Colin Murphy
Most comedians who, having struggled at their craft for a few years and anxious to move on to the next level, would probably strike a deal with the devil (and rumour has it that a certain over night success has already done that). Colin Murphy, being the good catholic Belfast boy that he is, has obviously whiled away the past year praying to St Laurence. The Patron Saint of comedy, or so he informs us.
Murphy has the great ability of making a stand up gig feel more like an informal chat down the pub. Even though he constantly points out the heat of the room, or the artificial construct of the situation, his tone and manner relaxes the audience and helps us to forget about how damn close we’re all sitting together.
The content of his stories – and you would be loathe to think of them as "routines", as they do seem to be told as and when they occur to him – all relate to his personal life. The day his eldest son had chicken pox, and they visited Belfast zoo; the Christmas morning the teenage Murphy collected his Dad sitting on the wall outside the local chinese; the journey the Murphy family took to see the Pope in Dublin in 1979 – all of these stories meld together to form a glorious illustration of how blessed and precious normal, everyday occurrences can be. The hour skips by in moments.
Murphy is a skilled, talented and generous storyteller who, if not touched by the hand of the comedy god, has at least been lavishly blessed by St Laurence.
8.05pm, Pleasance Upstairs
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