On the strength of All My Friends, Danny O’Brien’s first solo show at the fringe, the Irish born comedian is not one for those who like their comedy witty or sophisticated. He’s certainly amiable, to a point, but does the world really need another stand-up routine in which inebriation and faeces are the source of humour? Have we not, as a species, surpassed this juvenile stage? O’Brien evidently disagrees, as displayed in this disappointing hour of entertainment which lunges through a series of laddish anecdotes, each as unremarkable as the last.
The loose conceit is that all the show’s material is derived from embarrassing things O’Brien’s friends have done, and that’s as exciting as it gets. It’s hard not to suspect that there’s been a bit of embellishment here and there for comic effect; almost everything that happens to him seems to end in a vaguely amusing one liners followed by the unwarranted excretion of a bodily fluid. Not to worry, the formula is occasionally broken by an account of a chum’s casual racism. What a treat!
Admittedly, O’Brien’s delivery is one of confident exuberance; you get the impression that he wants to share his stories with you. A sentiment solidified by a photo montage at the conclusion, which visually depicts the puerile yarns that the audience has been subjected to. Moreover, amidst all the tripe, there is the odd moment of genuine hilarity, but not nearly as many as you’d expect from a show in which genuine hilarity is the aim. You’ll sit there wishing desperately that Danny O’Brien would grow up.
