Review: Eddie Izzard: Live from Wembley DVD


The Show
It’s been a while since an Eddie Izzard DVD release (at least here in the colonies,) and the Sexie tour was some time ago, so we are well overdue for a load of cross-dressing funny. Thankfully we now have Eddie Izzard: Live at Wembley, yet another confident set from one of the most outstanding stand-up performers working today. Working the biggest stage in his homeland, he is the man (with breasts.)

This 89-minute set includes many of the hallmarks of a trademark Izzard performance, like animals, history and a hefty dose of silliness. As he riffs about Greek heroes and the discovery of fire and shares his thoughts on guide dogs and annoying bugs, his command of the stage and charismatic delivery makes it’s incredibly easy to fall under his sway. That he’s undeniably smart and yet willing to come across as completely goofy makes it a slam dunk that you’ll connect with him (if smart comedy is your thing, of course.)

wembley2If smart comedy actually isn’t your thing though, you may want to keep moving, as a joke about the Viking origin of the word kiosk isn’t going to speak to you. The same goes for spelling jokes about rescue vehicles and his theory about the sobriety of the authors of Greek myths. But he throws in enough silly comedy for the unenlightened to find enjoyment. It doesn’t take much context to enjoy a bit about the adventures of superhero Captain Transvestite or the advantages and joys of breasts.

What isn’t so great about this show is the lack of that killer memorable bit that all his previous shows offered up. Anyone who’s experienced his comedy can remember his jokes about the office life of beekeepers, his tale of the blue pants’ espionage mission or the origin of Mr. Dog. But here, outside of an amusing short gag about firemen and their “slidey poles” or his observations on sharks, there isn’t much here I’ll be remembering when staring out the window on a boring day. That’s not to say I even once considered turning it off, because I certainly didn’t. I just think I would reach for Glorious or Definite Article first.

wembley4The DVD
A one-disc release packed in a standard keepcase, this DVD features a static full-frame menu offering a choice to watch the show, select segments and check out the special features. There are no audio options, no subtitles and no closed captioning.

The Quality
The anamorphic widescreen video on this DVD leaves a lot to be desired, as the image is frequently quite soft and lacking in fine detail, while the color burns too bright, especially in Izzard’s blood-red top, which smears in most of the show’s angles. Maybe it’s just the way the performance was lit, but it doesn’t look so hot, though there are no compression issues introduced.

The Dolby Digital 2.0 audio track is better, but still average, putting Izzard’s voice and the audience’s reactions in a clean, balanced mix that keeps everything in the right place, but misses the immersive feel of a full surround track.

The Extras

Aside from a trailer for Believe, the new Izzard documentary, the only extra is a nice one, a 39-minute set titled “Live from Norwich.” Playing a small, simple stage in a very low-key outfit, Izzard seems to be working out material for the Sexie tour, and it’s interesting to see his material in a gestational stage. Though there’s a lot of repetition from the main show, it’s getting to see a pro go through their process that’s the real draw here.

The Bottom Line
There are few comics who perform with more presence than Izzard, and it’s not just because he’s wearing high heels and a dress. His command of language and smooth delivery make even the weakest joke in his set worth listening to, which is a good thing, since this show doesn’t have a stand-out bit on a level with a “cake or death” or “covered with bees.” But, like sex and pizza, there’s no such thing as bad Izzard. Though the video on this disc isn’t so hot, it sounds fine, and offers up an second preparatory show as a bonus, which makes this a great bargain for fans of the man in the make-up.

Written by Momo in: News |

Eddie Izzard: ‘I keep thinking if I do all these things she’ll come back’

eddie izzard[from the Times Online]

The death of Eddie Izzard’s mother when he was aged 5 haunts him. He reveals why it still drives him

We’re four rows from the front of the MEN Arena, Manchester. With 13,000 people sitting behind us, these are pretty much the best seats in the house — yet, still: we can’t see Eddie Izzard’s eyes.

Well, more specifically, there’s no time to look at Eddie Izzard’s eyes while he’s humming and buzzing across the stage, like some super-bright sunshine kid in full-on “delight” mode. You have time only to register his grin — like a predatory Cheshire cat — as the characters fall out of his one-man phantasmagorical ensemble pieces.

Here comes a traumatised squirrel from Brooklyn; a raptor in a pork-pie hat being pulled over for speeding; a Persian soldier very slowly impaling himself on Spartan spears at Thermopylae. Caring sharks. An entire swarm of bees.

You simply presume that Izzard’s eyes are twinkly, warm, Father Christmas-style eyes. You know what I mean. Tom Hanksy. Like the dog you loved the most from your childhood.

So the jolt when you meet him in the flesh is all the more intense.

“Hello,” he says, at the aftershow, appearing at your shoulder — and, up close, the eyes are glittery, hard; like a silver clockwork owl. The thumb-smeared kohl and eyeliner — sigils of glamour and possibly decadence — merely underline how ferociously present he is. He has eyes like guns.

This contrast between ostensible glamour and decadence, and the true purpose beneath, is echoed in the room we’re standing in. Somewhere in the intestines of the MEN, a room has been swagged to look like a harem. But who is here? It’s not the usual line-up of hangers-on, surly local scenesters, dealers and birds. Instead, it’s just Eddie’s cousin-in-law, Johnny Vegas’s manager, and the heavily pregnant Lucy Powell — Labour parliamentary candidate for Manchester Withington.

I’ve been interviewing Eddie Izzard for 16 years now. Not continuously, obviously — that would be weird. No, I just pop in every couple of years and see how he’s getting on; plug his new thing. As an invention — a boy in heels as charming as a robin and as remorseless as gravity — I think Izzard is amazing. I like watching what he does.

Nearly every time I meet him, however, I make a total arse of myself. At a wedding we both went to in 1997, I offered him a cigarette — and then another, with the words “If one is cool, then surely two at the same time would be even cooler. It’s like a . . . circle of coolness.” Ten seconds later — after he’d walked away, looking bemused — I realised that was pretty much word-for-word a routine he was famous for doing at the time. I think I even did it in his voice, a bit. But then, most people who meet Izzard come away reporting that they end up talking to him in his voice — going all “Um” and “Ah” and “Yeah but”. His speech-pattern is insanely catchy. There’s practically a Survivors Support Group of people who have done an impression of Eddie Izzard to Eddie Izzard, then cringed themselves into next Christmas at the memory.

Today, at the Manchester aftershow, I had been amusing myself by showing my sister a trick I learnt off Audrey Horne on Twin Peaks. In a pivotal scene in the drama, she gains employment in a local brothel by displaying how she can tie a cherry-stalk into a knot, using only her mouth. Prompted by my sister’s goading that I couldn’t, yet stymied by the lack of cherry stalks in the room, at the point where Eddie finally comes over to say “Hello”, I have just tied a strip of frisée lettuce into a knot in my mouth, and triumphantly spat it out into my palm. It is covered in saliva.

“Hello,” Eddie says, all pewter-pupils.

I explain to him what I have done.

“And is that . . . useful?” Izzard asks, looking bemused. I am so mortified I make my excuses and drag my sister away from the aftershow.Leaving the aftershow, for a taxi, we go through the arena’s loading-bay. There — lined up like the start of a dinosaur Derby — are six, huge, articulated lorries. Each has the official “Stripped” tour shot of Eddie on the side: Izzard in a dinner-suit, torn open to the waist. His eyes are smudged with glitter and he’s sexily kissing his fingers. As a convoy, the trucks must look pretty spectacular whenever they hit the M6. This immense, “sexy truck”, European and US tour will eventually play to 380,000 people — including 20,000 at Madison Square Gardens alone. He really has not wasted the past 16 years at all.

