Leicester Square theatre, London
Tonight sees bilious US comic Doug Stanhope at his best and worst. When his scorn and loathing is intelligently applied, he tears away the veil of socialised politesse, revealing the world at its atavistic, carnal purest. But these days, his hatred is often indiscriminately applied, and his intelligence less frequently engaged. By the end of this occasionally brilliant set, Stanhope is drunk, narrating his own burps, and abusing all the least-deserving targets.
The set mixes new material with old, not at all smoothly. (Smooth isn't Stanhope's style.) He's forever losing his way and his confidence. "This goes nowhere. Say it anyway. Trust the alcohol." Awestruck homage is paid to Charlie Sheen, who's living the lifestyle Stanhope has spent 20 years preaching. There's a hilarious skit in which Stanhope plays Mel Gibson making his notoriously brutal phone call to his girlfriend, and ordering a posh meal while doing so. Later, he adds to his canon of bleak jokes about modern romance with the invention of a jizzoon (as opposed to a spittoon) into which dating men can drain themselves of the compulsion to be insincere to women.
Stanhope is painfully oversensitive to these everyday economies with the truth, and at his best he challenges us to be the same. Elsewhere, he shoots down liberal pieties and has nothing to replace them with, as per a pointless rant against art, or his bizarre argument that beleaguered Palestinians don't need our charity because money can't heal the stupidity that causes their problems. At such points, Stanhope's despairing idealism slumps into nihilism, while the many parties worthy of his furious, filthy comedy get off scot-free.