What becomes clear with Stewart Lee in this latest stand-up set is his shtick. He has lasted far longer than most to ever grace the stage. The camera angles, the choice of wordplay. It is beautiful. Unravelling that still feels like being in on the bit, but once inside, the cold reach of the outdoors and unknowing is gone. It is irreplaceable and once that is broken the half-life of Lee’s work and demanding displays of broadly creative wordplay is crushed under its own hubris. But that is the beauty of Lee, who reinvents himself and reworks his craft throughout Tornado, the second, better stand-up special from the 41st best stand-up comedian.
As a critic of the culture, Lee works in some successful, furious tirades against Netflix and the content vacuum that comes from living in the streaming bubble. Essential criticisms of how the comedy titans of Netflix are taking up space with vaguely palatable pieces. Lee doesn’t do “ambulance chasing” material, instead waiting for “reality to align” with what he writes. Almost immediately launching into a criticism of others, for those inside and in the know, it will not be any major surprise. Lee still manages to muster up some great bits and pieces, the timid postman of comedy coming clear with some great moments that manage to entertain the problems of stand-up comedy and the streaming enterprise. That much is golden, and it is a frequent asset to Lee’s set here.
Decades on the comedy route, touring this venue and that, and Lee is sick of it. Or is he? Once again, he has formed a set that takes aim at the right targets but Lee never reveals whether the gun is loaded. Either way, it is the presentation of the weapon that is Lee’s wordplay that marks Tornado as a strong return to form. It is also a clear representation of Lee’s evolving status in the comedy field. His empty stage is greater than the crowded house of comedy counterparts of days yet to come. He does rehash a brief criticism or moment of clarity from earlier sets, but it is because they are still relevant in their changed forms almost a decade later.
All the usual suspects of a Lee stand-up set appear. Reading from cue cards written up in long-form quality, picking apart the uselessness of some minor problem that affected Lee some years ago, the reference to filming a live set, the stare down the barrel of the camera, the turn away from the audience. High shots that display the architecture of the venue come crashing down as Lee churns out the “sharks falling from the sky” description of Netflix. “Does he just repeat the same sentences over and over again? Like an angry Tedtalk?” Yes, he does. It used to be ground-breaking. Now? It still is. A different route is travelled. A different gun is loaded. Lee builds up a new setlist of scattershot thoughts, fears, and ideas, that rely just as much on audience interaction as they do on a lack of sharks falling from the skies.