It’s become beyond a cliché to refer to comedy as a “serious business”. Clearly, the business here is huge — even at an Izzard-stipulated non-screw-over £35-maximum a ticket, Eddie isn’t heading back to Covent Garden — where he spent the 1980s performing on a unicycle, for pocket-change — any time soon.

But the seriousness is the interesting thing. In a year in which he’s conducted a massive technologically innovative sell-out arena-tour, marketed as the thinking-woman’s pin-up, Izzard also ran 43 marathons in 51 days, and then — on the last day of running, at a reception in Downing Street — announced that he suspects his eventual future is in politics. He will stand — presumably for Labour, to whom he is a major donor — in either two or three elections’ time. When, the next day over breakfast, he talks admiringly about Barack Obama’s technique with large crowds — “He does this . . . big intimacy” — it’s not only as a showman admiring the chops. It’s as a future statesman studying the form. His ambition is inexorable and amazing.

“I’ll have to kill my career for it. But sometimes, you just have to . . . stand up and be counted,” he says, shrugging in an excitingly determined manner. “Because if you don’t do it — who will?”

In the documentary Believe: The Eddie Izzard Story — which has just done the international film festival circuit, and gets a limited theatre release here from December 11 onwards — there is a key “Oh! now everything makes sense!” moment.

Over the past 15 years, Izzard has scarcely been reticent about discussing what a big impact the death of his mother, when he was 5, had on him. Aside from mentioning her onstage and in interview, he named his production company Ella after her. We know about the young Eddie Izzard losing his mother in the same way that we know about Madonna losing hers.

In the documentary, however, the director Sarah Townsend — Izzard’s ex-girlfriend — keeps pushing Izzard on why he seems so driven: taking 15 years of rejection before becoming a successful stand-up; then learning French so he could gig in French; then relocating to America to pursue a film career. In response to her questioning, Izzard finally says, in an uncharacteristically desperate burst: “I keep thinking that if I do all these things, and keep going and going, then . . . she’ll come back.”

And then he starts crying.

Today Izzard recalls the shooting of that scene. “I didn’t know I was going to say that, because . . . I didn’t know I thought it. That’s why it’s weird. That’s why I start crying.”

Breakfast is black coffee, Special K and toast. Izzard is in a rather beautiful blue borderline-Mod suit, and wearing glasses, which he’s needed since the beginning of the year. “Shall I show you a picture of my mum?” he asks. He gets his iPhone out and starts scrolling through the pictures. When he finds the shot, he holds up the phone: it shows a blithe woman with a chatty, wonky-looking mouth and soft dark curls in a cotton-print dress.

“She’s pregnant with me, there,” Izzard says. There’s a pause. We look at the picture. He continues, with immense gentleness: “She was a singer. She sang with amateur opera groups. There aren’t many pictures of her. I’m trying to find them all. Last year, a Swedish family contacted us with footage of the entire family just sitting there, having a holiday. That was . . . amazing.” Izzard scrolls through the few pictures he has — his mother and his brother in Yemen, sitting in the garden of their house. His mother on stage, dressed as a ballerina in tiny, tiny shoes. “I have small feet, too, like her,” Izzard says. “Six and a half.”

He looks at the photograph again. It’s an odd sensation — looking at a photograph of someone’s mother, with someone who knows not a huge amount more about her than you do.

“Most of the memories I have are from the cine-film and photos,” Izzard says, still looking at the picture. You see that the awful thing about losing a parent at such a young age is not that the memories unsettle you, but that there are no memories at all.

In Believe there’s a moment when Izzard finds a letter his mother wrote, where she refers to him as “Edward”. Until that point, he hadn’t even known what she called him. It reminds me of something that occurred to me the night before, as I watched Izzard onstage: that his material and demeanour — slightly woozy retellings of history, science and Nature — is that of a bright primary-school child coming home, and telling his mother a phantasmogorical version of what he learnt that day; just to delight her.

