Nottingham Playhouse
"I don't think anyone really knows who they are," says Daniel Kitson. "So much of what we know about the world is assumed." It's not often standup can be mistaken for Humean philosophy, but it's a while since Kitson has resembled a normal standup. As if to emphasise the distinction, he sits down throughout this touring show, twiddling knobs on a sound desk. Ambient burbling underscores his digressive rumination on life, love, memory and the imagination. The effect is to lure us deeper into the head of this singular, intensely thoughtful performer. For most of these 100 minutes, it's an exhilarating place to be.
That's mainly because, with Kitson, you don't doubt that his inquiry into what life is really about comes straight from the heart. Other comics are just as smart, but few live their existential angst so fully. Here, his life – adored by his fans, unlucky in (or terrified by) love – is exhibit A in his argument that most of us are wandering more or less blindly from birth to death, shoring up our confusion with myths and half-truths about ourselves and the way the world works. Our feelings lie to us; sexual attraction is barbarism; parsnips are tastier than his granny gave them credit for.
Occasionally, the self-analysis looks like special pleading. Usually, though, Kitson's unsentimental honesty feels like a gift and is oddly inspiring. And it's funny, too, as he sets up an opposition between his friends, many of them parents, and himself, sitting at home itemising whether or not he's a dickhead. The phrasemaking, the ridiculous overthinking, the absence of cliche, the hypnotic intensity – this is gripping stuff. It dares us to be as alert to compromise as Kitson is, and yet constantly reminds us why it's easier not to be.
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Rating: 4/5 Reported by guardian.co.uk 2 days ago.
"I don't think anyone really knows who they are," says Daniel Kitson. "So much of what we know about the world is assumed." It's not often standup can be mistaken for Humean philosophy, but it's a while since Kitson has resembled a normal standup. As if to emphasise the distinction, he sits down throughout this touring show, twiddling knobs on a sound desk. Ambient burbling underscores his digressive rumination on life, love, memory and the imagination. The effect is to lure us deeper into the head of this singular, intensely thoughtful performer. For most of these 100 minutes, it's an exhilarating place to be.
That's mainly because, with Kitson, you don't doubt that his inquiry into what life is really about comes straight from the heart. Other comics are just as smart, but few live their existential angst so fully. Here, his life – adored by his fans, unlucky in (or terrified by) love – is exhibit A in his argument that most of us are wandering more or less blindly from birth to death, shoring up our confusion with myths and half-truths about ourselves and the way the world works. Our feelings lie to us; sexual attraction is barbarism; parsnips are tastier than his granny gave them credit for.
Occasionally, the self-analysis looks like special pleading. Usually, though, Kitson's unsentimental honesty feels like a gift and is oddly inspiring. And it's funny, too, as he sets up an opposition between his friends, many of them parents, and himself, sitting at home itemising whether or not he's a dickhead. The phrasemaking, the ridiculous overthinking, the absence of cliche, the hypnotic intensity – this is gripping stuff. It dares us to be as alert to compromise as Kitson is, and yet constantly reminds us why it's easier not to be.
• What have you been to see lately? Tell us about it on Twitter using #GdnReview
Rating: 4/5 Reported by guardian.co.uk 2 days ago.