While Arthur Smith protests that he’s no longer on the sauce, the format and sheer unpredictability of this concept seem like they were conceived on some booze-addled bender. For though this show is enjoyable in parts, it places almost all its eggs in a very unreliable guest-manufactured basket. The puke-green tone of Smith’s suit also bears the hallmarks of someone who is thoroughly intoxicated, but his sharp-witted opening remarks dispell my initial fears.Accompanying Smith on-stage was Derek (from the fictional Scottish Licensing Agency) who attempts to educate the audience on the danger of alcohol abuse while also typifying everything that’s detestable about the puritanical killjoys his character is based on. He is a consistently amusing comedy straight man but his main purpose in the show (i.e. breathalysing the guests to assure they are, in fact, rat-arsed) is undermined by the fact that the breathalyser was decidedly faulty.This is largely irrelevant for the first guest, Bridget Christie, as she is demonstrably drunk. Despite the all-too-fleeting intervals of characteristic wit from Smith, he is powerless to prevent a series of rambling, pointless and most importantly dull anecdotes from Christie, whose husband Stewart Lee sat stony faced at the back of the audience (perhaps dreading his prospective appearance on a future night of the show). The nadir of the interview came in the form of forced laughs from host Smith, the go-to move for any chat show compere with a difficult guest.At this stage the show was very much floundering but the second and final guest saved the show from ignominy. Dr Phil Hammond’s insight into the medical world was sarcastic but slurring, brilliant but battered. His views on morphine as well as informing the audience on a scandalous story about the Chancellor of the Exchequer’s doctor brother Adam and a sex worker (look it up) were as hilarious as they were outrageous. Smith was lucky to have Hammond on board as without him it would have been a truly messed up chat show.
