This is a home gig to a home crowd. Zoe Lyons tells us she lives just down the road in Hove and her talented support act James Ellis – artfully and humorously depicting the life of a self-proclaimed idiot – is from Crawley. They’re local with pals in and knowledge of the beaches and the bins, so it’s no wonder Lyons frequently addresses the packed theatre as: “my friends.” So many are – whether lifelong or longtime supporters of her as a much-loved part of the Brighton comedy landscape – the atmosphere is one of family. It’s no wonder this is the gig she’s chosen to film. Everyone already loves her before she sets foot on stage, and she loves everyone right back.
The show itself is solid. Werewolf is about transition, fittingly. Lyons is 53 and “on a journey”, she mugs. It’s clearly a cliché she’s not entirely comfortable with, but that does the job in describing her state. Whether it’s the menopause, the scary political landscape, or a jellyfish to the face, Lyons’ world will not be static but is always skilfully peppered with punchlines. She’s an old hand at this comedy malarkey, meeting her own real life – “affordable and available” – and making it relatable, even as she tells tales of celebrity reality shows she’s been involved in. It’s a candid confession of being a part of a narcissistic professional world while carrying the regular amount of everywoman insecurities.
Werewolf is professional, it connects well, is tightly written with generously satisfying callbacks, and it’s fun. There’s nothing new being said about anything, you don’t get the impression that there’s anything Lyons’ particularly needs to share or hear said out loud – this is just what she does when it’s time to put together another hour. Not that it stops the full house from loving every minute.
