Sarah Kendell has a good old-fashioned laughing fit at the US comedian's Soho Theatre debut.
Two weeks ago, I had no idea who Hal Sparks was. One week ago, after being invited to witness his London debut at the Soho Theatre, I discovered he was responsible for possibly the most hilarious stand-up clip on YouTube. Last night, after making the familiarly exhausting three-flight climb upstairs to the studio for Sparks' show, I wondered, could he possibly be as funny as I remembered? Admittedly, my mid-morning caffeine high has occasionally been responsible for rendering acts more amazing than they are on later, more lucid reflection. But in this case, I can say that Sparks sincerely is as good at 9:30pm as he is after three cups of tea (and no, there were no excessive amounts of other judgement-altering beverages consumed either).
This being his first ever UK show, the American comedian is understandably nervous that his style, although having gone down a treat in the US for 20-odd years, isn't going to translate. “They're not going to get it”, he says in a posh accent, mimicking his detractors, “Pity laughter, that's the best you can hope for. Pity for the stupid American.” In fact, nothing could be further from the truth – Sparks' sharp wit, creative observations and disdain for the intellectually lazy seem so perfectly suited to a British audience that at times it's a shock to hear the trans-Atlantic twang escaping his lips.
His pet subject, which chimes fantastically with the British penchant for grammatical pedantry, is de-constructing the nonsensical phrases that have made their way into everyday vocabulary. The Starbucks offering of only medium and large sizes generates a round of energetic ranting - “You can't have medium and large, you can have small and large! Medium is a median point between two other points, so fuck off!” - but the best line comes regarding the media-created term 'date rape'. “There is no such thing as date rape”, he insists. “Once the raping starts, the date is over!”
One factor that could have made it a slightly tough room for Sparks is his frank admission that he's never had a drink or smoked in his life. I did overhear a couple of audience members grumbling as we made our way out about his thoughts on smoking, which admittedly were verging on self-righteous, despite being very amusingly so. “Can you tell I've had a cigarette?”, Sparks asks, imitating a friend who's concerned about his post-smoking odour. “Could I tell if you'd shat your pants? Uh, yeah, I can tell.” Any sense of piety when it comes to drinking, though, is wiped clean by his hilarious concept of a “drunk strap” for bald men, who obviously don't have any hair for sober friends to hold back when being sick in the toilet.
Sparks really comes into his element, though, when he's addressing more raunchy stuff, an interesting contrast for someone who's led such a clean lifestyle. A discussion on why testicles are used to describe strength and the word 'pussy' used as a term of weakness, when it should no doubt actually be the reverse, has the audience in absolute hysterics. “The vagina can squeeze out something 60 times its size and then completely return to its original elasticity. If you tried that with your penis, it would look like a wind-sock. Also, it bleeds every month and never dies! It's like the Predator!” Cue '80s Arnold Schwarzenegger impersonations, and my own helpless tears of mirth.
To be honest, I'm not even sure I'm doing Sparks' gift for humour justice in this review, but his combination of energy, originality, intelligence and commitment on stage is something you should see for yourself. Experimental, surrealist romps are all well and good, but sometimes you just need a good, long laugh courtesy of one man's gift for silliness, and that was exactly what this one gave me.
Hal Sparks: Charmageddon is at Soho Theatre until June 19th.
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