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Article by Peter Marks taken from New York Times. The bloke in the dark eyeliner and blue hard-candy nail polish is back, with even more on his mind than last time. Taxidermy, the Oscars, Queen Victoria, kites, Kathleen Willey, paganism, "Hawaii Five-0," puberty, Steve McQueen, dinosaurs, Easter eggs: Eddie Izzard is not your ordinary topic-surfing comic in black vinyl pants and Chinese housecoat. He is a human search engine. This English comedian, who packed P.S. 122 for two previous shows, has moved his restless brain to the Westbeth Theater Center, where his new stand-up piece, "Dress to Kill," has settled in for a limited engagement. On the spiked heels of Sandra Bernhard's recent acid-based hit, "I'm Still Here . . . Damn It!" on the same stage, Mr. Izzard's appearance is likely to cement Westbeth's reputation as downtown's comedy central. "Dress to Kill" picks up where Mr. Izzard left us with "Glorious," his last show; we're once again on a play date with the funniest boy on the block, the sweaty one who won't be assuaged until you've seen every last thing at the bottom of his toy chest. His subjects are not always stunningly original -- can't we, for instance, give "Star Trek" and commercial jokes gold watches and send them into retirement? And his casual, digressive observations, staples of the brick-walled club circuit, are hardly revolutionary. Still, even the more tired material is carried off with panache. By dint of personality -- he's so charming, you definitely want a seat next to him on your next flight to Tokyo -- and a wit so cavalier you might call it swashbuckling, it would be downright churlish not to get a kick out of him. He's a comic with an actor's sense of word and movement, adept at creating little worlds in instant one-man plays: a lascivious President Clinton groping his way through an Oval Office encounter; a proper group of British prisoners, equipping themselves smartly for a dash to freedom in "The Great Escape"; a team of agents and managers brainstorming over the name of a new singer and coming up with Engelbert Humperdinck. Mr. Izzard is, in fact, a ticklingly entertaining hybrid of mainstream cultural influences and offbeat personal tendencies. He calls himself a transvestite, and with his frosted hair and rouged cheeks, he certainly boasts a pronounced feminine streak. But he also has such a mannish way about him -- he says that, sexually speaking, he "fancies girls" -- that he seems able to fit in anywhere, with any crowd. The crowds are certainly going to follow him to Westbeth, and his growing army of fans won't be put off by the egregious length of "Dress to Kill." At two and a half hours, it's about 30 minutes too long; Mr. Izzard doesn't have 150 minutes of grade-A material, and he tends to ramble a lot. But that's O.K. With Mr. Izzard, it's only a case of a bit too much of a good thing. |