The laughter starts before the jokes even land. It spreads contagiously through the audience, as if some unspoken agreement has already been made: we knew this was going to be funny, so we will laugh. Paul Hendy’s The Last Laugh at the Noël Coward Theatre is a show that leans heavily on this contract, reviving the golden era of British stand-up with a knowing nod to its past, while never quite escaping its shadow.
The production brings together three of Britain’s most beloved comedians – Tommy Cooper, Eric Morecambe, and Bob Monkhouse – each representing a different style of comedy that shaped the country’s entertainment landscape. Cooper, the fumbling magician, built a career on timing disasters to perfection; Morecambe, with his rapid-fire wit and playful exasperation, became a national institution; and Monkhouse, the polished performer, mastered the art of the one-liner, always one step ahead of the punchline. Together, they defined an era, one that many in the audience remember through their parents and grandparents, reruns and Christmas specials.
From the outset, the production immerses itself in the retro textures of classic British comedy. Callum Wills’ sound design incorporates exaggerated comic sound effects, straight from a bygone era of slapstick and vaudeville, punctuating the routines like well-placed drum fills, almost dictating where the audience should react. Yet, for all its often-dated humour, The Last Laugh finds its most interesting moments not in comedy, but in what could be called ‘tragic relief’: the introspective pauses where the show acknowledges the other side of laughter
Here, the clichés of the comedian’s inner life emerge: the loneliness beneath the spotlight, the idea that those who make us laugh are often the saddest of all. These moments, though not particularly original, serve as breathers between the relentless humour, culminating in the ominous weight of the play’s title. It ends, inevitably, with the spectre of Tommy Cooper’s final moments, the ultimate last laugh, where comedy and tragedy collapse into one.
Damian Williams as Tommy Cooper is simply astonishing. He does not impersonate so much as inhabit Cooper, his physicality a study in precision with the signature pause and the comic rudeness that somehow never tips into cruelty. Every mannerism is perfectly attuned to Cooper’s iconic stage presence, resulting in an interpretation that is more than a simple tribute act, but what looks like an effortless rendering of Cooper’s essence.
If there is something more fascinating than the comedians themselves, it is the audience. The humour, often treading the well-worn ground of domestic grumbles and wife jokes, feels, at times, dated. And yet, the response is as electric as if these were fresh lines. The laughter often arrives early, as though conditioned by years of television reruns and pantomime beats. This is not simply about comedy; it is about the ritual of laughing, about a culture that has been built around these rhythms of expectation and release.
What lingers after the curtain falls is not necessarily the brilliance of the show itself, but the curious, enduring power of its effect. Even the youngest members of the audience, too young to have known these acts in their prime, seemed caught up in the wave of laughter. The show, for all its nods to the past, still created something in the present. And maybe that is the last laugh after all: that the tradition of British comedy, even in its most familiar forms, still has the power to pull us in its endless punchline.
Comedy
The Last Laugh
Written and directed by Paul Hendy
Cast includes: Bob Golding, Damian Williams, Simon Cartwright
Until: 22 March
Running time: Approx. 80 minutes (no interval)
Photo Credit: Pamela Raith