Izzard is scrolling through the rest of his pictures. “This is me in my football team!” he says, “when I was 12. I’ve just started playing again — because you should reclaim all the things you enjoyed from your childhood. I really believe that. I’m training to be a striker, because — I’m a striker in everything else I do. I like to attack things and push, push, push. Because anyone can do anything, can’t they? World War Two showed us that. Bankers were made into commandos. Women were taken from Cheltenham Ladies’ College and put on anti-aircraft batteries. Everyone can do way more than they think.”

Izzard loves the Second World War. As things stand, he is still the only person to play two speeches by Churchill on prime-time Radio One.

A fan comes over to get her breakfast menu signed — she is shaking with nerves. Izzard gives her his big T-Rex beam and scrawls away.

Breakfast finished, we wander round the back of the hotel, to Izzard’s tour bus — “And there it is!” Izzard says, triumphantly, pointing at a skip. Next to the skip is a massive, sky-blue tour bus. Inside, Izzard cruises through the lounge area, past a healthy dish of roast seeds and then stiffens when he sees a plateful of Milky Ways and Love Hearts next to them.

“Where did they come from?” he asks, almost peevishly, pointing.

“Someone left them here,” Sarah, his tour manager, says vaguely.

Izzard sighs, as if burdened.

“Is it a problem?” I ask.

“Weeeell,” he says, already looking pre-defeated by them. “If I could, I would just sit down and spend the rest of my life with a straw stuck in a 15kg bag of sugar, sucking. They just . . . mmmm.”

“Is that why you ran 43 marathons?” I ask. “So you’d have an excuse to kick back and stuff your face with Haribo every evening?”

“I ran 43 marathons,” Izzard says, pertly, “so I’d have an excuse to live to 183. I’m thinking of my peak fitness age as being 90. Do you want to try one of my gels?”

We go through to his bedroom, at the back of the van, and sit on the bed. It’s unbelievably tidy. Not a single item has been left out. It looks like either borderline compulsive behaviour, or that he just removed everything before the journalist turned up, to prevent prying. Personally, I favour the compulsiveness theory — when he sees that I’m holding a small piece of rubbish, he holds his hand out for it, silently, to put it in the bin. He also seems mildly distressed about shoes on the bed.

Izzard brings a bag of energy-gels out of a cupboard and we sit there sucking them. They taste like orange spaff. I gag on mine. Izzard knocks his back in one, like a tequila-shot. Izzard survived on these during his still-unlikely sounding 43 marathons in 51 days, for Sports Relief. As a country, I think we’re still in denial that these marathons ever happened. David Walliams swam the Channel — once — and we didn’t hear the end of it. Izzard, on the other hand, spent the whole summer holidays running a 26-mile marathon pretty much every day and everyone kind of went, “Er, yeah, um . . .” and changed the subject.

“It was a bit surreal,” Izzard admits. “I think it was like saying I’d eaten a car. ‘I’ve just eaten a car. I’ve eaten a whole car.’ People just wouldn’t believe me.”

Izzard would pass the time imagining the history in the places he was running through — at the Battle of Nazeby, he tried to work out just who was fighting on behalf of the Royalists, “since the Parliamentarians were, like, the people”. He would get sudden, unexpected company on sections of the run — one woman who appeared at his side had driven all the way from Slovakia, just to lope along next to him.

“I feel like I own the road now,” he says, “in the same way I feel like I own the stage. In that visceral sense. I can turn it up, turn it down. I get it.”

Two days after the last marathon, Izzard was booked to appear on Tonight with Jonathan Ross. He ran all the way from Piccadilly to the BBC studios. “It was nothing.”

For all his talk of “killing his career” for politics, he’s still got at least a decade of comedy left in him yet: not least his recent idea for a comedy festival — a big one, like Glastonbury, or Glyndebourne.

