Arthur Smith Sings Leonard Cohen, Theatre Royal, Brighton

By Ollie Wilson

It is more than 14 years since I last reviewed this show for this site (see the original review reproduced below).

Back in August 2000, Arthur Smith Sings Leonard Cohen was a revelation.


Arthur Smith had rarely seemed so funny or together.

His script was sharp and, despite a certain flatness to his tone, his singing was enjoyable.

Being a Leonard Cohen fan, as so many people secretly are, also definitely helped the appreciation of his efforts.

This revival - Arthur Smith Sing Leonard Cohen, Volume Two - is really a totally new show.

Arthur has, I understand, totally given up intoxicants, his voice is even more gravelly than before, and he is on the cusp of hitting an age (60) that I feared he would never reach.

Shortly after the turn of the millennium, he had the ancient Ronnie Golden to accompany him in his Edinburgh Fringe hit.

Now he has plumped for a hat-trick of drop-dead gorgeous - and very talented - young women. And why not?

I have always liked Arthur Smith - he is the thinking man's under-achiever, a guy who appears not to give a f*** but carries on regardless.

Sure, the old gags come out, but he tells them so well. Arthur could have trodden the vaudeville boards, and, when a new joke appears on the horizon, it makes it all the more pleasurable.

"I was eking out a living as a Rupert Murdoch lookalike," he quips, to loud laughter.

It is a joke that works on two levels: the similarity of their careworn faces, and the absurdity of it all: who would hire a Rupert Murdoch lookalike?

A bit of badinage with his redheaded Yorkshire lass pianist and backing singer, Kirsty Newton, and Arthur sang the classic I'm Your Man segued into White Christmas.

Arthur's second backing singer was plucked from the audience where she'd been planted to do sheep impressions, angry or philosophical. The third came from side stage (and was allegedly also his Stage Manager).

The big news was Arthur had written to Leonard Cohen and received a reply, albeit short, agreeing that Mr Spock's poetry is crap.

Arthur talked of his mother, Hazel, during the show with a beautiful melancholy, a poetic sadness: "Is it tomorrow or today or now?"

Good question.

Leonard Nimoy (Spock) appeared to have ME, or rather, "me, me, me" in his poems. Even in the self-obsessed world of poetry, egoism of such purity is unusual. Still, as Arthur's mum had remarked, he tried his best.

Arthur Smith was born to sing Leonard Cohen and to talk about him.

It was amusing, moving and touching - with some really great singing and musicianship from the Smithonians: Kirsty, Carrie and Ali. A superb evening's entertainment.

There is life in the old dog yet!

*****

(Original review from the Edinburgh Fringe 2000)

Arthur Smith Sings Leonard Cohen, Pleasance, Edinburgh

I had heard this show was good - but had no idea how good.

Through the music of Leonard Cohen, Smith tackled the hard issues of hard: boredom, addiction, misery, depression, love, betrayal and ducks.

The script was sharp, funny, moving and sad.

And the enjoyment of Cohen's music was enhanced, rather than spoilt, by the fact that Arthur is not exactly God's gift to singing. It was totally in keeping with the loser spirit of the songs.

Ronnie Golden, who accompanied Smith on guitar, was also fabulous.

He used his few lines to great effect and did a hilarious guitar solo, playing the axe with his teeth, apparently spitting out a loose one.

At the end of the show, the applause was deafening.

And the audience was right. It was most probably the best comedy show at Edinburgh this year.

STAR RATING (out of five): *****

Ollie Wilson

August 2000

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Simon Evans, Theatre Royal, Brighton

Simon Evans celebrated 18 years in stand-up by making a DVD in his adopted home town of Brighton & Hove.

I first saw Simon perform in the summer of 1997 - very close to the start of his career - and he was clearly a natural talent, displaying great poise in delivering his precisely written lines about the Spice Girls or pierced tongues.

There was a sardonic, young-fogey feel to his comedy and the promise of much more to come.

Since then, he has developed from caustic young man into fully fledged grumpy old git - to great comic effect.

Wisely, he had packed out the Theatre Royal with friends and other recipients of free tickets and even started the evening quipping: "Some of you have even paid, which is bizarre!" If I had been one of them, perhaps I might not have been so amused.

Simon promised us a reprise of his comedy journey over the past 18 years which I was looking forward to, having not particularly kept up on his progress, apart from seeing him perform once at the Edinburgh Fringe in the late 1990s.

In truth, it turned out to be more his geographical journey from Peckham to Kings Cross to Brixton to Hove, and his personal journey into a relationship and what he found to be the horrors of parenting, that he had in mind.

Undoubtedly, there were some brilliant lines: "The one advantage of being homeless is that you can choose where you live" or "pro bono - work done for self-congratulatory reasons and where the pop star took his name from".

For much of the show the audience was in hysterics.

His is the comedy of condescension and rudeness delivered with the eloquence and erudite turn of phrase of Oscar Wilde. I absolutely loved the word "obesycle", meaning a mobility scooter.

However, I sensed something quite unctuous about Evans' manner, a veneer of charm barely masking genuine disinterest or disdain beneath. He has a way of making one feel acknowledged and discarded at the same time.

I was also struck by how very different he looks compared with in the 1990s, when he was a handsome young smoker (pictured). He is 49 now and, I guess, could pass as 10 years older.

His delivery has also changed, now owing a debt to Leonard Rossiter in the style of Reggie Perrin more than Rupert Rigsby.

And when he donned his designer spectacles and started talking about the demise of the High Street, he started to look and sound like Reg Holdsworth, the ebullient erstwhile supermarket manager in Coronation Street played by Ken Morley, who, incidentally, campaigned to save local shops.

The captain's hat / road rage routine was superb - and I loved the Ernest Shackleton encore.

Overall, it was a very good performance, even though Simon seemed to be going somewhat hoarse towards the end of the show. He is a very talented comic.

I wish Simon Evans well with his DVD sales - it will be a worthy stocking-filler.
****

Ollie (Joe) Wilson

Agatha Christie's Murder On Air, Theatre Royal, Brighton

By Ollie Wilson

This show was a winner in every respect: a superb cast including special guest stars Tom Conti and Jenny Seagrove, three of Aunt Agatha's finest yarns, and a good dollop of stage humour to boot!

It is always a joy to see Conti in action and, in this production, he skilfully walked the line between being the big star of the show and not over-shadowing his co-stars' performances.

His facial asides, particularly directed at the sound-effects performer, were well timed and hilarious.

Personal Call, Hercule Poirot in The Yellow Iris and Butter In a Lordly Dish were the three short radio plays performed by the cast. They were all strong, but I particularly enjoyed Butter In a Lordly Dish, a moralistic tale in which a womanising prosecution barrister got his just desserts at the hands of the widow (Jenny Seagrove) of a man wrongly hanged for murder.

The Agatha Christie Theatre Company cast - Louise Faulkner, Simon Linnell, David Osmond, Adrian Metcalfe and Elizabeth Payne - were marvellously versatile, in accents and musically.

It was a classic piece of one-right rep.

My favourite performer was Alexander Bermange - "pianist and Foley Artist". He played the sound effects to maximum comic effect - with, of course, the collaboration of Conti and other cast members.
It was wireless meets stage drama meets comedy. A thoroughly well acted and directed tongue-in-cheek production!

*****

Lizzie Bates: Reprobates, The Pleasance, Edinburgh Fringe 2014

By Laura King

I am sure I am not the first to compare Lizzie Bates to a cross between Joyce Grenfell and Catherine Tate. 

The show opened with a bossy air raid shelter warden in Joyce Grenfell tradition ushering us into the Bunker 2 venue, which made for a convincing facsimile of an air raid shelter, telling random members of the audience off for imagined comic misdemeanors, amid some choice wartime references to add to the humour. 

Another sketch featured Lizzie as the overweening mother of a young boxer without a clue (a surprisingly good member of the audience) who donned boxing

gloves and subsequently turned out to be so useless that his "mother" had to improvise as an "under-12" to take over. 

The Swiss finishing school marm with an unlikely penchant for fast food who takes on her first male student (another surprisingly game young man in the audience) was nicely observed. 

Pathos and humour vied in the character of the housewife who had taken up residence in her garden owing to alcoholism, but in complete denial about it, as she inveigles her married elderly neighbour to join her in a tipple in her empty paddling pool, getting him into trouble with his wife. Echoes of Alan Bennett, I thought.

An inappropriate doctor's receptionist who makes the patients play games in order to be admitted to the doctor was also very funny.

My favourite character was the unstable high-maintenence office girl who takes over the leaving do of "John", giving her unrequited love for her middle-aged boss (the reason, it turns out, he's leaving) one last shot. 

My partner duly played along until confronted by one last surprise shock tactic.

Sketches were interspersed with manic dancing to bump and grind music.

Lizzie Bates has already been a Bafta Rocliffe comedy writer in 2013 and featured on Radio 4.

I am in no doubt we will be hearing a lot more of her. Five stars for comic acting skills, three for material from this reviewer.

Edinburgh Medical Detectives, at the Royal College of Physicians, Edinburgh Fringe 2014

By Laura King

It is always a must for this Fringe reviewer to fit in a few genuinely Scottish gigs and events each visit and as a big Sherlock Holmes (and thus Dr Joseph Bell) fan, Edinburgh Medical Detectives caught my eye.

In the spectacular setting of the Great Hall in the Royal College Of Physicians, the illustrious scientist and raconteur Professor David Purdie joined forces with College Librarian Iain Milne to offer a riveting and entertaining slice of archive history.

You might not think this belongs on a predominantly comedy site. However, seen through the lens of the past, the perils of finding enough legitimate bodies for the dissection classes and the lengths gone to to protect the dead, the feuds between leading medics and the almost-rejection of chloroform as a useful substance to enable painless surgery owing to snobbery and medical rivalry have a surprising capacity to entertain.

Then there was the revelation of regicide in the middle of Edinburgh and how this came to be uncovered centuries before forensic medicine had even been thought of, or even the pioneering "medical police".

We were also exposed to the dark side of the age of enlightenment, where crime might have a blind eye turned if it led to medical breakthrough.

Edinburgh's medical pioneers were not merely pioneers of Edinburgh, but the world. This was the exciting place young Arthur Conan Doyle found himself in to undertake his medical training. And while he decided that being a doctor was not for him, he still derived the lifelong inspiration that we all came to know and love as Sherlock Holmes from the city.

The dark humour will remain with me for a long time to come. Superb edu-tainment! 

*****

Mark Nelson - Please Think Responsibly, The Gilded Balloon, Edinburgh Fringe 2014

By Laura King

I was attracted by the title which had led me to expect a sharp-suited Scottish political comedian.

I found myself somewhat disappointed when a scruffy figure in jeans and polo shirt shambled onto the stage. Ah well, at least he was Scottish, I thought.

As he later revealed, he is a relatively recent father, which explained the jaded look. He was the third male comedian we'd seen who spent at least half their act extolling the joys (and otherwise) of fatherhood employing TMI - Too Much Information.

Good poster boys for contraception, one and all.  And all of them inserted some paedophilia jokes and allusions, rather unwisely, presumably testing to see if it was now laughing material again, post-Savile. It does not seem to be.

However, I enjoyed the Scottish material, the referendum routine, the row with his wife about Navaho white paint and what he actually put on the walls.

He did paint a depressing picture of manhood though: no emotions, terrible sex and allegedly a boring b***ard who doesn't understand what his wife sees in him.

Nor did I by the end of the show, well-delivered as it was. I was just left hoping it was all an act.

He is right about writing new shows though. Everyone expects from the comedian what they would be horrified by if a pilot suddenly announced over the intercom; "I'm just going to experiment with some new stuff here".

***

Andrew O'Neill - Mindspiders, Whistlebinkies, Edinburgh Fringe 2014

By Laura King

You can't go wrong with a failed goth gone wrong (he's a cheerful chappy!)

Resplendent in black frock and red lippy, renaissance locks flowing, Andrew delivered an hour of sheer silliness interspersed with amusing voiceovers for unlikely products to a mic in the corner.

Comedians have indeed to diversify to earn a crust these days.

Every so often he would return to the theme of "Mindspiders" - otherwise known as headworms, those tunes we all get stuck in our heads - and try to insert some real stinkers into ours.

But mainly it was jokes and puns, often surreal, the whole way though.

It is refreshing this rising TV and radio comedy star is still humble enough to do free shows. The venue was packed to capacity and deservedly so.

Andrew, we love you!

*****

 

Rob Rouse, Through The Looking Ass, The Stand, Edinburgh Fringe 2014

By Joe Wilson

It is always hard to review comedians who you have known for a long time, although the temptation to see how they are getting on is nonetheless a great one.

I recall Rob Rouse when he was 23 or 24 - a great bundle of joy, fun and energy - who could take any stage by storm and lift any roof. His solo act I loved and when he did his first Edinburgh Fringe show with Big & Daft, an imaginative trio comprising Rob, another stand-up and an actor, it was sublimely funny, sheer brilliance.

The queue for Rob's latest show stretched right down the street outside one of The Stand's satellite venues. I was told it was a 180-seater and there must have been 160 of us.

Eventually, the show went up half and hour late. When the punters were in, 15 minutes behind schedule, the management decided to allow them all the chance to order a drink at the bar before Rob was given the green light.

When Rob appeared, he looked very different from how I remembered him. I believe the last time we met was at a gig in Lewes, Sussex, some 10 years ago. 

Of course the years take their toll but Rob looked haggard and careworn.

For a moment, I thought, "Is it the same guy?" The grinning, slightly chubby-faced youth I had known was gone. He looked Paul McCartney fresh.

What followed was an hour of so of what you might call "Dad Comedy" of the most scatalogical type. It was cringe-worthy and involuntarily funny in equal measure.

Naturally, people have children all the time. If they did not, we simply would not be here.

However, there is a generation of male stand-ups who seem to feel they have discovered childbirth and all that comes with it.

It is their duty to tell the rest of us about it. Every unpleasant aspect of their experience is subjected to comedic exploration. No turd is left unturned.

As well as being a very pleasant bloke, Rob Rouse is a gifted physical comedian. It is very hard not to laugh when he is full flow.

So, I was kind of laughing at his performance, while oxymoronically, not enjoying the show much at all.

I was also puzzled. When I first knew Rob, my kids were about the same age as his are now. But I do not remember half the things he talked about. Maybe he is unlucky or worries more than I did. Perhaps he has given the raw material the cartoon characterisation treatment, grossly exaggerating for comic effect.

Whatever the truth, he desperately needed to buy a lock for his bathroom door. I would even show him out to fit it.

Worse still, Rob seemed to be compulsively obsessed with poo and wee. Not just his children's but his wife's as well. The Shewee routine was not credible to my mind - a pee too far. I wondered whether his missus enjoyed this show.

