“I think I have values,” says Hal Cruttenden, “but I’m breathtakingly shallow.” That’s the shtick of this Live at the Apollo and panel show regular: camp and smiley, cowardly and self-absorbed. Venality and misanthropy broil beneath the middle-class, middle-aged, middle English veneer, then bubble over, in another tart aside about young people being stupid or how he feigned religion to get his kids into a good school. Straight Outta Cruttenden celebrates rather than sends up spinelessness, which, as we enter its second hour, begins to pall. But our host undoubtedly brings the character to flamboyant life.
It’s a high-energy performance for a supposedly achey 46-year-old – and the “ooh, I am naughty” manner, the eye rolling and passive aggression, are marked by technique as well as commitment. Every barb and change of register is expertly controlled, as Cruttenden recalls schooling with George (then Gideon) Osborne, rails at public emoting on social media and laments his own effeminacy.
For all his jokes about Jihadi John and nostalgia for the IRA, though, this is essentially mainstream fare, trading in quips about his wife’s belligerent Ulster accent and tenuous claims like “as a man, you never stop worrying about the size of your willy”. The underlying conformism is exposed by one exchange with a man in the front row, whose unorthodox marital arrangements short-circuit Cruttenden’s black-and-white worldview.
Elsewhere, there are gags that speak intimately to our inner curmudgeon, and others that ring charmlessly cynical. The show’s limitations loom larger as one’s sympathies taper for a character who (to cite one example) abandons his republicanism the instant he’s asked to appear at the Royal Variety Performance. The egoism is oversold; it seldom rings true. But if this self-seeking weakling is never more than an act, it’s one that Cruttenden carries off with considerable flair.
- At Swindon Arts Centre, 1 December; Colston Hall, Bristol, 3 December; then touring.
