Review by Julian Hall

You have to hand it to Matt Roper, he’s in character before his show even starts. Outside the door of his venue he’s explaining to people, as Wilfredo, that they are running behind, while a member of the venue’s staff is pouring complimentary whiskey down the throats of the some of the punters waiting. The message could be: ‘You don’t have to be drunk to enjoy this but it helps.’

The Tron bar is certainly a canny space for the Spanish crooner to inhabit, although the lighting is less than atmospheric off stage. On stage no amount of moody illumination can detract from the deliberately goofy, Jerry Lewisesque face that Roper has given Wilfredo by virtue of some comedy dentures, nor obscure his Beatles mop-top hairdo gone wrong.

Completing the physical profile of this charmer from Grenada are his hacking cough, his public displays of spittle and his pronounced stoop; he’s a decrepit Spanish version of a seen-better-days Charles Aznavour.

For the benefit of those who have not seen him before, Wilfredo recaps on the back story he has built up in his previous show by singing a gypsy prophecy of his life that saw him go ‘from my mother’s womb to the dressing room’.

Once committed to a singer’s life Wilfredo had girls throwing themselves at him and Serge Gainsbourg throwing drinks down his neck before Angelina Jolie popped up on the scene for a short-lived affair.

Since then his conquests have included Harriet Harman, to whom he pays tribute in  a song about how she would text him LOLs during PMQs, although the lyric isn’t quite that snappily arranged. Elsewhere, still on the theme of famous liaisons, he reprises a song used in his previous show, Wilfredo: Erecto about his alleged fathering of various celebrities called The Child Is Not Mine.

Often the songs, and some of the poetry in between, are too earnestly trying to be romantic and wistful as to be not that funny. Melodically they are pleasing enough, with Uncle Ignacio (classical guitarist Kris Howe) doing his bit to lend the proceedings some class. Meanwhile, there’s always a section where the audience can be involved either by clapping or singing the chorus.

Inclusive, certainly. Incisive? Not so much. The occasional practised line amuses in between songs, but the songs themselves sometimes rely on Wilfredo’s elaborate throat-clearing or other vocal tic to get laughs.

It’s fair to say that there is a certain amount of goodwill in the room for him, but Wilfredo himself concedes there are lulls, saying what those people wearing bemused looks on their faces are clearly thinking.

Review date: 21 Aug 2012
Reviewed by: Julian Hall
Reviewed at: Monkey Barrel Comedy (The Tron)