56 | SATURDAY | 30.04.22 | The Guardian
CULTURE
J
osh Widdicombe is holding
a banana to his ear with
one hand and an old-
fashioned red telephone
in the other. Duran
Duran’s The Wild Boys is
blasting through the speakers as the
photographer loudly directs his poses.
Moments before, James Acaster
was in his place, clasping a plastic
megaphone and one of those rubber
chickens that seem to exist primarily
for stand ups to brandish irreverently
in front of a camera.
It’s the sort of wacky photoshoot
two comedians may well have found
themselves obliged to grin through
at any point during the past 30 years.
But there is some justifi cation for
this afternoon’s antics. Acaster and
Widdicombe are here to promote
the fourth series of their prop-heavy
parlour-gameshow Hypothetical,
in which a panel of comedians are
presented with a selection of ridiculous
hypothetical situations: they must
write the story for a musical based on
the songs of S Club 7, or pretend to be a
pair of identical twins for a year. Then
they have to explain to their hosts how
they would go about enacting said
situation – often via the medium of
some equally ridiculous improv.
The result is the ultimate comfort
TV: Hypothetical is not trailblazing or
profound, but it is extremely funny. It
is also one of the nicest shows I have
seen for some time, a quality I mention
tentatively to the pair after the
photoshoot. “I don’t think there’s
anything wrong with nice,” counters
Widdicombe, who has folded himself
up on the very deep sofa. “Comedy is
supposed to make you happy.
Sometimes you lose sight of that.”
This kind of collegiate atmosphere
hasn’t always been associated with
British comedy entertainment: 10 or
Twice as nice
Word s: Rachel Aro est i
Portrait: Simon Webb
SCREENSCREEN
With the return of their improv TV
gameshow Hypothetical, comedians
James Acaster and Josh Widdicombe
are out to prove you don’t need to be
edgy or off ensive to get laughs
15 years ago the panel show had
a reputation as a combative format
that excluded women, humiliated
celebrities and favoured the most
brutal comic in the room. Yet there has
been a clear shift since ; nowadays,
you’re more likely to see comedians
gently competing to manoeuvre
a potato into a hole on Taskmaster
than shout over one another’s queasy
gags about the royal family.
T h e m a j o r i t y o f t h e c o n t e s t a n t s
on Hypothetical genuinely are
good friends in real life: the overall
impression is of a gang of inordinately
funny mates trying to make each
other laugh. Which is also nice.
Pleasingly, Hypothetical’s hosts are
themselves close. The pair met at a
comedy competition when they were
both fi rst attempting stand up in the
late 00s. But it was after a gig together
in Wales that they properly bonded.
Sleeping on someone’s living room
fl oor, they stayed up chatting about
which comedian’s careers they’d like
to emulate. “I said Ross Noble ,”
remembers Acaster. “You said Mark
Watson , because at the time he was
popping up on panel shows and
Radio 4. And doing well in Edinburgh.”
“Well, I never achieved that bit,”
deadpans Widdicombe.
In fact, they would soon both
endure a horrendous Edinburgh
festival. In 2009, the pair shared a bill
with fellow comic Nick Helm on the
free fringe. The only coverage was
from student publication Three Weeks ,
which “gave it one star and described
it as ‘depressing’ – which was correct,”
recalls Widdicombe. Barely anybody
came, and the trio “died on our arse
for a month”.
Somehow, it didn’t put them off
stand up for life. The pair would go
on to fi nd success individually –
Widdicombe as an amiable but