Stuart Goldsmith: An Hour

There’s little we Brits like better than a good sit-down. If you do it during a standup gig it does seem a bit odd calling it standup, but then 'standup-sitdown' sounds like a kid’s show, and this is far too thoughtful for that.

Stuart Goldsmith returns to the free Fringe, surely the natural home for a long-time street performer, and finds himself on a stage with a big couch at the back, one of those comfy cushioned nightclub ones, which—either by accident or design—has become a handy performance tool. When Stu starts to take stock, he takes a seat. Suddenly this isn’t just a man telling jokes for spare change, but a well-travelled sage, imparting hard-won wisdom.

That said, the fully-erect bits are excellent too. Goldsmith is a hugely underrated comic, effortlessly confident and accomplished, belying the tales of anxiety that pepper his sets. He’s previously been accused of being too polished, but there’s a relaxed air to this show – the couch helps – while his material remains beautifully crafted. One routine, a seemingly unpromising riff on the concept of beer goggles, boasts an inspired pay-off that could well become an oft-repeated classic, with the right exposure.

In a different era Goldsmith would be the king of prime-time, but perhaps he falls between today’s mainstream TV stools, the T-shirted kids and the be-suited guys. He may still be a bit too street for the latter camp.

The question is, if he transfers this show to London, will he take the couch with him?