Her appearance on Dancing With The Stars with Bristol Palin (daughter of Sarah) presented her with an open political goal, so to speak.
A gay and political activist, Cho’s potty mouth goes way beyond toilet humour: her examination of genitalia going to places even a gynaecologist cannot reach.
She does not need a bucket to carry a tune, as more than illustrated by the two closing songs from her recent Grammy-nominated album, also called Cho Dependent.
Hearing her voice emanating from that soft, round face is similar to the effect of hearing that booming West End weapon booming from Susan Boyle.
The 42-year-old’s most potent weapon is facial expression, going from the sweet innocent oriental to Korean bogie woman in the scrunch of a nose.
As a well-practiced bisexual, she is fearless in confronting and affronting the associated taboos.
Margaret loves to strike a provocative pose, tongue extended to lizard length, offensive level cranked up to 11.
All this talking and singing comes at a price of course, and she insists that an American Idol vocal coach had a radical approach to replenish her vocal chords. It involves extra virgin olive oil, and makes her flatulent.
The result is an amusing physical routine, which needs no further explanation. Good, but should be going on great.
Sam Simmons should get the comedy award this year just to see what he would make with it.
A Viking longship perhaps? A midgie controlling device? Sam has the comic invention to make even the blandest of objects utterly dazzling.
Two years ago his surreal slapstick was a breath of fresh air blowing through a forest of stand-up microphone stands.
This new show is so rich in the writing and cartoon imagery, and inventive in the deployment of inanimate objects, it brings the mysteries of an Old El Paso taco kit to life.
Who ever knew there was so much in it?
Bonus tonight was the front-row stooge who may or may not have been a plant.
Either way it doesn’t really matter, as Tiny Tim lookalikes are hard to find, particularly ones who are happy to explore the qualities of mild cheese and broccoli pasta sauce with enough intensity to make a method actor blush.
In some shows the non sequiturs can baffle and bemuse, and while it remains a mystery why so much dry ice was expended in the opening sequence – how intriguing!
Equally mysterious is Simmons decision to perform the entire show clad solely in sweaty T-shirt and boxers but it works sartorially and satirically.
Lee Camp takes the stage to Green Day’s American Idiot but in truth he is a one-man Rage Against The Machine.
The anomalies in American society bemuse and befuddle his grasp of logic, leaving him barely able to contain his anger at his country’s inability to process the most basic and vital information.
Punctuated by four short films illustrating that point, Lee specialises in comfortable confrontation.
Like John Stewart’s Daily News with sharper teeth, he is smart enough to know that if you feed folk enough rope the inevitable will happen: they will make complete and utter fools of themselves.
Never is this more true than with his Fat Exchange Programme to help eradicate the US obesity problem. Like all the best satire, it has the air of plausibility and the punch of stupidity.
The 31-year-old is exactly what the US needs as the Tea Party’s reborn reactionary gospel is preached far and wide.
His writing is commendable, but occasionally he seems to get too excited about delivering the material and stutters when he should be slamming it home. He is a comedian of his time, talking with passion of “bloggorhea” mixing up the modern messages.
A vital late-night diversion for anyone who wishes comedy would grow a pair in the face of its descent into the bowels of light entertainment.
I left with a broad grin at the image of Keanu Reeves acting in Schindler’s List.
Margaret Cho until August 29, Sam Simmons and Lee Camp until August 28.
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