It was such as shame. Rob is a great guy and an incredibly funny and eloquent man. What he had written here was quite funny but was it beautiful? Nein!

There was still some great use of language - "undercrackers", "banjaxed", "in like Flynn" and so on - but I believe he could create a solo show so much more funny and meaningful that this one. I woke up at 4am that night thinking about it. A weirdly disturbing experience.

It'd been around midnight when Rob closed his set. I felt as tired as he did.

As I had headed for the door, Rob kindly intercepted me and asked how I was. We exchanged pleasantries and he suggested I call him on his mobile so we could have a cuppa.

Somehow, I could not bring myself to say I had lost his number, along with a great deal more, when I got divorced. Life, eh?

A *** show by a ***** comedian!

Candy Gigi - I'm Not Lonely, The Hive, Edinburgh Fringe 2014

By Laura King

Candy Gigi is a terrifying young woman who pursues young men in a stained wedding dress, and is bent on getting married to someone, anyone, no matter that she brushes her teeth with a loo brush, displaying a set of choppers that a young Yootha Joyce would have been proud of.

She also plays piano with a bunch of carrots, dances with a pig face and a large inflatable phallus, sings opera and has a strange idea of how to apply lipstick.

It was a tour de force of fearless female physical comedy seldom seen in a woman, but this reviewer was left wondering where Ms Gigi goes from here.

For all its manic energy and her undoubted talents, it is something of a one-trick pony as a show and only half an hour long. It is also dangerously reliant on a willing male victim who could easily turn on Ms Gigi or refuse to play along.

The show did not really hang together or make enough sense.

Even for a madwoman, it still needed some context. Craziness alone was not enough to carry it.

**** for raw talent but just ** for material.

The Five Worst Things I Ever Did: Al Donegan, Just the Tonic at the Caves, Edinburgh Fringe 2014

By Laura King

Al Donegan wanted to share the five worst things he ever did, partly as a reason to skirt around - or perhaps explain - the sixth worst thing he ever did, lose the girl who was willing to marry him despite his gambling addiction and myriad other flaws.

In excruciating detail and sparing himself nothing, Al shared the five worst things he ever did as he told us he wanted to be a BETTER man.

He wanted to know for sure whether he was a liar and a "dick" or not, as branded by the woman he loved in the answerphone message that both dumps him and opens his show.

But his ex was only one of the many losses in his life.

Al explored whether he was simply a man being a man and following his instincts, an immature jerk who should grow up and take more responsibility.

Or whether his mother was right (a mum who would probably find an excuse if he were an axe murderer) when she reassured him that "maybe certain things just weren't meant to be".

This should not be a funny show but it was howling, thought-provoking and poignant by turns as Al slowly turned from a two-dimensional human into a three dimensional one before our eyes, even if he had not necessarily fixed himself by the end of the show.

I am sure his ex (if she knew about it) could not help but be slightly flattered by what was in essence a show-long apology to her, minus excuses.

But if there was one thing Al has perfected, it was the art of being a consummate loser.

This show worked on every level.

*****

Ursula Burns - Get Divorced and Join the Circus, The Stand, Edinburgh Fringe 2014

By Laura King

She has the Celtic sprite look of a forest dweller, fresh from her tree trunk hollow house, or perhaps a wild-eyed gipsy Queen in her tumbling gold-trim dress as she plucks the barren beauty of doomed love in a cold spell from her harp. 

Romantic ruminations were rudely interrupted by a broad Belfast accent gleefully informing us we'd been tricked into attending a harp recital and urging her techie to "lock the door". Ursula was from the Falls Road.

  

There followed a host of comedy harp songs starting with one bemoaning the difficulties of playing heavy metal on the harp, and then bewailing her fate as a reluctant harpist, interspersed with tantalising titbits about growing up in the Falls Road, an allusion to getting divorced and running away to the circus (several times). However we were given no cogent narrative as Ursula jumped from one subject to another.

An environmental rant about fracking did not really sit well in the middle of the show following a more inventive environmental update on the fate of Innisfree since Yeats' famed poem, which would have sufficed. Luckily, this section was followed by the song of surveillance, which was brilliant. 

I enjoyed the jokes about the dangers of confusing weddings with funerals when you suffer from mild dyslexia and indeed all the stuff about growing up in Northern Ireland, not least since I also grew up in Northern Ireland and acknowledge the comedy gold of the place.

On the whole I enjoyed the show, but was left with the decided feeling that it would have benefited from more structure, and perhaps more rehearsal, as Ursula forgot her material several times, despite her talent for improv.

Here was a lady with looks, talent and a comedy persona and accent many comedians would give their right arm for. Not only that but she'd evidently lived an amazing life. All the ingredients were there for a winning show, but somehow the recipe was lacking.

Nevertheless, Ursula is a complete one-off, so do go and see her if you get the chance.

Ursula, if you read this, please weave more of your extraordinary life into the show. There is a lot more you could do with it.

***** for talent and *** for material.

Sameena Zehra: Homicidal Pacifist, The Stand, Edinburgh Festival 2014

By Ollie Wilson

The concept of this show was that Sameena Zehra, an Indian comedian, was embarking on a cull of the human race. Everyone would have to fill out a questionnaire and if they did not meet her exacting standards or mend their ways, they would be executed.

The performance started 10 minutes late which was pretty inexcusable for a show with an audience of six.

The technician also left the room and, so later, there was no closing music. Not very professional.

Semeena was a middle-aged woman with a crew cut and a lot of hatred in her.

She talked 19 to the dozen, spewing out countless comedic ideas. Semeena would have been better off developing the stronger themes and culling the rest.

Certainly, she was a confident performer - not a new act - but much of her material was too weak for a full-length show.

Semeena said she hated religion but loved Archbishop Desmond Tutu: "If I ever meet him, I'll lick his face."

This is not normal. Incidentally, I have met Archbishop Tutu and felt no desire to lick his face.

Semeena ranted on about anti-frown and "anal bleaching" and declared: "I'm not Helen of f***ing Troy! I'm a magnet for weirdos!"

Perhaps it takes one to know one.

Although quite engaging and affable at times, she appears flush with bile and spleen, seeking fault in everything and everyone and planning retribution in her hypothetical random holocaust.

Semeena displayed a fabulous memory for her material but, sadly, this show did not work at all well.

As for the baby panda, whose contribution I looked forward to, he was never explained.

**

The Weegies Have Pokled Edinburgh's Pandas, Space Cabaret, Edinburgh Fringe 2014

By Ollie Wilson

This was not stand-up but a one-man comedy play written and performed by Robin Cairns. And very funny and entertaining it was too.

Robin played Morningside Malcolm and at least five related characters including a gangster, a simpleton and their wives who all get involved in the mysterious disappearance - in other words, theft - of the Edinburgh pandas, and their subsequent remarkable proliferation.

They bred like there's no tomorrow.

It was a hilarious, convoluted plot, delivered at great speed and with admirable skill by Robin, a gifted actor and performance poet.

For those from south of the border, some of the Glaswegian and Edinburgh references were lost but this did not much diminish the joy of watching this outstanding show.

*****

Worst Show On The Fringe, featuring Prince Abdi, Liam Withnail and Alfie Moore, George Next Door, Edinburgh Fringe 2014

By Joe Wilson

The apparent concept of this show is to put on comedians whose Edinburgh Fringe shows have bombed and received just one star in a review. I supposed this was to give them a second chance or let a masochistic audience enjoy the full horror of their terrible comedy.

At the same time, the Fringe programme named Miranda Hart (who, incidentally, I once gave three stars), Russell Howard and Tim Minchin as examples of former one-star performers who had gone on to greatness, dangling the tantalising bait that the show might be surprisingly good.

It was certainly absolutely packed. Promoter/MC Nigel Lowell was carrying in extra chairs, some of which would have a stage view!

The room looked just right for a show of one-stars. The garish yellow paintwork was fading in parts, the black backdrop was affixed to the wall by translucent sticky tape. It looked like one of the worst comedy clubs.

When the show eventually started, compere Nigel did not disappoint.

He kicked off with a terrible undertaker/bicycle gag - poor by anyone's standards - and embarked on some embarrassing audience interaction, quickly mentioning the war to the Germans in the front row and insulting my abundant hair (the baldy coot!)

Nigel Lowell definitely has one-star potential.

The turns he introduced were a totally different cup of tea.

Prince Abdi is an experience and talented professional comedian who has appeared on television and played the Comedy Store and Jongleurs during his career.

I see him as a laid-back comedy natural - the Somalian Micky Flanagan.

The audience absolutely loved his sharp material, great comic timing and smiley nature. I'd give him: ***** - five stars - for his performance.

Liam Withnail had some great material, particularly his square sausage routine and train announcer cigarette packet wrapper performance.

Hilarious. I award him **** (four stars).

Alfie Moore, a former police sergeant from Scunthorpe, has also already made a name for himself, with a show BBC Radio Four show.

He was trying out new material, with script in hand, which is never a good sign for a stand-up.

However, his delivery and timing were excellent and he had some very funny lines such as: "There's no excuse for a shallow grave - just laziness."

Alfie ended with well-practised material about finding the head from a decapitated body beside a canal. It was tearfully funny. So, overall, I give him **** (four stars).

As a whole, there was no way this show was anywhere near the worst on the Fringe.

****

Spencer Brown, The Free Sisters, Edinburgh Fringe 2014

By Joe Wilson

Back in the day, Spencer Brown was a wondrously bright-eyed, surreal comedian. He is still abuzz with energy but his stand-up appears to have gone down a more mainstream road than before.

Good gags and laughter were still there in abundance. I liked his analysis of Free Fringe-goers as people who "value their time less than their money".

His dinner facts and rogue shopper routines and phoning gran song were strong.

However, his young daughter material left some of the audience cold and some of his sexual material was more distasteful than funny. It did not suit him.

Spencer is a great guy and, I believe, has bags of talent. Alas, this show was not the best he could have created for the Edinburgh Fringe.

***

Paul Ricketts' West End Story, The Mash House, Edinburgh Fringe 2014

By Ollie Wilson

London man about town Paul Ricketts has been a figure on the Soho scene for a long time - a denizen of the comedy and drinking clubs, late-night bars and other places of iniquity.

Hearing his yarns of 1990s Soho brought the memories flooding back: the lost nights in the Spanish Bar, the Colony Room, Gerry's and shebeens I have half-forgotten, soaking up the rich tapestry of human life and, indeed, being part of it.

Bedford-born Paul made the excellent point that when you move to London no one knows who you are - or were - and, so, incomers can, and often do, "recreate" themselves.

His retelling of his new-found existence as a Soho drinks cadger - with no more than a fiver in his pocket to try to secure a good time with an ingenious array of "birthday blags" - was hilarious.

With an attractive sidekick joining the cause, they embarked on a free birthday binge, regularly gulling men of a certain age into believing it was their birthdays (one or other or both of them posing as half-twins!) - to quaff for free.

Paul has grown as a comedian since those times.

He displayed poise and presence in this show - and I was surprised at the slickness with which he delivered his material. Even a pesky, drunken Glaswegian woman heckler did not throw him off his stride.

His jokes about John Major, David Cameron and Jesus, and the Four States of Cockney were superb. The Tony Blair payoff to his abortive orgy story was an absolute belter.

Perhaps, all comedians have one great show in them. This is certainly Paul Ricketts'.

*****

Reviews Archive: September 2008 - July 2014

Phil Nichol: Welcome to Crazytown, The Stand

Phil Nichols single-handedly populates the nightmarish Crazytown in 1970s Baltimore jazz club Bertha's as recently widowed beat poet Bobby Spade, opening with a storming introductory number reminiscent of George Clooney's performance in 'O brother, where art thou?' and accompanied by a talented backing duo playing a range of instruments.

Most of Phil's characters represent an aspect of neurosis, and all are wholeheartedly inhabited, as they take up their part of the long rambling narrative poem or break into a new musical number.

Edgar Allen Poe features, along with Lady Tuesday, Anger Freeway, Denial Park Confusion and Big Love Prison.

The show fizzles with supernatural energy as the Canadian whirling dervish delivers a breakneck performance few could match, including a showstopping burst of Billie Holiday back from the grave.

For all this, it is more musical theatre with an 'X' rating than outright comedy and it helps to be a jazz fan to appreciate the narrative.

Then again a jazz fan might take it the wrong way since it also mocks a great many clichés about jazz as well as performance poetry.

A masterclass in performance by this multi-layered acting talent and it keeps this scary man off the streets!


Arj Barker - Let Me Do The Talking - The Assembly @ George Street

Arj Barker is a deceptively youthful veteran of the international comedy circuit and 'Flight of the Conchords' guest star and tells us from the start that he'll do all the talking, thank you.

The sigh of relief from the audience was palpable as we sat back in our seats to enjoy the show.

It was a safe and comfortable flight in the hands of our comedy captain who started off, indeed, with aircraft black boxes, enlarging on an old joke, about why not make the whole aircraft out of them, to encompass the Death Star in Star Wars and what a different film it would have been if it too were made of black box before going on to marvel at the flight expertise and deadly aim of a former farm boy in the self-same film.

Arj went on to share his witty thoughts on 3-D movies and the environment, opining that if global warming is the problem, then surely the real culprit is the sun.

He explored intelligent subjects as the incredulous but know-all goofball, never getting too political, but always managing to remain unexpected, and his skill at deconstructing and reconstructing jokes and weaving themes together was impressive.

His eyes glittered with echoes of Mike Myers as he drew us to a happy landing. An all-round ambassador for American comedy.

 

Jack Whitehouse - The Pleasance

I was braced to dislike the obviously self-regarding and narcissistic Jack Whitehouse the moment he swaggered on stage, but he worked the room skilfully from the start and as the show went on I warmed to his pathological hatred of the former classmate Robert Pattinson who had made it big in vampire film 'Twilight' and now boasted legions of teen fans drooling over him.

This led to reciting excerpts of the five badly written biographies of his former friend and disagreeing with them.

One telling passage described the psychological trauma to Robert of having his shoelaces mindlessly stolen.

Cue for Jack to produce them from his pocket a decade later to gales of laughter.

Despite his success in presenting Celebrity Big Brother, Jack still lives with his parents at the age of 22 which led to a rich vein of comedy in its own right as he described their subversive resistance to him having a sex life under their roof (endless teddies and cushions appearing in his room for one), his father's mild racism and attempts to get a mention in the show with increasingly outrageous behaviour and his mother's struggle to win 'Child Top Trumps' among other mothers in her local supermarket, when Jack just wasn't making her quite as proud as his former classmate Robert Pattinson's mother.

Then he had the ignominy of landing in the tabloids in a photograph, showing him snorting a line of coke from his Blackberry phone, which Jack is obviously contrite about in real life for the sake of his hurt beloved parents, though he is also at pains to point out that had he had a real drug problem, it would have been an i-Pad.

