Theatre Review: The Last Laugh

This is three excellent plays in one. First, a ghost story. Second, a tribute act. Thirdly, a meditation on the nature of comedy.

In many ways, it is the complement to Inside Number 9 playing next door.

Cooper, Morecambe, and Monkhouse were dead to begin with. Perhaps you grew up watching them live at the Palladium, or on grainy VHS tapes, or in microbursts on TikTok. But they got their last live laugh several decades prior to today.

Nevertheless, their comedy lineage remains. Every comedian milking a laugh or mining for a joke owes a huge debt to these men. So they have been reanimated for our pleasure. Just as behind every laughing jester is a crying clown, behind every grin is a bleached skull. What happens in the waiting room between life and death? Do we get to laugh with our pals or are we tormented by their ghosts?

We're granted a peak backstage at an event which never happened. What if these three comedians wound up in the same dingy dressing room before a show? It isn't exactly behind-the-scenes at the Yalta Conference, but we're probably not here for a dramatic retelling; we want to see our old favourites brought back to life. And that's exactly what we get.

90 minutes of pure tribute-act would probably be unbearable. People flock to musical tributes because The Beatles are unlikely to play your neighbourhood pub - but tribute comedians are usually relegated to a few minutes from an impressionist. The actors - Bob Golding as Morecambe, Simon Cartwright as Monkhouse and Damian Williams as Cooper - are uncanny. They perfectly bring their characters to life. They walk a dangerous tightrope between parody and mimic. Perhaps there's a touch of over-reliance on clichéd cadence - but they're able to recreate the jokes in a pitch-perfect way. So who am I to complain?

Finally, the characters ask what is comedy? Should writers be credited or is it the performer who deserves the laugh? Do double-act inevitably lead to resentment? Big questions for our heroes to chew on, but it is more for the audience to mull-over on the journey home. If a joke gets a laugh, it is funny. That's it. When you watch an impressionist tell someone else's joke - and one you've heard a hundred times before - is it still funny? Are you laughing at the recreation or at the memory?

The show wisely avoids an interval - the momentum of the jokes keep us going so you don't quite notice how depressing and ponderous it is becoming. Blokes can't talk about their emotions, so every moment of vulnerability is undercut by a witticism.

If you wore out your (or your parents) tapes, you'll recognise most of the jokes on offer. That's no bad thing; we're here to reminisce. Paul Henry's production has elevated the art of the tribute act to something quite spectacular. It is pure joy to pretend even for just a moment that our old friends are still here with us and still making us laugh.

The Last Laugh in in London for the next 4 weeks and then goes on tour. Well worth seeing.