Alan Carr, Regent Theatre, IpswichYOU COULD be forgiven for thinking that, with the passing of Frankie Howerd and Kenneth Williams, the golden age of the camp comedian had passed.

Alan Carr, Regent Theatre, Ipswich

YOU COULD be forgiven for thinking that, with the passing of Frankie Howerd and Kenneth Williams, the golden age of the camp comedian had passed.

It hasn't. Alan Carr has picked up the baton and is mincing along very nicely with it, thank you.

His show at the Regent last night was a delight, witty without being too waspish, clever without being smug.

He worked beautifully off his audience, teasing, not unkind, making them part of the fun rather than using them as a soft target. Even Kat, a singleton like him, escaped lightly; “Why are you on your own, Kat? Don't know? Have a think.” In fact, written down that sounds crueller that it was; it's all in the delivery.

He has refined cattiness to the point where he can slide the stiletto in almost without drawing blood - almost.

In fact the only person he was unkind to was himself. He's big on self- deprecation and has no hesitation in turning the humour in on himself, his appearance and lifestyle and his early years, but sans bitterness.

Childhoods are rich seams for comics to mine and Carr was happy to share with us the trials that life as the weedy, bespectacled, tooth-brace wearing sports-hating son of a professional football manager brought.

He painted a comical picture of the young Carr on the pitch, wearing his specs on a chain so that he could quickly take them off to head the ball before popping them back on again, a wonderfully executed piece of high campery.

We peered into his social life; “How bad can a date be when you spike your own drink?” and his health, especially his psoriasis. “I look like I've been self- harming with a bingo marker.”

Carr is a gifted comedian who, for me at least, is far better to watch in action on the stage than the small screen.

Dominic Castle