Writer: Alec Watson
Director: Gayane Kaligian
Loaded with humour and insight, Alec Watson’s cleverly structured comedy drama deftly portrays the dilemmas faced by talented stand-up Chris after the death of his girlfriend. Bereft of her support and input, and at a loss for meaning, he’s wrong-footed and stumbles along the arc of grief. Suddenly prone to guilt and doubt, formerly absent from his emotional repertoire, he struggles to produce content that reflects his altered outlook.
The action begins at a gig just before the fall. Youthful, buff and confident – a bit of the glossy-haired Keanu Reeves about him – Chris is sure of his material and performance skills and feels he’s making headway beyond his local comedy club. “The gig of my life is coming for me.” He tries out jokes on the audience and evidently has funny bones.
Having mapped out his set on a whiteboard (physically present on stage), he delivers it with poise, chatting amicably with the audience and generating sustained laughter. Whilst not entirely novel, the themes in his scheme – under-employed dogs, his girlfriend’s navigational inadequacies, suspect nursery rhymes – are relatable and freshly-framed. He’s enjoying himself, and it’s all a breeze… apart from a jarring outburst from his mobile halfway through that he has to brush off.
But it’s a more meaningful notification than he’d imagined: one of five calls from his girlfriend Jess’s Dad, letting him know she’s been in a car smash. And things turn from ‘happy go lucky’ to ‘gone off a cliff’.
After a brief daze of grief, and pointed reflections on the limits of parental empathy (from “Stay as long as you like” to “How long are you staying?”), inter-relationship possession sharing (“Marie Kondo would have loved breaking up”), and a session with a useless therapist (“You need to move on.”), he re-assesses his tried and trusted comedy routine. Realising that every subject is now disrespectful of Jess, and inspired or directly contributed by her and thus too mournfully reminiscent, he scores through them all in despair.
Happily, Chris is spurred back into creativity by lazy open mic comics – overly-reliant on lame observations and ‘authenticity’ – that his sister forces him to watch over an overpriced pint. He overhauls his set, delivering a series of iterations that illustrate reconciliation and renewal. The first is a no-holds-barred, hard-hitting routine written around the direct consequences of Jess’s death.
It ends with the lament: “If she could just have waited six more months to save for a ring, she’d have been doing me a solid.” Having expelled considerable amounts of sadness and anger, it seems as though his mind’s freed up to explore less bitter themes more consonant with his inherent character, and there’s a sense that he’s wrought his own salvation.
All the routines, original and rejigged, are genuinely laugh-out-loud funny, and every part of the story has amusing lines woven through it. This extended monologue show is very much about well-crafted content: it’s an effective way of showcasing stand-up skills and the processes behind their creation.
But the way in which everything is seen through the prism of the comedy material makes the piece feel a little too technical and writerly.
It’s likely that audience engagement would be enhanced with extra exposition about Jess and her relationship with Chris. There’s clearly more to her than egregious hair band shedding and penchant for trashy souvenirs: without a more rounded depiction, it’s hard to envisage her and appreciate her loss as a muse and direct contributor to Chris’s writing. Strangely, the opportunity to shed tears and dwell on Jess’s existence by way of the eulogy he gives at church is bypassed: only the first line is spoken.
Watson’s performance as Chris is highly impressive: his rapid-fire delivery never falters, he’s genial and likeable, and improvises with ease while interacting with the audience, implying considerable stand-up experience.
However, the emotions he displays are slightly flat. While this could be commentary on masculine ‘bottling up’, the expression of extra grief and pathos at the news of Jess’s death could provide vivid contrast to the humour.
Laughing Matters’ overall drama-to-comedy ratio could do with re-balancing. Options for expanding detail are limited within the festival-friendly 60-minute format, and fringe play constraints: finding mic time in which to interact with audiences and optimise development may be tricky. Hopefully, Watson will channel the persistence of his alter ego / comic creation Chris and adapt this thoughtful and finely-composed piece into a deservedly lengthier play.
Runs until 1 March 2026
