Review by Steve Bennett

Amid all his usual disgruntled rumblings about how marriage, children, aging and life itself have ground down his spirit, Dylan Moran briefly mentions the sort of contemporary art that might present ‘a skull with Findus crispy pancakes stuffed in its eyes’ as a totem of the human condition.

In that thunderbolt moment it becomes crystal-clear how Ireland’s leading philosopher-wit operates. He, too, works like a modern artist but with gags and insight where the pretension usually lies. And the analogy isn’t just because of the rotating series of Milliganesque doodles and sketches which form his backdrop, but because Moran has a unique ability to conjure up obscure, surreal, borderline lunatic imagery that illuminates his chosen topics as if with X-rays, so you suddenly see them anew. His descriptive passages may be fantastical, but you always know exactly what he means, as you laugh at the elegant phraseology.

Moran might have stopped swigging wine on stage, but he still affects the demeanour of the bar-room wag: a man convinced he has all the answers but with an addled brain struggling to articulate them. That is but a lie, however, for when he apparently stumbles into the words and ideas he is looking for, they are perfectly evocative and eloquently droll. When it comes to metaphor and analogy, the man is an artisan.

He plays up this shambolic persona, teasing us that ‘the beginning takes a while’ as he verbally meanders up to his first point. But that lackadaisical attitude is a self-perpetuating myth; within minutes, he’s offered a mature and unexpected takes on atheism, images of masculinity and the insouciance of youth, tapping away on apps rather than risking engagement with the real world. He’s rapier-sharp beneath that shaggy exterior.

This Yeah, Yeah tour is never short of ideas, nor is it short of jokes, all coming from an exactly defined point of view of a man who, though world-weary, longs for the freedom, joy and excitement of youth that the years and life’s responsibilities have knocked out of him. There’s a tragic romance to that idea that, although a professional middle-aged grump, his attitude has been reluctantly foisted upon him by circumstance, rather than some ingrained misanthropy.

Apparently well-worn topics such as the ravages of age, or men and women’s differing attitude to relationships are made fresh through his imaginative focus; while the wide-ranging monologue takes in everything from Ireland’s economic meltdown to grim Scottish weather; from his own underappreciated artistic genius to the films on Jason Statham without ever appearing to change gear. Digressions become routines, apparent asides take us back on track.

His material is both domestic and universal, as he extrapolates greater truths from his own experiences, which mainly revolve around him not being allowed to cower in a sleeping bag free from interference from the world. It means the whole show – two brisk 40-minute sets separated by an interval – is relentlessly thoughtful and funny. But mainly funny.

Review date: 6 May 2011
Reviewed by: Steve Bennett
Reviewed at: Oxford New Theatre