Following a sell-out run at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival, The Last Laugh – written and directed by the award-winning Paul Hendy – this week graces the Theatre Royal Brighton with its charm, composure and, of course, comedy before a turn in the West End. Source was fortunate enough to catch the show and to get a glimpse into the world of three comedy titans on whose shoulders modern stand-up rests.
Set within a drab and well-worn dressing room – it’s lustre having long since faded and its sparkle confined to the glasses of sloshing liquor readily knocked back by its occupants – the action unfolds across Lee Newby’s detailed, dream-like set. Ghosts of comedy past loom from the walls – their grins eternalised as they leer from photographs, newspaper cuttings and tattered posters – whilst below them the titans of comedy present ready themselves for the evening’s grand performance.
The titans in question? Cooper, Morecambe and Monkhouse. They need no introduction.
From the get-go, as expected, the script bristles with a pace and wit worthy of these three giants of comedy. The contrast in the comic style, delivery and, indeed, philosophy of the three performers opens the can of worms that is to form the crux of the show’s narrative. The, perhaps unanswerable, question: What is comedy?
Cooper is cantankerous, dismissive and flippant when the question raises its ugly, unavoidable head. He speaks of and to the blessing and curse that it is to have “funny bones.” He rails against would-be influences (“I never found him funny” he repeats) and speaks of an innate comedy found deep within the greatest entertainers, a humour that is born and not bred. Damian Williams, as Cooper, is sublime. He inhabits the character with a level of detail that defies impression. He roams the dressing room like it were a circus ring, his boisterous energy often butting against Simon Cartwright’s beautifully nuanced Bob Monkhouse. Measured and rehearsed, he is Cooper’s polar opposite. His love of the craft manifests in his analytical approach to it. He readily admits to “chiselling” jokes, honing their language and delivery, moulding them like precious stones, to then watch on as they wink in the spotlight. Only occasionally does his collected veneer slip – in moments of deep pathos – as he wrestles with a craft that still somewhat escapes him despite his intense study.
Were it Cooper and Monkhouse alone in the dressing room, the play would shortly descend into a dry duologue of disdain between them. But it is thanks to Bob Golding as Eric Morecambe that we are treated to a dazzling performance of sumptuous wit and fizzing vivacity. Morecambe is the catalyst within the mix. With one foot in each camp, he carouses his co-stars in their endeavour to quantify the unquantifiable, all while singing, joking and treading the bridge between rival philosophies.
Through their eyes we see comedy as art, as science and as faith. The cast revel in the material on offer to them. They crackle and bounce off one another – the chemistry refined and sincere. The Last Laugh could easily have limited itself to a biographical and entertaining depiction of a certain chapter (and rivalries therein) within British comedy. But, through Paul Henry’s astute direction of his own script, we instead witness Cooper, Morecambe and Monkhouse, conquer their would-be enmity. Rivalry gives way to respect which ultimately falls to reverie (and revelry) as the trio look back on shows and comedians past, on opportunities lost and sacrifices made both onstage and off. It is the heavy toll of light entertainment.
And soon the question shifts. Within this dressing room – a liminal space between man and mask, between performer and product, where honesty reigns until the beginners call, before the costume is donned and the make-up applied – it is no longer a matter of “what is comedy” but “why commit yourself to it?” To try to survive in a trade they cannot truly define, where laughs are like white whales to be chased and “to die” is to have them elude you.
Hendy’s script is thought-provoking, poignant and at times poetic and The Last Laugh is ultimately a show about legacy. It is a show about life in the spotlight, how long the applause lasts once the curtain falls and about who indeed gets the “last laugh.” As is often the case for comedians, entertainers and those who dedicate their lives to the amusement of others, the last laugh is fondly left to those who remember them.
Theatre Royal Brighton, Wednesday 12th February 2025
For tickets and further information click here
Photo by Danny Fitzpatrick
