It’s bizarre how often the term ‘hit-and-miss’ gets flung about in reviews of the Footlights Smokers, as if it’s some kind of criticism. If anything, the hit-and-miss nature of the Smokers is their greatest strength, as it shows the Footlights’ interest in appealing to every comic taste, from the broadest to the most esoteric. Last night’s show alone contained stand-up, sketches, mime, monologues delivered to impassive weirdos and a song by Fernando Torres. Not everyone laughs at the same things, and the very fact that some of the pieces left me stony-faced seems to be a testament to the night’s resounding success.

This Smoker was a very special one, not least because it ran for nearly double its usual time. It marked the swansong of the current committee, and their handover to the new team. Some of the best and funniest moments were in witnessing these familiar faces say goodbye. Ben Pope showed his talent at creating a comic universe in just a few words, one populated by fornicating songbirds, angry gods and the idea that a falcon can be used as a pick-up technique. The stand-out comedian, as usual, was Alex MacKeith, whose comic styling often seems to barely veil a more tragic dimension. The characters he played last night, including the screenwriter of a sequel to Oedipus Rex and Ethan Coen’s money-loving brother, Jo-ell, reflected a prodigiously intelligent mind, one that has watched way too many movies and is fighting back against the ridiculousness of the modern world in its own hilariously surreal manner. Matilda Wnek managed to tie the evening together nicely with a monologue that, whilst not exactly comic, was touching enough to remind the audience of how many laughs these brilliant people have provided for us.

Of course, there were misses, or at least what I saw to be misses. The sketches that Ryan Ammar provided seemed so hermetically sealed in their own weird world, one of small squeaky hammers and ‘iced cream’ vans, that it was unclear whether they could even be judged as humorous. A sketch about the good cop/bad cop routine, but with doctors instead of cops, had a wonderful premise, but was hindered by its slightly confused delivery. A Mission Impossible parody served as a masterclass in stretching a joke for so long that it becomes funny again, but didn’t have a strong enough punchline to make the wait worth it.

But what do my criticisms matter? There was laughter throughout the whole evening. By the time the madness of the show had subsided, the stage floor was encrusted with crushed sandwich fillings, crisp dust and human saliva, a mess to rival the sand used in The Tempest last week. The performers and the committee have clearly had a great time, and so have we.