There’s certainly some bittersweet irony percolating about when you’re reviewing The Last Laugh, a show about the passing of legendary performers, in Birmingham, and finding out that Ozzy Osbourne has passed away.

It was a moment not lost on the company. In the show’s pleasant (but ultimately superfluous) second Act, which serves as a semi-scripted Q&A session with the cast, the session’s compere, cover Richard Hodder dedicated the evening’s final spot of singalong bonhomie to the great Prince of Darkness.

Death and the weight of being remembered or forgotten hangs heavy in the air of the otherwise charming and frequently funny Last Laugh.

It imagines a hypothetical gathering of comedy legends Tommy Cooper (Damian Williams), Eric Morecambe (Bob Golding) and Bob Monkhouse (Simon Cartwright) in a drab but ambiguous dressing room ahead of a nondescript ‘charity’ gig. The reveal of how and why these giants have gathered is not so much a twist as a journey to realisation (it’s practically given away in the title alone).

Extrapolated from Paul Hendy’s award-winning short, which itself was born from the three leads each doing their own respective shows in tribute to the legends they portray here, Last Laugh is nothing if not a love letter. The depictions of Cooper, Morecambe and Monkhouse are not only uncannily accurate and idiosyncratically on point, but there’s also a clear reverence to capturing the essence of these individuals beyond just the quips and (admittedly hilarious) gags.

“consummately charming, effortlessly entertaining fare that serves up enough of the classics to be worth a watch alone.”

Unsurprisingly, it’s still very funny. Many of the trio’s gags and familiar favourites are wheeled out, often with the audience giggling in anticipation of the punchline or from familiarity alone. A recurring visit from Cooper’s malfunctioning duck and a later sojourn with a wooden gate are a delight. It’s consummately charming, effortlessly entertaining fare that serves up enough of the classics to be worth a watch alone, particularly for anyone who is a fan of one or more of the gentlemen.

With an expanded runtime from the twenty-minute short, Hendy probes a little deeper here, too. Monkhouse’s more analytical bent towards comedy, and fixation on crediting writers, sheds a light on whether he was a more constructed and less natural comedian than his counterparts. The rogues’ gallery of past comics gives chance to ruminate on the likes of Tony Hancock, Max Miller and more (even if poor Sid James gets relegated to a lone haemorrhoid joke). The laughs are great, but it’s when Last Laugh seems to poke a little deeper that it serves up its more human and intriguing moments.

But there’s no denying that, bandying between a glorious, rich tribute act and a more sombre treatise on legacy and comedy as art or science, it’s a show very much all about its triad of glorious performances. Damian Williams is a powerhouse from the off as Cooper, bringing an Earthy warmth to his larger-than-life bravura and booming presence. Some of his more muted, sardonic asides are the funniest moments of the whole thing. Golding bottles Morecambe’s irrepressible energy and exuberance perfectly, and peppers the show with some lovely vocals and musicality. And Cartwright, with perhaps the hardest task of the three as the more composed and even stilted Monkhouse, not only channels his voice meticulously, but lends a real gravitas and dignity to his ponderances.

It all feels tremndously sincere and authentic. Particular credit to Hendy for being able to so believably not only write but also direct these three very different yet familiar icons. There’s no sense of base mimicry or, worse, caricature. It’s a charming, eminently watchable and routinely funny case of three very talented performers evoking what we come to learn are their genuine inspirations.

Poignant, charming and laugh out loud funny throughout, if The Last Laugh asks whether great artists will truly be remembered, it is a soulful, funny and dignified proof of precisely that.