Sidling onstage like a drunken, slimy Woody Allen in Phillip Schofield’s wardrobe comes Arnold Brown. His subject matter (terrorism, celebrity, being Jewish) is timeless and accessible but his shambling delivery grates from the opening mumble about anti-Semitism, and is liable to make your skin want to eat itself. (I purposefully stopped to browse the gents’ wall literature during my toilet break for some hope of hilarity.)
Every move is sticky, every word laced with “not quite” and his constant questioning of the audience for sources of gags reeks of Jim Davidson at a social club and only highlights the shortcomings of Brown’s own material.
The highlight is an appropriately joke-free lament on the Jewish transformation from victim (WW2) to aggressor (Palestine). However, he inexplicably soils this genuinely moving reflection with a xenophobic grumble at a Spanish guy on the bus chatting – too quickly for Brown’s liking – into his mobile phone. It’s almost Roy Chubby Brown, except that there’s not even any sort of joke here.
Oh, and in response to Brown’s own gripes, the reason that he’s playing The Stand in front of empty seats is that he’s guff. Comedy mincemeat.
1/5
Daniel Kirby
