ell, I did laugh. That’s the best thing I can say about Jack Whitehall’s latest show, Settle Down. The last time there were winds this strong in the capital part of the 02’s roof blew off. While it might have been stormy outside this weekend there was very little inside the repurposed Millennium Dome that truly blew me away.
On the positive side Whitehall can certainly sell a gag. He delivered his lines with gusto, he strutted around making use of the entire stage, and he is an impressive physical comedian, adding visual pay-offs to his verbals.
But it often felt as if something was lacking. The title (Settle Down) suggests that the show is about Whitehall, 35, finally leaving his feckless kidulthood behind and maturing, now that he is about to become a father. But while this theme did pop up, the narrative appeared disjointed.
A lengthy anecdote about a safari, for example, seemed shoehorned in based on the idea that he wanted one last big break before nappies and sleepless nights ensued. But the subsequent set-piece felt as if he had said to ChatGPT “write me a self-mocking routine about a holiday complete with clichéd tourists from Florida.”
In fairness most of his jokes are a little smarter than AI might manage, though sometimes one could see the punchline looming. And sometimes the banter was generic terrain – a skit on having difficulty verifying he is not a robot when signing in online, imagining his generation singing along to Cardi B’s WAP when they are OAPs, comparing whooping Americans to English cynics.
The show was at its strongest when Whitehall got personal. Discussing his social anxiety in the first half or, later, talking about the difficulties following his partner Roxy Horner suffering a miscarriage. It was unusual and even moving to see Whitehall being serious. A more typical approach was when he teased that unlike buying trainers “there’s no returns policy” to having a baby.
We got numerous comedic glimpses into Whitehall’s private life, from wisecracks about his curmudgeonly father Michael sending him to boarding school and leaving him with “daddy issues but fluent in Latin”, to quips about reports of Roxy being previously linked to Leonardo DiCaprio. Whitehall generously made himself the fall guy, claiming that he is more Labradoodle than Wolf of Wall Street.
In fact dogs seem to be the overriding motif on the night. He explained how after an emotionally difficult period he had to choose between therapy and getting a dog. He went down the canine route, but rather than a manly mutt he ended up with a toy poodle. Did he pay far too much? Of course he did.
Whitehall has recently carved out a successful career in Hollywood movies and at times onstage he seemed like an actor playing a stand-up. He plays the role well, but compared to his last tour four years ago this was very much a mixed bag. More mongrel than pedigree pooch.
