Gig review by Steve Bennett at the Soho Theatre, London

Fresh from his 15-minute Netflix special, Jak Knight is making his London debut. But a lot of his humour seems to have got held up in customs.

Even though he’s a comedian so obviously in possession of a cheeky vim, the performance becomes awkward and stilted as routine after routine hit silent dead-ends, often as soon as he started them. His initially apologetic response turned to frustration and he railed against the uptightness he perceived.

Straight out of the gate he portrayed Brits as miserable – probably a fair charge, certainly compared to perky American optimism – but the thought seemed a judgemental dismissal, without the material to back it up. So apology No 1 was for his abrasiveness.

Then he praised rappers for glamorising opiate abuse, so culling the white kids who follow them in what you might call an ethnic cleansing. Apology No 2 was for being ‘too dark’; thought the issue was probably more one of trust, we still hadn’t got to know him.

Apologies No 3 and 4 followed for using cultural references we didn’t get. This was not the ideal first impression…

There was certainly sympathy for this likeable young comic in the room, but the lack of connection meant his comic ideas just weren’t bearing fruit, as he struggled to get us to get on board with set-ups, such as the suggestion that black women are better at arguing than white women. Such mischievous premises need assured hands, but he had not yet proved he had them. 

And when he mentioned transsexuals, the room’s collective sphincter tightened, even though there was no mistaking his positive intent. Regardless, he ploughed on with his analogy of why God might sometimes put the wrong gender in a body, but it it wasn’t flying.

Eventually, though, the tensions thawed – but well after the halfway point. Knight has some fine crowd work skills, with enough cheeky front to endear even when his line of questioning might be considered intrusive, and that at least partially won us over.

He has some fine commentary on toxic masculinity, too, as exemplified by his boisterous childhood chum Byron (no one tell this rampant homophobe him about the sexual ambiguities surrounding of his poet namesake); and while his suggestion that you’re not a real feminist until you stick your thumb up your lover’s ass was overdone, it’s sort of provocative, playful  idea that the likes of Reginald D Hunter would relish.

Knight signed off by promising that he’d have nailed how to present his material by Thursday. Hardly the sign of a comic who’s just stormed a gig. However, he's got the credentials: he's supported Hannibal Buress and Dave Chapelle, and I’ve seen his chilled, if unfinessed, style captivate an Australian audience before. So maybe he really will have his shit together by the week’s end.

Review date: 19 Sep 2018
Reviewed by: Steve Bennett
Reviewed at: Soho Theatre