There could never be a better time for a show about trolls. Last Thursday comedian Rosie Jones, who has cerebral palsy, was subjected to torrents of Twitter abuse after appearing on Question Time. David Baddiel’s latest piece, Trolls: Not The Dolls, tries to understand how seemingly ordinary people can be so cruel.
By his own admission, Baddiel is addicted to social media, so knows his subject. He also gets trolled regularly - over his appearance, his jokes, for being Jewish - and his policy is to do what you are not supposed to do and feed the trolls. For the veteran stand-up, Twitter is a comedy gig and trolls are hecklers to be silenced.
As he explains in his trademark intelligent yet sweary style, trolls vary. There are the one word put-downs (“moron”), the teacherly condemnations (“You’ve let yourself down”) and the simply vicious. As one particularly poisonous holocaust-denying example underlines, the latter can be brutal and heartless.
Baddiel bemoans Twitter’s toxic downside, but lightens the mood by lauding the upside. As well as negative pile-ons sometimes there are positive ones, prompting a sense of community. Generally though, this tribalistic echo chamber currently allows little room for nuance, empathy or humanity.
All of which makes this terrifically entertaining and thoughtful, although his last two outings, dealing with fame and his parents, were as hilarious and more touching. Watching a powerpoint presentation with tweets onscreen feels Ted Talkish compared to his previous personal work.
The most memorable moments here are anecdotes about family members. His partner Morwenna Banks, who does not “get” social media and his son Ezra, who regularly humiliates him in reality. Though that is not really trolling, just having a teenage son.
Baddiel happily mocks his own narcissism. “I will not be occupying the moral high ground,” he quips. There is also a strong supporting cast of tweets from others. Stand-outs include an unprintable foul-mouthed version of a famous soap theme, and inappropriate responses in comically fractured English from a Venezuelan called Carlos.
While this consistently amusing monologue lays bare the online world at its worst, our guide finds an upbeat ending, suggesting that humour, alongside pictures of fried breakfasts and moody cats, could unite us. Twitter might be a cesspit sometimes, but perhaps finding the funny side, as Baddiel does, is the best way to tackle it.
