Adam Hills is “widely referred to as ‘the nicest man in comedy’,” according to his publicity, and you can’t fault his new show, Clown Heart, for niceness. Hills begins by personally escorting punters from the cheap seats to vacant spaces in the front few rows. Presently, he is promoting an upbeat message about laughter in defiance of death, and sharing the spotlight, via FaceTime, with a friend in Melbourne who has thyroid cancer. By the end, he is shaking a bucket for a local charity. The soft-heartedness is positively stifling: what kind of churl could criticise such a show?
Reader, I am that churl, because on this occasion, the optimism shades into blandness and Clown Heart packs a feeble comic punch. The first half is all improvised crowd work, as the Last Leg man quizzes the front row about their jobs and pretends – at length – that their answers are comedic dead ends. Finally, one woman announces herself as a dominatrix, and is summoned on stage with two stooges to demonstrate. A saucy photograph is tweeted; replies are read out. Hills ringleads as if something outrageous is happening, and his audience respond in kind.
Post-interval, we get the scripted show, which combines further consensual bonhomie (Hills gauging audience members’ ages by their reaction to pop songs) with more or less cliched comedy. We get a routine about not knowing where to put your spare arm when spooning your partner; another about a sombre scattering of ashes scuppered by a strong wind; and a section about Hills being henpecked by his wife. All of which may be taken from real life and is jolly – but Hills brings little that’s new, acute or idiosyncratic to this familiar material. Niceness is in abundance, but I’d happily trade it for more interesting comedy.
- At Stafford Gatehouse, 5 March. Box office: 01785 254 653. Then touring.
