THE best justification for watching Freddie Starr, perhaps the only one beyond masochism, is to try to establish how far the bizarre tabloid stories about him actually reflect his personality.
So while I'd genuinely like to believe Starr's report
ed claims that he sees ghosts, this evening's mockery of spiritualist Derek Acorah, as much for being a Scouser as anything, suggests that some of the comedian's more unhinged outbursts are not simply dismissible for him allegedly being bonkers. Nevertheless, the 66-year-old's delivery was frequently disjointed here and he struggled for breath after beginning with a rendition of Ain't No Cure For The Summertime Blues, leading one to wonder whether his quirkier mannerisms were actually stalling tactics until he physically recovered himself. Regardless, he seemed energised for his customary goosestep, the virulence of his cartoon xenophobia in impersonating Pope Benedict XVI matched only by his antipathy towards the police, a running theme of several routines. The most depressing aspect of the night though was the naff, one-joke tedium of a supposedly "dyslexic" Starr reciting a blue version of Cinderella, made all the more dispiriting by the massive applause and whoops it elicited. Although disheartening, it's no exaggeration to report that Starr absolutely stormed this gig and could probably successfully perform much of the same material for another decade.
