Phil Nichol: The Weary Land

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“You’re allowed to laugh at this story, by the way,” says a slightly bemused Phil Nichol, towards the end of his intriguing talk. And it is a talk, rather than a standup or theatrical show, an autobiographical monologue that veers from tortured darkness to slapstick hilarity, often within the span of a sentence. Only a few hardy audience members manage to fully embrace the shift in tone, presumably those brought up on the infamous tragic news/funny vegetable variety show That’s Life. Hence Nichol’s pep talk.

The sporadic laughter is clearly a tad disconcerting for the Cumbernauld-bred Canadian—and the story of the family’s migration is a revealing highlight early on—but then The Weary Land was intended to be a more relaxed affair than Nichol’s regular work. It’s an opportunity for the usually energetic comic to sit down and open up about his religious upbringing, early relationships, rampant ego trips, and the emotional trauma that almost did for him. It’s a tale worth telling.

Standups thrive on the instant affirmation laughter brings though, and even a wide-ranging talent like Nichol can’t help throwing in frequent punchlines, even a few bursts of outrageous physical comedy. The Weary Land feels a little caught between stools, due to the comic’s lack of complete confidence in his own tale; he even ponders whether the idea is “self-indulgent crap” after the lights dim. It certainly isn’t, but that’s the problem with straight pieces; how on earth are you supposed to know?