It’s an assured hour from John Kearns, whose unique brand of character-comedy-but-not-really lends itself well to a new hour in which the 39-year-old finds himself picking up the pieces of a 12-year relationship. The phrase ‘sad clown’ comes to mind as he stares down from the stage in his signature wig and teeth (a get up that has him pondering, after a chat with his contemporary Nina Conti, “am I my own puppet?”) and yet the melancholy stare never goes full self-pity, nor has he lost any vim.
What is the newly single Kearns doing with himself when he’s not flat hunting (he’s back living with his parents), touring the country, or looking after his 5-year-old boy? Well, he’s booking himself onto London walking tours inspired by T.S. Eliot’s The Waste Land, of course. No, of course he hasn’t read it, hence the tour “for the gist.”
The thespian tones of Alec Guinness, who once did a commercial reading of the poem, thus float through the hour which is, like Eliot’s masterwork, initially disjointed yet lightly profound by the end. Kearns gives a sincere parting word at the end, about the stage as his refuge, and the unexpected earnestness lends weight to the preceding silliness. Things might be up in the air at the moment, but he’s right at home on stage.
John Kearns: Tilting at Windmills, Monkey Barrel Comedy, until 30 Aug, 4.15pm