John Bishop is easily caricatured these days as Mr Mainstream, the definition of middle-of-the-road primetime. In years gone by, I've found him more interesting than that; his blokeish everyman comedy had heart, and a little-man-made-good life story to back it up. But with this arena-touring show, he's grown into the caricature. Its first half is a standup Life on Mars, all chucklesome homophobia and despairing remarks about 'er indoors. Its second relates joshing tales of celebrity life, as Bishop parachutes with Freddie Flintoff and hobnobs with the PM. If 1970s-style comedy with additional James Corden anecdotes floats your boat, the night will fly by.
Bishop enters by helter-skelter, part of a fairground-themed set; if only the comedy were as precipitous. His opening hour comprises mainly tales of married life, in which Bishop pretends to be gay to annoy his wife, complains about having to attend his children's births, and mimes the removal of a flat-chested woman's Wonderbra. Sometimes, the laugh lines hit home. Occasionally, there are flashes of the more thoughtful Bishop of old, as with a routine about getting "the snip" that seeks to demystify a seldom-addressed subject.
The later material about life on telly harbours some effective set-pieces, notably when Bishop receives a male waxing before undertaking a triathlon for Sport Relief. Its comedy of indignity is well-worn, but it works. Not so his tale of visiting 10 Downing Street, which tries to assert Bishop's anti-establishment credentials even as he glad-hands Cameron. A later, dream-come-true section about a pro-am football match at Old Trafford closely mirrors Bishop's 2009 routine on the same subject. It worked then, because we cared about an ordinary man's ambitions fulfilled. But even if the jokes were better – and in this tale, they're largely absent – a superstar expounding on his amazing life doesn't have the same ring.
