Carly McIver checks out Dylan Moran at the Newcastle Comedy Festival and finds he has something to groan about…
big top, big laughs? |monster, monster… | down and out?
Big Top, Big Laughs?
After a four year break, the Newcastle Comedy Festival returned this week to Exhibition Park, bringing with it a wide selection of stand-ups comedians, cabaret acts and one big tent. The acts across the ten days included a mix of today’s favourites in the form of Jimmy Carr and Ed Byrne, Edinburgh Festival-types Cirque de Spiegel, local boys Ross Noble and Viz creator Simon Donald and, peculiarly, Countdown host, Richard Whitely. Anticipation for the event has been high as stand-up in the Northeast has become a formidable force again following sold-out performances by the likes of Bill Bailey and Peter Kay at the Newcastle City Hall earlier in the year.

Monster, Monster…
On Saturday, the festival played host to acerbic Irish comic, Dylan Moran. The ‘Monster II’ show is completely sold-out (the festival’s guide recommended “pawning your granny or selling your kids to get your hands on these tickets”), but the audience’s enthusiasm seems initially unfulfilled. The opening ten minutes are admittedly hesitant; Moran’s voice is suffering from a cold and his delivery is hugely affected. The material in addition seems slow and well-trod as he details gender differences and divides. However after lighting the first cigarette, the laugh-out loud moments begin and like a cancer-ridden parallel of Popeye and his spinach, Moran finds his vindictive strength. While a traditional route to take, his analysis of men’s and women’s desires is shrewd and unrepentant, appearing almost wholly original in it’s voracity. His role as pissed-off bystander negates what could easily be old misogynistic ground; it’s instead a vivid and vitriolic tirade. His perfectly unimpressed expressions and unabashed use of emphasis through his blaring Irish accent gives him a constant sense of comic anguish and disbelief, which in turn is balanced against deadpan accusations and statement.
Down and Out?
Compared to his early performances, Moran is certainly more restrained now. While his razor-edges may seem worn down, his icy pessimism prevails. Much like the character he plays in the ever-hilarious Black Books, there are very few things Moran likes in life, the obvious exception being cigarettes and according to one routine, upsetting non-smokers. Any move to the, god forbid, zany would obviously be ill-fitting: Dylan Moran is a grumpy bastard. His set does not rely on alter-egos or infantile squawking. Oh no. The grins which are allowed to pass Moran’s face are those sought from pure schadenfreunde, or maybe the cigarette-derived pleasure as the nicotine hits the system. His verbal assassination of hotels is brilliantly bizarre (on room service: “You look to the phone, press the food button and a ham sandwich arrives. ‘Brilliant!’ you think, ‘I am king of the sandwich monkey! Now where’s the button for two nymphettes pissing into a champagne bucket?’”). However, the performance does often return to familiar territory – children, domestic living, even the Irish, but this isn’t to say it isn’t brilliantly performed and hilarious. His caustic observations run fluidly together, an obvious speech as opposed to disjointed sketches. Moran’s interplay with the audience is intermittent, while a few are made victims (those leaving or taking photos), they are not savagely attacked, more often sarcastically responded to.
Despite his grumpy demeanor, there are moments of genuine warmth, especially in the in talking about his home-life. As he takes his final bow, he lets slip a little grin while thanking the hugely appreciative audience. You could almost be forgiven for thinking he quite enjoyed this performance.