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Julian Clary.
Poised to erupt … Julian Clary. Photograph: Gareth Griffiths
Poised to erupt … Julian Clary. Photograph: Gareth Griffiths

Julian Clary review – a past master of the scornful ad-lib

This article is more than 4 years old

Assembly Hall theatre, Tunbridge Wells
There may be a weary air to some of the obligatory scripted smut, but Clary’s affectionate put-downs remain acutely calibrated

A week shy of his 60th birthday, Julian Clary opens his new show, Born to Mince, with a knowing rendition of Keep Young and Beautiful. And he is: even with only three glittery costume changes (and matching hand towels with which he dabs demurely at his brow), he is pleasing on the eye as well as the ear. Disgusted of Tunbridge Wells would find little to complain about tonight.

There is some low-level bitching. Asked to focus on the void during meditation, he purrs: “I find thinking about Sue Perkins’ career helps.” He muses on his lot – no MBE, and not a TV show in sight – in a thread that might have been teased out more profitably into a theme. The cleverest gag, concerning a biodegradable condom, is saved for last, but some of the preceding bawdiness has a weary air. An obligatory fisting joke feels forced in rather roughly.

Coming straight – so to speak – from his third Palladium panto and from writing a series of children’s books, Clary likens himself to a volcano of filth, poised to erupt after months of restraint. The irony is that his scripted material tonight is less engaging than when he is sneaking double entendres over oblivious young heads. Free to litter songs with the C-word, or to perform All That Jazz with one vowel changed, he loses some of his tautness. The best anecdotes, set in a kind of camp Stella Street of celebrity-only islands, put the “shag” into shaggy-dog story; others, such as an overlong tale of house repairs, aren’t worth the time it takes to tell them.

But Clary’s forté has always been ad-libbing and at this he remains a master, his mix of scorn, affection and pity acutely calibrated. He feigns horror at the number of heterosexuals in the crowd (“Is there really nothing on ITV3 tonight?”) and seizes on a gay couple: “Are you married? Small camp dog?” Finding a beekeeper in his midst, he is overjoyed: “You’ve got 80,000 bees? And which one’s your favourite?” The fellow grins: “The queen,” he says. The jokes may not sting but Clary still leaves his fans buzzing.

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