Back in England. Door-to-door a fifteen-hour journey. Task of the day, Monday December 18th, 2023, is to take the train down south, two hours to London. In Wilmslow train station it’s hard to tell there’s money in the air. Outside though, every other car is a Porsche, Range Rover, BMW, or Bentley. Took a day to see a Rolls Royce. At the platform there’s a seemingly stochastic rhythm of interweaved footsteps striding, shuffling, and plodding on hard surfaces. To my mind the surfaces sound wet, but it’s probably a subconscious inference from the myriad of dripping sounds. I am back in the northwest (of England): rain.

In Wilmslow’s train station you’re never far from being arm’s distance away from magpies or well-dressed folk, least when getting the train to Euston. I’m not sure what has happened here, Sunak possibly, but there was an eerie lack of pigeons in this station. As the train slowed its roll through the platform, the well-dressed yet inelegant folk hurriedly marched with an odd smugness towards the front of the train, purpose calling. Only to double back on their forethought on realising their cart was toward the back. I can only assume that where they are going, their gauche style will fit in. But alas, I am on the same train.

Cart F. Seat 9. I sat down. Apologise to a woman who was resting on the two seats, one of which I had reserved. She moves on. Guiltily, I had not meant to move her, but am happy all the same. By the time the train starts moving, a man, who too just boarded, is making dinner reservations for Thursday. The haughty enunciated voice is not being carried well on the phone’s signal. “The name is Robert. It’s Robert. —Robert”. Ribbet. Upper-middle class heartlands. We are just departing. The upper, middle class, heartlands.

The trains are not as bad as I recall, but no better, having recently been spoiled on Via Rail in Canada, which, to be fair, is very expensive unless you book way in advance. There is the faint smell of urine in the air, likely from the latrine with an open door, but I’m not so naive as to eradicate all uncertainty. A young woman sits beside me and somehow eats crisps silently: a magician worthy of show. I see a pigeon in London Euston station. No ticket checks!

Arrive to Leicester Square Theatre at 6:40pm. The door lady is wearing the Monday blues, impeccably. Staff inside are friendly. Seated by 6:45pm. Seat A10! Front row, dead centre. As the place begins to fill, I’m checking my phone every five minutes, anticipating the start of the show. I start getting some adrenaline, the flighty kind. Guitar driven music is being played over the speakers prior to the show, it has a soft but up-tempo bassline that banks this way and that. It’s soothing. I become entranced on how the stool centre stage, behind the mic stand, is lit. It has red specular highlights and is itself red metal framed. The red, rim lighting pops around its near-edges and the underside of the seat has a red glow from light bouncing up off the stage floor from behind, which is also causing another red rim light but on the underside of the metal frame, which is neon-like given the contrast between it and the relatively dark underside. After many reminders of the time at which the show is to begin, the show begins. It is now apparent that I’ve not only chosen a centre front-row seat, but that the first seat to my left as well as two to my right are no-shows in the 400-seat, sold-out theatre. My first comedy show, and I’m island-like in the front row.

Basic Lee was the show. By Lee’s admission it started with a definition of stand-up comedy that got refined; he put forth, in a joke, that he was actually a literary-art performer not a stand-up. The show’s middle might have been the “But what is” Stand-up comedy, ashamedly I can’t remember. The end was the delivery of stand-up comedy which included the purported mandatory faux sob story.

The show was a blast. I underestimated how close I was going to be. Looking him in the eye was tough to maintain, even if I had wanted to, given the severe neck angle. Being alone at the front and with it being my first comedy show, I was a bit nervous about potential interaction from Stewart Lee. However, after the start of the second half my nerves were put at ease and I laughed freely.

I loved the metanarratives and long-form jokes. “This is me now, for those of you confused”, Stewart Lee remarked at least once. Mid-joke persona changes were easy to overlook at the moment, given the fluidity and pacing of the show, but they were part of the charm for me, and, I assume, part of the dupes and suspension that enable the curtain to be thrown back many a time within a long-form joke that might last upward of 20 minutes.

He opened with topical stuff whilst (as part of his act) complaining about doing topical stuff. Rishi Sunak’s government, and the three other Tory governments that had been had whilst he started writing the show (Jan 2023). Monarchists. He also riffed on his usual audience: men that like high-brow, exclusive stuff who drag their partners to his shows and condescendingly explain why he (Stuart) is so good. Fleabag being the first art form to address the audience, middle-class Oxbridge required—if only there had been working class art forms to do it”… Or something close to.

Lee started crowd work at the start of the second half. Picking on the slogans of what people were wearing. Characterising some audience members: there was the Andrew Tate disciple, Claire from accounting, the guy who likes hyper-violent films and doesn’t care for their cultural impact or historical context, and man with a symbol of a potentially Nazi radio station, oh, as well as me, the reclusive, too good for friends just like the character, Stuart Lee, in the show.

This got me a handshake from the Greatest Stand-up in the World (I think this is a The Times quote). Yes, Stewart, I am your main demographic: bearded man who likes exclusive things and would drag his partner to see them if she was in the same country. So, I do notice and enjoy that I got the only handshake.

Funnily, on the way out, I took a wrong turn and left the venue instead of going to his merch stand where he sells things. I ask if I could go back in, “Yes”. I go. I am the last in line, but Stewart’s merch stand is manned by him and another. I got the other (of course) and already had my money out, so people could move on with their lives, and pay him for a book and leave. I had hoped to get a polaroid picture. But I cannot confront him. Let’s leave it at a handshake, no verbal blunders or disinterest.

This was my first comedy show, and as said, it was a blast. I don’t think it would be possible for me to go to another show quite like this, the act is a big name in comedy nationally, and I was front centre with no one on either side. Perhaps because I was on my own, or because it was my first show, or even my reticent nature, but as an audience member I found it hard to laugh without being self-conscious. I think Stewart Lee treated me delicately, I stuck out on the front, and he only interacted with me in ways that were semi-complimentary or a call back to previous interactions. Comparatively, I would say he flagellated some (in the capacity expected for the context). I’m not sure where the sensibilities he had in dealing with me came from… Probably 35 years of performing. Maybe it’s just decent etiquette to not go for the lone, quiet showgoer. Maybe it was a read of my body language, scarce eye contact and clammed-up joy. Maybe both, or otherwise.

It’s odd, and misguided, but there were times where it really felt like he, Lee, was talking directly to you (or, I should say, to me, to put it more explicitly and expose the ridiculousness of the statement). This might factor in how I see him dealing with me as an audience member. I think, really, it’s testament to him as a writer and performer, knowing how to deliver a show and improvise. Anyhow, Lee’s interaction with me as an audience member did me a great service, it gave me licence to laugh. Consequently, I could relax and, without realising, immerse myself in the show. Probably the best £30 I have spent in a long time.

Sean McHale

Blog

Posts tagged with Stewart-Lee

License to Laugh