“Are there any jokes? No,” says Stewart Lee midway through his new show A Room with a Stew, and he’s telling the truth. There aren’t any jokes as such.
But there is surreal, vivid imagery that emerges often from nowhere as it builds, layer upon layer, through exquisitely tortuous repetition.
References to Brechtian alienation share the bill with a variety of tales of childhood urination.
It’s awkward, self-referential and self-consciously arrogant and, because of rather than despite these traits, it’s brilliant.