No fumbling for laughter in this basement

Aug 4 2008 by Mike Chapple, Liverpool Daily Post

The Royal Court theatre (200)

Mike Chapple on the triumphant return of the Rawhide Comedy Club to the Royal Court Theatre

IT’S a case of Upstairs, Downstairs now at the Royal Court, with the latest home-grown drama produc-tion Eight Miles High above in the main auditorium, and the weekend Rawhide comedy club now down below in the art deco bar.

And although there’s no sign of Gordon Jackson’s butler Hudson, the 21st-century front of house are making sure everything goes with the same behind-the-scenes efficiency, marshalled by manager Kieron.

This is to be applauded as there is potential for major chaos here since Rawhide moved back from its old home at the Prohibition, on Bold Street, last week. Not least when the opening sell-out nights seem to have been populated by the annual Foghorn Leghorn convention of squawking hen parties keen for some action after wolfing down their excellently prepared pre-show meals and glugging copious amounts of the house red.

Veterans of Rawhide in all its incarnations will know that this is not usually something to be worried about as the occasional hecklers – never as funny as they think they are, even when sober – can become the unwitting entertain-ment when they’ve been skilfully ripped apart by the performers. As this night proved; especially with someone as streetwise and sharp as Toxteth’s R David as the MC. Last time this reviewer saw him a couple of years ago, he had an off-night at the Best of Liverpool comedy festival show, but here he was back to his best as ring-master – alternatively self deprecating and masterful, while funny throughout.

Second up, the leering and irreverent Mancunian Steve Harris shocked a few and also came up with the best squawker put-down of the night: “Ay, love, where did you learn to whisper? In an ‘elicopter?”

Duggie Brown look-a-like Rich Wilson, a Cockney on his Rawhide debut, looked understandably a little jittery. “Ere, you’re a feisty lot, ain’t yer?” he kept exclaiming at the squawkers, but he pulled it off nonetheless to generous applause.

The headliner, Wavertree homeboy Simon Bligh, was his usual peerless self, fired-up and in manic mode, his rant about teenage sexual fumblings in Sefton Park earning whoops of delight from the rampant females in the audience.

“I wasn’t going to be rude – but effin’ hell, this is great!!!”

And he wasn’t wrong at what still is possibly the best all-round night out in town.

mikechapple@dailypost.co.uk