At a monster 145 minutes, Lee Evan’s Big certainly lives up to its name. Unfortunately, however, the same adjective doesn’t apply to the ambition of this tediously pedestrian set.

The hugely popular Evans is remarkably keen to make sure every one of his observations is blandly universal. Every gag is introduced by phrases like ‘it’s always…’, ‘everyone has…’ Even when he talks about relationships, there’s constant reference to ‘your wife’; assuming (a) everyone listening is a married man and (b) all their wives are interchangeable; they all act the same.

Of course, pointing out common foibles can be rich comic ground: look how Michael McIntrye does it. But Evans sticks to comments so utterly banal that they are more like small-talk than comedy. Isn’t it weird holding a handbag for ‘your wife’? Don’t footballers writhe around in agony a lot? Facebook? What’s all that about then?

Rarely does he do anything with the observations, just simply state them as a truth that must be instantly funny. An incredulous ‘Fuck off!’ becomes a punchline when he can’t think of anything particularly funny to say about the things he – and the rest of the sentient world – have noticed.

Occassionally he’ll surprise with a killer line, but there’s fewer in these two-and-a-quarter hours than in most comics’ 20-minutes sets.

At least here you can see the facial expressions that make his act, as opposed to the vast O2 Arena, a terrible venue for comedy. But even those famously cartoony features can’t cover for the blandness of the material. His thumbnail character sketches are nice, as always, and the quickfire speed-dating sketch is an impressive bit of visual comedy, if not exactly exciting in its outlook, true to form. For such an upbeat performer, the tone of the show is relentlessly moany and petty, full of niggling hate for supermarket minimum-wage slaves or anything that might slightly inconvenience him. The set is peppered with swear words, as if he believes this is the way to make his mundane comments seem edgy, and his mime of masturbating to late-night phoneline ads is remarkably graphic.

As if to make amends for the generally unpleasant taste some of his comedy leaves, he ends with some simplistically twee songs about being nice to each other and getting along together. The show ends with a cornball ‘We Are The World’ type finale complete with dancing cowboys, Beefeaters, Carmen Miranda-style South American an Australian with a cork hat and a woman in a kimono, hardly a subtle representation of any nationality. But hey, there’s a cute choirboy singing at the end, so that makes us all feel good. A quick glance at the credits reveals that the boy on screen isn’t the boy singing, but that’s only in tune with the cynical feeling of this whole dispiriting venture.

Release date: November 24, 2008

RRP: £21.99