than mean.
Over too soon, Kane left his audience wanting more, and while that’s exactly what you’re supposed to do, one can’t help feeling we got less of him than we might have expected. Hats off to all concerned for offering up anything at the moment, but with both Katherine Ryan and Jason Manford in the pipeline, I do wonder whether the Comedy Club format quite works for these big ticket acts.
