This is one of those shows that you feel glad to have seen. A complete, precisely structured, incessantly funny 70 minutes of stand-up. What seems to begin as any other stand-up show — with funny childhood stories and tales of recent TV appearances — flows into a hyper-dense script that explores what it’s like to be an entertainer today in a climate of hyper-surveillance, cancel culture, and the idea that having an audience means having a “platform” that ought to be used to advocate for causes.
The hour-long show is a staple of the stand-up genre, but it’s so hard to make the most of. Funny anecdotes and tight one-liners can sustain things for a while, but soon become wearing without a solid structural backbone to carry us through. Vittorio Angelone has had plenty of clipable viral moments on TikTok and Instagram — he can clearly play the short-form algorithm game remarkably well —but here he’s created a layered masterpiece that builds as it progresses.
He breaks down the two directions we’re so often pulled towards: either earnestness, virtue signalling, and slightly desperate attempts to appear politically informed and righteous, or provocation for its own sake, kicking against that same impulse. He takes jabs at Ricky Gervais and Nish Kumar equally, joking that different sections of the audience cheer for different sides. What’s impressive is that he manages to be critical of both without ever seeming preachy himself. By this point, he’s already won us over with quick-fire punchlines and a personable, slightly mischievous presence—you really believe that he’s just someone who wants to make us laugh, and, as he sees it, make art.
His thoughts on these wider themes hinge on his own predicament of being from Northern Ireland, but being born in 1996, two years after the end of the Troubles — though, as he jokes, for those two years he was involved. Many of his cultural references are connected to a tragedy that he can’t quite claim to have experienced, yet can’t fully separate himself from. A recurring bit (of which there are many) centres on the phrase “up the RA!”, which Angelone confesses he often uses simply to mean “woohoo.” There are many instances of people using phrases based on loaded topics so often and so frivolously that they lose their weight. He talks about “free Palestine,” which many performers use today to get whoops and cheers. He manages to walk this ethical tightrope with real skill, raiding it for laughs.
Angelone owns the stage, making the vast Eventim Apollo feel like his own. He’s relaxed enough to shift from sitting on a large red chair to leaning into the mic stand, to delivering more animated sequences centre stage. There are also some brilliant theatrical touches, including moments where a harsh spotlight snaps on for faux disclaimers—often around mentions of Gerry Adams—neatly sending up both media outrage and the pressure to self-censor.
He gives a lot of attention to what people think of him, particularly journalists, taking things he’s said out of context. At one point, he calls one out by name, after an audience member twists his words to make him seem homophobic — but he gets his own back by being just as selectively devious with theirs. He always seems one step ahead of potential criticism, aware of his own cleverness and even teasing the audience for possibly resisting it.
There’s a cheekily catty, competitive streak running through the whole show; at times, he seems like an angry child who just wants to be recognised and to win. It feels familiar, too: that underlying desire for praise and attention in an increasingly complicated world.
Written & Performed by: Vittorio Angelone
Published with The Reviews Hub
Rosie Wood 
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