You expect one of two things with Janeane Garofalo: tub-thumping leftie comedy, commensurate with her status as Air America broadcaster and scourge of the US right wing; or over-hyped import who flops, as per her recent Latitude festival turn, which ended in ignominy after about seven minutes. But you get neither during this sarcastic hour of comedy, in which ageing, alcohol and neuroses get more airtime than the sins of the Republican party.
It's not a slick hour of standup. Garofalo is scatty and digressive, and she regularly refers to a crib sheet. But that's part of the persona. She is desperate to tell us stuff before her time runs out, and fretful that she won't manage it. She utters terribly unimportant lines as if they were critical: "My back got fatter!" she says, and repeats, louder and louder, for emphasis. The subject here is, almost exclusively, Garofalo: her un-taut body (she's 44), her fondness for prescription drugs, her godlessness. Mind you: "I say I'm an atheist, but I'm the first one to bust out a Hail Mary on a turbulent plane."
I love that "bust out" – she can turn a phrase. And there's a choice rant against porcelain nymphet Natalie Portman, who has clearly "never taken a shit in her life". All this skittish talk of age and weight may be familiar comic fare, but it's reanimated by Garofalo's up-yours relish of her own ridiculousness.
Elsewhere, there are by-numbers "what's that all about?" routines, as an American tries to understand cricket and Big Brother; and a dismayed audit of the last few days' news. But she is appealing company, turning the dross of her anxieties and resentments into comic gold mainly by force of her considerable personality.