Having earlier admitted fruitlessly begging his father for a Barbie doll as a child, Jack finished the show by mincing off as his other childhood hero, Robin Hood, to the stirring chorus of the 1950s Robin Hood theme song.

A young comedian who will surely go from strength to strength.


Chris Ramsey - Aggrophobic - The Pleasance

It's not easy being a soft Geordie, not least when the world seems determined to give a man, not just his fair share of aggro, but his unfair share too, the kind of random, crazy stuff that means you scarcely know what you're being accused of or beaten up for anymore.

Twenty-two-year-old stand-up Chris Ramsey captured the frustration and anger we all feel about these scenarios perfectly.

Not that he came up with any brilliant solutions. Just empathy really. Though it crossed my mind he could help himself by ditching the comedy jeans whose crotch started somewhere around his kneecaps and gave him the proportions of a man-sized cigarette stub in addition to impeding his running away ability.

And the forward-brushed mullet was just asking for trouble too. And no self-respecting Geordie should go for Bee Gee brilliant white when getting their teeth bleached either.

Too easy for their enemies to aim kicks at in the dark. I refrained from giving Mr Ramsey any aggro about his image to test his defensive skills against attack though and felt he had actually picked a very timely subject for his show.

Notwithstanding, his sartorial skills weren't exactly cultivated by the childhood abuse of a tight father forcing him to wear a tracksuit to a family wedding to spare the expense of a proper suit. Cue hilarious photos.

A natural and highly engaging comedian who will go far.

Brendan Burns -Y'Know - Love 'n' God 'n' Metaphysics 'n' Shit

I was expecting great things from Brendan Burns but found his show to be as lazy as its title, despite frenetic efforts from his musician friend 'Davina' (David Eastgate), 'fresh off the boat' who waggled his perilously low-slung jeaned tush like a Tasmanian devil as an entree then proceeded to play his guitar like a maniac and interrupt the show at regular intervals for the rest of the evening, sometimes enhancing it, sometimes not.

However too much repetition of 'Get Under It!' 'The kids' love it!' and 'They don't know!' does not necessarily bestow upon a performer the popularity of a latter-day Frankie Howerd, and some of us did not even like that aspect of FH in the first place.

The main meat of the show, apart from his staple of the hatred he feels for 'Melburnians' was Brendan's devastation at being dumped by the love of his life a 'proper crazy' woman because that's the type who really float his boat.

A woman he loved so much he actually began to smell like her. A woman he stopped being shallow for, stopped his excesses for. Now he didn¹t know how to start again and everything seemed so meaningless except his 11-year-old son, who could still make him laugh.

Of course the humour and the touching bits of his soliloquy to her were all rather undercut by the news that 'Bea' had since returned to him and he wasn't so lovelorn after all at the end of the show.

I felt half-pleased for him, half cheated. Which kind of summed up my feelings about the whole show. He may be a former 'Perrier' winner, but Brendan Burns gives every appearance of resting on his laurels these days. 'Get under it, Brendan!'


Toulson and Harvey Used To Be Friends

Two former public schoolboys indulge in an hour of borrowed music hall buffoonery.

One plays the guitar, one has a decent voice and is reminiscent of a young Simon Williams.

The show opens with a serenade reliant on but minus castanets, a war scene is enacted where one has left the other for dead and then goes on to sleep with his butch wife Helga.

A rousing rendition of Two Little Boys is sung. They jump around and make an audience member highly embarrassed by insisting on making him pretend to be said butch ex-wife Helga and kissing him against his will.

The rest of the show is spent larking about with lots of accusations and counter-accusations about betrayal and sleeping with the other's wife.

The double act is no more as a result of all this and yet oddly remains very much in evidence on stage. It was a relief when it was over.

My least favourite Edinburgh show of 2010.


Jeremy Lion Goes Green - Pleasance Dome

Jeremy Lion is a northern children's entertainer wholly unsuitable for children sporting disturbing mismatched garb and with a drink problem he quickly forgets to hide.

Monstrously selfish, he doesn't give a damn about saving the planet, going as far as to sing a braggart's song about what colour he is not, ably accompanied by his brilliant multi-talented sidekick, Hilary Cox who looks a bit like he could be related to Dame Edna Everage's sidekick and former bridesmaid, Madge.

Then Christmas Carol-like, the ghost of a large polar bear rises up from Jeremy's wheelie bin and forces him to reassess his priorities.

Cue for Jeremy to be whisked off in his self-rotating garden shed to emerge to a make-shift chiffon ocean where he picks up a torch and examines the audience 'sealife' to inform each that they are consigned to a doom of fungal diseases and fates too ghastly to mention.

A dancing tree, courtesy of Hilary forms the next part of the greening of Jeremy. By the end of the show Jeremy is a contrite and fully-fledged environmentalist, eager to mend his selfish ways by ardently downing the contents of every glass bottle in his possession as fast as he can in order to recycle it.

If you love Count Arthur Strong, you'll love this worthy comedy cousin, Jeremy Lions.

Ian D Montfort - Touching The Dead - The Pleasance

Ian D Montfort aka Tony Binns ambles onto the stage in dragon-motifed jeans and sports jacket with a shaggy blonde perm and the easy oil of a clutch of Derek Acorahs.

He is anxious to reassure that he is the 'Sunderland Psychic' and not the 'Sunderland Psycho' and that was a mistake on his business cards.

However the police did finally release him after four hours. Then they challenged him to solve the case if he was so psychic so he proceeded to find eight bodies in one afternoon at which point he was re-arrested!

All hilarious throwaway stuff but as someone who has seen many mediums in real life, I was intrigued to know if the entire show was going to be a mickey-take or a debunk as so many comedy routines on this subject are.

Much to my amazement it was half and half. Whilst Ian D Montfort had the mannerisms of a stage psychic down to a tee including touching the arms of his male volunteers a tad too long (hinting at the fact nearly all male mediums seem to be gay) and made scores of deliberately obvious statements that the audience couldn't possibly disagree with such as once having had a grandmother, he also hit upon some startling coincidences getting audience names and details right - sometimes quite obscure ones - and correctly divining a random passage from the complete works of Shakespeare as well as reciting the correct answer to a random Guinness Book of Records question.

So even if he was only guilty of mind-reading and a photographic memory, that still represented one hell of a feat. And as he pointed out at the end, if we were all audience plants and he had picked on most of us, he was getting 'f***k all money for the show!

Brian Clough, John Lennon and Jesus also came back from the dead to make guest appearances.

An amazing and thought-provoking comedy show and as Mr D Montfort pointed out 'You don't have to be bereaved to enjoy yourself'

No Son of Mine - Pleasance

Don Hazely (Alex Kirk) is a seedy secondhand car salesman with an inflated opinion of himself, an end of the pier sense of humour, and a shiny-suited persona thoroughly stuck in the 1970s.

His son Dennis (Rufus Jones) is a sensitive theatrical, camp as hell but not admitting anything. His father turns up at the end of a long day selling cars to surprise Dennis rehearsing his latest one-man play 'Afghan Hounds' which turns out to be a highly homo-erotic homage to a boy called Abdul in front of a mosque backdrop and involving an Arabian outfit replete with false beard.

Don quickly finds fault and starts making unwelcome suggestions for inserting jokes and his real motive in turning up - ie to lure his wayward only son back to the car dealership where he belongs and persuade him to abandon this whole theatre nonsense becomes evident as he soon sabotages proceedings to turn it into the Don Hazely show.

