Eddie Murphy made history sixteen years ago at Constitution Hall, but the iconic sell-out show is less impressive in redux
Sunset Boulevard liason with tranny prostitute "Shalimar" notwithstanding, Eddie Murphy circa 1981 is, in his own words, in his "sexual prime". His show serves up some of the worst black American comedy staples: hoes, bitches, fat aunties and faggot jibes aplenty. And he full of unshakeable wisdom like "AIDS kills muthafuckas".
Yet he goes where no other black stand-ups had gone before: Stevie Wonder cracks may now be well-worn territory, but Murphy was the first to get there, and he was certainly the first to make Mr T a friend of Dorothy. Attired in fetching orange leather, chunky gold medallion glistening over his oily, hairless chest, Murphy himself is so unmistakably camp it's difficult to work out whether he is a deliberate self-parody. At the end, he notes how segregation laws barred a black woman from singing in the Washington DC venue, Constitution Hall, 50 years ago. Now, he says, a 23-year-old black man is getting paid to "stand there and hold his dick".
But however subversively intended, the jokes do start to wear thin. Barely five minutes go by without a reminder of his 'manly' ass (full, because he is black, lest we forget).
There are some classic moments - including an unforgettable ice cream man
routine - but if you are going to watch it, bargain basement VHS is
your best option. While the show itself is at least lively, the DVD extras
- a couple of short deleted moments and a tedious, sycophantic interview
with fellow stand-up Gus Lounderman - are like watching an awkward funeral.
There is a lot of inane, uncomfortable laughter, and the manicured Murphy
does little more than lord his success over Lounderman and get sensitive
about his hair. However original Murphy might have been in the early '80s,
he has certainly been cashing in on it ever since.

Mary Fitzgerald