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At one point in his show, Frank Skinner says he doesn’t want to be one of those comics who feel the world has moved on, forcing him to rail against the changing nature of comedy. He delivers this in the middle of a beautifully constructed, gag-laden set from a 67 year-old stand up who made his name as a laddish jester and yet seamlessly adapts his mischief so that it pulses with contemporary humour. There are takes on oral sex, long-term relationships, football, smut and on the experience of getting his MBE and how he “used to be fucking massive”. But there is no clinging to his right to offend, no Ricky Gervais self-pity, no railing against new ideas. Instead, Skinner is confidently – as ever – one of the funniest stand-ups you’ll ever see, whatever your beliefs and whenever you choose to see him.
Technically a wrestling movie, actually a melancholy family drama, Zac Effron’s pumped torso somehow makes him look uncomfortable in his own skin as he struggles to fit into a doomed wrestling dynasty where the idea of a curse may simply be the mental ruin caused by a demented father’s ambitions for his brood.