Review: Al Murray, Pub Landlord, Victoria Hall
EVEN the attention seeking, unintelligent hecklers in the circle couldn't put Al Murray off his stride. "At least I know what I'm going to say next," he casually called to those whose comic timing was as out of sync as Jedward's dancing.
Needless to say, the Pub Landlord took it all in his stride and provided the packed Victoria Hall with two hours of non-stop comedy.
Loud, brash and utterly chauvinistic, Al Murray's perfectly crafted publican (his finest creation to date) had the audience eating out of the palm of his hand; chanting, jeering and – to finish the night off – singing together like an inharmonious choir.
This tour, his Beautiful British, sees Gordon Brown and the 2012 ("it's gonna be a load of *@@*") Olympics, the credit crunch, the existence of God, pleasuring women, the relationship between a drunk man and a toilet, and just about half of the audience come under fire. Word of warning, don't buy tickets in the first six rows if you want to go unnoticed.
We had the group of potatoes, beauty and the beast, the oldest man in the world and his single daughter, the couple with the café in the middle of nowhere and poor old Paul, the banker from Lloyds TSB who really shouldn't have owned up to his occupation when it came to explaining the credit crunch. Put it this way, if you weren't walking out with "let's go down together" ringing in your ears, you'd certainly be wondering where all the money is.
Liz Rowley
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