Impulsively, I drove my chest infection (and H) up the motorway to Derby. With the spare time that being a student affords, the lure of Richard Herring’s Christ on a Bike had been too hard to resist.
Derby turned out to be a market town that elegantly manages to combine old world charm with a huge bustling Nandos. We got to the venue early for the unallocated seating, a guilty pleasure since I had booked the tickets half an hour before we set off but managed to get an ace second row place. The theatre was one of those municipal types where the bar makes no attempt to over-charge, and the mature usher sits by the door with a kind word for the bewildered. This got me smiling as I sat down. I don’t know if I’m alone in thinking the venue important. My heart sinks when I consider going to Wolverhampton with the high booking fee and the over-zealous security. I hadn’t considered Derby before but it’s about the same distance away in time (further in miles) and I’d definitely come back.
I had seen the Edinburgh Christ on a Bike, but given the subsequent London run and tour I had expected developments. Naturally, I had seen the Edinburgh version of Herring too but I was unprepared for his new slimmer, smarter look. If ever his girlfriend is to make an honest man of him, she should get on with it this year because the photos will be lovely. The show is more sleek too, pacy, clever and very, very funny.
I never know how to write reviews, so it’s just as well the audience were there for me to eavesdrop at half time. The teenager who began the evening saying this was probably going to be a waste of two hours of her life was in conversation with her dad about the meaning of ‘begat’. An older female relative of hers remarked that she could tell Herring was a brilliant writer because she had to think what he was saying and then he was funny. Meanwhile, the committed fans were going over the recurrent themes, debating their origins. Someone, somewhere said ‘Of course, he used to be big but you never see him now, so I thought I’d come.’ Happily, no one compared him unfavourably with Steward Lee.
They all have a point. Herring’s comedy is full of detail and delivered at a blistering pace. The cleverness is always as much on his sleeve as the cheekiness that allows him to get away with talking about the cock of Christ. It’s a far more demanding gig to sit through that the average comedian, you have to concentrate. Hours and weeks later, bits come back to you in a gut burst of a giggle, in intellectual inquiry. It’s why I love Herring far more than say, Ross Noble (who really makes me laugh on the night, but not after), but I think also why Herring doesn’t fill arenas. That wonderful new Pret-a –Manger joke deserves a big audience though.
There’s a beguiling, child-like quality in the stage Herring. Being so, there’s nothing a child likes as much as an in-joke as between mates. These have grown over the years, and if you’re a nerd for his work, you crave their presence. By the same token, I wonder if they’re the other reason Herring’s not on the telly (please let him be on the telly). The paying punters who weren’t on the inside were left bemused, with no way of bringing them in, save the next laugh, and the next. You get the hang of Herring, or you miss the point and leave half way through.
It was good to take H to see this show. It’s a testament to where dedication to your craft gets you. He pretends it’s all a clever trick, but nobody’s fooled. Even Herring’s yahtzee scores betray his tenacity. The theatrical set pieces succeed due to Herring’s stage experience and hard work as well as the clever construction. He’s at his funniest, enough to make my eyes tear and my ribs ache. In spite of it being a scripted show, he’s effortless in making a second’s problem with a mic stand into cause for a laugh. There’s time for that trademark warm, sweet rapport that keeps us nerdy fans coming back.
Richard Herring is touring all over the UK, some sell outs, but not all. If you haven’t seen him, go give Dee's favorite comedian a try.
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