Marcus Brigstocke describes his current show Je M’Accuse as “pissing about”. After making his name as a passionate ranter on the heavier subjects of politics and religion he has decided to shoot the breeze a bit more here and just talk about himself and tell some simple, effective stories about past jobs, his childhood and his testicles. The result is an hour that is consistently funny even if you occasionally crave for something meatier.
After over 15 years in stand-up Brigstocke certainly knows how to spin out a yarn. After a brief intro when he explains that he has just had to have knee surgery he slips comfortably into a routine about accents. Accents aren’t racist, he points out, it is racists who are racist. You can't fault logic like that, which is lucky for him, as if it was wrong to do accents for fun he’d have to drop a large chunk of his set. He works through the full range, from Welsh to Nigerian via Kiwi. It’s not completely original but it is both very entertaining and enjoyably awkward for liberals. As he took pleasure in pointing out, his Radio 4 fans at the front were not sure about it, but the anonymous punters hiding at the back found it hilarious.
The rest of the set revolves around a few polished autobiographical anecdotes. It’s not surprising they are well-honed. I first saw this show in Edinburgh last summer but I think a few sections may even predate that. Brigstocke turned 41 last week, so of course there’s the mandatory testicle examination routine, though his comes with a nice new twist when it turns out that he knows his doctor from the real world outside the surgery, prompting a tidal wave of middle class politeness while he has his pants down.
In fact class plays big part in Je M'Accuse. Another routine concerns that familiar bourgeois holiday, the safari. The unashamedly posh comedian is once again the fall guy, overdoing the biltong and delivering ferocious farts, or “airborne Bovril” as he dubs it. He tells his tale of Jeep-based woe with impressive style. Brigstocke is the kind of highly skilled craftsman who can make the most heavily scripted aside feel like a spontaneous off-the-cuff ad lib – and that’s a compliment, not a criticism.
The set feels more pertinent when he gets personal and talks about his eating disorder that saw him balloon to 24 stone as a schoolboy. A horrific tale of bingeing is equal parts funny and touching. It is here that the show really gets under your skin. One feels for Brigstocke’s teenage torment while also laughing at the thought of this portly adolescent goth with a chirpy West Country brogue.
There is a happy ending though. He lost the weight and ended up, bizarrely, as a podium dancer. Which, by comparison, makes stand-up comedy seem like a rather sensible career. Critics are often castigated for giving away too much of a comedian’s set so we will draw a veil over the final section. Let’s just say it is well worth the wait. I’d like to see Brigstocke ranting again soon, but in the meantime his pissing about is pretty good.
Je M'Accuse is at Soho Theatre until May 24. Tickets here.