The pair then proceed to engage in word to word combat for the rest of the show, disagreeing about comedy and reminiscing about the woman who left a large hole in both their lives when she disappeared - Don's wife and Dennis's mother. This leads to a disturbing but oddly touching scene where Don asks his son to play his own mother and re-enacts their first meeting where they end up dancing together.

Eventually they realise the inappropriateness of this scene and revert back to character to bicker some more until Dennis finally admits that he misses the car dealership after all and concedes to his father's pleas to return to it.

Like the Steptoe and Son premise, this is the dynamic of a father and son who both depend on but fear losing each other, while also acknowledging the son's need to break away, not least when it appears that his father's only concession to gayness is ever going to be the wearing of a pink tie. More theatre than laugh out loud comedy, but a tremendously accomplished piece and well deserving of its plaudits.


Ginger & Black - Pleasance

Named after a designer organic chocolate I presumed, but no, it turned out that Ginger and Black were a duo comprising of flame-tressed female (Eri Jackson) and afrocarribean male (Daniel Taylor).

Both possessed an impressive ability to physically morph, she from dowdy drudge with psychopathic tendancies to playful temptress, he from young hoodie thug to booming adult male figure of authority.

Following an introduction of deadpan wit 'Hi we're Ginger and Black because I'm Ginger and he's.....' (awkward silence), their opening number was a well-crafted and hilarious duet-rap with stylophone about book obsession which gave rise to high expectations for the rest of the show.

However from hereon in, the action switched to a series of prison sketches, some hit, some miss, with a most tenuous thread running through of a woman murdering her husband for spurious reasons and the unlikely consequences.

Angela Lansbury and a dolphin rapist featured heavily and for reasons still unknown to this reviewer who lost the plot somewhere about halfway through, though I did rediscover my laughing muscle at the cue card warning 'Due to unforeseen circumstances Angela Lansbury will now be played by a black man.'

A talented duo, but the material strength and cohesion of this year's Edinburgh offering from them could have been a great deal stronger. One to watch for the future.


Kevin Eldon Is Titting About, The Stand

Not many acts do their own warm-up act as another character but then Kevin Eldon, cult staple of such shows as Brass Eye and Alan Partridge is no ordinary comedian in this, his first Edinburgh foray in which his shtick is that he is roadtesting various characters, unable to decide which one to go with.

An eerily convincing failed beat poet (Paul Hamilton) well-versed in all the clichés of the genre and playfully deconstructing them and himself, gave way to Fictitious Yorkshireman doing the same for Northern prejudice.

A rapping leather-clad Frenchman with a Grade 3 grip on his native language (i.e. your school textbook come to life), and my favourite, the anorak-clad rapping Pensions Advisor followed. Interspersed were a few glimpses of Kevin himself, the highlight of which was surely his extraordinary song 'Jump' in which he impersonated various malfunctioning audio equipment, ably demonstrating that no format is foolproof, however technology may advance.

Each act was preceded by a visit from on high in Mr Bean tradition. Was it the big G or was it an alien force moving Kevin's spirit thus? We were never quite certain.

Kevin Eldon may have served a long comedy apprenticeship in the shadow of bolder stars and allowing shyness and 'laziness' as he terms it to deter him from treading the boards of Edinburgh, but he is certainly making up for lost time now and looks set to soon have a clutch of awards to show for it and television companies biting off his hand to give him his own TV series.

A man whose time has come.

Reviews Archive: September 2007 - August 2008

Tales From The Cutting Room Floor, Project Adorno, The Vault, Candlemaker Row, Edinburgh

They spearheaded the Dr Who renaissance long before Russell T Davies thought of it with 'Stop The Tardis', trainspotted their way round the 'A-Z of the Underground' with queasy lists of the ingredients of Tube seats, and sexed up our public libraries with 'Dr Dewey Decimal & The House of Vaudeville' in previous Edinburgh shows.

Now Project Adorno are back with 'Tales From The Cutting Room Floor' to dig up surrealist composers you've never heard of and provoke you into considering concrete, trees and telephone boxes in directions you never imagined, aided by multi-media projections and their inimitable offbeat electro-musical style which has been compared to a cross between Raw Sex and Pet Shop Boys.

Although their most serious show to date, Tales From The Cutting Room Floor remains a nerd's paradise weaving facts and figures into the most unlikely artforms, somewhat surreal in their own right.

Steve Lake provides an extraordinary latter-day Dickensian tale as the centrepiece, featuring the story (in words, film and music) of a 'Kid' born on the wrong side of the tracks who gets caught up in the deadly underworld of 'King Rat'.

No longer strictly a comedic undertaking, this is a nerdy wordy show for the more serious-minded humorist/cynicist. Well worth a look.

***
August 2008

Wilson Dixon Rides Again, The Stand, Edinburgh

Armed with, one suspects, a mis-spent youth obsessed with Westerns and country music, Australian Jesse Griffin assumes the guise of American country singer 'Wilson Dixon' to poke musical fun at the cousin-marryin' gun-totin', barn dancin' , blue ridge mountain hicksville of his birth.

The show is a series of narrative songs, ranging from the tale of a faithless wife with no taste in new lovers and his increasingly obese children to a half-show length rambling yarn about how he tracked down 'The Man With No Name' and the logistical difficulties of tracking down a man with no name who's robbed your local bank.

Wilson's dark beady eyes glittered from behind his glasses with evident relish as he related his alternately ropey and clever lyrics, which played to every Country cliché in Partonsville.

A most engaging and enjoyable show. You might even buy his CD for the country fan in your life.

****
August 2008

Why We Ate Cliff Richard, Pleasance Courtyard, Edinburgh

I had low expectations of this show upon entering the auditorium but within minutes of Hank Marvin striking the first chord on his guitar and the appearance of tourists - hardcore Cliff Richard fan Tony (Jonathan Donahoe) and his reluctant friend - Harry (Daniel Benoliel) en route to a Cliff-side Cliff Richard-themed resort in Switzerland I began to thaw as I realised it was at least on-topic and could actually be rather good.

Cliff, it seems, is not just a pop star but a lifestyle to thousands of fans without much else in their lives like Tony, despite the reservations of his less than convinced friend Harry.

However the pair meet up with the eccentric Norman who runs the resort but has an unfortunate speech problem owing to an operation to sound like Cliff Richard going disastrously wrong, who won't take no for an answer where the Cliffmass Tombola is concerned and the pair find themselves entering.

Harry want a ham but they plump instad for the first prize - the chance to meet Cliff and be driven to a mystery location by him.

Unfortunately, Cliff's car crashes into a snowdrift and the pair's adventures really begin as Cliff's gold-plated omlette-maker is found to be short of eggs.

Some truly sick moments ensue as their plight becomes increasingly desperate.

Eventually though, redemption appears in a most unexpected form. Uproariously comic, competent and even affectionate to its subject, so that you suspect the great Cliff himself might even enjoy it.

A must see!

*****
August 2008

Gavin Webster ­ Webster's Pictionary, Stand Comedy Club, Edinburgh

Just when you think the old style of comedian is dead, along ambles upgraded traditional comic Gavin Webster with his powerpoint presentation, spinning his electronic wheel of joke themes.

Looking like a washing machine repairman by day and pub darts player by night, Gavin has an easy manner and expressive comedy face.

He does sexism with a new twist that effectively mocks itself!

