Slowly but surely, since moving to the UK in 2002 and stumbling a year later from marketing into the more sensible world of comedy, Henning Wehn has captivated more and more Brits with his quirky Teutonic ways and infinite sneers, insults and truths about the British. There’s deep fascination, for a start, in following the progress of Herr Wehn’s cock-eyed Manglo-German accent, which, over two decades, has evolved from nigh-on incomprehensible to nigh-on comprehensible. On shows like Would I Lie To You?, The Unbelievable Truth, Have I Got News For You or Live at the Apollo one endearing superpower that stuns folk is his insistence on lobbing in endless, quirky British idioms, awkwardly embroidered with jagged bits of Cockney-German rhyming slang. Lovely jubbly, innit, jawohl. And given that Brits, weirdly, always laugh heartily at any swear word, whether in Shakespeare or stand-up, he bungs in a few of those, too.
The most startling revelation of the evening came with a rousing, pretty folk tune that quickly had everyone clapping merrily along. The surprise wasn’t so much that the Hitler Youth got similarly caught up with the commandeered tune’s catchy allure but the fact that Herr Wehn sang the tune – well, in tune! Now, anyone who’s heard, I’m Sorry, I Haven’t A Clue with its round, One Tune To the Tune of Another, will know that Henning’s tone-deaf croakings have nothing whatsoever to do with singing one tune, nor any other, in any recognisable form! But his delicate Fruhtau zu Berge? Well, fal-le-ra! with musical knobs on!
Lured back to stand-up comedy under false pretences by Rhod Gilbert, Wehn continues his acid reign in Acid Wehn, in which (for part of the second half) he pours his customary sarcasm, cynicism, irony, scorn, complaint, forthright ramblings, insults and indignant rants into the topic of climate change amongst a splattered diversity of other things. At length he bewails the horrific impacts of overpopulation and rampant consumerism, neither being his fault since he has no offspring and it’s more than apparent he wastes no resources at all on his stage set. Black curtains, a small table draped with a black cloth, a mic and some humble cardboard pictures for his big finale are all the casually clad comedian requires.
Perhaps the black is symbolic (or not) of the strands of dark humour that weave through his biographical snippets and the masses of unsubtle, stereotyped characterisations he indulges in, provoking laughter but quite possibly also triggering offence in some. It’s a wonder all the Scots in the audience didn’t storm out there and then, bagpipes in tow! British comedians are well known for knocking and sneering at everything British. The honorary Brit and proud German (Wehn by name though not vain by nature) genuinely loves Britain, and as an outsider he gets away with knocking and sneering pretty hard – but with utmost Teutonic affection, of course!
Bumpily riding along, we travel from Holocaust to hairdressers, from Princes William and Harry to Hannover, Hastings and Okinawa, from shredded pets and overpaid vets to oversized electric cars and terrorised cyclists; we’re hit by the terror of superfluous tots and the proliferation of genders and see how the fates of toasters and old people have now swapped over. Hidden truths emerge about blood as we journey from Brexit to broken elbow, from silly citizenship tests and misappropriated flags to privileged users of the M6 Toll road, and we learn how Britain is somewhere dreams can come true overnight for any budding plumber or comedian. But did he mention the war? Or German football victories? Oh, many, many times! German bombers passed across to goal strikers before The War swept back again, dropping in on Coventry; then world cups pinged back and forth, mainly landing in Germany, until Teuton Titan Thomas Tuchel turned up to take charge of the football… or was it the war? One of those, anyway – or both.
Henning told us that critics generally say the second half of his act is overly long. So he’s taken the hint, then, has he, and re-jigged the gig? Nein, bestimmt nicht! The second half is still overly long, especially given that the flow of controversial conundrums arrived neatly at its natural final flourish fifteen minutes ahead of schedule – and then had to backtrack.
Still, it’s good fun – even if the ultimate conclusion is that we’re all completely doomed, innit ! At least, in true British style, we can all laugh about it.
Eileen Caiger Gray
