The Anglia Comedy All Stars

Arriving at Epic Studios at a time I presumed was early — all the better to get a coveted aisle seat — I was confronted by not only seats as far as the eye could see, but people sitting on them. I don't think I've ever seen so many folk turn up so early for a gig at Epic, as a buzz of fevered expectation filled its cavernous auditorium.

"This is a sold out gig," read the illuminated sign. "You may be asked to shuffle up."

It's little wonder the evening was so popular, given the high-profile roster of talent. On another night, any one of the line-up could have reasonably headlined a comedy night — Ed Gamble, Rachel Parris, and Paul Sinha on the same bill felt almost like overkill. All Stars indeed.

MC Brennan Reece must have wondered what he'd signed up for and how patiently his Norwich audience would put up with his preamble, but fortunately the good-natured crowd was only too happy to listen to him have a pop at Ipswich. How to win over a Norwich crowd in one easy lesson, perhaps, but there was a warmth and charm to the man that was quickly embraced. He was significantly aided and abetted, it has to be said, with some lucky choices when it came to his crowd work. Jill, the train driver manager, and Ian, the train driver, would have normally been the stars of the show, but this would be to reckon without Jenny, the lap-dancing laboratory technician who now dog-walked when not spending time with her Russian husband, who was waiting for Putin to pop his clogs. If Reece had material to deliver, it was quickly jettisoned in favour of interviewing Jenny on her time in Iraq.

Rachel Parris is perhaps best known for her disorientating, deadpan monologues on The Mash Report and as the host on Dave's reincarnation. Hers is the kind of off-kilter, sardonic humour that's clever rather than laugh-out-loud. The kind that, if you don't find funny, feels like you're the one to blame. Talk of her son's tummy, which we quickly learned was a euphemism, then turned to his placement in a good school, a topic even she acknowledged was niche. Unafraid to divide her audience, her deconstruction of makeup routines had half the room howling, while their partners looked on blankly. Her analysis of James Bond titles drew a wider appreciation, as did a very clever pastiche (and very well sung) of Bond theme songs.

It was left to Paul Sinha to point out that Never Say Never Again is not actually part of the Bond canon, a cheeky nod to his tenure as Sinnerman on The Chase, alongside other quiz nerds named after sex toys. Having referred to himself as a one-man box-ticking exercise — immigrant family, ex-doctor, gay, chronically ill — he regaled his audience with tales of life in Luton, a destination determined by the less potent racism of the UK compared to the US in the sixties.

"In Birmingham Alabama you were forced to sit at the back of the bus. In Birmingham you got to drive it."

Pointedly alluding to the current divisions in the US, it was a rare moment when politics reared its ugly head, and I'd have liked to have heard more. Sinha can be an astute commentator on contentious subject matter when the mood takes him, but on this occasion we had to be content with his stoic acceptance of encroaching Parkinson’s — no one asks me to get a round of drinks — and not being recognised on the Tube.

Ed Gamble's stint on Traitors has revealed his jolly, empathic side to a wider audience, but for the closing act — headliner doesn't quite seem the right word given the company he was keeping — he returned to his default shouty man. His set was a scattergun affair, touching on poppers, school plays, AI and vaping, all bundled up within the overarching theme of turning forty. Unfortunately for fans of Gamble, who I imagine must have seen his Theatre Royal show in 2024, a sizable chunk of his routine was eerily reminiscent. I will grant you it's only weirdos like me who write this stuff down and therefore remember it, but I can't have been the only one thinking — hang on, this stuff about Bran Flakes, Neighbour Watch and defecating electricians is oddly familiar. We can't expect comedians to write new material for every show, and it's arguably touchingly self-deprecating that he imagined no one would turn up twice to see him. But it nonetheless seems a bit off to serve up a routine that's had at least two years on the clock.

It was a pity to end the evening, and is a pity to end this report, on a gripe, and a minor gripe at that. Set aside Gamble's gamble that this was a different audience, and you're left with an astonishing line-up of comics at the top of their game, knitted together by an MC that won some of the best laughs of the night. As the crowd filtered out onto rain-splattered Magdalen St, the overheard chatter was all about a thoroughly entertaining evening that more than delivered. All except Ian and Jill, perhaps, focused instead on the curry they had promised themselves.