It's Always Right Now, Until It's Later | Theatre review | Culture | The Guardian

Technically speaking, this is a review of Daniel Kitson’s show from the Edinburgh Fringe Festival from Summer 2010. I saw the same show last Friday, staged at the National Theatre, but couldn’t find any recent coverage so this will have to do:

“This is not a love story,” insists Kitson at the outset. Yet in its ripe, swelling humanity and its compassionate eye for all that is both good and sad in human existence, it very much is. It is a love letter to the human race, and all of us who lead ordinary, quiet lives and yet still leave our mark on the world, whether it is in a simple exchange at a bus stop or a tree planted that grows to maturity long after we are forgotten.

Over the past ten years, I’ve been fortunate to see Daniel Kitson perform about four times. It’s not been a deliberate following on my part; the opportunity to see him comes up and every now and then and I usually say yes. Last year I saw him on stage by accident, supporting Belle & Sebastian in Bournemouth, and didn’t realise who it was until much later.

The benefit of this is that, one of the few times in my life, I think I’ve witnessed firsthand the evolution of an artist. He started out doing stand-up (and won a Perrier Award for his efforts), did loads of experimental stuff in the middle, and now he’s fully transitioned into storytelling.

I’ve also watched him grow older, and fatter, and hairier. And of course, I’ve grown older too. There’s nothing profound to add to this, other than that creative progression, just like ageing, is a fine thing.