As one of the judges I went into the interval not really feeling I had seen a worthy winning act. That all changed with the first act of the second half, Sam Eley as Basil Crumbwick. The obvious, perhaps too obvious comparison was Frank Sidebottom. I presume you can't copyright giant round heads, but that was the first thing that sprang to mind when the judges met after the show.
The second thing, however, was how original Eley's humour was. When he was wasn't tossing scraps of food pulled from a rucksack into the audience he was throwing out curveball one-liners that are both accessible and yet unexpected. What initially seemed like a Sidebottom tribute act was something much much odder, which takes some doing, and well worthy of first prize.
In fact the standard of the night seemed to go up a notch from there. Rachel Baker played quirky northern housewife Gwen and while she owed something to familiar characters such as Barbara Nice, she brought something new to the party. It was an act which ended with a dance routine that came out of nowhere but provided a big finish. I'd have given her a placing just for the high sequin count.
K&J Club – Kirsty & Jamie Cooke – squeezed a lot onto their six minutes, whizzing through some set-pieces and sketches. If one idea didn't quite catch fire there was a good chance another one would. This was a night for oddballs though and they didn't quite connect consistently.
When you only have six minutes you have to make an impression quickly and Christian Dart as Gumshoe clearly did that, playing a Chendleresque detective, albeit with the luscious locks of Sam Ryder. It was a finely crafted mock-noir story and Dart was gifted by an audience member who was sporting enough to play along (I assume she was real, a plant wouldn't have done it any better). Pastiche private eyes might feel like a dime a dozen but Dart certainly showed that he can conjure up a more than passable parody. Maybe he should work on something more original next time.
As the eleventh act of the night maybe there was a bit of sketch fatigue when Hudson Hughes came on as a regional mayor, complete with gold chain, but for me it was an act that didn't really bed in. At least not until there was one big visual reveal, but this came too near the end to lift things. There was good writing here though and who knows, maybe earlier in the bill things could have been different.
Last act, Jess Carrivick: as Cassandra Della Treebourne, did leave the audience laughing. Her smoky, sultry act did feel like a fairly quotidian jazz singer spoof – whatever song was requested she came out with the same doodly doodly scat lines – but Carrivick added something sparky to the mix. Call it charisma, calling it mucking about, it was a pleasing end to a strong showcase.
Picture: Steve Ullathorne
