Kicking off over a fortnight of top class comedy in this fair city of ours, the Brighton Comedy Festival Opening Gala showcased some of the big beasts of gagmeistery and all in aid of the wonderful Sussex Beacon.
Hosted as ever by Beacon patron and spexy beast, Alan Carr, the night was one of warmth, laughter and many a good Brighton and Hove gag.
Carr is a charismatic bloke, difficult to dislike, especially when bewailing the fact that he hasn’t even made heat Magazine’s ‘weird crush’ list, let alone its normal one, and how he’s just been on his hols in the Maldives (‘Wooooo’) where he had to ‘butch it up’ after discovering that homosexuality is illegal there (“Has my wife arrived yet? You can’t miss her – she’s the one with the cock”).
Seann Walsh, who is supposed to be first up, has fallen asleep on the train, Carr informs us, and “fuck knows where he is”, so instead likeable Aussie Adam Hills (The Last Leg) opens the show with a bit of audience banter and a nice routine about the racism of sign language.
A big cheer echoes around the Dome when Carr reappears to inform us that Walsh has been found and is in the building. He also lets on about the ‘surprise’ star guest which sort of spoilt the bloody surprise. Bad Alan.
Local boy Simon Evans is on next with his squinty eyes and perfect take on the sluttiness of hen parties. His son’s perfect one word critique of Disneyland is gold.
First girly up, Angela Barnes, has an accomplished delivery but her jokes are full of the usual fare of the perils of single life and dating and not much else. She fails to spark, unlike miserablist Jack Dee who surprises by appearing with an electric guitar slung round his neck. Who knew he could sing? Sounding like he could have cut the mustard in Madness, his set is more a series of stand offs with the audience, his disgusted look and “What the fuck are you doing?” outburst when people start clapping along being a real belly laugh moment. Only Dee could get away with a lyric like “Be polite and tolerant, And always wear deodorant” without being carried from the Dome and lynched on the nearest lamppost.
After the interval, Beacon CEO Simon Dowe makes a nervous but heartfelt speech urging us to dig deep, and Carr introduces us to the second miserablist of the night, the small but perfectly formed Jon Richardson who, it turns out, is a bit pissed off as he’s been inexplicably happy for the past six months (could it have anything to do with all those fat fees for 8 Out of 10 Cats, Jon?)
His usual OCD and Old Before My Time schtick still works wonders and the audience are clearly in love with the Northern chipmunk. I mean, look at that little face. Awwwww.
Second girly of the night, Alan Carr‘s old support act Suzi Ruffell, fares much better than the first and looks drop dead gorgeous in skin-tight jeans and see-through top as she runs through the perils of hangovers and how she managed to spend a hundred quid in one night out at a Wetherspoon’s.
The prodigal Seann Walsh appears and, as he’s also a local boy, has a nifty line on the ups and downs of living in the city, including the scumminess that is London Road and the hippy dippy shit that infests the rest of the place.
Bruno Mars and his “I’d catch a grenade for you” provide a slimmed down Kevin Bridges with his best material, while ‘surprise’ guest Michael McIntyre gets a standing ovation from some of the audience BEFORE he’s started his set (that’s what being a ‘comedy superstar’ is all about I suppose).
Apologizing before he starts for being a bit out of practice, McIntyre goes on to steam the gig with his clever observational comedy which either does it for you or doesn’t. It’s certainly fashionable to slam the guy for being too mainstream, but there’s no doubting he’s a funny bugger and a charmer to boot. From paying the gas bill over the phone to battling through Captcha to buy a cinema ticket online, his comedy isn’t by any definition edgy, but it’s damned funny and his set ends the Gala Night perfectly.
Buckets are being rattled vigorously on the way out of the Dome and all look pretty well filled by the time this tardy reviewer manages to battle her way out of the building. The Gala is a fantastic start to what promises to be a superb two weeks of the best comedy this country (and any other) can offer. Go see as much as you can afford.
The Brighton Comedy Festival runs until 20 October.
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