It's early in the run, it's hot and there is a beam where the top of Stephen Carlin's head should be. It feels very much like he is feeling all of these things (he certainly references the obscured view) as he nervously and erratically makes his way through his set.
There is no doubt that there are some passages of Carlin's show that shine. He muses on the sins of the Yewtree generation, tries to square this with our tendency to belittle young people, and artfully debunks the sometimes empty prophecies of Russell Brand. Elsewhere, turns of phrase raise genuine guffaws, but linking them are pauses longer than they need to be. A stuttering rhythm undercuts the momentum that Carlin needs to achieve to completely carry his audience.
Between the more obviously observational patter on drinking and cultural differences, Carlin tries to up the stakes of stories and takes them to ludicrous levels. Sometimes this pays off—a joke about fracking in his back garden is a successful flourish—and sometimes not. In the closing sequence he recalls an earlier, overblown revenge fantasy to try and tie things up. While not falling flat exactly, it can't carry him to the finish line.
The ending is rather an abrupt, abortive affair and the Scot finishes as uncertainly as he begins. Although gentle by demeanour, Carlin will surely need to toughen up and drive through his routines with more vigour as the run wears on.