Craig Hill pranced onstage resplendent in a t-shirt proclaiming JOCK, a kilt and a wildly bouncing sporran. He is a mean mover and has disco dance down to a tee.
His show is a bizarre mix of almost Old Time Music Hall style vulgarity (although instead of tits and bums jokes it was rear entrance gags) and extraordinarily clever singing, as well as brilliant accent work.
This is a show where one feels grateful not to be in the front row. Teasing, flirting, satirizing their responses, Hill worked his way through the hapless audience members closest to hand. Although it must be noted a couple had taken these seats on purpose, to be up close and personal with the man himself.
Later, in response to some spirited audience participation, Hill moved a few rows deeper into the house. There was a vociferous lesbian group in attendance who engaged his attention. As well in the audience there were a few Scots, including some older citizens, who took his banter in good spirit.
Sexual innuendo was the crux of the show; high camp all the way. Cheeky nods, winks and double entendres by the score, were delivered at a blistering pace. This was tempered by very engaging, and not unkind, disco dancing lesson with a good humoured fellow who totally won audience approval with his beaming compliance.
Hill’s routine about gays only knowing the chorus of songs,followed by a demonstration of this phenomenon, mimed to Dolly Parton’s ‘Jolene’, was hysterically funny. There were amazing snatches of songs by Barbra, Adele and Whitney. Impeccable accents ranged from upper class English to Welsh, to America, to Strine.
The Coopers Astor Lounge is an intimate space. The opening night audience was healthy. By tomorrow I predict it will be packed for the rest of Mr Hill’s skittishly hilarious run.