Theatre Royal, Saturday 19th July 2025
Bar some minor teasing, the antagonist in this funny and poignant comedy-drama, about comedians, is time. In a sort of biography, Tommy Cooper, Bob Monkhouse and Eric Morecombe, meet up in a dilapidated dressing-room 15 minutes before curtain up on a show. Almost the entire (sparkling and snappy) script is taken up with making jokes, analysing jokes, discussing the impact of their careers on their private lives and mental and physical heath, and wondering what (if any) legacy they will leave behind. Wildly successful in their day, the only thing that stopped them working is death.
Legacy is a strange thing to calculate in our digital world. If they were alive, they would likely have found a niche on television, in the theatre, or online. Now, any one of them could go viral with a clip, for good or bad reasons. Nerds, academics and aspiring comedians will study all of them, but none of them will be watched in the way they were watched in their lifetimes. Millions of people will never again sit down, at the same time, in their living-rooms, to watch their television appearances. Millions of children will never again mimic one of their appearances the next day in their school playgrounds. Their acts won’t be cannibalised by professional and amateur impressionists on a regular basis. Catchphrases and routines won’t have the same mainstream recognition, and even their names will slip out of popular memory.
The audience at the Theatre Royal was almost exclusively over 50 (at least on sight) and many of them could anticipate the famous sketches that are sprinkled throughout, anyone younger would be struggling. Nerdy as I am, I couldn’t have told you about Denis Goodwin, who was in a double act with Bob Monkhouse, and died by suicide in 1975. I knew Tommy Cooper had died on stage, but I didn’t know it was shown live on television; the moment of his death can be seen in a few ghoulish videos on YouTube. Bob Golding’s Eric Morecombe reminded me more of Reece Sheersmith, a current-day comedian, who constantly makes incomprehensible references to the 1970s, that are mitigated by the folk horror he steeps them in. The 1970s are too close to have been completely reduced down to the only things the future will bother remembering, like flares or Gary Glitter. There’s a slew of stuff battling it out in the public imagination that you would care about if you’d been there, all fiercely hoping to be immortal, even if it’s just the Saturday morning spent wondering if anyone will exchange a Tiny Tears doll for an ABBA record on Multi Coloured Swap Shop.
Being stuck between things long-dead that have to be fully fleshed out to make sense, and things half-remembered that can still be alluded to, probably means this play, about dead celebrities, is unlikely to outlive its (brilliant) lead actors, but as it’s based on an award-winning short film, with the same cast, a little bit of it, can always be rediscovered.
Entertainment, crafted with passion and devotion, never really dies.
Link: The Last Laugh
Kay Marquis 