Many comedians promise the earth. Your jaw or ass, or both, will fall off with laughter. Your side will need suturing. Universal hyperbole makes most claims seem like white noise and yet Patrick Monahan—yes, unfashionably pre-watershed friendly standup Patrick Monahan—actually delivers his unlikely pledge.
“By the end of tonight’s show you will hug complete strangers,” he says offstage in his Teeside squeal. And he’s right. Within the hour your reviewer hugged at least three random people.
Like a good cuddle, there is something charmingly unreconstructed about Monahan. After half an hour of waiting for the show to really start—he just chats to the audience, getting them on stage to demonstrate the art of the perfect hug, gently ribbing two male friends for wearing the same checked shirt—you realise that this is, in fact, the show. There is no theme, no gimmick, no political message.
It is a reminder of why most go to see comedy: to encounter someone with charisma to burn who can brighten an hour of their life. Most are content not to go beyond that, and Monahan delivers for them in spades.
When he does revert to a script it is clear where his strength lies – the hour sags. At heart he is a people person, almost pathologically so; at points the show feels like an elaborate excuse for him to spoon strangers. Weirdly, this isn’t creepy. Instead, like a lingering hug, Monahan oozes feel-good endorphins.