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'Glorious': Prodigal Stand-Up Comedy
------------------------------------------------------------------------ By PETER MARKS NEW YORK -- What does it take to get up in front of people and simply ... be? Well, for one thing, it helps a lot if you are very, very funny. Which Eddie Izzard, the British actor and stand-up comedian, most certainly is. There are not many performers whom you might be inclined to elbow in the ribs and instruct, "Make me laugh!" Izzard gives the impression of being fully equipped -- and eternally eager -- for such occasions, a waggish prodigy who simply can't turn the comedy off. And the comedy gushes forth faithfully in "Glorious," Izzard's adorable one-man show at Performance Space 122. Is it theater? Oh, heck, what isn't? Izzard, of the shiny red suit, frosted hair and sparkling fingernails, is only a guy on an empty stage, stringing loose strands of pop culture, history and human behavior into necklaces of throwaway wit and insight. No doubt about it, we're in conventional stand-up territory here, but the influences are more diverse. His act seems a little bit Jerry Seinfeld, a little bit Monty Python. He's a young hipster who still gives off a whiff of music hall. Izzard is making his second appearance in New York City, following a sold-out run at P.S. 122 last fall. His new show, which he is taking on what he describes as a "worldish" tour, is ideal for an era of shortening attention spans: The comedian runs through topics at such breakneck pace that words and ideas occasionally get backed up in his mouth like cars in a chain-reaction accident. His mind races and the audience struggles to keep up. Some of the laughter, in fact, seems self-congratulatory: "Aha, got that!" He's topical without being political. One moment, he is a balmy Prince Philip, slandering a billion Chinese on an official visit; the next he is the Grim Reaper, discarding, in the name of progress, his scythe in favor of a power mower. The material flags only when Izzard broaches hackneyed subjects like elevator etiquette or the inefficiency of modern appliances. (Although he also demonstrates, in a hilarious bit about a surly pilot hoarding all the best cookies during the snack service, why the terrors of airline travel have remained a stand-up staple.) Izzard's rapport with the audience is so visceral as to make some of the jokes seem minted on the spot. (It's clear, though, that many are actually tightly constructed.) Transitions are anathema to him; in fact, his entrance occurs practically in mid-sentence. His flamboyant getup is the show's only concession to contrived theatricality, aside from some theme music and a backdrop that suggest a cheesy public-access talk show. The cosmetic embellishments themselves come across as jokes; few performers work with as little pretense as Izzard, who even wants spectators to sample some of his gags-in-progress. "I don't know where I'm quite going there," the giggling comedian admitted, as he tried to link elements of two or three different bits. Even when jokes fail, Izzard so brims with confidence -- next time, for absolute sure, he will clear that height, he wants you to know -- that the audience can't help but believe in him, too. And he's blessed with a physical grace, which he displays in a clever riff on the siege of Troy in which he plays both an Achilles tormented by his Achilles' heel, and the soldiers of the opposing army. The comfort zone that all truly funny people create has been activated by Izzard in the upstairs theater at P.S. 122. "Why did I call you all here?" he kids at one point. He really doesn't have to ask. PRODUCTION NOTES: 'GLORIOUS' Written, directed and performed by Eddie Izzard. Technical direction by Dave Overcamp. Presented by Back Row Productions and Pola Jones, in association with P.S. 122. At 150 First Ave. at Ninth Street, in the East Village section of Manhattan. |