It is hard to tell exactly how intelligent Gavin is as some words are mis-spelt on his pictionary wheel and yet when he goes deliciously surreal, such as ruminating on whether 1,000 pandas left is sufficient pandas or not and his take on climate change, a real intelligence shines through so that you suspect the 'I'm just a regular guy' thing might itself be part of the act.

The show is interspersed with delightful film clips of Gavin trying to take the world's comedy festivals by storm with his ill-judged ideas of Canadian, Yankee and Irish humour and a preview of his attempt to rejuvenate the British film industry with his terrible home-grown film featuring two boring blokes sat in a kitchen doing not very much.

The most enjoyable show of the day for its quirky take on British half-arsedness and working class humour.

*****
August 2008

Barry and Stuart: Part-time Warlocks, The Underbelly, Edinburgh

Like a younger and better-looking Herman Munster without the neckbolt, besuited Barry opened the show by narrating the sad life story of his equally charismatic and smartly suited partner Stuart, as the bearded Stuart performed the requisite magic tricks to illustrate.

Just to prove not all magicians were fusty and never stepped out of their bedrooms except for a show or the Magic Circle Christmas Party, a blast of high tech funk music and crazy dancing ensued.

In fact sound effects and blasts of funky music were to play a pivotal role throughout the show as Scots magicians and comedians Barry Jones and Stuart McLeod performed brilliant sleights of hand and proceeded to turn magic on its head.

And being part-time warlocks, they had of course more than one dimension to play with when not competing for space with a computer game on the floppy disc on which they'd stored the wisdom of the known universe or something important like that.

Voodoo, mesmerism, sexuality and razor-blade swallowing also received a new twist.

Not usually one for magic, I found this an utterly brilliant show which I couldn't fault (bar for the moment I had to hide behind a chair during the aforementioned razor blade swallowing) and have a feeling these two are destined for great things and may well be the new names in British magic.

*****
August 2008

Andrew O'Neill's Totally Spot-On History of British Industry, The Underbelly, Edinburgh

An original and admirably ambitious experimental show amidst a sea of those which claim to be but aren't.

After a promising start covering some amusing-but-true background to the British Industrial Revolution, however, amateur history buff Mr O'Neill seemed to lose confidence and become less 'spot-on', perhaps even a little nervous at not getting the usual laugh-per-minute quota of his deservedly acclaimed separate stand-up act and meander a little too often into irrelevant cul-de-sacs or off-topic jokes to make up for it.

Nor did a crazy dance routine to Level 42's Keep it In The Family help.

Despite admitting he had spent six months researching his subject, it became evident as the show went on that such an enormous subject probably required at least twice that as well as some iron discipline about where the historical cut-off point should be and what to leave in/leave out in order to be watertight.

It becomes harder to squeeze the laughs out of audiences who are probably on their third or fourth Edinburgh show by 11.35pm and are in general just happy to sit back and be entertained, much though one woman next to me managed to deputise the LOL-ing for most of the room!

Despite the occupational hazards of creative experimentalism/minor disappointments to his fellow history fans, Mr O'Neill successfully kept the room entertained to the end, if not wholly with the Industrial Revolution.

A most enjoyable show which can only evolve and well worth a look for its difference engine.

***
August 2008

Arthur Smith - Arturart, 15 Queen Street, Edinburgh

Three floors of a Georgian house are given over to the ironic pretending to the iconic, presided over by a fake security guard with an even faker moustache.

The dodgy audio guide advises you to start at the top, and it is not wrong for that is where some of the most inventive pieces of modern art pastiche are to be found, from the strangely eerie 'flying' Barbie dolls escaping out the window to the liberation of the long-suffering figure on black and yellow Health and Safety signage in the opposite room.

On floor one a semi-naked man is trapped in a garish plastic wendy house passing out notes through the window imploring rescue, Arthur's reconstructed study is to be found littered with puns in various forms, old typewriters and a singing deer head, and the rest of the exhibition can more or less be passed over, barring some witty slogans on the stairs.

Art contributions by the likes of Simon Munnery are sadly not worth the wallspace, splendid comedian as he is.

As for the 'giftshop', that is taking p*ss-artistry too far (though I did buy a CD of Simon Munnery), and contains a rather insulting centrepiece of a doghouse in which men are supposed to pose for photographs (speak for yourself Arthur).

You get the point of the exhibition pretty quickly, and really it should be a donation fee.

***
August 2008

Glenn Wool - Goodbye Scars, Underbelly, Edinburgh

Donned in washed blue denim from head to toe, with his straggly hair and beard, Glenn Wool resembles more a spare ZZ Top member than the lost 'BeeGee' he jokes about and is evidently influenced by the film The Big Lebowski, portraying himself as a drifter/loser with a stubborn sense of pride, whether misplaced or otherwise.

After a cod film introduction in which he assumes various guises in amusing movie previews of films which presumably never left the cutting room, Mr Wool takes to the stage.

His theme for the show is his recent second divorce and how really 'There's Tons of Good Shit About Me'!

Systematically (and presumably therapeutically) he works through all the good stuff he'd like to put on his divorce papers so he didn't look quite such a SOAB in the eyes of the world.

There are some hilarious sequences, particularly when he re-enacts scenes between him and his recently severed wife and extols the virtues of divorce.

A long sequence about his nasty experiences in an STD clinic (despite not having an STD) is a mite overlong, but this Canadian comedian is a masterclass in how to work the floor so that a whole audience is eating out of the palm of your hand, even if they don't like you - and he was particularly vicious to one heckler.

*****
August 2008

Pear-Shaped Afternoons, The White Horse, Canongate, Edinburgh

Proud ringmaster of 'London's Second Worst Comedy Club' (the worst was supposedly the late Joe's Comedy Madhouse), Brian Damage presents this delightful 'Freenge' daily open mic afternoon, ably assisted by his glamorous-but-thick assistant Krysstal.

Their adroit comedy songs are amidst the highlights of the afternoon with Mr Damage a vocal cross between Peter Sellers at his Goon-best and the English quaintness of Terry-Thomas and his assistant Krysstal (wife Vicky in real life), a perfect Joyce Grenfell-ish songstress foil and complement, adept at various voices in her own right.

Most open-micers are there to promote their shows - some toe-curlingly bad - which make you think - well if I can hardly bear that for three minutes, how on earth could I possibly stand it for an hour?

So you could save a lot of money watching free previews at this show, though there were also some enjoyable poetry and comedy acts who did not have a show to plug.

An supersized elderly American in ropey health was most entertaining in particular with his tales of brothel visits to 'naughty girls' in Amsterdam and down home philosophy with holes in.

***
August 2008

Sarah Millican's Not Nice, Pleasance Courtyard, Edinburgh

Sarah Millican has a wedding dress hardly used and an ex-husband who may be badly used or hardly used - we never find out.

While she rails against the undesirable traits of her ex, she then extols the joys of unfettered farting as a newly-divorced which makes you wonder who had the worse personal traits.

This applies not least when combined with an obsession with her front bottom or 'not nice' (as her Tyneside mother termed it), and how it might be metamorphosed by having babies - children she then goes on to admit hating anyway.

Blessed with the comedy gift of a Northern accent, combined with a failed-schoolmarm delivery, Sarah dressed down in farmer's jeans and t-shirt without a scrap of make-up, cheerfully joking about her 'cake' tyre.

Housewife or hussy, it is hard to tell what her comedy persona is meant to represent, or indeed what Sarah's point is as the show goes on.

That said, she is competent at working the room and can be highly funny when not making the room uncomfortable with personal questions about front bottoms and how many men the females in the audience have slept with.

