“Welcome to the Hackney Empire!” was emcee Arthur Smith’s deadpan opening to the show. Of course, we were a very long way from Hackney - if not in miles, then certainly in style. The gilt-edged variety hall bustle of the Empire had been swapped for the altogether more suave, reserved surroundings of the Barbican, and some of the anarchic energy was lost in translation.
Still, the spirit of this flagship event for new comedy and variety remained very much intact. Fourteen acts, all new to the scene, stepping out for five minutes in front of almost certainly the biggest crowd they’ve ever played to - and, as Smith bluntly suggested, for some of them the biggest they ever will.
It’s a testament to all 14 that there were no car crashes - although a few did clip a wing mirror. Most had the wit, invention and relaxed stage confidence that would make established acts nervously look over their shoulders.
Sauntering off with the top prize was American-born stand-up, or rather sit-down, David Mills. His might not have been a flashy or ground-breaking act, but his succession of one-liners struck home like polished darts, and his languid, camp persona rang, like, totally true. Mills’ was a stealthily consummate performance, well deserving of victory.
Having said that, things didn’t start too well. His opening ‘stool’ pun almost seemed to lose the crowd before he’d sat down. It was only when he launched into his deconstruction of shopping in Camden on a Saturday that all was forgotten. Then he slouched into his divine routine on the hand actions used for different modern gadgets - sublime material that he exploited expertly.
It would have been so easy, and so predictable for Mills to push his stage persona too far. Instead, he wisely sat back, relaxed and let the audience come to him. His ability to mix up his comedy - from wry observation, to slam-bam punchline, to physical nuance - made this feel like the most rounded performance of the night, and the one that could most easily hold an audience for a full solo show. Mills’ stand-up is as sharp as his quiff - a tongue-lashing, gag-whacking joy to watch.
Snapping at his heels were two accomplished acts, both sharing the runner-up spot. Prince Abdi is a London stand-up with roots in Somalia - a heritage he has turned into a genuinely original and refreshing comedy voice. His opening material playing on Somali pirates and illegal immigration - “My family came to the UK for a two-week holiday in the eighties… we’ve got one week left” - got strong laughs, but drew no real surprises.
Thankfully, he swung into a brilliant dissection of Bollywood film dances, complete with his own take on the moves. He topped this with a routine about a miffed Brixton mugger who stole his bag and then came back to complain there was nothing worth nicking - his line that the robber “Facebooked me the next day” drew one of the biggest laughs of the night, and Abdi went off to roars from the audience.
Joint runner-up Julian Deane couldn’t have had a more different stage energy than Abdi but, laugh for laugh, the pair would be hard to separate. Deane’s deadpan delivery and loser persona had won the hearts of the audience by the end of his first line (talking about his girlfriend’s secret fantasies, he said she imagined him “dressing up in a silk tie, a nice pressed shirt… and looking for work”).
His character managed to ring very true, very quickly. The work-shy, child-phobic, Essex mummy’s boy felt like a firm foundation that will carry Deane far. A shame, then, that he chose to puncture the deceit in a few places and undermined his own creation, because his skilful delivery had drawn the crowd right in. Packing in the most gags per minute on the night and with a nicely cruel streak, he pulled out a few punchlines that felt like instant classics: “I worked in a place for people with learning disabilities… it’s called a Wetherspoon’s.”
Nabbing third place, and earning every inch of it with his sheer bravado alone, was Darius Davies. Somehow Davies took the staple of so many stand-up acts of the last few years - kids playing mobile phone music on buses - and found a fresh, funny five minutes on the subject. His act scored highest when nailing the physical comedy of an all-out ‘cuss war’ between urban kids and a suited middle-aged passenger, and was great to watch.
He also showed a confident hand in knowing when even the smallest phrase could be used to killer effect. If the finer details could have done with more finesse, he sold it all like his life depended on it, making the most of every moment he had. With determination like this, you wouldn’t bet against Davies for anything.
Fighting off the rest of the field to take the fourth-place plaque was card-thrower Javier Jarquin. The idea of someone pinging playing cards around might not sound exciting, but Jarquin is seriously talented when it comes to working a crowd and turned his bizarre, niche skill almost into an art form. Technically, the card-throwing was impressive - he got playing cards showering the audience and soaring up into the ceiling arches of the Barbican. The real aces up his sleeve, however, were his winning, charismatic stage personality, and some genuinely punchy comedy material. A pitch-perfect five minutes - the only question is how much longer he could sustain it before he ran out of tricks.
Falling short of the podium places, but well worth a mention was the inventive stand-up David Trent. By day a primary school teacher, Trent showed himself to be a creator of bold, category-defying comedy. Using projected pictures, videos and animation, he started by orchestrating what must be the most hilariously overblown stage entrance currently on the circuit. He followed through with some knock-out lines on spontaneity and a routine using real clips from a school educational film that proved his timing and touch. Trent would probably struggle to satisfy a boozy comedy club audience on the circuit, but he deserves to find the right platform for his talents.
Also making an impact was musical comedian Rachel Parris. Taking sweet song styles and marrying them with brutal, tragic lyrics, she’s a kind of Glee Club chick gone wrong - she drinks like a drain, her boyfriends meet tragic ends and she always goes just too far. If her song about average love, I Feel Tepid, felt like unoriginal ground, lyrically it had a good comedy hit rate, and her High School Musical ‘no sex’ anthem was a highlight.
Two final acts should also get a mention. Nathaniel Tapley delivered a topical comedy set of considerable class. With material as up to date as the Libyan no-fly zone, his punchlines repeatedly hit their targets. His character, that of a crazed Conservative policy spokesman, was less consistent, flaring up a bit too violently at times and losing the crowd.
How Do I Get Up There? are a Scottish, male sketch trio with a quality of acting and physicality that sets them apart from the pack. When it worked - like the mental tug of war and brilliantly puerile Deal or No Deal sketch - it was knock-out stuff. Other sketches got a bit lost on the night, which was a shame, as these chaps deserve more of the spotlight.
Barbican, London, March 19
Production information can change over the run of the show.
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