The Angina Monologue |
Published on Saturday, 11 May 2013 | |||||
I don’t like the ukulele. I groan at the very sight of a ukulele. The alleged “inherent comedy” of the ukulele got old for me about 30 years ago, and I secretly think the only reason comedians play the ukulele is because it’s easier than the guitar. So if I’m going to give four stars to a show with a ukulele in, you can safely assume that everything apart from the ukulele was very good indeed. This show contains a ukulele. The ukulele in question was being clutched by actor-comedian Doug Devaney, when he collapsed on a Brighton hill with debilitating chest pains back in 2010. And if it seems I’m being weirdly flippant about such a serious event, I’m taking my cue from Devaney’s inspiring one-man show – which at first plays the incident very much for laughs, even down to an introductory mix-tape filled with gags from a Carry On film. Devaney’s self-penned monologue is very funny indeed. He commands the room effortlessly, yet makes his script feel more like a cosy chat than a lecture; he’s a master of the dramatic build-up to a groan-worthy punchline, and he’s dynamic and purposeful in his movement around the stage. The humour’s warm, intelligent, and well-paced, even as it tackles the challenging subject of his time in hospital and later rehabilitation. And believe it or not, I found myself smiling at the song – mercifully, just one song – he played on that accursed ukulele. But I knew the laughs wouldn’t keep coming forever, and in the final part of the show, Devaney’s script takes a far more introspective turn. The transition from comedy to contemplation was abrupt and, to be honest, didn’t quite work for me. But once Devaney settled into a more sombre tone, I found him even more compelling than before, as he spoke of the fear of living with his condition and the effects it’s had on his self-image, even self-worth. It’s both patronising and clichéd to call a performance “brave”, but there is a particular courage to Devaney’s approach. He doesn’t come out wearing a serious face, demanding our respect because he has an important story to tell. Instead, he faces what happened like many of us would – by telling lots of jokes – but he then does what most of us surely wouldn’t, tearing down the façade to reveal the trauma that his brush with mortality has left behind. This is a show about psychology more than about physiology, and it’s more sobering than a hundred public health information films. It’s also remarkably entertaining. It’s funny and thought-provoking, and I enjoyed every minute of it. Even the bit with the ukulele. |
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