Billy Connolly, Hammersmith Apollo, 31st January
'Andy Murray got fucked!' is Billy Connolly's opening comment on the final night of his run at the Hammersmith Apollo, in reference to his compatriot's defeat in the Australian Open final earlier on in the day. Subtlety has never been the forte of the legendary 67 year old Glaswegian and this sets the tone for the opening half hour of the show, as he lays into the hypocracy of politicians and likens Gordon Brown to the Cowardly Lion from the Wizard of Oz. 'FUCKING LEAD!' is the message to the Prime Minister, before suggesting the audience march on Parliament. Abrasive stuff, but amounting to little more than an old man swearing. Even if Connolly's foul mouthed tirades are more entertaining then most.
The show gets better from this point however as he mocks some of more absurd stories from recent years, including the ludicrousness of using eco-friendly oil in fighter planes and spending millions to stop submarines from hitting each other when, Connolly theorises, a window would do. He often succumbs into forgetfulness and falls into digressions but he eventually gets back on track and this is seldom to the detriment of his set.
Having lost the thread of a story (a frequent occurance over the course of his two and a quarter hour set), he notes how the review of the show in The Times claimed that 'At one point, Connolly had a senior moment'. 'He's obviously never seen me before. Senior moment? I've never had a junior moment'. This is the main reason why Connolly's advancing years are yet to have too much of an impact on his performances, as his forgetfulness can be accomodated by his rambling style.
The man's at his best when spinning yarns rather than focusing on observational material or smashing political correctness. His story about the drunkard on Rose Street in Edinburgh is a triumph both of writing and performance. Connolly acts out the character walkingly drunkenly through the city superbly and wrings every drop of humour out of the situation. The payoff is heavily anticipated by the audience and worth the wait when it arrives.
I'm sceptical when, towards the end of the show, Connolly proceeds to retell a joke attributed to Jimmy Nail. I'd file this alongside 'borrowing' the material of other comedians as one of the undesirable habits of the 'old guard' of comedians that took place before alternative comedy broke through. But the subsequent joke is so good that this is easily forgiven. So good in fact that it's in the bracket of 'Lines I Desperately Wish I'd Written'.
Pushing seventy, one wonders how much longer The Big Yin can keep doing stand up. It's commendable that he continues to perform, albeit on a far less regular basis (this run was his first in the capital for over five years). I can't imagine he needs the money, at one point he refers to a wearing a Vivienne Westwood tartan coat ('Because let's face it, I can't hide the profits forever). Although tonight's set was a bit hit and miss, when he's on form, Connolly is phenomenal and remains an achingly funny raconteur. And I've never seen my dad laugh so much at anyone.
The show gets better from this point however as he mocks some of more absurd stories from recent years, including the ludicrousness of using eco-friendly oil in fighter planes and spending millions to stop submarines from hitting each other when, Connolly theorises, a window would do. He often succumbs into forgetfulness and falls into digressions but he eventually gets back on track and this is seldom to the detriment of his set.
Having lost the thread of a story (a frequent occurance over the course of his two and a quarter hour set), he notes how the review of the show in The Times claimed that 'At one point, Connolly had a senior moment'. 'He's obviously never seen me before. Senior moment? I've never had a junior moment'. This is the main reason why Connolly's advancing years are yet to have too much of an impact on his performances, as his forgetfulness can be accomodated by his rambling style.
The man's at his best when spinning yarns rather than focusing on observational material or smashing political correctness. His story about the drunkard on Rose Street in Edinburgh is a triumph both of writing and performance. Connolly acts out the character walkingly drunkenly through the city superbly and wrings every drop of humour out of the situation. The payoff is heavily anticipated by the audience and worth the wait when it arrives.
I'm sceptical when, towards the end of the show, Connolly proceeds to retell a joke attributed to Jimmy Nail. I'd file this alongside 'borrowing' the material of other comedians as one of the undesirable habits of the 'old guard' of comedians that took place before alternative comedy broke through. But the subsequent joke is so good that this is easily forgiven. So good in fact that it's in the bracket of 'Lines I Desperately Wish I'd Written'.
Pushing seventy, one wonders how much longer The Big Yin can keep doing stand up. It's commendable that he continues to perform, albeit on a far less regular basis (this run was his first in the capital for over five years). I can't imagine he needs the money, at one point he refers to a wearing a Vivienne Westwood tartan coat ('Because let's face it, I can't hide the profits forever). Although tonight's set was a bit hit and miss, when he's on form, Connolly is phenomenal and remains an achingly funny raconteur. And I've never seen my dad laugh so much at anyone.
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