Marcus Brigstocke: Je M’accuse – I Am Marcus – a review

Marcus Brigstocke is a sneaky fellow. Instead of his signature splenetic diatribes, he teased his audience’s assumptions about the show they were getting, with the simple pleasures of daft voices and warm gel on the private parts. However silly, this was still thought-provoking stuff – Brigstocke had great fun mocking the sensibilities of his Radio 4 demographic, shivering at the frisson of a West Indian accent.

It was an effective lever to somewhere darker and altogether more affecting, as the evening developed into one of self-effacing rumination. Without a hint of clashing gears, Brigstocke took us through a time when, as he put it, too much cake was eaten. Still jaw-achingly funny (not a figure of speech – after two hours of grinning, my jaw really did ache) he was nevertheless able to touch on the surprisingly serious issue of self-loathing addiction, albeit wrapped up in an expertly delivered routine.

As someone who has seen Brigstocke countless times – he is practically compulsory viewing on the festival circuit – I really enjoyed this change of pace. We may not have seen the mask slipping, but I think we saw it deftly moved to one side. 

By David Vass