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I LOVE THE NIGHTLIFE by Carla Ridge Carla has always liked her comedy smart and blue, but until the advent of self-described "action transvestite" Eddie Izzard, she never knew she could have it cross-dressed, too. I like nothing so much as a hot Brit with spiky hair and smudgy eyeliner; throw in a raft of cogent historical observations and some breakneck non-sequitur segues and you've got Carla's dream date. Alexander and I were lucky enough to procure tickets to a recent performance of Izzard's new one-man show, "Circle," at Hollywood's Henry Fonda Theatre. (Alex had to pull a few strings as Izzard's five-night run was absolutely sold out - the less-connected hipoisie stood smoking outside the theater in a long line waiting for unclaimed will-call seats, poor dears.) Izzard - whom John Cleese has called the funniest man in England - is still a bit underground in the U.S., so this was one of those shows at which you definitely wanted to be seen (we, in turn, saw ubiquitous L.A. scenester Andy Dick). After a tongue-in-cheekily portentous light-and-projection preamble, Izzard strode onstage in a sparkling black-and-white op-art-print shirt draped beautifully over a black T, perfectly cut black leather trousers adorned with metal rings, and stiletto-heeled, sharply pointed black leather boots. MASH makeup maven Cybele will be happy to note that his maquillage was utterly du jour - glittering eyeshadow and classic red lipstick, not to mention silver nail polish. Izzard's stand-up musings are clearly based on a handful of previously secured topics, but the path he takes between them is highly circuitous, full of improvisation and acute sensitivity to the audience's response (the rapid flow of his stream of consciousness can leave many in the dust, which Izzard continually works into the act). When the audience completely misses a reference to the Bishop of Durham, he says, "Well, you'd have to have been there, and you'd have to have been English - and it would have to have been funny."
But soon enough he's back to history and religion, imagining a showdown between the Crusaders and the Muslims from whom they sought to liberate the Holy Land. "You there," says the knight, addressing his enemy, "I kill you in the name of Jesus Christ." "You can't kill me in the name of Jesus Christ," says the infidel. "Jesus Christ was one of our prophets." "Right," concedes the knight with obvious disappointment. "Okay, then - I kill you because you are a brown-skinned man." "You can't kill me because I'm a brown-skinned man - Jesus Christ was a brown-skinned man," counters the heathen. "He was not; Jesus Christ was an Oxford man," the Crusader ventures before protesting wanly, "Look, we've come all this way ..." This leads, naturally, to a conversation between God and Jesus. God, presumably having sent Jesus to mankind to absolve him of sin, has discovered that things haven't quite worked out as he'd planned. Wondering where he went wrong, he questions Jesus as to exactly what went on down there. "Well, I gave them the wine and said, 'Drink this wine - it is my blood.'" "What?!" God says, appalled. "That's vampirism; what were you thinking? What else did you do?" "Um, I gave them the bread and said, 'Eat this bread - it is my ... favorite.'" Eventually Jesus spills the whole Communion story, and the bit ends with God's horror at the notion of someone asking, "Okay, who ordered the body of Christ?" Izzard's wisdom extends from commentary about British prejudices ("I do like the French, but they can be kind of ... French. First we hated the French. Then we hated the Germans. Now it's the Hungarians; we're working our way through the alphabet.) to Communist fashion ("Can't Castro wear a shinier green color? It's always so matte."). Izzard zips forward and back through prehistory, The Dark Ages, The Renaissance, World War II and modern times and somehow, it all makes sense. Or it makes no sense whatsoever and the audience is laughing too much to notice. Laughing is key to the night - and day - life, my lovelies, so if your current circle does not have you in stitches, I say sew up a new bag. And don't be afraid to frequent your local standup emporium. Carla has found many of Comedy Central's finest - Janeane Garofalo, Margaret Cho, Andy Kindler, Wanda Sykes-Hall, Dave Chappelle, Laura Kightlinger, Jake Johannsen, Patton Oswalt, Bob Odenkirk, David Cross, Kathy Griffin - at her neighborhood laugh factory and several of these fine folk will surely make a tour stop in your town, At the very least, make haste to ye olde video shoppe and seek out Eddie Izzard's "Live At The Ambassadors," "Unrepeatable," "Definite Article," "Glorious" and "Dress To Kill." Holding my sides (and those of others I deem worthy), Carla Hey,
we stole these pictures from Eddie's site; why don't you visit them
at their original home?
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Glad
Tidings Tiny Titterers! 
But
he hits the bullseye much more often than not. He recovers with a customary
"Anyway" and launches into a lengthy spiel about John Paul
II, whom he says is "a bit knackered in the face department,"
clarifying, "You know - the lights are off but the fridge is full."
After calling the Popemobile the "pope-dragging machine,"
he speculates on the pontiff's sequels - "John Paul III: The Revenge,"
"John Paul IV: This Time He's Pissed Off," "John Paul
V: In 3D." He then references Pope Gutless Bastard The First (actually
Pius XII, who presided over the Holocaust) and Pope Sixtus IV, who gets
credit for the Spanish Inquisition, which Izzard would have much preferred
as The Spanish Casual Chat. With a "so, monkeys ... and Charlton
Heston," he's off to the next. 
Other
lines of inquiry concern such figures as Ethelred The Unready, Edward
The Confessor, Karl Marx (who, if he shaved, would be a dead ringer
for Benny Hill), England's mad cows, a spider crossing the stage and
Darth Vader. Izzard imagines Vader as the CEO of a large corporation
who, upon visiting the commissary, is harassed by one of his own employees:
"I'll have the Fettucini Alfredo," he says. "You need
a tray," remarks the young man behind the counter." "Don't
you know who I am?" intones the Defender Of The Empire, ratcheting
up the scuba breath a notch. "I am Darth Vader, Dark Lord Of The
Sith." Comes the response: "You still need a tray."