Review of four TikTokers turning their hand to stand-up

The idea of a night full ofTikTok comedians is not the sort of thing to fill a stand-up purist’s heart with glee. 

Indeed, the poster for Knock Knock  contains not critical acclaim nor a galaxy of stars, but the boast that between them these performers have more than 6million followers, between them, as if popularity equates to quality.

It does, of course, equate to box office. Having filled the Pleasance Cabaret Bar, one of the more sought-after Edinburgh venues, every night of the Fringe, they now land at the prestigious Clapham Grand, an imposing 700-capacity venue, where they charge £18 a ticket.

The problem is that what they’re offering is not theatre-quality stand-up, but an open mic show. A decent open mic show, for sure. But good for the price of a pint at your local – not for this setting. 

‘It’s an experiment,’ host Coco Sarel admits, introducing the ‘comedy content creators who wanted to see if they are good at stand-up’. Yet it is the audience who are paying so generously for these dilettantes to dabble.

The results could have been foreseen. Sarel and the acts she introduces –  Henry Rowley, Steven McKell and Ayamé Ponder –  all have big personalities, but the content and the craft is superficial. 

They don’t have the miles on the clock to seek anything but the most superficial gag, nor have they learned the discipline to pack in the punchlines lest a disinterested audience turn on them. It seems they’ve only ever played to existing fans, rather than having had to win over a crowd. 

And even in this sympathetic setting, laughs are noticeable by their rarity. People for the most part sit in satisfied amusement.

Take compere Sarel. Doing crowd work isn’t just asking people what they do for a living, it’s doing something with that information. She seems easliy confused. ‘What’s a tree surgeon?’ She has to ask. Is LSE a university? She does get a gag out of her ignorance of arboriculture, but the banter is usually thwarted by dead ends.

Her material developed around characterising her friends into roles such as the FBI agent who can find anything or the hype man ready with vague, uplifting platitudes. She’s the vibe girl sussing out whether strangers are toxic or not. It’s probably on the money if you know her friends, a bit contrived if you don’t.

When it comes to the act-outs of these personas, it feels like something that might be fine for a minute on TikTok, mimicking these identifiable personalities - but yearning for a real gag. Yet the characterisation is strong, and she’s has a presence: a ball of gregarious energy that suggests a presenter-in-training more than a stand-up great.

Similarly, McKell makes good use of his camp energy, taking to the stake by shaking his sizeable frame to Bootylicious, more skilfully than you might expect.

Again his set is based on caricaturing the people he knows, in this case his seven siblings and his small, aggressive Scottish mother. 

He’s split between conflicting styles of sassy showmanship, relatable self-deprecation and more dramatic stories, such as the police busting down the door of the family home in a dawn raid. It’s a set full of potential but he can't square the disparate elements, as he hasn’t yet figured out quite what sort of a comedian he wishes to be.

Ponder, too, struggles to settle, her flighty delivery betraying a lack of confidence in what her angle is. Though charismatic, her inability to stick to the point of anecdotes is frustrating, not charmingly random, because she hardly ever lands on a punchline. And topics such as receiving dick pics are so well-worn you need a strong gag.

Her restlessness also leads to some pointless interaction asking the audience what job they thought her boyfriend did, apparently with no jokes prepared for likely responses, and unable to improve funny answers. And the answer was not worth the rigamarole. 

McKell is a Jack Whitehall wannabe, with a touch of Russell Kane’s mania. He’s a posho whose set revolves around acting out his experiences of music festivals. As with others on the bill, the act-outs and characterisation lead to laughs of recognition, though more punchlines would be welcome. 

His hugely animated delivery certainly makes the effort to bring the fellow festival-goers to life, and his local knowledge of the nightspots of Clapham allowed him to tailor the first few minutes of his set to this particular gig, which is impressive.

To his credit, he’s aware of how he comes across, both in his upper-middle-classness and how ridiculous a job being a TikTokker – and indeed a stand-up – can be. His act needs finessing, but it speaks loudly to its target audience –young people very much like him.

Arguments about whether TikTok is a route to wider comedy fame – and legitimacy – remain unresolved after this gig. Any of those on the bill could eventually cut it on the circuit on the merit of their work rather their follower count, but it will require honing their live skills, not their offerings on the app.

Review date: 16 Oct 2023
Reviewed by: Steve Bennett
Reviewed at: Clapham Grand