Happyslapped by a jellyfish : The words of Karl Pilkington

Not sure if he’s a genius, but boy is he funny!, 7 Dec 2007

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Dr. George L. Sik (Epsom, Surrey) –

  

  

There are some comedians who are just not funny off stage. They hate people spotting them when out and about because they know they’ll never live up to expectations. They can ‘do’ funny but they AREN’T funny – not in real life. Then there are those who can make anything funny, even the lamest joke – Tommy Cooper was one of the best examples. Karl Pilkington is another: he simply IS funny…and he’s not even a comedian.

Ricky Gervais, a very shrewd man, spotted this from the off. He’s probably even a little envious: while Ricky meticulously plans every aspect of his comedy, Karl just opens his mouth and funny things come out!

No, this book isn’t ‘well-written’ – the grammar is all over the place and it’s full of throwaway slang…but that’s not a criticism, it’s a strength! Ghost-writers of footballers’ autobiographies spend ages deciding how much to change the ramblings that have come from the mouths of their often less-than-articulate subjects. The trick is to make it seem authentic yet understandable. However this evolved from Karl’s brain to his mouth to the page has been just right: as several of the other reviewers point out, it feels just like he’s talking.

So it’s ‘what I did on my holidays’ by a rather odd, yet very likeable and very funny man – and, you have to acknowledge, pretty gifted illustrator. It’ll have you in stitches.

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Keeping it Unreal, 26 Oct 2007

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Mr. K. Unitt (Leamington, UK) –

  

I was worried, worried that for all the fame Karl Pilkington has enjoyed this past year or so, he’d have gained some actual – genuine – knowledge, and by default this book would have become less enjoyable, clouded by information and ‘facts’ that actual rang true.

I needn’t have worried. Karl remains as impervious to knowledge as a moth does to the damaging effects of hot light bulbs. He seeks knowledge, but when it happens upon him something gets twisted in the transmitter and it comes out of his mouth adapted, totally different to the true meaning.

Not that his wonderful theories don’t have some basis, that they somehow make sense despite the absurdity of the claim. How about his assertion that we’re all told to eat five portions of fruit a day only because there’s so much ‘rubbish fruit’ they’re trying to get rid? They’re even palming it off in shower gels such as ‘hint of kiwi’, says Karl by amusing way of ‘proof’.

Where as Karl’s previous book ‘The World of Karl Pilkington’ suffered somewhat because you couldn’t hear his perfect dead-pan delivery, this book revels in the fact that it is one long ramble, about his holidaying life and what his girlfriend’s parents have for tea each night.

You learn next to nothing about the places he visits, but then surely that was to be expected. He devotes a chapter to his Madeira holiday and I don’t think he mentions what it was like once.

All in all this is a good read with lots of chuckle-out-loud moments. Karl is here to stay it seems, and still wonderfully unaware of what all the fuss is about.

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