Dylan Moran keeps it simple. It’s the only option when he doesn’t know anything.
And knowing nothing hasn’t sounded so good since Sergeant Schultz.
The Irishman kindly added extra shows to the Australian leg of his 'Dr Cosmos' tour, finishing last Thursday (5 Dec) at QPAC in Brisbane.
If he ever did know anything, he says he doesn’t anymore.
We’re comforted in Dylan’s presence. Comforted in knowing life is hard; life is lonely. Barry White is the way. We can do this together.
Less comforting is his account of Ireland in the ‘70s: like Chernobyl, with priests. If you agree that the 'zenith of sensation as a child' was a crispy pancake, then you might feel like much of your life is unfurling before your eyes in front of a thousand other people at a Dylan Moran show. Akin to that Lauryn Hill ‘Killing Me Softly’ vibe.
Life’s tediousness (no, not just yours) is the expected dish from Moran, which is fine because the material is boundless – particularly from a man whose sole reported domestic duty security clearance involves smelling the milk.
“I am a rumour in shoes in my own home.”
Words of bored or borderline comfort continue, with the revelation that if you’re really mature you might have an argument. Although then you’d have to know things, in order to argue about them.
He’s even quit drinking, in part to deprive people of the thrill they might have got from telling him to do so, later on.
There’s no argument, Moran is just like that good-value mate you invite round to barbecues for his curiously angry nonchalance, without the aftertaste.
'Dr Cosmos' left us with one parting morsel of non-knowledge before he headed to Asia: “All cats are Alan Rickman.”
