Tom Rosenthal

Child of Privilege, Pleasance Courtyard Attic, 9:30pm

What a crafty, inventive and playful debut solo this is. Tom Rosenthal has transposed the Powerpoint-propelled pseudo-pomp of Jonny Sweet to a concept piece (loosely) about privilege where the audience is divided on arrival: those who end up on the right side of the venue are treated to cushions, programmes and Ferrero Rochers, those on the left get bits of old newspaper and (briefly) the company of a tramp.

The revelation of the piece is Tom's butler Leonard. He greets the audience at the door and shows them to their seats (both funny and practical, unlike poor Ahir Shah, who had to restart his show at the Wee Coo four times due to latecomers). Leonard then assists Tom throughout - it was he, Tom tells us, that put together the Powerpoint presentation ('I took an online course') - before the tables are appropriately turned. It is a lovely tragicomic performance: pained, understated, and a perfect foil to Tom’s exuberance.

The technical fireworks aside, I wonder if some bits are stronger than others. The stuff about his famous dad Jim (ITV Sport legend) is illuminating and self-aware, and there's a very smart sequence about philosophical logic, but the vague digs at Simon Bird (his co-star in Channel 4 sitcom Friday Night Dinner, a show that managed to be so much less than the sum of its parts - salt in the water, oh no!) weren't quite funny enough to avoid the whiff of a lazy showbiz in-joke, and does the self-consciously Stewart Lee self-consciousness add anything to the set? It is increasingly fashionable to knock Lee, the much-imitated Cervantes of stand-up who is slowly turning into the Don Quixote of stand-up in grouchy middle-age, but it’s the sort of gimmick to which a comic as gifted as Tom doesn't need to resort. Then again, the Lee-baiting is part of the entitled, self-promoting persona with a thirst for awards (when asked by Leonard what he would like to drink, Tom requests 'a Perrier. Or a Fosters'), so one shouldn't be too hard on the lad. He also dealt extremely well with a drunk boor in the front row, who, angry at being refused a Ferrero Rocher, gave his name as Chav and parped tedious wisecracks throughout.

To conclude, this is cracking stuff from a hugely likeable act who is, as expected, much better than the TV show for which he is best known (I was surprised that the average age of the audience was as high as it was - no bad thing at all, but it suggests FND wasn't aimed at me). Leonard the butler is worth the entrance fee alone, but the odd provocative urge aside, Child of Privilege is a mischievous, sparkling and remarkably assured debut hour. Fosters?