Review: Glenn Wool, The Jokes I’m Most Fond Of – The Stand, Newcastle
“Thank you all for coming out to see me, and ONLY ME!,” asserts Glenn Wool, before a sell-out crowd at The Stand. He’s taken the stage to introduce his support act for the evening, a young up-and-comer named Frankie Boyle.
With a page-full of notes in hand, Boyle proceeds to test out new material; a twenty-minute mixture of the twisted one liners that made his name, prolonged rants on American foreign policy, and a taut knack for conveying clarity. His work-in-progress set boasts some promising barbs, and is eaten up by his adoring crowd.
Wool then returns to the stage and launches into his own show, a ‘best of’ act featuring highlights of Wool’s sets from throughout his two decades on the comedy circuit.
The Jokes I’m Most Fond Of sounds almost like a wistful, misty-eyed retrospective. The jokes Canadian jet-setter Wool is most fond of however, largely concern drugs, divorce, the benefits of being a registered sex offender, and some outstanding puns.
His overall shtick might be the wide-eyed, bemused stoner, but his imaginative punch lines land with wallop; this truly is the cream of Wool’s crop. Those familiar with Wool can appreciate the relish with which he still relays his tales, while the rest, after settling into his force-of-nature delivery, take to him with ease.
Serving up hit after hit with a knowing twinkle in his eye, Wool draws out his bits with earsplitting, surreal theatrics. Simultaneously belligerent and camp, impish and evocative, he touches on everything from the origins of Judeo-Christian-Islamic tensions, to oversensitivity, to the difficult nature of being a relationship with a swan.
Despite his set pieces spanning twenty years, they slot together easily, showing not only his effortless showmanship, but also the continued quality of his material. All the while, his inquisitiveness and gleefully impish demeanor allow him to get away with material that often pushes the boundaries of what many would deem acceptable.
Wool delights in dredging up increasingly questionable material in order to try and shock his audience, but they are untouchable, and lap up his every warped aside.
This is after all, a Frankie Boyle crowd. Though after an hour of his brightest and best they leave a Glenn Wool crowd too.
