Josh Ladgrove interview: 'I’m not doing this because I hate Jesus'

Jesus, it's fair to say, has always been a bit showbiz. What do you call rising from the dead if not the ultimate encore? It means that the son of God feels like a natural fit for Hollywood, or even Theatreland, where he's been a 'Superstar' for so many years. Comedy, however… That's a trickier area to broach when you're portraying the Messiah, and it's a brave man who puts Christ into the spotlight for an hour of laughs on the Edinburgh Fringe.

Josh Ladgrove is that man. 'Come Heckle Christ' is his show. It's a no-holds-barred Q&A with the King of Kings, and the best ever opportunity for Fringe audiences to take potshots at a religious figurehead. It’s been called blasphemous, pointless and unfunny. It's also been a festival hit, with extra performances in the pipeline to accommodate the mob of would-be hecklers.

So, what's the motivation behind this 'meet your maker' event? Is it a tribute? A secular satire? A disarmingly daft way of raising the level of theological debate on the Fringe?

Wrong on all counts. ‘This show is so stupid. It’s almost a waste of time to address it in a serious way,’ says Ladgrove. The real reason behind it? Simply that, with has lank hair, piercing blue eyes and matted bird’s nest beard, the Melbourne-based comic looks remarkably like the depictions of Christ we’re used to in the West. Even more so when he’s strapped to a cross.

‘I got an Easter card from a relative, with this typical, Western image of Jesus on it,’ he says. ‘And I looked in the mirror and put two and two together.’ The body of Christ compelled him: all he needed was the robes and the onstage crucifixion apparatus and the act was ready. ‘The audience is doing most of the work,’ Ladgrove admits. ‘There’s no way of hiding that. There’s a lot of: “Why are you white?”; “Why are you Australian?”; “Are you friends with Muhammad?”; “You’re a dickhead, Jesus!” That’s also funny. And hard to come back at.’

The night I catch the show, Ladgrove’s flock aren’t in need of any guidance. When Jesus softly states ‘you may now heckle’, a great flood of questions pours in. Some are clever, some are cheap and some are strangely personal (‘Why is it so hard to poo, Jesus?’).

Ladgrove deflects most of the jibes in a funny yet caring way (‘You're having trouble pooing? You should see someone about that, my child’). For years he's been improvising in character as hapless academic Dr Neal Portenza, meaning he's just about quick-witted enough to make this new premise work. The result feels like ‘Late ’n’ Live’ (the Fringe’s most raucous after-hours showcase), but with a undercurrent of tenderness. ‘Late ’n’ Love’, perhaps?

Not everyone would agree. ‘Come Heckle Christ’ arrived in Edinburgh under a cloud of controversy. At the Adelaide Fringe in March this year there were protests outside the theatre. Ladgrove recalls: ‘A leading conservative Christian tweeted about it. He just looked at the title, thought: “That’s offensive!” and started tweeting – “How can you support this blasphemy?” etc. That set off a vocal minority of well-organised Christian fundamentalists. It made front-page news for a few days. It was really crazy.’

Today, in an Edinburgh café, the guy chatting to me doesn’t seem like he poses a threat to Christian values. Dressed down in a T-shirt and shorts, with bits of scone in his beard, he looks like any other Fringe performer in need of a haircut and a night off the booze. He deserves everything that's thrown at him, no doubt – the title of his show invites it. Mostly, though, he's not looking for hype. He just wants to make people laugh, while gently poking fun at pomposity.

‘I’m not doing this because I hate Jesus,’ says Ladgrove. ‘I don’t. The idea of Jesus is fantastic. It’s a wonderful message and a wonderful story – that’s all it is. So why should I have to subscribe to the church’s dogma? Why should I say: “Well, I best not do this show because a few people are offended due to the fact they take a book too seriously.”’

‘The Catholic Church isn’t above criticism,’ he continues. ‘They can take a bit of flak. It’s been Islam that’s copped the brunt of it in the past 15 years.’ One of the questions he regularly faces is ‘why not “Come Heckle Muhammad”?’ To Ladgrove, however, it’s to Christianity’s advantage that Jesus is easier to parody. ‘We should celebrate that!’ he exclaims. ‘The fact that Christianity’s at the point in its evolution where it can be self-referential. Christians should say: “Hang on, if it’s so offensive to heckle Muhammad that people are getting death threats, we should be proud that our institution is stronger than that!”’

In Edinburgh, a show called ‘Come Heckle Christ’ was never going to mobilise picket lines of moral objectors. This is a bumper year for explicitly provocative titles – ‘Dangerfield: Sex with Children’ and ‘Adrienne Truscott’s Asking for It: A One-Lady Rape About Comedy Starring Her Pussy and Little Else!’, to name just two. An act featuring a fake Jesus seems rather quaint in comparison – like the porcelain statuette on your gran’s mantlepiece. Equally Ladgrove, despite portraying the Big Man Upstairs, is still a little man in festival terms. ‘I’m just a shitkicker guy from Australia that no one knows,’ he says. ‘I know the score. I know who I am. My ego’s still the size of a peanut.’

Ladgrove’s not Kanye (suffering from a god complex) or Richard Dawkins (suffering from a chip on his shoulder). Far from the Second Coming, in religious terms his act is about as significant as an East 17 reunion. ‘Come Heckle Christ’ is compelling, however, as it creates an environment in which people feel comfortable asking difficult questions about faith. All heroes, including religious ones, deserve to be humanised as well as worshipped. Watching Ladgrove on the cross, there’s no sense that he’s (excuse the pun) trying to bring Christ down a peg or two, only to pose a question: what would you say to Him if you had the chance? Sometimes people’s comments are hard to take (‘Why did you give my daughter cancer, Jesus?’ is the saddest question Ladgrove’s been asked to date). But then it’s honesty that makes the show more than just a gimmick.

‘I think we die and that’s it,’ he states frankly. ‘And that’s not bad. I don’t think we’re that important. Try and do some good in the world, and be happy. That’s my message.' That sounds less like comedy, and more like a sermon, I suggest.

‘Shit,' he considers. 'I should say that at the end of the show, shouldn't I?'

'Come Heckle Christ' is at Pleasance Above at the Pleasance Courtyard, Edinburgh, until August 24.