Rome and Away: Stand Up And Be Counted
Stand-up, Italians insist, never found a footing in Rome.
Many who try struggle to find their feet and are all fingers and thumbs which they burn at both ends until…bugger. Point is, stand-up out here is a bit like a bath with Cameron Diaz while your favourite Spice Girl (Melanie C in my case, but that’s another story) feeds you oysters in the buff. A lovely idea, but it’s just not gonna happen. Then every so often a performer (not in the Berlusconi sense) comes (still not) and not only blows away all your preconceptions but gets you laughing like a berk in the process. And such a phenomenon is Saverio Raimondo.
At twenty-eight and a bit, Saverio already boasts more experience than Tiger Woods’ ‘To-Do’ list and more gags than Michael Barrymore’s larder. He’s done pretty much everything – telly, radio, theatre… Oh, and when I get chatting just before his stint at Oppio Café’s Cocktail Comedy Club, he seems a really nice bloke too.
He kicks off at his own leisurely pace, getting to know the audience so we can settle down and he can find out what sort of material we’ll enjoy most: Politics? Religion? Knob-gags? And when we’re all in the mood he lets rip and bally hell, ninety minutes feel like ninety milliseconds. There’s a Berlusconi routine that echoes our thoughts, prays to God he won’t return and gets an entire audience rolling in the aisles. There’s a Catholic number that’s both hilarious and painful, and manages to confirm all the stereotypes but still sound fresh and original. Best of all, there’s an account of bonking a Romanian tranny that’s pleasantly reminiscent of Bill Hicks’ legendary porn musings but very much Saverio’s own.
For ultimately, that’s one of the guy’s many strengths. Instead of carbon-copying the Brits and the Yanks, Signor (that’s Lord) Raimondo remains rooted in his own tradition, his own culture, his own unmistakable style. Case in point, the Italian Mummy’s Boys Staying At Home All Their Bleedin’ Lives bit: I loved it, but it struck a deeper and even funnier chord with my girlfriend, who’s Italian. Very Italian in fact. The show may be boisterous, it may be subtle, it may be downright dirty (ever seen a microphone used like that? Probably not), but it’s always Saverio Raimondo. There’s even an encore where he gives the fans some of their favourite moments and I’m ashamed to confess that after living in the capital for thirteen years I don’t know any of them off-by-heart.
Ninety minutes? Saverio could talk for forty days and forty nights and tire neither the audience nor his infallible, unfailing brain. Next week it’s an appearance in student sanctuary San Lorenzo followed by more Cocktail Comedy chaos and if you haven’t booked your ticket you’re probably dead, the Archbishop of Canterbury or both. Or you’re fully booked up with Ms Diaz and C.