“Rain and comedy don’t work, so we’d have to work out how to cover it. And we’ve got to nail the sound — if you miss a word in comedy, that could be a whole build-up screwed. Maybe headphones or a drive-in thing, where you could sit in your car. But then we can’t hear the laughter and we need the laughter. Perhaps people could flash their headlights, for a small chuckle . . .” he muses. “Or we could mike the car park and people could wind down their windows and laugh in a designated direction . . .”

But he’s still restless — a restlessness that it’s borderline disconcerting to be around, when you consider the weekends off, and non-marathons, and quiet compromises of your own life.

“The thing about the realisation in Believe,” I say, “is that if you really are, ultimately, doing all this to bring your mother back, there is, obviously, no end to it all. It is infinite. There is no . . . satisfaction.”

“I don’t want to be satisfied. I don’t want to get there,” Izzard says, reasonably. “Do you know what I mean? You’ve got to be four steps ahead — because if you’re just one step ahead, that’s very close to standing still. Or even going backwards. You stop for a week and . . .” he splays his hands.

And he goes to put his trainers on, and run the seven miles to that night’s gig, where 13,000 people have paid to watch him think.

Written by Momo in: Interview |

Eddie Izzard joins finale of Glasgow North East by-election campaign

[from the Telegraph]

David Kerr, the Scottish National Party candidate and the closest challenger to Labour’s Willie Bain, has admitted he is behind but claimed the gap is closing.

But the main threat to a Labour victory is its traditional, elderly support in the seat failing to turn out, with wintry weather forecast for Thursday.

To counter voter apathy, Gordon Brown has also written to 4,000 households in the constituency, which has been held by Labour for 74 years, urging them to support Mr Bain.

Meanwhile, the Tories, Liberal Democrats and the British National Party are locked in a battle for third place, along with John Smeaton, who helped foil the Glasgow Airport terror attack in 2007.

The contest was triggered by the resignation of Michael Martin, the former Speaker and now Lord Martin of Springburn, who had been the local MP since 1979.

Despite the furore over the expenses scandal that prompted him to stand down, loyalty to him and Labour runs deep in large pockets of the seat, one of the most impoverished in the country.

He won a majority of more than 10,000 in the 2005 general election, but only the SNP of the mainstream political parties stood against him.

Mr Izzard, who was performing in the city as part of a nationwide stand-up tour, joined Labour’s get-out-the-vote effort in a surprise visit to Mr Bain’s campaign headquarters.

“He tells me the last days of a campaign are always the most important so I wanted to lend my support,” said the comedian and actor.

“His campaign team have been busy stuffing envelopes and doing all the other things for polling day. I know by-elections are always close but I wish Willie all the luck in the world.”

Mr Bain said: “It’s a great boost for morale and a great way to go into the last 24 hours. This election is going to be close and I will be fighting for every vote to ensure we have a local voice that stands up for our area.”

Senior Labour sources said they fear turnout could be as low as 25 per cent, less than the previous Scottish low of 38 per cent in the Glasgow Anniesland by-election in 2000.

To motivate the party’s traditional support to vote, Mr Brown sent a typed letter to households, a tactic he used in Labour’s successful Glenrothes by-election campaign last year.

“I pledge to you that I will do all it takes to save jobs, rebuild our economy, and make sure Glasgow is not left out of the recovery,” he wrote.

“All politicians have to make choices and choose priorities. Our priority is to help people back to work and get our country back on track.”

He paid tribute to Mr Bain and attacked the decision of the SNP administration in Edinburgh to cancel a £170 million rail link between Glasgow’s city centre and airport.

Alex Salmond, the SNP leader and First Minister, was also due to join the final day of campaigning, along with Jim Murphy, the Scottish Secretary, and Douglas Alexander, the International Development Secretary.

Written by Momo in: Politics & Causes |

Eddie Izzard Reveals All!


The comic shares all in his documentary Believe and talks about doing standup in venues the size of Madison Square Garden.


