Does it matter whether standup comedians tell the truth? On some level, it must – why else do they keep telling us "This is a true story"? The question's been bugging Alex Horne, who wants to be truthful onstage (he tells us), but frets that his actual life isn't funny. From this conflict – an honest man trapped in a liar's job – Horne fashions a terrific, high-concept comedy show, intricately constructed and forever whipping the rug out from under us as he riffs on truth, fiction and that grey area in between.
He opens with a great set-piece, lip-synching to a recording of his own voice, then chatting with that recording, until we lose track of who's who. Recorded-Horne keeps interjecting throughout the show. "Carry on, sir!", he'll encourage. "Will do," responds Horne glumly. "No choice." (At times, it's like standup Beckett: Joking for Godot.) Joining these two voices are those of Michael Caine, Andre Agassi and Cherie Blair: Horne has spliced up audio versions of their autobiographies so he can converse with them, too. They've all turned the "true" stuff of their lives into a compelling narrative. Can Horne do the same?
The only problem is that Horne's concept, and his trickery, is so dazzling the actual material can look plain by comparison. A riff on various synonyms for "goodbye" is mildly amusing. Elsewhere, the show strays into Robin Ince's Book Club territory by mocking celebrities' ropey prose. Better is the section recounting Horne's mealy-mouthed, mischievous appearance on Radio 4's A Good Read, or another where he Hugh Grant-ishly stifles his dismay when a pregnancy scan seems to reveal his unborn lacks a spine. Throughout, rapid-fire backchat continues between Horne's recorded self and celeb friends. It's brisk and slippery, philosophical and ridiculous – and a real treat.