Stewart Sowman-Lund spends an evening with the legendary British comedian and learns why we should all feel comfortable about being a twat.
Dawn French wants us to know she’s a huge twat. It’s the name of her tour, it’s the name of her tie-in book, and it was the running theme throughout her two hours on stage at Auckland’s Civic Theatre. The word twat was said about 40 times, in various ways, from “twattery” to “twatting” to “twatfuckery”, which was probably my favourite.
It seems the country has gone French-mad. Last night was the first of four shows in Auckland, which followed three each in Wellington and Christchurch, and a multi-date Australian tour as well. In short, while a lot of the 66-year-old comic’s most memorable work was decades ago – as she reminded the audience by introducing herself as an “80s comedian” – her popularity hasn’t dampened.
French’s latest show is one part stand-up, one part book tour, one part theatre. It’s consistently funny, though not always belly laugh funny, with video snippets from her career in show business interwoven with personal stories about, well, why she’s a mega twat. It’s scripted to a fault, so much so that a brief heckle from the crowd was swiftly shut down with a “shh now” before the anecdote continued. It’s a tightly crafted performance, but if anything it’s too slick, and could benefit from some loosening up.
As a one-woman show, it succeeds more. The less laugh-out-loud stories remain interesting, though probably more for those deeply familiar with French’s work. While she’s best known for sitcoms like the Vicar of Dibley and her work as a double act with Jennifer Saunders, she’s had her fair share of dramatic and stage roles as well. French’s show touches on many of these, including a hilarious story about meeting Dustin Hoffman backstage many years ago (though the serious allegations about Hoffman go unmentioned, French’s story is even more uncomfortable if you do know), and the time she attended Elton John’s 50th birthday party dressed as a monkey (yes, we get to see the pictures). There’s show business tidbits, too, such as the time she very nearly got cast in the film version of Mamma Mia. All of these stories are delivered with French’s resplendent charisma and contorted facial expressions. I feel a bit sorry for anyone sitting in the nosebleeds, as French’s physicality on stage bolstered her performance.
The loose theme of the show, as outlined, is that these are a collection of stories that prove French is a twat. The word itself is never explicitly defined in the show, but it’s commonly used as a friendly insult to describe someone who’s being a bit of an idiot. It can also mean… something else. The premise of French’s show hinges squarely on the former definition, as she attempts to reclaim the word and prove why it’s actually good to be a twat – and why those of us watching her and laughing along are clearly twats as well.
To have had a career as varied as French’s while also amassing 120 minutes of twatty anecdotes probably proves her point. You can be successful, beloved, and capable of selling out the Civic four-times over while also being a total buffoon. I left the show comforted in this knowledge, reevaluating moments from my life that could be seen as idiocy – but now prove that deep I too am just a twat. And, maybe, that’s not such a bad thing.