Though he may not be a doctor in real life, with his debonair charm and biting wit, you can trust Des O’Connor to instantly lift any show he’s in, and Bitch Doctors is no exception. The problem is that even a veteran entertainer like Des can’t perform miracles.The Bitch Doctors can cure what ails you, so they say, and the audience are encouraged to share their complaints (both physical and metaphysical) with a sympathetic array of wacky characters. The format creates context for what is essentially a cabaret showcase, but with the acts ostensibly using their talents to heal the sick, the connection is fairly tenuous. This fact, combined with a general absence of structure, makes for a shambolic display that’s far from slick. What’s more, the acts themselves are sadly not particularly impressive. We are introduced to a Glaswegian ex-stripper demonstrating sexercise, a pipe-smoking toff on a ukulele and Dr Audacity Hutzpah, an expert in ‘empowering the yoni’, who doesn’t seem to have any skill in particular to show off. One act, Mat Ricardo, juggler extraordinaire, gives off the unappealing impression that he feels he has gone out of his way to practise his tricks for us and that we should be grateful for what we get (even if it doesn’t work first time). Some of the characters are quite funny and the comedy songs work well, with O’Connor’s musical interlude about man-flu a particular highlight. But it ultimately suffers from the fact that the acts are only mildly amusing and they are not given enough time to properly display what talents they do have, owing to a formula which essentially doesn’t work.With the performers making jokes about the unsuccessful concept of the show and, crucially, looking like they could be having more fun elsewhere, they seem to have lost sight of the fact that the audience are paying to be entertained. And funny though the compere’s wry commentary is, he alone can’t save a sinking ship.
