
Sam Morrison’s stand-up comedy show Sugar Daddy hilariously points out some of the foibles and absurdities of the gay community. It also tackles more serious issues such as the culture's intolerances, particularly when he reflects on his own attraction to older men with bellies. Beneath these sharp observations, however, the true centre of the monologue is Morrison's grappling with the loss of his partner during the Covid-19 pandemic. The show runs for only sixty minutes, yet Morrison traces his relationship with Jonathan from their first awkward meeting in Provincetown to the final leave-taking in hospital and the amusingly complicated scattering of the ashes. Along the way, the audience shares a remarkable emotional roller coaster. There are tender moments recalling time spent with Jonathan on a rooftop, weirdly funny episodes such as when Morrison is attacked by seagulls, and painfully vivid recollections of the speech delivered at Jonathan’s deathbed. The humour is dark and the pain often feels unbearably real, but the comedian proves just as skilled taking us out of the moment as the grieving lover is at putting us in it. Despite some obvious rewriting aimed at making the material feel closer to home for a British audience, including a reference to Tesco, this show remains quintessentially American. There are plenty of cultural references and in-jokes that may go over British heads but in the end that doesn't really matter. The honesty of Morrison’s storytelling and the sharpness of his humour transcend such barriers. Sugar Daddy proves to be a wonderful exercise in catharsis comedy. It is not simply funny or moving; it is both at once. This is a disarmingly candid piece of work that turns grief into connection and leaves the audience laughing, aching, and unexpectedly uplifted.
Rated: ★★★★
Reviewed by J.C.
Photo by Mark Senior
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