Carey Marx, Hero of the People

Despite only just making it to 50 after suffering a heart attack a few years ago, Carey Marx continues to age more rascally than most. He suffers the pains of pedantry at lazy pronunciation, kids playing their music in the quiet carriage or middle-aged women with a seeming incapacity to realise that cleaning your ears in public is not acceptable social etiquette. But he remains an incorrigible rogue, enlivening a flight that he happily assumes has become the set of a hardcore porn film; and celebrating hitting his half century with a well-planned, cosily debauched evening for one.

An archetypal Generation X'er, in that he's never felt part of a tribe, Marx has never embraced his Jewishness. He was, however, willing to exploit anti-Semitism and an attractive woman's daddy issues if it meant he could sleep with her. Reflecting wryly on his growing frustration with modern life, he maintains that he's not getting grumpier, just better acquainted with how shit it really is.

As he points out, 50 feels like a landmark you should acknowledge, ideally—if you're a standup—with scabrous wit and the benefits of your acquired wisdom. There's nothing too revelatory here though, in what's essentially a series of strung together club routines. And despite his protestations to the contrary, Marx can't entirely resist indulging in some grumpy old man shtick. Regardless, he's a droll storyteller who's not quite ready to quit getting into entertaining scrapes and misadventures yet.