Review: Reginald D Hunter & Steve Hughes – Journal Tyne Theatre, Newcastle

Reginald D Hunter

Before Thursday’s show at the Journal Tyne Theatre even began, Reginald D Hunter was keen to praise his support act Steve Hughes, claiming he was ‘one of the finest acts in the world today.’ This kind of shtick more often than not feels disingenuous, or, at the very least, hyperbole; but like much of Hughes’ set, there’s a truth that cuts through the bullshit.

I don’t think Hughes’ set is perfect. An opening remark about Newcastle’s many bridges got the crowd on side – but it felt lazy and I’ve heard it in a club set before. Similarly, a piece on Boy George was a clear lowlight of his half-hour set, relying so heavily on the cliché. But in his closing fifteen minutes, Hughes began employing more advanced comedy techniques – a few effective pullbacks in his hotel room routine got big laughs, for example – and his talent for writing witty (and importantly believable) dialogue brings to life some stunning political rhetoric.

Whether you’ll agree with everything he has to say is unlikely, but Hughes makes you think and, most importantly, he makes you laugh. Job done for this sharp social commentator.

Of course, this tour is all about Reginald D Hunter and his new show Sometimes Even The Devil Tells The Truth. I’ve seen Hunter a lot in the past few years, and my fear heading into his ninety minute set was that he’d continue to cover old ground, dealing with the type of racial issues that encouraged the mainstream to wrongly label him as an offensive stand-up.

Thankfully, Hunter’s opening shtick about the word nigger (‘You could be a nigger and not even know it’) serves only as a disclaimer to the crowd. He clearly wants them to feel at ease with the word and its connotations; to simply listen and laugh to much more important things in his set.

His new show is basically about boundaries – how we restrict ourselves linguistically, first and foremost, then bigger philosophical issues that certainly struck a chord with me personally. Inward looking societies, for example, are roundly criticised by Hunter. He encourages the communal experience, especially with his crowd as he frequently dips in and out of conversation to illuminate his prepared material.

And while these instances of interaction are undoubtedly lulls in his set, it’s a smart tactic – he allows the audience a moment for clarify and himself a second to gauge the room, perhaps adapt a few of his lines if the situation requires.

But Hunter’s home nation, America, is the subject of much of his vitriol. How can Hunter truly know himself when his home nation was born out of such deceit and violence? It’s a common position to those familiar with American literary tradition; writers like Chuck Palahniuk and Cormac McCarthy have contributed to the debate in recent years, so there’s nothing truly original here. But this anti-Western philosophy is fascinating coming from an American exile like Hunter.

The post-9/11 world we live in – the ‘war on terror’ – doesn’t sit well with him or Hughes (who offers an equally gripping routine on the topic), either.

There’s a Hicksian streak to this smart rhetoric, but it rarely feels overbearing or preachy. Hunter ‘dumbs down’ his persona enough to ensure the more socio-political stuff feels genuine, and, importantly, accessible. Likewise, his routine on society’s perception of relationships (specifically love) calls to mind Hicks’ now infamous ‘It’s just a ride’ routine.

Reginald D Hunter’s notorious for his inconsistency both on and off stage, but Thursday’s show at the Journal Tyne Theatre was a coming of age for the American stand-up.