(thanks Beth!)

Written by Momo in: video |

Review: Eddie Izzard live


SOME comics crack great jokes, but few create a style which becomes so imitated that it becomes mainstream. But such has been the success of Eddie Izzard’s rambling, whimsical monologues, that he has effortlessly conquered America having first spent years charming the pants of audiences in the UK.

So it is no surprise to see the size of the audience which packs an arena more usually used by rock bands, or the warmth of his reception.

Standing alone on a stage, with shirt, jeans and what appears like a ringmaster’s jacket favoured over something more usually found in a woman’s wardrobe, his patter is predictably relaxed and familiar. Themes recur, as he takes us through a journey through time. Dismissing an omnipotent god – or more particularly slavish followers of a bible written by man – he begins when dinosaurs ruled the earth, painting a typically Izzardesque scenario of a church service with a tyrannosaurs rex pastor reading the sermon. His historical timeline rushes us through ancient Greece and Egypt, with a rattle through the complexity of Latin (another familiar theme), before considering the Bayeux Tapestry and making a convincing argument that weavers were clearly the photo journalists of their time.

The internet is acclaimed and dismissed, and Hannibal and the elephants once again finds a place in his routine, before the ten commandments are considered – coveting a neighbour’s ox attracting particularly nonplussed speculation.

Other characteristically random images include feral cows, good sharks responsibly caring for a lost child, and farmyard animals forming a cool jazz band.

He still has the touch for lines which you suspect will follow lines such as ‘Cake or Death’ into popular parlance – his confident delivery is such that for a few minutes” badgers can’t be choosers” seems an entirely plausible consideration.

Cardiff clearly holds him in reverence, and he departs with a (very brief) nod to his time spent growing up in Skewen. Still reeling from his idiosyncratic flights of fancy, for a fleeting moment we enjoy the notion that this still very special talent is as one of ours.

Written by Momo in: Tour Reviews |

Eddie Izzard to open Bexhill Museum

[from the Argus]

Top comedian Eddie Izzard returns to the town of his childhood to re-open a museum.

He will cut the ribbon at Bexhill Museum on Thursday, November 26 after a ten year fight to transform the 95-year-old building.

The £2million-plus project has been made possible by a £900,000 grant from the Heritage Lottery Fund, £700,000 from Rother District Council and £250,000 from the Society of Bexhill Museums plus other donations.

Since its “soft” opening in July the museum has been attracting record attendances.

Eddie is patron of the museum.

Written by Momo in: News |

Eddie Izzard at St. Louis’ Fox Theatre **UPDATED**

Comedian Eddie Izzard will perform at 8 p.m. Jan. 9, 2010 at the Fox Theatre. The show is part of his “Big Intimacy” tour.

Tickets are $38-$73, on sale at 10 a.m. Nov. 16 at MetroTix outlets,, 314-534-1111, and at the box office.

Presale tix on sale NOW…password: BEES

(thanks Beth!)

Written by Momo in: Tour |

Eddie Izzard: ‘I beg America to believe I’m a transvestite’

[from Wales]

Eddie Izzard is giving Hollywood stardom a rest while he returns to touring his stand-up. He talks to Gavin Allen about strategic transvestitism and the potential of arena comedy.

EDDIE Izzard has been in ‘boy mode’ so long that America can hardly believe he’s a transvestite.

While cultivating his film and TV career in Los Angeles he made the decision to tone down his wardrobe, and the strategy has served him well.

He landed the lead role in HBO series The Riches, as well as film roles alongside the likes of Tom Cruise in Valkyrie.

“I believed that if I had turned up for the auditions for The Riches or Valkyrie in make- up and a dress, I would not get the roles,” he says.

But as a result, the flip side of this approach is that the Eddie Izzard America knows is perhaps a less colourful character than the one we cherish here, although he certainly isn’t hiding himself.

