Daniel Kitson is the finest comedian performing in the UK today. I have done little of use with my life so far expect obsessively consume comedy, so you can safely assume that I do not bestow this compliment lightly. For a man whose job it is to make us laugh, Kitson spends an unbelievable amount of energy tackling bleak subjects. His whimsical monologues plumb the depths of tragedy but emerge all the more euphoric for it. His gig at the Union Chapel, We Are Gathered Here, focused on death, particularly that of his Auntie Angela from terminal cancer. I know what you're thinking. Little bit heavy for a weeknight's entertainment. Stay with me. It gets good. Kitson manages to prove that even in life's darkest moments when we are reminded that everything is meaningless, there are tiny beacons of light that appear to us and remind us that being alive is worth something.
As a man who displays some misanthropic tendencies, he may hate me for describing his work as accessible. He has a remarkable gift for simplicity of language without dumbing down and for intellectualising without excluding. Most observational comedy seems to involve the performer pointing out a widely understood but universally unacknowledged nugget of truth. The comedian says what I was thinking all along, which validates me and gives me a sense of camaraderie towards him. I feel gratified that I am not the only knowledgeable fish swimming in a sea full of idiots. Kitson is bigger than this. He truly enlightens his audience as he performs. He is a breath of fresh air.
The first time that I saw Daniel was in Peter Kay's Phoenix Nights. He played the ditsy 'Spencer'. Though I am a closet fan of Phoenix Nights, Kitson's part in this programme by no means does justice to his wonderful performances on stage. Even Peter Kay has acknowledged that Phoenix is the project of which Daniel is least proud. I struggle to understand why he originally accepted the part. I suppose that there is always a difficulty in balancing the need for exposure and the desire to maintain one's integrity, as an artist. Being neither an artist, nor one in possession of much integrity, I feel as if I have very little right to comment. What I can say is that after I saw Daniel Kitson on stage for the first time (The Stand, Edinburgh 2007) I actually started to believe in people again and to believe that comedy could really be a force for good.
Despite his talent, Kitson is still an underrated performer. Perhaps this is how he prefers it. His cult status ensures that for every performance in a quaint back-end venue he will be surrounded only by adoring fans. I, for one, relish the intimacy and ambiance of Daniel's small-scale performances. But somehow I find it unfair that only a very few people will ever accidentally happen upon this gem. I suppose it all boils down to the cult vs mainstream debate. We're so intent on being unique little snowflakes and holding an interest that no one else shares (or very few other people share). We dismiss things that are too popular but we shun things that are too obscure. Laughter is supposed to be a communal experience. What else is comedy for but to make us forget that we exist for a while and convulse in the social ritual of mutual mirth? Though I could never imagine (or condone) 'Kitson at the Albert Hall,' I wish that a everyone had the opportunity to bask in Daniel's celestial glow.
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