Uncharacteristically dressed in a suit, as opposed to his usual, retro, bowling shirt vibe, but with his collar open, Christopher Macarthur-Boyd looks as if he’s just left wedding celebrations. Which he discloses, he has. There’s a grim irony in this though, as he also reveals that this show, kicking off the Scottish leg of his tour, is the first time he’s appeared on stage since breaking up with his long-term girlfriend. Ultimately slumping on his mic stand for support, there’s a rare melancholy to his performance that underscores its entirety, the rawness of the split still patently apparent.
You might think this sadness could overwhelm the hour. Not least as, unlike in some, specifically designated break-up shows, he’s entirely respectful of his ex, her advice and their relationship directly inspiring several routines. But as someone who believes himself “speccy” to his core, at a fundamental level beyond the wearing of spectacles, and with the oddest shaped head his professionally informed barber father has ever encountered, Macarthur-Boyd’s self-deprecating streak has a generous rather than defensive quality. He’s wry and endearing, his pain only making him more so.
Moreover, it suits the tone of these “scary times” and this show, which he first performed at last year’s Edinburgh Fringe. There’s wistfulness in him finding Woolworths still operating in another part of the world. And a lament for the passing of Top Man that avoids too much overt sentimentality. In the main though, he has decidedly darker preoccupations, opening wittily but bleakly with his difficulties performing at a charity benefit for torture victims.
He has two incredible anecdotes that could form the basis of shows on their own, but which he has to work hard to fit into his set, lest they destabilise it. The first, which turns on a personal link he has to the peculiarly American capacity for psychologically disturbed ultraviolence, is carefully set up for maximum impact with some mild but perfectly serviceable observations on US-UK culture clashes.
The second, which tacitly acknowledges his diminutive stature, comes from the opposite angle. His adolescent victimhood in a frightening crime skates over all but the most ridiculous aspects of the incident, as he deftly turns it into a comedy of manners, recalling how a pious eavesdropper once took exception to his politically incorrect retelling of it.
With similar economy and storytelling nous, he suggests a slightly difficult relationship with his mother and his mental wellbeing, the two interlinked, as if setting them up for greater exploration in a future show. And he’s a doomsayer for the NHS’ future following a dispiriting recent diagnosis of his ocular health.
A sizeable early chunk of the show compares the cultural legacies of Harry Potter and Trainspotting, particularly for the more theme park aspects of Edinburgh. Though occasionally over-contrived, it’s consistently funny and exemplifies his effective knack of introducing a topic, distractedly exploring tangents away from it, then perfunctorily returning to it as the punchline, the rather abrupt crowbarring amplifying the laughs. There’s almost a rhythm to his recourse to this strategy and he remains just shy of overusing it.
A seasoned act now, adroitly marrying engaging, observational humour with some at times surprisingly unique and personal stories, Macarthur-Boyd’s stand-up career appears to have a clear upwards trajectory, even if his current relationship woes cast it in intriguing shadow.
Continues on tour until 28 November 2024 | Image: Contributed
