Errant visionary #563: Dan Antopolski @ Sherman Theatre, Cardiff

Dan Antopolski is not a stand-up comic. Having striven to see him at every possible opportunity over the past few years out of a certain morbid fascination, a fifth arresting audience with the man now affords me — I contend — a little closure on the fiery issue of his true merit.

That is, of course, if such a thing were possible.

Google Antopolski’s aptly-labyrinthine name, and along with a veritable smorgasbord of lavish praise for the three-time Perrier Award nominee, a substantial garnish of besmirchment will also greet the eyes of the Googler. For while acknowledged by many to be the most naturally gifted comic of his generation, the florid young upstart is simultaneously derided for being “petulant” and “frustrating”.

With Antopolski, those lacking a roguish turn of mind and a taste for language simply need not apply. Feet planted whimsically left of centre, he dovetails with an exquisite (and yes, excruciating) haphazardness between his own acerbic, uniquely urbane material and an irresistible desire to ad-lib ad infinitum to each open-mouthed house.

Tonight, and rather fabulously so, is no exception. The line separating performance and upheaval is erratically, emphatically blurred, as razor-sharp trademark vignettes disappear off (agonisingly) into the familiar Antopolskian nether-regions of unplanned, lengthy and often vicious dialogues with lexically-outgunned members of the enthralled assemblage.

It is here — tangled in the most abstract off-cuffery — that Dan truly excels, the audacity of his invective at all times finely-tuned, garrulous and bewitching. Skimp on such utter structural waywardness he will not — even at the ultimate expense of his errant star. For it seems that those who prefer their comedy to remain firmly on the straight and narrow are markedly perturbed by the fact that Antopolski, armed with his eminent, intrusive sagacity, appears to be here as much “to amuse himself as he is his audience”.

It is, of course, just such dour impeachments which cement this protean artist’s distinction. As with all indignant, broad-brush swipes at unorthodoxy, they merely serve to silhouette the accused — illuminating him in the peevish glare of those staid echelons from which conservative disparagements will inevitably issue forth. For Dan is one of those truly sacred social barometers, à la Chris Morris, Bill Hicks, Eminem: irreplaceable distillers of cult truth to the fortunate few with open ears; “shocking” burden to those ill-equipped to transcend puerile ignorance.

Adored, reviled, ever precarious: our erudite anti-hero is, all told, nothing short of a performing Titan, a tittering ball of luminescent mirth. Dan Antopolski is not, I repeat, a stand-up comic. One pays simply to see his mind work: the fascinating onstage idiosyncrasies of a frighteningly astute, utterly inimitable and thoroughly entertaining young man.

In short? Oh, right: hilarious. Go see him.