Okay so first I have to make some concessions – I do not have the work ethic, the raw talent or the drive to put together a comedy show like this, I’m not really qualified to be passing judgement on this, and my position as a critic stems from a totally unfounded sense of self importance. With all of those caveats in place, I have to be honest and say that I didn’t particularly enjoy this show, which is a shame. I really wanted to enjoy Sketchy History, the premise seemed to fit me to a tee – I’m a tireless history nerd with a deep love of self-deprecating student comedy, and yet this show really failed to connect – I laughed, but more out of a sense of obligation than genuine joy.
Alarm bells started ringing for me when I saw a teaser for this show at the Keble Arts Festival comedy night – the sketches felt for the most part a little bit too obvious – its never particularly reassuring when you can see punchlines coming from several miles away, and even worse when you’re pretty sure you’ve heard some of the individual jokes before, in other pieces of comedy. That’s not to say that this was a complete disaster – not by any stretch of the imagination. There were some genuinely original and hilarious moments in this evening of entertainment – kernels that promised great things from this act. Particular highlights included Martin Luther King’s Freudian psychoanalyst or little asides such as “mashed up Samaritans… not the good ones”. There was a certain joyful allure in the silliness of the language – “we’re going to fumble with history’s bra in the dark until she gives up on us and goes back to her ex David Starkey.”
And yet for all the promise that was stored up in occasional flashes of earnest comedy, the whole show failed to cohere for me. The belly laughs came too few and far between to truly lose yourself in the narratives – there was an oddly disjointed element to the show as a whole, compounded by sloppy changes and an eclecticism of tone which I found distracting. It would be unfair to describe the less fleshed out sketch ideas as half baked; it more felt like they’d been cooked to perfection, but were lacking that little bit of kick – vanilla extract, Tabasco – whatever the culinary metaphor requires. This was further compounded by the performances, which were far too reliant on bemusingly broad-brush characterisation and hesitantly fell back on excessive swearing if the laughs started to dry.
This review is not particularly kind to Sketchy History – and I think the show could have been considerably worse, and I might have ended up being less critical as a result. It is because I could see occasional glimpses of something great that I became more and more frustrated with the show for failing to live up to its potential. I earnestly hope that these comics continue to ply their trade, and find a way to fully realise their latent talents. I also have to concede that a lot of people went to these shows, and seemed to laugh quite extensively – so what do I know?
