Final reviewed

The Scottish Comedian Of The Year is unique in comedy competitions in that it imposes no ‘new act’ stipulation on its entrants. Anyone can enter, regardless of experience, just so long as they’re prepared to perform at a heat, a semi-final and a rather prestigious final for a shot at a £1,000 first prize.

As such, it provides a genuine snapshot of the Scottish scene, with the final showcasing the sort of jobbing comedians likely to be found in pub gigs across the country, rather than just the brightest, hungriest rookies.

Perhaps that’s why there was an overall feeling that this year’s crop was a largely unexciting one. Confidence and style were out in force, but originality was more elusive, with many of the comics tending towards such safe, unambitious territory as toilet humour, wanking gags and generic topical jokes past their tell-by dates. That’s not always been the case, however, so it’s maybe a blip more than an inevitable consequence of the contest format.

Opening the gig was Australian Ro Campbell, eligible for this competition because of his six years’ Scottish residency, and not just because his surname seems to fit. As an outsider, he might be expected to have some unique insight on his adoptive country, but all he’s come up with is that the people are pasty and it rains a lot.

A routine about Australian Guantanamo prisoner David Hicks promises more, but proves one-note and obvious; while his closing segment pleases and disgusts the crowd in equal measure as he plunges headfirst into wilfully crude territory, though it’s shock-value comedy, rather than witty. His assured, upbeat manner sells such material as he’s got hard, but there’s the inescapable feeling that he’s got all the rhythm and style of a stand-up, but little of the content. A presenter, perhaps, more than an innate comedian.

Teddy, making his third appearance in this competition, started very strongly, with freshly-minted topical gags about baggage-handler-turned-hero John Smeaton running for Parliament and the release of Lockerbie bomber Abdelbaset al-Megrahi. But he soon ran out of steam, with less immediate quips about Osama Bin Laden, Prince Harry’s supposed racism and parentage and the BNP which, worryingly led to him getting a better laugh for telling a racist joke than he did for mocking it.

He boldly had a Crack at Glaswegian sectarianism, too, though the results didn’t match the ambition. Sean Connery’s status as a millionaire tax exile spouting off about how Scotland should be run was a much easier target, which he hit squarely. Teddy’s an amiable performer with some sharp ideas, and even though he seemed underpowered tonight, he landed joint second place.

John Gavin’s great strength is that he has a clear sense of identity. A father of three girls, his set is almost entirely about his domestic situation, which he describes with warmth and wit, whether it be the compulsory Mamma Mia sessions or his six-year-old gaily singing pop hits with entirely inappropriate lyrics. You can easily envisage him writing regular scenes about his family in an upmarket newspaper’s lifestyle section, though his tales have a little more edge than the norm. His effortless likeability and unaffected charm make his conversational set all the more engaging, and although he’s only been performing comedy for little over a year, he has all the makings of a class act – not to mention the title Scottish Comedian Of The Year 2009.

Eighties throwback Gordon Brunton didn’t so much have a set as a bunch of hack putdowns played out on shuffle, regardless of relevance. ‘Where did you learn to whisper?’ ‘Don’t go drinking on an empty head’ and even the lazily homophobic line when one punter wandered out of his seat: ‘Will all homosexuals please go to the toilet now.’ Sorry, Gordon, but in our century, homosexual isn’t an insult.

The material he did get through between this waterfall of tripe was equally uninspired and tired, comparing posh British Airways captains with the announcements you get on less salubrious airlines. As if the paucity of the idea wasn’t bad enough, the airline he chose for comparison was Kenya Airways, and even he wasn’t outdated enough to try that accent … which rather defeats the object. Tedious jokes about inappropriate masturbation brought a limp set to a welcome end.

Ray Bradshaw was the newest kid on the block, but had some of the most quotable gags of the night, once he got past all the generic material about being ginger. He’s essentially a one-line merchant, even if the jokes are couched in sometimes unnecessary banter. About a third of those included in this ten-minute set are excellent, especially in such bad-taste territory as domestic violence, which he cheekily berates us for enjoying, while his wilful misreading of newspaper headlines also provides sharp, offbeat quips. He has his share of clunky, well-flagged payoffs, too, but there’s heaps of potential here once he develops more confidence in his material. And there’s lots to be confident about.

Back to onanism with Chris Forbes, whose broad, familiar routine opened on this much-used territory and ended in similarly unedifying manner on the embarrassment of using a public toilet. A affable delivery isn’t enough to elevate such by-the-numbers comedy, and sometimes means he gets too bogged down in being chatty without focussing on the punchline. Windy routines about charity collectors and trying not to swear in front of your kids at a football match being just two cases in point, burying promising ideas under a weight of unnecessary waffle, leading to an unexceptional set.

The same can very easily be said of Chris Henry, with unremarkable jibes about teenage pregnancies and neds who wear tracksuits but have never been to the gym. Similarly, comments about unwanted old friends tracking you down on Facebook may be true, but need a punchline. Henry isn’t particularly likeable, either, and not in a comedically good way. He seems bitter when he moans about other people’s children, boastful when he references his youthful girlfriend, and just plain tedious when he dusts down that hoary old subject of women remembering every previous argument. He, too, ends with some more gratuitous masturbation material. Enough already.

Kier McAllister, who produced one of the strongest rants in last year’s final, seemed to have his eye off the ball this time around. There’s a quick rundown of various Scottish cities with brief reasons why they’re rubbish, a contrived Michael Jackson gag, easy below-the-belt material about bushy pubic hair and the passing off of an old theatrical anecdote about heckling an Anne Frank play as his own. The paucity of the inspiration is a shame, as McAlister certainly walks the walk when it comes to forceful delivery, with a quick, confident and relentless attitude that brushes aside all before it. There are flashes of good things in the writing, but too few to make the most of that impressive confidence.

Saj Chaudry produced a car crash of a set, swerving unpredictably all over the shop before becoming a fiery wreck. He came out playing to his strength – impersonations – with a suitably aggressive Joe Pesci rant. This messily jumped into a bizarre X-Factor pastiche, which in turn slammed into an ill-conceived routine about demanding children. Chowdhry tells us he’s recently lost his job, and is now a stay-at-home dad, but as he talks about interviewers who have told him he was ‘overqualified’ for a job, he loses sight of all comedy and simply seems to be settling some scores. Finally, we’re in the hack territory of airline security questions and the tediously smart-aleck responses to questions such as: ‘Did you pack your bags yourself?’ that surely everyone has thought of. ‘Overqualified’ is certainly not an objection he’s likely to encounter in his comedy career any time soon.

Bluff half-Turkish Aberdonian Gus Tawse has a compellingly forceful style, even if some gags – such as asking for a ‘number two’ in a barber’s shop and sending Valentine cards to dyslexics have previously featured in other comics’ sets. It’s likely to be coincidence, as there’s plenty else in his crowd-pleasing set with a more distinctive mark, such as his contemporary reference to the ‘cash for gold’ ads or his routine about the actress who plays Big Mo in EastEnders, which uses repetition with playful skill. No everything was so strong, but the delivery was exemplary, and nailed him the other joint second place in a field that wasn’t particularly strong.

Reviewed by: Steve Bennett
Glasgow, September 2009

Published: 28 Sep 2009