Keir McAllister’s
Gran Slam is hastily put together, but it’s good fun.
Larah Bross’ opening bit is gently funny, especially her observations on comedians hungry for new material congratulating each other on the death of a parent. She’s telling the (fictional) life story of her grandmother when Miller herself bursts in in a blue silk robe reprimanding her ‘disappointment’ of a granddaughter. Chaos briefly ensues and Larah attempts to get her show back on the road, before exiting to get cash to pay the mounting taxi fare - conveniently leaving Miller to take to the stage.
‘She’s given me two minutes onstage because she thinks that’s all I’ve got left. I don’t blame her: my passport number is four.’ At 82, Miller has formidable stage presence. She is confident and compelling, and her digressive anecdote about collecting a train ticket is astonishingly delivered. She delights in the reactions to her filthier material, though this forms the bulk of her set and the shock factor wears off quickly. A few moments are misjudged - there’s a commentary about 9/11 hijackers just needing female company in the cockpit - but her jokes generally go down well.
The plot, especially an unexpected final striptease, seems to be aiming for so-bad-it’s-good and nearly manages it. Gran Slam is hastily put together, but it’s good fun.
