Phil Cool blows cold

First impressions are certainly lasting impressions for Phil Cool. It feels as if the veteran stand-up chameleon has being doing Rolf Harris longer than Rolf himself. Sure enough, his first London run since 1998 features Harris tying his kangaroo down, sport. It is a rare highlight in an overlong, underperforming show.

Cool has a truly rubbery face. He can contort it into Quasimodo's squinting lopsided leer with remarkable ease. But Ali G doing detergent ads, swapping Staines massive for massive stains, is a rare contemporary reference. Too often he resorts to poorly executed retreads.

His Eddie Izzard is shockingly lame. Wrong voice, wrong wig, wrong delivery. Helpfully the screen behind announces who Cool is doing, incorrectly spelling Izzard's name as Eddy. Jo Brand fares little better. Halfway through even the 54-year-old acknowledges the voice is veering towards Julian Clary.

The tragedy is that when Cool is good he is very good. His video introduction, though Mr Beanish, reveals an acute visual sensibility and he is a nicely whimsical singer. His transformation into a bull-necked Clive James is excellent. And his Tony Blair, silent but exuding grins that are both beatific and chilling, borders on genius.

Paucity of memorable material is the main problem. Cool's unique selling point cannot sustain a 100-minute set alone. His Quasimodo was a showstopper, but later, when he did his Sellafield mutant, the eyes blinked, the lips warped - yet we'd seen it before. Cool blows occasionally hot, but mostly cold.

Phil Cool