Steve Coogan, Manchester Apollo

Steve Coogan on stage

November 3rd, 2008

After hearing rumours of fluffed lines, unrehearsed sketches and walk-outs at his Liverpool show last month, I wasn’t sure what to expect when seeing one of Manchester‘s favourite sons, Steve Coogan, at the first hometown show of his only stand-up tour in ten years.

I say stand-up, but it is more of a mish-mash of genres - musical theatre and play-acting feature heavily; Alan Partridge starring as a historical figure in a play within the show. The tentative audience are greeted with glam, as Coogan’s famous drag character Pauline Calf opens proceedings, showing off her new fake tits and offering beauty advice: “Don’t bother with botox, just get your tits done and then nobody looks at your face!”

Other characters to entertain us in the first half include the slapstick nerd Duncan Thicket, and the slightly disappointing BBC TV former roadie Tommy Saxondale, who offers an anti-drug lecture. The lull lifts with the arrival of the dole-scrounging Paul Calf, complete with mullet, moustache and unnecessary wheelchair, and armed with an assault on the oddities of modern British life: “If Ross Kemp likes camouflage so much, how come I can always see him on my f***king television?!”

To allow for Coogan’s character changes, there are some intermediate side-acts, who are hit and miss. Everyone knows exactly what is coming after the break, though, so it’s alright.

A slideshow with images of Muhatma Ghandi, Martin Luther King and then the cult figure of Alan Partridge is what we’re all waiting for: Coogan is spot on, and the rest of his characters seem puny in Partridge’s shadow. Dressed in his sports-casual attire, he enters with a brilliant “inspirational” medley of songs, and promotes his new career as a somewhat questionable life coach.

Skirmishes with technology and a smattering of classic stock phrases permeate Partridge’s slot, and there is an interesting twist when the character gives us an exclusive viewing of his new play. When Coogan leaves the stage to riotous applause, he then makes an unexpected return as a smart, upper-class gent from years gone by. In glorious self-parody, Coogan comments on those tabloid reports about his dalliances with drugs and women (“…largely fabricated… slightly exaggerated…”) in his very own version of ‘Singing In The Rain’ – smattered with the much-maligned C-word, and indulgently hilarious.

As Alan himself would say, lovely stuff.

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