The friendly, inoffensive Jason Manford would rather be your mate than rock your world.
He’s a likeable everyman, sometimes a bit of a ‘knobhead’, sometimes a bit of a joker, sometimes a bit opinionated. But the emphasis is always on ‘a bit’. He may be on the telly, but he’s not a larger-than-life personality, he’s just like you, only more so.
It’s a strength and a weakness. A strength because you can’t help but warm to him – as ‘mates-down-the-pub’ comics go, you’d happily sink a few pints with him; a weakness because his material often lacks the killer edge that would elevate his material from witty badinage to glistening comic gold.
Though he’s been around for the best part of a decade, this is, remarkably his first solo tour, timed to cash in on his growing celebrity as an 8 Out Of 10 Cats regular. Sadly, no one got around to telling the people of Newbury about his fame, and a scant 60 turned up to this early date in a very long tour. Sales were so sluggish, in fact, that he gig was shunted from the showpiece town-centre Corn Exchange to the remote, and much smaller, New Greenham Arts Centre.
For all his affability, it’s still something of a slog to build a rapport with this reticent Monday-night crowd. The very nature of his lightweight observational shtick means that even when he amuses them, there’s a reluctance to see him as a great comic, rather than just a witty pal.
He nurtures that relationship, putting no distance between himself and us as he banters gently about the football, the town he’s in and the way the gig’s going. ‘You can have that one for the pub,’ he graciously says after one gag, and later, acknowledges: ‘We’re all pals here.’ The audience are convinced, too, interjecting well-meant asides, and feeling no embarrassment about asking familiar questions, knowing Jason wouldn’t mind, he’s a mate, after all. Indeed he does cheerfully bat away any such interruptions, taking every unexpected contribution in his stride.
Because it’s a debut tour, there’s a ‘greatest hits’ familiarity for anyone who’s previously seen him on the circuit, with well-honed routines about getting caught short while driving or his friend ODing on helium. But to fresh ears, they will work well.
Disappointingly, there are some generic old chestnuts in here, too, especially in a second half that’s notably less inspired than the first: sat nav voices, Gillian McKeith probing the content of people’s toilets, a rather twee segment on the behaviour of cats, and an already-dated Brokeback Mountain routine, the age of which he shamelessly tries to cloak with a disingenuous ‘I’ve only recently watch that movie…’ cop-out.
But elsewhere, he’s playful and cheeky, with more than a few anecdotes recalling smart-aleck comebacks he said, or ought to have said. When he gets one over on a sarcastic traffic cop, we’re all on his side. Notably, he never swears – ‘knobhead’ is about as strong as it gets – which helps his largely innocent persona.
His narcoleptic dad is a comedy gift, providing plenty of childhood reminiscences, and there is a generous portion of witty ‘we’ve all been there’-style observations which work well with his exceptionally natural delivery.
A show that nears two hours (plus interval) is something of a stretch for him; ditch the weaker generic stuff, and he’d have a strong 80 minutes or so; knock back on the chit-chat and it would be an impressive hour. As it stands, he’s absolutely fine; not rubbish, not brilliant. It sounds like damning with faint praise, but it’s a perfectly pleasant way to spend an evening, guaranteed to make you feel happier, even if your socks aren’t laughed off.
Reviewed by: Steve Bennett
Newbury, September 2008
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