“I tell everyone I’m a transvestite over and over again,” he says, baffled by the flipped logic of the situation.

“I insist and I beg people to believe it on TV (interviews) and I never thought that I would be on TV begging people to believe I’m a transvestite.

“But I am being strategic about this. I’ve been in boy mode for the last few years, but I know I can be in girl mode if I want to.

“If I wanted to, I could throw on a dress right now and if I went out in the street and people insulted me, then I would insult them back.

“ I would know what to do. It’s all still there. It’s in my toolbox. I am a card-carrying transvestite. Always have been, always will be.

“The thing is, if you are a straight transvestite like me, you have all this boy stuff going on – mainly boy stuff in fact – as well as the girly stuff.

I like football.

“I was going to join the Army when I was younger.

“And I just ran 43 marathons, which is not a terribly girlie thing to do.”

Oh yes, the marathons.

His marathon of marathons in fact. Izzard recently completed 43 marathons in 51 days for Sport Relief on a route which took him back to parts of Wales where he grew up; Neath, Porthcawl and Swansea.

How long did it take him to recover from the feat?

“It wasn’t as bad as I thought it might be,” he says. I didn’t really run for about eight days. But that was it. I was fine.”

Tonight he finds himself back in Wales for the first of three dates at Cardiff International Arena with his Stripped tour.

We now have a steady production line of arena comedy shows, but it was Izzard who started the trend, and while some rail that comedy gets lost in such cavernous rooms, he argues performers simply aren’t doing it right yet.

“Six years ago, I did the first arena tour of the UK and that was a little scary because I didn’t know what I would be dealing with,” he says.

“People will say it’s not intimate, but I’m doing smaller shows too on this tour and if people don’t want to watch it there, then don’t watch it there.

“But I definitely think it’s a good thing. It makes it more of an event. And why should rock and roll get all the arena shows?

“The only way to get good at arena gigs is to do loads of them.

“If you think of the first ever arena gig, when The Beatles did Shea Stadium in 1965, it was a crap gig. Great band, great event but a crap gig because you couldn’t hear anything.

But look at what U2 are doing in stadiums now.

“People have had to learn how to play stadium gigs in music.

“And comedy has to go through the same thing, we just have to work out how to play arenas.

“No-one bats an eyelid when bands play arenas and if it’s a good thing for bands it’s a good thing for comedy.”

Eddie Izzard is at the CIA tonight and on November 19 and 20. Tickets cost £30 from 029 2022 4488.

Written by Momo in: Interview |

Eddie Izzard goes shopping at the Beatles Story

[from Liverpool Echo]

COMEDIAN Eddie Izzard is quite an enigma off stage, but now along with the whole dressing up in women’s clothes thing there’s another fact Insider knows about him … he’s a massive Beatles fan.

The surreal funnyman made the most of a sold-out weekend arena gig in Liverpool to visit the Beatles Story at the Albert Dock with a female partner and three friends.

And according to our sources he was so fascinated by the Fab Four tourist attraction that he spent best part of three hours in there before spending a hefty £205 in the gift shop.

Our spy adds that Eddie was charming to everyone he met, especially two of the staff who admitted they were fans.

“One, a student, told him she hadn’t been able to get tickets for the Sunday night show so he gave her a pair.”

Written by Momo in: News |

Eddie jogs to Aberdeen before gig!

[from the Evening Press]

MARATHON-RUNNING comic Eddie Izzard has jogged from Stonehaven to Aberdeen – before performing a gig.

The popular comedian hit went for a refreshing 20-mile run before he strode out on to the stage in Aberdeen.

And the Evening Express followed his progress, speaking to him as he raced through the countryside.

Eddie – who recently completed 43 marathons in 51 days to raise money for Sport Relief – set off from Stonehaven and headed along the A90, alongside the dual carriageway into Aberdeen through the harbour area and to the beach.

Written by Momo in: video |


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