Scott Capurro: Islamohomophobia Reloaded

With its high, corniced ceilings and plush carpetry, Studio One in the Assembly Rooms feels like a reception room in a consulate. Scott Capurro's heart must have sunk when he saw it. In a seedier venue, he might find it easier to conjure among this sparse but enthusiastic crowd the feeling of intimate complicity his close-to-the-bone material depends on. A sample one-liner gives you an idea of this performance: "Actually, my husband's here tonight – you just can't see him!" You see, Capurro's husband is black. Not only is this an old and terrible joke, it doesn't even make sense in this over-lit theatre.

Capurro, a cattily effeminate Kevin Bacon lookalike, is good at ribald back-and-forth with audience members, and he must be given credit for making the absolute most of the meagre resources at his disposal tonight. He relentlessly teases the father of a young fan who's cracking up in the front row without ever seeming merely cruel.Over a 30-year career, Capurro has perfected his stagecraft and amassed a lot of great lines ("Say what you like about paedophiles, they drive slowly around schools"), and he almost manages to make this evening a success.

Where he falls down is his treatment of religion, particularly Islam. The capacity to negotiate the hazy line between the risqué and the unconscionable helps make comedy an important artform – and as somebody who has to put up with "Gays Out" signs in his neighbourhood, it's no surprise that Capurro is keen to harangue the intolerant. But when he's reduced to writing off whole swathes of humanity as "cunts" on the basis of their religion, he seems to cross over another line entirely: this isn't edgy, it's just tedious.