Inner peace and contentment are not always gifts to the comedian, and – who knows? – maybe that’s why Bridget Christie’s latest show is a teensy bit less thrilling than its predecessors. For Christie has found her happy place: serenely single, professionally triumphant (on the telly too, after years not finding a niche there), and absolved by menopause of the need to give a toss about almost anything. There’s comedy in that freedom from care, and Christie mines it plentifully in an entertaining 90 minutes majoring – like her Channel 4 show The Change – in what life looks like for women (or at least, this woman) when oestrogen gets out of the way.
But Jacket Potato Pizza feels like a placeholder of a show, lacking the fervour or clownish fury of her best work. Its short first half begins by contrasting quotations from Presidents Obama and Trump – but that gives a misleading impression of what’s in store. More indicative is the routine that follows, in which Christie re-enacts a story as told by her menopausal pal, a banal tale of a night out turned into a symphony of digressions, malapropisms (mixing the Benjamins Zephaniah and Netanyahu, most memorably) and vocabulary tantalisingly out of reach. It’s as much sketch as standup, and our host brings it to life with characteristic pop-eyed dismay.
