John Robertson: The Old Whore

John Robertson’s The Old Whore is a horribly misjudged attempt at attention-seeking comedy. The problems begin with Robertson’s performance style- aiming for energetic, he in fact comes across contrived and cartoonish, like a hammy Shakespearean actor after ten Red Bulls. Rejecting the microphone in favour of strutting around the stage enunciating every vowel with excruciating force, this approach amplifies his creepiness in the dark moments and negates any attempt at sincerity. One senses that a general air of creepiness is what he wishes to cultivate, the content of his standup being largely surrealist and dark, but while both can provide ample comedic fodder, Robertson’s punchlines are juvenile and often nonsensical.

The Old Whore has also clearly been written to death. Every word seems tightly scripted, but Robertson's fatal error is the organization of his sprawling whimsy through one weak central storyline—a man in Cardiff calling him racist—followed by several vast tangential rants, which serve little purpose other than to demonstrate his peculiar, forced lyricism. Indeed, the content of much of his work is frustratingly meandering, with any sense of focus drowned out by reams and reams of words.

Among the din, there are flashes of a troubling preoccupation with violence and graphic sexual imagery which are only confirmed by the disturbing climax in which he describes himself fucking the Queen. Unsettling and unclear, one can only hope that Robertson will put his boundless energy and love of words to better use in the future.