Fame - Ricky Gervais at Hammersmith Apollo

The eternal artistic conflict between popularity and credibility is one that has fascinated and frightened Ricky Gervais ever since it became clear that The Office was no longer a slow-burning cult hit but an all-pervading comedic monstrosity. Indeed, the entire premise of Extras was to put on public display the battle that every struggling writer or performer must endure in order to present their work in its original, undiluted form, as well as Gervais’ condemnation of those who succumb to the imposed populist edits and re-writes that he, presumably, managed to avoid. Our assumed knowledge that he is well aware of the dangers of flirting with mediocrity in the hope of a quick fumble with mass acclaim is why he continues to get away with constant references to the countless awards won and the millions of DVDs sold. We know that he knows that that isn’t the point. Or we did.

The problem that Gervais faces now, as he performs his new stand up show, Fame, to packed and unfailingly ecstatic audiences, is that he no longer has to worry about compromising anything for the sake of success. He has reached a level similar to that of a Rolling Stones-U2-Oasis-style one man band hyper-industry, in that whatever he writes, performs or releases will sell in vast quantities, regardless of its quality. While his bank balance and mantelpiece probably aren’t complaining, for someone so preoccupied with the inevitable friction between credible creativity and popular success the fact that his brand of ‘undiluted’ and ‘close to the edge’ observational humour has now become the very definition of ‘popular success’ must cause difficulties. Once ‘the edge’ has become the centre ground, its appeal – the danger of falling off – vanishes.

And so it proves with Fame. The brilliance of The Office lay in its acute observation and portrayal of the everyday awkwardness surrounding sexual, racial and disability issues, accompanied with the wince-inducing self-recognition of behaviour and attitudes we’d rather leave untouched and ignored, not brought out into the light and scrupulously analysed on national television. The jokes covering similar ground in Fame have no such ambition. They just feel tired and predictable, as if Gervais has thought that since joking about cancer and homosexuality is ‘his thing’, he’d better stick a few in the set to avoid disappointing an audience who know precisely what is coming but don’t care. It is the equivalent of the Stones creaking their way through ‘Jumpin’ Jack Flash’ for the billionth time – the original point and thrill of it all has long gone, replaced by mere simulation, but as long the money keeps pouring in and the crowd get to relive their youth for a few hours, what does it matter?

Well, it doesn’t, as long as all parties are aware of the nature of the deal. But Gervais has based much of his success, and indeed this show itself, on his insistence that he is not the same as the archetypal ‘celebrity’, those who abandon all self-respect and artistic authenticity in favour of whoring themselves out to whoever and whatever waves the most cash. It’s sad, but after sitting through a ten-minute advert reel for ‘forthcoming Ricky Gervais productions’ and listening to utterly pointless anecdotes about Chris Tarrent and Sharon Osbourne, you can’t help but doubt him. Once that ‘I’m an arrogant bastard - not really!’ persona starts to crumble, and is replaced by nothing more than ‘buy my DVD, I’ll tell the cancer joke!’, it’s almost impossible to take any of his protestations to the contrary seriously.

There are still funny moments, especially when he moves away from his experiences of fame to more mundane observations of public service adverts or life in a bedsit. But even here ‘the edge’ is missing – how many people have told a joke about the mob attacking the paediatrician, thinking he was a paedophile, or global warming providing more opportunities for barbecues? This is old stuff, and is perhaps a result of Gervais’ lack of experience on the stand-up comedy toilet circuit, but it’s still pretty inexcusable for a comedian charging £35 a ticket.

It’s taken a few years, but there can be no doubt that jury is now officially out on Ricky Gervais. The Office, and to a certain extent Animals and Politics, are still untouchable and weigh heavily in his favour – The Office, in particular, being as near perfect as a sit-com can be. But the evidence for the prosecution is starting to mount up: Extras (sub-Curb Your Enthusiasm and nowhere near as clever as Gervais seems to think it is), the consistently unfunny appearances on Jonathon Ross, the piss-poor podcasts, doing ‘the dance’ at every given opportunity - and now Fame. If there ever was a time to be afraid of losing the battle for credibility, Ricky, it’s now.