Confessions of Gordon Brown

It is a fitting tribute that Gordon Brown, a man so desperate for the limelight during his years as a frontbencher, is the subject of a one-man show this Fringe. This piece, one that explores the behind-closed-doors-Brown we heard so much about, yet saw so little of, is a candid look at the former prime minister at his unfiltered and filthy best.

Height, hair and teeth, booms Ian Grieve in his role as the parliamentary pariah, are essential to political success: there’s no space for “baldies” or “midgets” in Brown’s government. As he paces around his office before an early morning meeting, preening, protesting and spraying expletives around the room like an over-excited puppy, this faux-confessional soliloquy moves from jovial nonchalance to bleak solemnity with ease.

Grieve is convincing as Brown, puffing out his chest and sharing the details of his self-proclaimed success with the audience. His whistle-stop autobiographical tour touches upon a childhood spent in the shadow of his father to ruminations on the tattered legacy left to him by his predecessor and long-time rival, Tony Blair. The piece does feel authentic but often lacks punch: more sincerity, perhaps, and less self-aggrandising, might make for a better balanced piece.

The show is unapologetically self-indulgent, in fact, to the point where its favourable reviews are presented to the audience before it begins. Still, one suspects that this mix of pomp, mirth and misery would tickle its real leading man, who has finally reclaimed the spotlight he so desperately craved.