Bobby Mair: Filthy Immigrant
An edge-of-the-seat ride into one man’s comedy mayhem
This article is from 2015.
Watching Bobby Mair can be an intoxicating if uncomfortable experience. As he wheels around his stage, occasionally fumbling for the right moment to say something, his microphone appearing as though it might fall from his grip at any moment, there is a genuine excitement that almost anything is about to happen.
On this night, a clutch of latecomers with a seemingly unsure grasp on their own ages gives him the perfect in to test out his banter levels. While it does garner some of the best laughs of Mair’s hour, this largely one-way exchange does take him away from the material which was shaping up perfectly well (that is, if you consider sexually depraved portrayals and ultra-violent imagery to be fine), and he never fully takes control of the show.
Once he gets somewhere akin to back on track, there’s a lengthy segment in which he explains his side of the story about how he betrayed fellow comic Harriet Kemsley with a prostitute in mainland Europe. He’s since cleaned up his act (offstage if not on it) and his obvious contrition stretches to handing out flyers for her show at the end.
Filthy Immigrant captures the Bobby Mair appeal in a nutshell: there is some great material in his armoury (as he’s always had since emerging on the Fringe two years ago) but a self-destructive edge only serves to indulge the spirit of mayhem.
Heroes @ The Hive, 226 0000, until 31 Aug, 8.50pm, £5 (£4 or Pay What You Want).