Al Murray has become an overnight success in his own happy hour. Archie Downey reviews his recent run as The Pub Landlord.

A quick look at the stand-up comedy rule-book is enough to tell you that this show shouldn't quite work. There are precious few comedians who can pull off a two-hour show. Why? Well, think about it. Stand-up comedy, by its very nature, works best as a short, sharp shock. The whole shebang is artificial: sitting down to watch a likeable chuckle-merchant tell lies for half an hour is fine. But after that reality kicks in and your brain wants out. Besides, watching a man or woman standing on a stage and talking (whatever they might be saying) simply doesn't contain enough entertainment or dynamism to hold your attention for two hours. Your arse starts to numb, your face aches, you begin to think about the delicious sensation of your next piss. Two hours? Can't be done.

But, bizarrely, some comedians can manage it. These freaks of nature generally fall into two categories: those whose material and delivery adds up to a dizzying rollercoaster ride, where time just zooms by (think Eddie Izzard, with his mesmerising stream of What-the fuck?, absurdist banter, or Lee Evans, with his jaw-droppingly energetic physical tour-de-force) or those whose stage persona gives rise to a tangible bonhomie, a feeling of togetherness where the act and the audience are all friends together (think of Frank Skinner's effortless spontaneity and audience manipulation).

Al Murray falls into the second category. From the word go, he's dipping into the punters, chatting to anyone who thinks they're hard enough and drawing the whole theatre into his own blinkered worldview. Two thing are especially notable about Murray — firstly, he's a character comedian (in fact, the name Al Murray doesn't appear on any of the promotional material for this run). His character, the Pub Landlord, is a supremely funny creation that's fleshed out enough to avoid the trap of caricature. Unlike, say, Steve Coogan's stage shows, this gives Murray the scope to develop hours of material that remains consistent with the character and the opportunity to explore real spontaneity without his mask slipping. Paul Calf's 20 minutes of ranting, while expertly executed, are essentially theatre and don't actively engage the audience at all.

The second notable aspect of Murray's character is that he's an utter twat. It takes something special for such a hideous creation to evoke laughter from so many people, but that's testament to the skill of Murray's writing and performance. The Pub Landlord has been likened to Alf Garnett, for the bigoted, Little England outlook they share. But the two are actually very different creatures. Garnett is regarded as 'an alright geezer' by those members of the audience who share his views. In fact, critics of the character suggest that he makes racist bigotry seem like an endearing trait, that the character perpetuates the ridiculous views he holds and acts as a BNP recruitment aid.

The Pub Landlord does the opposite — while his views are deplorable for their patronising sexism and insecure xenophobia, he is always the real butt of the joke. In fact, you come away feeling a little sorry for him — his failures as a father (he has no contact with his son, Carl — short for Carlsberg) and with women ('It's been a year…') are just abject and his small-mindedness is laughable.

But, Jesus, bugger the analysis. This isn't the haunting exposition of a broken man or an exploration of the British nation. It's comedy, for cock's sake. And Murray knows it. He works the audience with blinding skill. You're on his turf and you know it. Mind you, his crowd control is not in the same mould as Skinner, for example. His spontaneity seems to be of a different kind, rapidly drawing on his vast array of material for every purpose, rather than quick joke-creation. But it works — he develops a sneering rapport with Americans, IT experts, salesman, women, people sitting in the box, and he's always, always in charge. Those that do act up are put down with withering ease — 'The difference between you and me, mate, is that I know what I'm going to say next…' — and even his sponsors get a regular ribbing. Some critics argue that Murray's character is a one-trick pony; that knuckle-headed prejudices won't sustain a two-hour show. Watch him in action and be proved wrong.

My advice? Go and see The Pub Landlord either now or sooner. You'd be stupid to miss it.