montyfood

It’s not often you witness the birth and death of a career at the same time. Last night I watched Sarah Silverman - in the country largely to promote the tardy UK DVD release of her live film from 2005, Jesus is Magic - perform on a London stage for only the second time in a few short years. (She previously had a place on the bill of the fundraising Secret Policeman’s Ball in 2006.) This time she was headlining at a 3,500-seater London venue with high-price tickets. A few press pieces and TV guest slots in the preceding week or so had all helped raise expectations of the fans who turned out to see her perform live. Time Out’s blurb dared to say “just buy a ticket and trust us… you won't be disappointed”. They couldn’t have been more wrong.

The evening got no points for event management. Advertised simply as “6.30pm”, we were left to surmise this actually meant the gig would kick off an undisclosed time later. We turned up near 6.30pm to find it wasn’t expected to get going til 8pm. A drink and a meal later we returned to the theatre to find a pent up throng trapped in the lobby. The doors to the auditorium were still closed due to a “technical problem” (not with the doors themselves) - though I’m not sure what was technically difficult about the stage set-up of a mic, some lights and a couple of barely adequate video screens. With only a quarter of an hour before the advised start time, the sweaty and impatient crowd were finally admitted.

Once most of the capacity crowd were seated, time was ticking by with no signs of a show, and a slow handclap developed in certain seats. At long last, a cheery host stepped onstage to announce that he was merely going to introduce Rich Fulcher and Matt Berry. Although I enjoy the Mighty Boosh, of which Fulcher is a part, having seen him perform a dire solo stand-up act previously, I got nervous at this point. To my relief, Fulcher and Berry served no comedic purpose other than to brag about how they had both appeared in separate episodes of Silverman’s TV show, and that they were here to apologise for the illness of the advertised support act, Steve Agee. However they then revealed that Steve was able to be with us via the magic of iChat video conferencing and his washed-out face appeared on the video screens. Agee mumbled a brief apology, a quick joke and then introed a showreel promo to the second season of Silverman’s TV show (complete with its Comedy Central US showtime bumper graphics; in the UK the show airs on Paramount Comedy Channel).

After this strangest of introductions it was Sarah Silverman herself wandering onto the stage and fumbling her way into an apparently unrehearsed set. She brought on a cribsheet, prominently set upon a high stool next to her, which she continually referred to while fiddling with her ponytail. Several gags were rambling as if still half-written. She even apologised that she hadn’t quite figured out how to finish a few of them. Her songs were stronger and she seemed to tap into a better more confident performance when singing (she has a great voice). But even here she started a song about Jewish people driving German cars that didn’t (pardon me) actually go anywhere and seemed to be a reference back to a gag she had delivered only minutes before. It felt like she didn’t yet know whether the idea worked better as a spoken joke or a comedy song.

I dare say the main reason for Silverman’s appeal among her fans is her shock tactic humour. Her racist jokes are ironic, about racism itself, a political incorrectness acting as a reflector back on the political correctness of popular culture. I found however that her shtick ends up being very “one-note”: there’s only so many jokes a pretty female Jewish comedienne can make about rape or being Jewish before it gets a bit “what else can you do?” Which is why her musical humour actually is the saving grace of her performance, bringing some extra nuance and poetry to the table. Her song about porn stars actually carried a certain existential pathos, unique to the evening. By her own admission, even taboo words can lose their power to offend and she riffed a joke about how she was attempting to make the word “pussy” regain something of its previous shock value.

When she left the stage and the audience almost as one checked their timepieces to see she had performed for barely 45 minutes, practically nobody moved even though the house lights came up. There would be an encore. There must be an encore. With nothing forthcoming a slow handclap developed once more, this time gaining more widespread support. Finally, almost propelled on stage, Silverman returned seemingly baffled by the crowd’s reaction. “Go home,” she told us. “That’s all I got.” The heckling started. “I want my money back,” said someone. “Sarah, you’re over-hyped,” lamented another. It was all a bit ugly, but having all coughed up a considerable chunk of cash to be there (apart from the freeloaders and celebs in the comp seats) we all felt massively short-changed. So Silverman tried to improv but admitted she wasn’t used to working a crowd. One voice in the dress circle suggested she sing her song Give The Jew Girl Toys, feeding her the first line. Gamely she picked up her guitar and progressively realised she remembered neither the chords nor the words. It’s an ominous sign for a stage performer when a member of the audience knows the lyrics to your own song better than you and is yelling them from the back of the auditorium while you flounder in the spotlight unable to oblige. After a few uncomfortable minutes you could tell she wasn’t going to stay any longer and be pilloried. With a fart noise and a mock ingratiating bow she left the stage for good.

I’m sad to reflect that the best part of the evening was the beer and burger I had before the show.