John Underwood | Monday 8 August, 2011 13:35
Iszi Lawrence describes herself as being just on the right side of tasteless, and I can’t argue – after all, who hasn’t occasionally thought about what they’d do to Colin Firth-era Mr Darcy if he’d drowned in that lake? Riffing effortlessly off audience members and darting back and forth through a set as gloriously confused as her eccentric get-up (“I’m going for ‘1920s lesbian who fucked a ThunderCat’”), Lawrence exudes a crackling energy which she somehow manages to maintain throughout her hour-long set.
Bemoaning the pains of being posh at heart whilst still not being able to afford Waitrose, inexplicably producing anecdotes about seeing Richard Dawkins walking his dog and wondering aloud whether it wouldn’t be better to make chickens a bit miserable so death is more of a sweet release, her performance invites comparisons to both Josie Long and Stewart Lee whilst being less of an acquired taste than either. One more square kick in the bollocks to the ‘women aren’t funny’ brigade, Lawrence is well worth your time.
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