If comedy were about energy alone, Lee Evans would be the greatest act of his generation. Stalking his massive empty stage, he acts out observations on everyday life with the frantic fluidity of a speeded-up film. But while his physical commitment to his material is a sight to behold, the material itself is often crushingly ordinary or deadeningly disingenuous. Evans portrays himself as an exasperated, elasticated everyman. Around him are idiots taking pictures on their mobiles, silly rules, fools manning tills, a wife who always knows best, modern life conspiring against his best intentions.

This combination of common man and supercharged turn has made him a live phenomenon - and the sold-out crowd of 18,000 respond with waves of laughter. But it's a curious blend. Much of the time he's talking in the second person - the constant references to “your wife” make him sound like the MC in an Edwardian comedy club. Even when his material nudges into the acute, it's tinged with the cloying, pre-alternative flavour of “we all feel like this” rather than the riskier, more satisfying, “This is how I feel about this.”

Evans, with his observations about five- blade razors, Ronald McDonald, women's love of shopping, gives us tightly honed material we can all understand. He acts out every idea with utter urgency. But he's a hugely successful, fiercely bright man, so why pretend to be Joe Ordinary for three hours? The overall effect is paranoid: the world outwits him, his wife outwits him, what can he do? And having mocked his wife's ways in a screechy voice for most of the second half, he then tells us how very much he loves her. As if it had all just been a dream.

Still, tone is king, and your reaction to Evans probably depends on whether you find his capering irresistibly vivid or oppressively explicit. For me, the lack of light and shade in his delivery makes this like having a comedy anglepoise shone in your face for three hours; like having a very funny man standing too close to you in a lift. He's an exceptional talent. But it's time for him to tell us how he really feels, not how “we” feel.

Next show tonight, Brighton Centre (0844 8471515). www.offthekerb.co.uk

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