What happened when a middle-class Brit went in search of the ‘Voice of America'

Telegraph

6 hours ago

In this show, the comedian and impressionist Kieran Hodgson – most famous for his masterful online parodies, which range from The Crown to the 2024 general election – blends homely autobiographical stories with global events, trying to unpick the enigma of America. Having previously built shows around the UK's entry to the EU, learning Gaelic and composing his own symphony, he's certainly got the comedy tools at his disposal to be confident, amusing and self-laceratingly funny, despite the size of his task.
Voice of America revolves around an account of trying to create the right American accent for a Hollywood producer – but develops into an attempt to sell the joy and exuberance of America to a wary audience shell-shocked by Trump. When he asks who's tuning out of the news, there's a strong swell of acknowledgement from the crowd.
View this post on Instagram
A post shared by Kieran Hodgson (@kieranchodgson)
Hodgson has always had a strong line in British middle-class self-deprecation. His awkward erudition, he explains, is based on growing up the son of English teachers – when he asks if he can have an ice cream, his father replies that he can, but he may not – and his confidence crumbles when said producer asks him to play 'Sandwich Guy' in the opening scene of superhero box-office flop The Flash.
Hodgson has made his career out of his uncanny skill as an impressionist. He even uses silly voices at moments of intense personal interaction, such as his husband's proposal. It's a reflex, and he's imitated Americans since he was on his primary school playground, intoning 'I did not have sex with that woman.' So his failure to deliver a convincing accent for Sandwich Guy prompts soul searching – and a host of other impressions as he recounts his attempts to find that elusive accent and, by extension, the voice of America itself.
As a kid in the Nineties he loved Independence Day and Home Alone. He came of age in the 2000s confounded by Bushisms – 'Our enemies are innovative and resourceful, and so are we. They never stop thinking about new ways to harm our country and our people, and neither do we' – and found evangelicals banning Harry Potter as irritating as emo bands. But neither decade gave him the voice he was looking for, he tells us.
For a while, he blames America and Trump's voice, which threatens to overwhelm the show. Hodgson keeps trying not to lurch into an impression of the US president, identifying the White House occupant as essentially a stand-up comedian who delivers a rambling stream of consciousness like a Nazi Ross Noble. Then a visit to a British-themed pub in Portland, Oregon that's so nearly right but so very wrong teaches him how easy it is to think you've heard a country but have actually failed to listen properly.
The show concludes in an unexpectedly dark place for the typically upbeat performer. As he demonstrates his Sandwich Guy scene, he morphs uncannily into Trump, berating both crowd and performer like the MC at the end of Cabaret. But whilst Trump may be the voice of today's America, Hodgson insists that the country's brash charm ensures change is always possible.
Kieran Hodgson: Voice of America, Soho Theatre then Pleasance Courtyard, Edinburgh until Aug 24; tickets: