Alex Kealy is an Idea Whose Time Has Come

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Alex Kealy is a comedian in the sense that he stands before us with an act intended to provoke laughter. But he falls short of more romantic definitions of the word. He's no natural clown and shows little evidence of comedy having been a calling for him so much as something he's approached like a maths equation. All the trappings are in place—a microphone centre stage, an appropriately chequered shirt and tousled hair, a crowd eager to be amused by a man peddling amusement—but Kealy lacks the ability or perhaps even desire to put his material's strengths across.

Instead, he's memorised a technically impressive script and is treating the gig as an exercise in recall. We can usually tell whenever a joke's been made because his speech trails off, his eyes locking upon the ground as he mutters to himself. Occasionally he'll offer up quips, generally those concerning sex, in a booming tone of mock confidence for which he swiftly apologises.

Dealing mostly with the Brexit campaign, Kealy's monologue shows a strong authorial voice, but falls on deaf ears as the audience itches to escape his awkward presence. No effort is made to kickstart the gig.

Most troubling of all is that our host seems to hold himself in high regard over his peers. An on-the-nose running joke references the myriad comics whose show titles are little more than puns on their surname. Are these virtually indistinguishable acts hacks? They could well be, but at least they aspire to entertain us in some way.