In his review of the 1986 buddy comedy Running Scared, Roger Ebert wrote that Billy Crystal and Gregory Hines, the film’s leads, “don’t need a plot because they have so much good dialogue and such a great screen relationship”. With a bit of paraphrasing, Ebert’s description of that chemistry works just the same when discussing Crystal’s relationship to the New York stage, where the legendary funnyman has made a cozy home for himself this century.His 2004 one-man show 700 Sundays won a special Tony and was brought back nearly a decade later to be filmed for HBO.

Then came Mr Saturday Night in 2022, which Crystal adapted from an earlier movie and which was tepidly, politely received. Still, most agreed there is little that Crystal’s born charisma can’t overcome, and he scored a Tony nomination for best actor.His latest solo show, 860, proves again that there’s likely no such thing as a bad time in Crystal’s company, even if its structure stretches any notion of “plot”.

Named after the address of the Los Angeles house he inhabited for most of his life, it finds Crystal in an existential but ultimately grateful mode, having lost that longtime home to the region’s fires last year and taking stock of his improbably rich 78 years on earth.Under Scott Ellis’s direction, it’s a perfectly enjoyable 100-minute trip down memory lane – or, more accurately, into Crystal’s former home office, which he’d furnished with all sorts of career mementos. “It wasn’t a man cave, it was a ME cave,” he explains. “Every picture had a story.”Much of the show takes the feel of arriving at Crystal’s favorite stop on his house tour. There’s a light sense of chronology, stretching from the home’s 1979 purchase toward the present day, but it’s mostly guided by Crystal’s delight in sharing his life’s stories as each loosely connects to the next.He lends these tales a believable awe, evincing an everyman persona just as wowed by his achievements and highlights through a blend of his standup self-deprecation and the sheer length of his time in the public eye as a well-liked performer.

He’s just as surprised as anyone to have built an ongoing rapport with, say, Muhammad Ali or with Mickey Mantle, one of his heroes and with whom he bonded over losing fathers at an early age.Billy Crystal in 860. Photograph: Avery BrunkusThe elder Crystal’s death formed the backbone of 700 Sundays, which focused on the 15 years they spent together and so had stronger thematic cohesion.

Crystal was about a decade into his career by the time he and his beloved wife, Janice, moved into the Pacific Palisades home, and the wider pool of stories from which to pick occasionally feels too unfocused.It does carry over some of that previous show’s sentimentality, sometimes through original music composed by Marc Shaiman, a longtime Crystal collaborator, or when recounting the aftermath of the fires, once he was able to return to the now-destroyed site.There’s no mention of the catastrophic climate changes that have led to California’s recent fires, despite a handful of (eye-rolling inducing) anti-Trump potshots, which the audience heartily eats up. Crystal does get a good equal-opportunity jab at Biden, though, who apparently confused the comedian with Billy Joel at his own Kennedy Center Honors.There’s also no deeper reckoning with the idea of loss, which could seem like asking too much from what is essentially a standup act, though it does include tributes to friends Rob Reiner and Robin Williams.Scott Pask’s set is mostly suggestive, leaving Hana S Kim and Kylee Loera’s video designs to do the heavy lifting.

Some of the choices, such as vertical iPhone videos taken by Crystal during and after the fires, are touching, like those shared by an older relative. Others are less graceful – firmly in the visual aids category – as when a film still accompanies a reference to the spooky twins from The Shining.As a frequent Oscars host, Crystal is expert at maintaining an agreeable atmosphere without sacrificing character or zingers, and it’s tough to muster much to complain about this production, however slight it might end up feeling.

The man has an iron-clad grip on an audience’s attention that feels unforced, only inching us closer. These days, an appreciation for the live art of the raconteur is as welcome as ever.

860 is at the Imperial Theatre, New York City, until 3 January 2027