3/5 stars
Having previously seen Andrew Lawrence performing live at the Clapham Grand for the filming of ‘Stand up for the Week’, I was keen to see him again in an intimate setting. He has performed alongside Jon Richardson, Rhod Gilbert and Michael Macintyre, so it seemed strange to be watching Andrew perform “above a pub, not quite in Leeds”, as he put it himself. Once he had started his routine it was hardly noticeable that the crowd, somewhere between 50 and 100, was so small. With no compere or supporting acts, Andrew had a challenge on his hands keeping the audience entertained for an hour and a half, but it was one he rose to bravely.
His self-deprecating, dark, humour had the attention of the crowd from the outset. Standing at a mere 5”7, scrawny, and ginger, he continually likened his appearance to that of a “child molester”, a surprisingly popular gag with the mixed crowd. His performance came across as highly unrehearsed, with many of the jokes coming from banter with the crowd; after spotting an awkward-looking couple sitting in the front row, he was like a dog with a bone joking about their “are they, aren’t they?” relationship, much to the gratification of the rest of the crowd.
Often, Andrew seemed unsure of where the night would take him – bouncing from singing a song about the many woes of queuing and to performing his one true talent of ‘Beyond the Sea’ as if I was actually underwater”, to talking about being asked to take part in a BBC3 documentary (“so not a real documentary, then”, he quips) about the link between comedians and mental illness.
There were cringe-worthy moments galore – think taking the piss out of a MacDonald’s worker in the audience – but the show also gave rise to a darker, more depressing side of the comic that you probably won’t see on telly. Despite being nowhere near a perfectly polished performance, this acquired taste of comedy will give undoubtedly give you a solid evening’s entertainment, particularly if you identify with being “a miserable bastard” like the man himself.
Isabel Alderson-Blench