Comedy in a shed, Nick Helm's groin and a rather awkward impression. Stevie Martin relives three days of Latitude funnies.
One of your more artistically eclectic, middle class festivals, it's hard to know what to expect from Latte-tude (thank you Russell Kane). It turns out everything from men in forests reenacting medieval battles to an unhappy Kane storming out of the Literature tent. And massive earwigs everywhere.
The Comedy Tent held around two thousand people, with a range of acts kicking off the weekend from the 11am Chortle Student Awards showcase to headliner Tim Minchin's crazed barnet-jiggling piano stylings. On a more personal note, a woman gave me a spare plastic bag to sit on at one point, which was nice.
Next door in the Cabaret tent (think Moulin Rouge but with more mud) a morning of Cardinal Burns and an afternoon of sketch comedy from Idiots of Ants and Wittank saw the smaller arena draw in the teens who like their sketches loud and silly. In the meantime, between the two, Monster Comedy had unveiled The Shed. The smallest comedy club in the world, an audience of four were treated to twenty minutes of fast-paced sets from Nish Kumar, Mae Martin and Angela Barnes alongside special guests throughout the weekend. Simon Munnery ("It was very hot in there"), James Acaster ("It's surprisingly dark actually"), Phill Jupitus and a ladybird that fell on Phil Jupitus were just some of the headliners.
In the afternoon, Frisky & Mannish charmed the pants off the Comedy Arena, even those who didn't get a few references (remember the 'Mmm mmm mmm' song? No? God I'm old), but a theme or through line would have given them added slickness. To celebrate catching the divisive, highbrow-lowbrow Russell Kane and the end of an on-form Mark Watson, I ate a falafel that cost £30,000 and tasted of misguided spontaneity and regret. Thought about getting a free haircut in the Literary Salon. Didn't.
Instead, I saw Doc Brown rip up a now horribly claustrophobic arena with Kick Him In The Balls And Run Away and vitriol directed at those who put the milk in first when making a cuppa. He was the highlight, despite headliner Tim Minchin taking to the stage shortly after. It's not that I don't like Minchin - he's an insanely talented musician and singer songwriter - but this set was more suited to a music arena. Sure, there's much witticism, but I wasn't as moved as the girls yelling "I LOVE YOU" and crying.
Character comedian Colin Hoult, found in the Cabaret tent while many others cultivated narcolepsy during Bon Iver, struggled with his Horror Show. Despite an assured performance, the jokes were lacking and marred by an ending far more weird than funny. After that I drank responsibly and certainly didn't realise I'd missed Pappy's when walking past the Literature Tent from The Chemical Brothers: Don't Think to get a donut.
There was an atmosphere outside as the usually friendly trio had gone for Russell Kane's BBC3 show Live At The Electric, with unfavourable impressions of him and other acts from the program. It was awkward; Kane walked out before stealing their beers and, when asked to verify if he'd actually stolen their beers, replied "Yes. F****** C***s".
Saturday saw Phill Jupitus bring a lacklustre half hour to a lukewarm arena but Terry Alderton smashed it with split-personality conversations and ten minutes from his feet as they decided they wanted to take a break from each other. Andrew Maxwell had a lot to live up to and, in traditional Maxwell fashion, delivered a wickedly funny stream of political, social and cultural commentaries. A great start to the day, and sorely needed after an earwig got trapped in my pajamas the night before and polished off my left knee.
Josie Long was as likeable and sharp as ever, but hasn't found a way to balance her passion for politics (or, rather, hatred of Tories) with her stand-up. Too much ranting softened the impact and if she'd held back a little, her message – that of staying strong and fighting for what you believe in, and that Cameron is really fucking it up for us all – would have much more effect. It's a credit to her, though, that even at Latitude, with its fair share of conservatives, she got a great reaction.
David O'Doherty topped off a successful Saturday with songs touching on failed relationships, the meaning of life and other aspects of life experience. On the way back to the campsite there were some dudes whittling and a few women enjoying a good loom session. In the woods, whole crowds reenacted ancient battles and Shy FX went on till 3am.
Sunday. Sun. Slight hangover. Coffee. Helm. 12.30 was early for a spandex clad man yelling "fuck it in the bucket" while thrusting his groin at a mic stand. Intimate venues are better for Nick Helm but he forced the audience into a Mexican wave and launched into his crowd-pleasing back catalogue. Nicely done, but it would have been good to have seen more new stuff.
I spent the next few hours in the Hurly Burly theatre cafe trying to recharge despite "kooky" waiting staff intermittently shouting things like "HEY THE SUNSHINE'S OUT DON'T YOU LOVE IT WHEN THAT ORB GET'S HIS CHAPEUX ON EH?" down microphones. Odd. But not quite as odd as Tony Law riding onto the stage on an invisible horse called Tuppence. Half got his unpredictable whimsy while the other half didn't know what to think. Before long his three year old kids had wandered onto the stage which made for a brilliantly absurd piece of improv.
Walking through Simon Munnery's La Concepta, an inspired restaurant experience serving abstract food and portions of surrealism, I checked out the end of Kazuko Hohki. Turns out she's written a variety show about how hard it is for those who repeatedly lose control of their bowels.
The Arena was the fullest it had been all weekend for Jack Dee and he's definitely still got it, all withering expressions and bemused grump. It helped that 90% of the crowd were drunk on hummus-infused organic soy beer (obligatory middle class dig) but it was mainly down to his assured command of the stage and dead funny jokes.
With such a huge variety of poetry, music, dance, comedy, theatre and, indeed, knitting on offer (did I mention there was a knitting tent? There was a knitting tent), Latitude was a right hoot. Sure, I'm now financially destitute but every time I regret being seduced by the allure of the food stands, I remember how it didn't rain that much, I laughed most of the time and figured out how to squash earwigs with my bare hands. On top of this, the sheer variety of comedy on offer meant there was something for literally everyone; be it politically subversive musings, crowd-pleasing sketch comedy, big name comebacks or stand-up in a four-person sized shed.
Photo credit: Marc Sethi
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