Russell Kane thinks he has a problem. In the shows that marked Kane's ascent to the higher rungs of standup, his tyrannical dad loomed large. Now he's drawn a line under that material, what else is there to talk about? The answer is: lots. This year's set, Manscaping, is Kane's best yet, perhaps because he's liberated from that oppressive upbringing, perhaps because he's had a tumultuous six months in his personal life. Certainly, this is a pyrotechnically funny hour, in which Kane applies his uncommonly critical intelligence to his love life, his career curve and the various identities available to the modern male.
What's so striking about Kane is his hunger to communicate. Plenty of comics struggle to pad out an hour-long show. But Kane seems to wish he had three hours, or more: he powers through his set, a human whirligig, avid to persuade us of everything he's discovered. Mainly, this has to do with singledom, a condition Kane recently experienced for the first time. The trauma has armed him with real insights into the expectations that surround male sexuality. His set is structured around two hilariously dysfunctional one-night stands, which confront Kane with the dual horrors of his nakedness and his newfound celebrity.
This isn't false modesty: Kane ruthlessly sends up his own privileged angst. His reflections on modern mating ring rarely of cliche or special pleading, and far more of painful experience. Turning his focus outwards, Kane also addresses TV talent shows, deploying an asinine comment from Cheryl Cole to detonate the complacent idiocy of X Factor culture. Even better is his account of a recent first-class train journey, which lethally nails British division and snobbery. The honesty, concern and freshness of thought on display here are really exciting: Kane's bad year has led to very good standup.
