In the age of 24-hour news and political car crash after political car crash, stories that once would have dogged politicians lack the staying power they once did. Like, who even remembers when Rachel Reeves, newly appointed as the UK’s first female chancellor, insisted that she was going to get rid of the urinal in No 11 as a defiant act of girl power, only to find out that she couldn’t as the latrine had been used by Winston Churchill and therefore was of historical significance? Rosie Holt, that’s who.
A political comedian best known for parodying MPs on social media, Holt has taken that story and run with it. The product is Churchill’s Urinal, an extended monologue directed by Holt’s long-time collaborator Daniel Clarkson that is part-stand up show, part play. She imagines a world where Reeves – or a totally different, unnamed first British female chancellor, as Holt cheekily clarifies in a pre-show announcement – was so obsessed with getting rid of the urinal and the legacy of problematic powerful men it represented that she was willing to stake her entire career on it. ‘I’m not a man. I’m a successful lady and I want a successful lady’s toilet,’ she declares.
The premise is ripe for comic potential, whether in reference to the impossible standards female left-wing politicians are held to or the endless bureaucracy that prevents any progress within parliament. Under Clarkson’s direction, moments emerge in which Holt capitalises on the humour baked into the scenario. One set piece where landline phones are passed to audience members and their comedically long wires becoming tangled is an impeccably choreographed scene of farcical, physical comedy.
But in Churchill’s Urinal, the plot feels secondary to Holt’s trademark political satire, the comic clearly more comfortable making jibes about Starmer than she does fleshing out the show’s lead. The script has been written by Holt with additional material by her former partner Stewart Lee, and the references are timely almost to the day, and widespread: Michael Gove, Jeremy Corbyn, Andrew Tate are all aimed at.
This situates Churchill’s Urinal squarely in our contemporary political landscape (more’s the pity, for anyone looking to escape reality) but the jokes are fairly tame and the punchlines obvious. In criticising all indiscriminately, there’s also a flattening effect to Holt’s writing. The rhythm grows predictable and the jokes’ impact are dampened, fizzling out rather than bursting bright like fireworks. Loud laughs up top lose momentum as the script becomes repetitive, until the gags are met with polite titters but little more.
While the straight-up satire grows fairly monotonous, a reprieve comes mid-way through the show when Churchill’s Urinal takes a turn into a more abstract realm. Locked in her office hiding from the small but angry mob gathering outside, high on the hidden booze and drugs leftover from the Tory’s lockdown parties, the chancellor begins to hallucinate that Churchill’s titular urinal is speaking to her.
The giant urinal appears on stage, with Michael Lambourne appearing as a demonic Churchill. Suddenly, he is the comic foil to the more serious character of the chancellor, and Lambourne steals attention with his shifty-eyed, Facebook quote regurgitating former prime minister.
Given the feminist themes of the show, I’m aware that declaring that Churchill’s Urinal improves drastically when a man comes on stage might not be the best look. Lambourne is an undeniably skilled comic actor, but it’s more a case of Holt receiving a second wind when she has a scene character to play off. As interesting a twist as it is, it still comes too late in the game and isn’t lingered on long enough to make a lasting impact. Ultimately, Churchill’s Urinal is a fairly inoffensive set of satirical stand-up. In the age when fact is stranger than fiction, I don’t think that cuts it anymore.
