★★★★☆

Review by John Gibson. Venue 8. Assembly – Gordon Aikman Theatre @ 16:30

From the pen of Tim Whitnall comes another theatrical examination of a comedy great. Whilst Eric Morecambe’s legacy has only grown stronger with every repeat of ‘I’m playing all the right notes…just not necessarily in the right order’, Collyhurst’s most famous son has been forgotten, conveniently relegated in the collective memory as a ‘rubber-faced clown’ and game show host.

Whitnall, Culshaw and director Bob Golding have set out to attempt to recontextualise this teller of mother-in-law jokes, as a thwarted renaissance man forced to comply with the working-class ideals of clownery by ditching the intellectualisms and refining his more accessible shtick.

The play opens with Dawson regaling the audience (first as the television host), welcoming the crowd, and then as Les, the man, explaining his fears and desires at the top of the light entertainment tree. Whitnall’s script then jumps back to a rather formulaic, albeit, difficult childhood as Dawson, a bright child, struggles to be accepted amongst his less impressive peers. His journey towards recognition is etched out in a surprising amount of detail for an audience who seem to expect Culshaw to do jokes as Dawson as opposed to gain some insight about the man.

The intuitive set design serves Culshaw well; with an upright piano on one side, and a talk-show leather armchair at either side of a screen to project his largely excellent impersonations of the past that we a re-visiting. Alan Whicker, Hughie Green and Roy Barraclough are all portrayed, and many of the shows that Dawson hosted or starred in are depicted with the title cards of the day, which is strangely effective and is a choice that a younger director or someone with no personal knowledge of the period would avoid.

Dawson’s fascination with literature, poetry and classical music has always been lampooned (none more so than by the man himself), but here Culshaw’s sensitive and layered portrayal allowed me (for the first time) to appreciate that there was more to the man than just Blankety Blank and pulling faces, and it made me realise the artistic sacrifices he had to make to make himself more palatable and commercial.

For Dawson aficionados and lovers of light entertainment who remember his smiling face and signature pose of hands clasped on his belly, this is a compelling insight into a private life that was that rarest of things: private.