If one thing becomes clear about Gail Porter, it is that she is true to herself, unflinching in her straight-talking whirlwind of a stand-up show in Studio Two. The question when assessing the value of her comedy then boils down to how funny she is, expressed in mile-a-minute anecdotes and storytelling of a truly remarkable life. The extent to which the audience are invested in Porter’s journey is key, a journey that brought her to the Fringe where, as she reflected during the show, she may never be seen again.
Where Peter Kay related to his audience with garlic bread and chocolate fingers abroad, Porter’s stories are of B&Q managers, Taggart extras, and raunchy American psychics on Alcatraz. Leaning into the microphone like a younger Gallagher, Porter’s act is tangential, each set of stories beginning with opening gambits to the audience of ‘who had a summer job, who has been a runner for TV, and who has visited San Francisco?’.
It was initially draining, the speed of her delivery at times denying the jokes within the monologue to emerge. I was reminded of Barry Humphries who, in response to a dry story by Jeffrey Archer on a chat show, remarked ‘you could turn that into an interesting anecdote one day’. Of course, my relatability to Porter is limited, having not been born when Porter’s career reached the heights of Top of the Pops and The Big Breakfast. In an audience that included Porter’s close friends and old school mates, I felt out of the loop – detached from a gathering of friends revelling in stories of past teachers and rapscallion pupils. Real names were only whispered, for supposed comedic effect. It was unapologetic, unabashed, but was it objectively interesting?
Moving chronologically through her life, Porter recounts the four weeks in America when her hair suddenly fell out, her stories then gaining strength on the back of how she was treated by people, and how her kookie mother sought to respond to her hair loss. By the final quarter of her set, Porter’s stage became a pulpit, addressing the series of events that saw her sectioned to, and subsequently kicked out of, her psychiatric ward. Her series of medical diagnoses, and the journey through grief following the sudden death of her family leave Porter alone, at the start of the pandemic, close to tears on stage. It was a shift in gear from the earlier banalities, drawing warm applause towards Porter for all that she has overcome, for the indomitable spirit she appeared to maintain. Yet it all reflected what was a very disjointed hour, disjointed further by the old friends gathering on stage at the end to sing and dance to Queen under the guise of Scottish karaoke.
This was not an ordinary comedy act, the jokes difficult to measure impartially for their comedic strength, for they were tied into the personal stories of Porter more so than any other act. Porter probably likes it that way, proud of who she is, and content with where she now finds herself. Her audience appeared to agree, loving the woman that opened her heart to us, for us to put together. What is clear is that regardless of the nature of this review, even if it reaches as far as Porter herself, is that she will march on proud and uncowed. And the world (or at least a section of the Fringe) will likely be better for it.
Gail Porter: Hung, drawn and portered is on until 28th August at Studio Two of Assembly George Square Studios. Tickets can be found here
Image provided to The Student by Gail Porter