Being a comedy critic is an inherently futile job – telling people they are wrong to enjoy what makes them happy is a ridiculous pursuit – but it’s never more redundant when applied to a Stewart Lee show given how much he explains every beat of his own work, then forensically analyses how it plays out.

Stewart Lee Vs The Man-Wulf has a high concept, but an easily comprehensible one. Liberalism seems on the wane in the age of the blow-hard. We are dominated by brash right-wing alpha males who have no need of facts or empathy, just a powerful certainty in their own instinct.

What’s true for Trump, or Musk, or Putin is also true in comedy. While they protest about their supposed marginalisation, the loudest voices in stand-up are the reactionary puncher-downers: Dave Chappelle, Ricky Gervais, Joe Rogan…

Lee characterises this mindset as a werewolf energy, running on violent, primal instincts rather than the more considered position of his own woke, libtard, cuck comedy. In a chunky preamble, he explains this is a show of three parts: his usual left-wing shtick, then a parody of those more visceral stand-ups, and finally an attempt to apply those aggressive techniques to left-wing material, beatign them at their own game.

It is, then, an exploration of the unstoppable rise of populism through the lens of the comedy business he’s made a career deconstructing. But also a more personal experiment to see if he can enjoy a freedom in the feral instincts of the ‘were-comedian’, unburdened by accountability or morals  that is harder to find in the  ‘punishing experimental comedy’ he’s made his own.

But for all the critical acclaim that style has brought him, Lee prefers to be on the back foot, complicating the premise and positioning himself as a battler against circumstance.

With a mixture of overthinking and self-deprecation, he confesses to having doubts about the relevance of this venture, especially given how much the shouty, unempathetic comedians dominate. While this show wears its tight construction with pride – with Lee, for example, explicitly flagging up what apparent throwaways will later be used as callbacks  – he also fears he might not have run the material in enough. Meanwhile, the audience reaction is never good enough for him. As he lays pearls before swine, he treats us with both disappointment and arrogant contempt.

How much is real and how much is artifice in the supposed ‘character’ of the onstage Stewart Lee remains elusive. He teasingly demands that his audience be match-fit, ready for the sort of cerebral jokes where ’syntactical’ is the punchline’s pivotal word. But his ire at the wasted punter near the front, chatting and playing on his phone, was genuine – and justified. And the comic closes on a slightly sour note by harrumphing that he won’t be signing merch as we’ve put him in a bad mood.

For all his gripes, exaggerated or not, the jokes and analogies work better than he gives credit for. Certainly the full-on delivery style of the ‘right-wing libertarian $60million Netflix comedian’, with his ‘suck my dick’ catchphrase, is hugely effective (thanks, too, to the show’s pounding rock theme tune made with The Primevals). It works even when performed as parody in a bulky £6,000 werewolf costume, as the very point is that such animalistic charisma is a huge problem for the soft-bellied left who, as a rule, find it hard to replicate that punchiness.

To add an extra layer to this, Lee concedes there may be a cruel Mr Hyde-like side within him. He recounts a ‘needless to say I had the last laugh…’ type story before conceding his witty teasing of a model out of her depth at an exhibition by surrealist painter Ithell Colquhoun – home territory for the spiritual leader of metropolitan liberal elite comedians – could easily be read as bullying.

But then he talks about real alpha-energy attack dogs, like Michael McIntyre’s late agent Addison Cresswell, and a distinction is made. And of course Lee has a pop at quite a few celebs – Russell Brand, Gregg Wallace, Jimmy Carr, even the Fast Show’s John Thompson, a fellow contender on Celebrity Mastermind who notably pioneered the technique of using right-wing delivery for progressive ideas in his alter-ego Bernard Righton, but in a very different way.

Lee incorporates some smart crowd work into the mix, and away from highfalutin intellectual musings he dabbles in physical comedy as he struggles to elevate his hefty lupine bulk onto a stool for a more intimate section, and indulges his penchant for musical comedy in one Bob Dylanesque sequence.

As is typical for a Stewart Lee show, there’s a lot to chew on as explores the conflict between his usual liberal  nuance and blunt binaries of the political right. But it comes with a lighter side too, plus plenty of jokes, which he boasts he finds ridiculously easy to write.

Surely he’s the best half-man, half-beast comedian since Bernie Clifton and that ostrich.