In the beguiling little bunker that is the Tron, the Lunchtime Club, class of 2011, are predictably well attended. Compering the gig is scarecrow-headed Suzi Ruffell. Her energetic back and forth with the audience is an excellent mechanism to settle the room and doesn’t commit the arch-faux pas of offending anyone too early. She provides lively interjections between each act and most positive (for her at least) is that the audience are left wondering what a bona fide set from her would consist of; you can also tell that she is itching to perform one too.The first of the four comics introduced by Ruffell was Fin Taylor. His dour and melancholic style lends itself perfectly to jokes concerning northern European language and inadvertent hamster execution. Taylor has some solid material, but at times there is a distinct lumbering nature to the set, with (admittedly humorous) gags not really combining together to make the set more than merely the sum of its constituent parts.The next bright young thing to perform was Max Dickins. Having inadvertently sat next to Dickins’ parents, I was praying I wouldn’t have to force laughter. I needn’t have been concerned. He immediately impresses with some highly polished material on the recent riots which belies the fact that he could only have written the routine in the past few days. Despite being commonplace fare for young comedians, Dickins’ anecdotes with respect to the aforementioned parents are unique enough to avoid the criticism of unoriginality, while his assessment of Mr Blobby’s links to fascism would make me believe it was Stewart Lee’s work if I read it in print.Joe Wells’ political comedy focused on many familiar targets (the Daily Mail, the BNP and Nick Clegg all featured) but a real venom in his delivery seemed to communicate that the numerous laughs that he manages to obtain are just positive collateral to the message he is trying to portray. A self-professed Marxist, one wonders how success would change Wells considering it would probably take the edge off the rather large chip on his shoulder, the centrepiece of his act.Finally John Kearns scrambles over the haphazard seating arrangements to take the stage. He’s possibly the most offensive comedian I’ve ever seen, not because of his language but because of his anarchic disposition. Kearns’ manic volatility and insistence on haranguing the audience with volleys of ear rape are a joy to behold. I imagine that over 90% of the audience enjoyed this set and the rest absolutely didn’t because Kearns, in no uncertain terms, bullied them. He is truly unique and typified the promise shown in this feast of lunchtime comedy.
