Stewart Lee is probably the cleverest comedian working in Britain, and his past few shows have moved increasingly into what might be called anti-comedy, both in the sense of taking a well-aimed swipe at TV's narrow, unambitious definition of stand-up, and in that he delights in pushing the form until it strains at the seams. Two series of his BBC Comedy Vehicle seem to have made him all the more provocative in his new live show, which on the surface is 90 minutes of Lee apologising for the fact that he doesn't have any material. "It's form interrogated by content through a haze of passive-aggressive monotony," he explains, deadpan, apologising to his supposed new television audience, who are presumed to want Mock the Week-style paedophile jokes. But Lee is also sending up those fans who imagine themselves the cognoscenti, lest they become too cosy. The target of his satire shifts even within the same story, and he is always one step ahead, subverting expectations. And yet despite the absence of "jokes", Carpet Remnant World is marvellously funny: mordant, thoughtful and crafted, even while posing as the ragbag of throwaway scraps its title implies.
