John Kearns: Tilting at Windmills review – a handful of dust (and prawn cocktail crisps) in riff on TS Eliot

The Crescent, YorkThe comedian addresses a relationship breakup via The Waste Land, Aldi and a dimwit estate agent How has it come to this? That’s what new show Tilting at Windmills finds John Kearns asking, and – after a fashion – it’s what TS Eliot asked in The Waste Land, the modernist poem Kearns deploys here as an unlikely motif. After the breakup of a 12-year relationship with the mother of his son, we find the 39-year-old angrier than usual, and unmoored: flat-hunting pessimistically while living back home with mum and dad, roaming the streets of south London having fled a disappointing walking tour based on Eliot’s verse. Sound clips of the poem, read by Alec Guinness, punctuate the show. They infuse it (as Van Gogh’s Starry Night did with its predecessor, The Varnishing Days) equally with awe, at life’s ineffable mysteries, and bathos – at the contrast between high literary culture and the humdrum realities of our host’s life. Here he is shopping in Aldi with his mum; there he is naked and not very wet under a dripping shower. A remark about washing machines by a newspaper columnist induces a bout of class anxiety; an awkward teenage meeting is recalled w

May 19, 2026 → May 19, 2026