Rosie Wood looks back at her year of watching comedy
As part of our end of year review, we asked some of our team to think about the last twelve months in any way they saw fit. Here Rosie Wood does just that by looking at the comedy she has encountered this year, whether that be comedy shows or stand up.
I set out this year wanting to see live comedy. Comedy of any kind. Along the way I encountered a wide variety of performers: different ages, from different countries, all with different performance backgrounds and levels of experience. However, most of them turned out to be solo, hour-long performances in some capacity. Sometimes that meant straight stand-up, sometimes a narrative one-woman show or maybe a one-man cabaret. And sometimes the category was hard to define at all, beyond being an hour of comedy by a single writer-performer.
Given how central the hour-long solo show is to the comedy world, it is actually quite a tall order: a single person talking for an hour with the explicit aim of making you laugh. In October, I saw Tom Rosenthal’s stand-up hour Whatever People Say I Am, That’s What I Am, a show largely concerned with longevity as an artist. He jokes about the strain of sustaining comedy over time, and about how unbearable it would be to be around someone who was funny 24/7 – our stomachs aching, our jaws in agony, desperate for relief. It is an absurd exaggeration, but it highlights a real problem with the hour show: it is a long time to laugh consistently.
Which is why solo comedy shows have to be more than just funny. Alongside the jokes must come other qualities: interest, likeability, sweetness, visual pleasure, emotional texture, even moments of genuine thoughtfulness. A sound structure is vital if a show is not to run out of steam after ten minutes.
One of the most experienced writer-performers I was lucky enough to review this year was Carl Donnelly, in his tour show Another Round at Leicester Square Theatre. He is clearly well versed in structuring a balanced hour. The opening is tightly packed with jokes, before loosening into something more narrative-driven once the audience is warmed up. It is the pacing of someone who knows when an audience needs momentum and when it is safe to let a story breathe.
Another strong stand-up hour at Leicester Square Theatre came from Josh Jones with I Haven’t Won the Lottery Yet So Here’s Another Tour Show, though it drew criticism for being slightly insubstantial. That feels harsh, as the hour contained excellent jokes and engaging stories, but it was held back by a lack of organisation. With a clearer structure, the same material could have been shaped into something more cohesive, giving the show that sense of completeness.
A work-in-progress show from Jin Hao Li was inevitably looser but framed in a much more casual way. He spoke to the audience before the show officially began as well as afterwards, and the hour was held together by his persona, which prompted almost as many “awhs” as laughs. He engaged us with sweetness as well as humour, and that quality felt just as important. To a degree, a show can be held together by charisma alone: Victor Von Plume did not appear to have a fully memorised script, yet the performance cohered through charm and presence.
Some of the most successful one-person shows I’ve seen this year solved the problem of endurance through sheer richness. Alice Cockayne’s Licensed. Professional. Trained. Qualified. was a standout, not because it chased joke density, but because there was always something new happening. Cockayne plays six distinct characters, each with their own story, physicality and costume, and even her outfit changes were folded into the world of the show. Her energy never dipped, and crucially, the show did not rely on the audience to sustain it through laughter alone. We were energised by her, rather than the other way around.
Story is another anchor for many solo shows, particularly those billed as plays rather than stand-up. Michael Rosen’s double-bill Getting Through It does not describe itself as comedy, yet it drew almost as many laughs as some stand-up sets, despite its heavy themes. The humour emerges organically from a piece that is deeply wise and beautifully told, the laughs feeling like a by-product of attention rather than the goal.
In other cases, story rescues shows that might otherwise feel slight. Laughing Matters by Alec Watson and Karen by Sarah Cameron West are both anchored by narrative, using plot to give shape and purpose to their humour.
Then there are shows held together by theme. Sameera Bhalotra Bowers’ What Is Going On? at Etcetera Theatre takes the premise that academic reasoning is largely useless in real-life situations and spins it into a full-length, highly visual piece, incorporating segments with puppets and PowerPoint.
There are clear benefits for both emerging and established performers in making a solo hour. In a comedy culture built around touring and festivals, sixty minutes justifies a ticket price, does not rely on other performers, and allows audiences time to properly get to know a comedian. It is also a chance to demonstrate range. The strongest shows I saw this year prove how the hour can become more than a string of jokes or an endurance exercise. Comedians can choose who they want to be onstage, and what drives their style – whether that is energy, tight narrative control, or casual charm. I am looking forward to seeing what this structure offers next in 2026: how new comedians reinvent the hour, and how established ones continue to squeeze more out of it.
