Larry Dean has news for us. He’s got married. To Mikey, from the Black Country. He proposed outside the Hive nightclub in Edinburgh, he tells us. This hour in a packed venue is the story of the proposal and the subsequent wedding.
At least, that’s at the heart of it. But there’s a lot of set dressing too. About Scotland and America and England and Iran and accents and appearing on the Royal Variety Show and meeting the King and autism and OCD and, oh yes, the odd Gollum impersonation.
Well, one Gollum impersonation. The Glasgow comedian who made his name by mimicking, rather convincingly, dinosaurs has always been an impressive physical comedian – all long limbs, rubber face and staring eyes; imagine John Cleese as a gay Glaswegian. And still funny.
But, after an opening routine that’s dependent on those eyes, Dean has more fun in Hellbent with accents rather than twisting his body into odd shapes (though his down-on-one-knee proposal is not an opportunity he’s going to pass up recreating and milking for maximum effect).
Dean, dressed in an outsized bow tie, is very much in command of his comic arsenal these days, but at times this is a curious show. A little bumpy at times. To begin with, as he riffs on the differences between Glasgow and Edinburgh, and playing up his Weegieness on moving to London, it feels as if he’s playing – slightly lazily, it feels initially – with stereotypes. But as the show goes on he begins to complicate the picture. There are visions of America here that don’t conform to our European perceptions. Visions of Iran too, for that matter. This is, it emerges, the comedy of connection. And the show blossoms as a result.
That’s not to say there’s no darkness in it. Dean’s demeanour is – for all his staring eyes – so upbeat that he can get away with the wildest lines. There’s one about King Charles here that’s, frankly, fire. Can comedians still get thrown in the Tower?
More surprisingly, there’s a confession about one of the darkest moments of Dean’s life that he passes over so quickly you wonder why it’s there. It’s a strange moment. Is it too uncomfortable to dwell on? If so, that’s perfectly understandable. Or, perhaps, in a show that is ultimately a love story, he feels that’s all it deserves. But as a result it does stick out.
That said, this is ultimately a hugely enjoyable hour of comedy from a performer who seems very at home on a stage. And a performer who isn’t afraid to embrace happiness here.
Because, ultimately, this is a big-hearted celebration of a show that ends with a very sweet and sincere declaration of his feelings. Doesn’t Frank Sinatra have a song for this? “Love and marriage …”