The hack comic is such a mainstay of drama and caricature – from Osborne’s Entertainer via Neil Hamburger to Zoe Coombs Marr’s Dave – the concept is practically hack itself. You need something to distinguish yourself from the herd, and Zach Zucker (of clown duo Zach and Viggo) certainly has with this new show in character as a washed-up American standup, Jack Tucker. The something in question is director and sound-effects operator Jonny Woolley, effectively the other half of an on stage/off stage double act.
Way beyond the boom-tish you might expect, there is a range of sounds and samples tailored to Tucker’s every comment, punchline and flirtatious wink. A burst of bagpipes greets each mention of Edinburgh; at every callback, a phone rings; there’s a blast of Lenny Kravitz’s American Woman when Tucker thinks he has struck comedy gold, at which points his red-ringed eyes light up and he swells with pride. Maybe the big time is not beyond him, after all?
It is. Because – shabby of suit, flies gaping, more rumpled than a doss-house duvet – Tucker is a never-was struggling to upgrade to a has-been. He offers us lukewarm takes on Trump, smartphones, and the clitoris – one among many words (and names, and places) he struggles to pronounce. There are sob stories about his recent divorce, switching on a dime with priapic “I was fucking my wife the other day” standup.
The point isn’t to play the reality of a Tucker gig. As the ever-changing age of his son (from infant to pensioner and back) implies, we’re taking a trip into the recesses of a glitching mind, where comedy’s dwindling endorphin rush struggles to keep desolation at bay. The show flits between the standup and melancholy reveries (dry ice, sad piano) triggered by whatever heckles or walkouts come Zucker’s way. It has little new to say about hack comics and (what’s always assumed to be) their bleak lives. But when Zucker and Woolley improvise together, pinging set-ups and sound stings back and forth while their late-night crowd goes wild, it’s more than fun enough to compensate.
• At Underbelly Cowgate, Edinburgh, until 25 August.
