Review - John Kearns, Lighthouse, Poole

That confidence-shaker forms much of the basis of his current stand-up tour Tilting at Windmills, as does the TS Eliot poem The Wasteland, which came about as a theme after he joined a less than wonderful walking tour based on the epic, but maybe bonkers, work of 434 lines.

Thus we had the sombre voice of Alec Guinness occasionally interrupting proceedings with a line of two from the poem which Kearns picked off for his next routine in an entertaining, but sometimes painful hour.

Kearns is an acquired taste which I’ve fully bought into – his rants, pauses and laughter are an integral part of his comedy which not everyone appreciates – otherwise he, not Rob Beckett, would be playing sold-out shows at the London Palladium.

Tonight’s show can really be summed up in two quotes – ‘Am I my own puppet?’ and ‘Ever think you’ve been cc’d into your own life’ – in that this was as much a philosophical debate on existence, worth and rationality as it was a stand-up routine.

The last 15 minutes or so turned in to a one-person, self-analytical debate about his value and his comedic talent as the laughs dried up somewhat and the audience went quiet. Kearns also gives everything and leaves nothing behind – even his shins were sweating by the end.

However, that’s not to say that this Lighthouse appearance – his third in three years – wasn’t top class, sharp and observational comedy at its best – occasionally meandering way off the point, but coming back into the room when necessary..

We had riffs on Last One Laughing, Live at the Apollo, parking permits, Rod Liddle, scratch cards, Nina Conti, toothpaste, Notre Dame, fake Christmas trees and meeting Tony Blair while appearing in a school play.

The best routines came from his flat-hunting experiences in London and his dealings with a hapless estate agent, which provoked rants so excellent that his baldy wig and monstrous false choppers nearly came off.

Kearns is at an interesting crossroads with his breakthrough Taskmaster appearance now four years ago (‘the money’s gone’) and so it remains to be seen whether he’ll be content to tread the boards of smaller venues or is still looking for that big break.

Support came, again, from Pat Cahill, with whom Kearns roomed at the University of East Anglia (along with DJ Greg James), whose musical comedy and audience participation warmed up the room nicely.

Wearing an improvised mic holder made from a wire coathanger (a la John Otway) he pranced about the stage riffing on ram raiding charity shops, a new business utilising a bodily function and introducing a rather unsavoury character called The Honk.