It is, however, the truly edgy material that Sarah dropped from the early previews that the show now sorely misses and which might push her into above-middling orbit.

***
August 2008

Andrew Maxwell's Supernatural, Pleasance Courtyard, Edinburgh

Andrew Maxwell has the face of a grown choirboy and the comedy balls of a Dublin Robin Williams, if not quite the topic range and work ethic.

After some inventive heckling of latecomers, he launched into an obligatory but skilful "drugs are cool" routine, despite looking like he imbibes nothing stronger than Green Tea.

He then moved on to the main meat of his act - a brilliant political crossfire of the Irish situation, employing all the various voices, including a hilarious John Hurt-esque approximation of the English.

He went on to relate how doing a comedy gig in Belfast very nearly turned into a major diplomatic incident, but, hey, aren't those political activists skilful at marketing?

There wasn't a spare seat in the house after they had forcibly insisted every resident in the vicinity be there.

Couldn't all comedians do with a friendly local para-military marketing department?

A tendency to comedy coasting with bouts of gratuitous swearing in lieu of moving the material on in certain places coupled with the odd bit of mumbling and failing to set the scene properly prevent this show rating a 5-star from me as it was not easy to follow in places..

But Mr Maxwell is certainly worth the price of the ticket.

****
August 2008

Count Arthur Strong - The Man Behind The Slime, Assembly Rooms, Edinburgh

Or 'The Man Behind The Smile' if the banner printing had gone to plan.

Blunderman Count Arthur Strong - never better for wear - makes a shambolic appearance to celebrate 50 years in showbiz, after much arguing with assistants in the wings, replete with coathanger swinging from the back of his jacket and mismatched footwear.

Demented or drunk, it is hard to tell, but our hero is his usual belligerent self - a walking eddy of hilarious but often strangely apt malaprops, mishaps and misunderstandings - none of which are his fault naturally, but that of a malevolent world out to catch him out and get one over on him.

Apart from his not-so-bumbling-as-accused assistants, Arthur has acquired an impressive array of film clips from his glory days as presenter of 'Face the Face' involving an unfortunate incident with 'Lawrence of Olivier' and 'Ask the Family'. In it, he proved to be more clueless than the 1970s scary haircut family as question-meister, distracted by the team wife who was 'the spit of Ronnie Corbett'.

A shameless name dropper, the Count has no hesitation in revealing Nicholas Parsons' secret table manners including the surprising secret of Mr Parsons' alleging cheese-loving proclivities at buffets.

Aside from a somewhat unfunny foray into 'This is Your Life' which ego-monster Arthur had naturally engineered for himself, and the bumbling being a little too elongated in places, the Count proved once more that with enough delusions of grandeur, combined with an unshakable belief in those delusions, an elderly man with alcoholism (or is it Alzheimers?) can rule the world - well Doncaster, anyway.

As for the criticism that younger audiences just don't get it, I would say that anyone with a Grandfather or mad Great Uncle / elderly neighbour - or even just an egotist in their lives will understand.

Your only concern is that one day comedian Steve Delaney may find himself unable to shake off this superbly awful persona with his painfully strangulated bowels, er, vowels.

*****
August 2008

Adolf Hitler & Mother Teresa Walk Into A Bar, Voodoo, Edinburgh

An eye-catchingly titled 'Freenge' two-hander, supposedly representing 'good and evil' with a 'which is best?' vote at the end - lest the audience hadn't already decided pre-show.

First up was 'bad' Stephen Hill, a swaggering manscara'd macho man with a verbally-aggressive style and some over-blue material who strayed into racism under the guise of being anti, but going almost as far as to tease a worrying degree of BNP sympathy out of the audience.

I had grave doubts about the rest of the show, when curvaceous mop-top blonde Laura Rugg (aka 'good') appeared with some entertaining stories of working on London tour buses and in the London Dungeon but how she stopped short of the lure of regular work at Tesco's after attaining her Performing Arts Degree.

She then proceeded to vent her not inconsiderable spleen against Keira Knightly and Sienna Miller in a series of vitriolic off-keyish comedy songs, though she never quite explained quite why she hated them so much.

Getting all the acting work Ms Rugg felt she should have had no doubt. Ms Rugg's act became progressively more aggressive as she went on until it was hard to see why she was meant to be representing 'good'.

'Bad' Mr Hill came back on with a series of forgettable and offensive jokes.

The audience vote was almost forgotten by the end of the show.

Both Mr Hill and Ms Rugg were adept performers as you'd expect from two people with performing arts degrees, but I think they need to get their act together in more ways than one if they want to get anywhere in comedy.

**
August 2008

Des Clarke - Desire, Pleasance Courtyard, Edinburgh

Des Clarke is a rapid-fire Glasweigan comic who hardly drew breath once during the hour, covering everything from being Scottish to Sex. All the S's, notwithstanding an F for Football really.

A talented enough comic, with such a narrow topic range, you certainly came away thinking that for maximum audiences (less than a quarter of the auditorium was filled) Des ought to be marketing himself as primarily of appeal to Scottish audiences and Scotophiles, being as much of his material is topographical rather than topical.

Even the attempt at sex sat awkwardly on his wiry buttoned-up frame somehow, as did the surprising admission that he waxes his eyebrows (a lynching affair in Glasgow, surely?).

A good comedian for local colour / background - but he might not conquer many pastures outside Scotland.

***
August 2008

Andrew O'Neill's Comedy Show, Nicol Edwards pub, Niddry Street, Edinburgh

A 'Freenge' event, Andrew O'Neill's hour long stand-up Comedy Show is a veritable bargain, containing as it does many of his 'best of' routines.

Set in the most haunted pub in Edinburgh, the Nicol Edwards, the room is pregnant with atmosphere even before Andrew - an aptly born-again goth having a day off - gets the ghosts and audience rocking with a sublime Queen gag.

Today Andrew has experimented by not bothering to flyer (a fatal omission for most Edinburgh performers) and is still rewarded with a full house (and more outside in the corridor) who lap up his every line.

Not missing a trick, he tells them about his other show on the history of British Industry after an enjoyable hour essaying into the dangers of one of his other hobbies - cross-dressing and - playing with public perceptions and misperceptions on this and a multitude of topics.

As the sated audience leave, I overhear one young man say to his friend, 'Well, that's the best show I've seen so far'.

An affable and earnest young man, Andrew's gentle fresh-facedness belies a steely determination to get somewhere in comedy.

I have no doubt he'll get there. Well worth a looky wook.

****
August 2008

Adventures of An Orgasm Donor, Espionage, Victoria Street, Edinburgh

A 'Freenge' event - Donald Mac makes an appearance at what he jokingly calls 'The White Festival'.

After a quip about making sure he smiles a lot in the dark venue, he proceeds to launch into a long monologue about his sex life.

He informs us he has been single for eight years, though he still gets to have 'single sex' (apparently not masturbation).

Mack reckons he loves women but won't go with an ugly one. The only problem is, he says, that women are rubbish at giving head (has he tried men?).

He also claimed that he recently got into hot water with the police on account of telling a child abuse gag at a gig - and then had a fling with the WPC investigating him.

A few people in the audience had walked out by this point though this did not faze Mr Mac who carried on unabated foraying into internet porn and various other murky worlds.

The tubby and decidedly middle-aged Mr Mac seemed to think himself God's gift to women and his 'orgasm donations' a bit of a selfless mission to bored women.

But I didn't see him getting any telephone numbers at the gig as few women laughed and the men's laughter was also decidedly nervous.

Mr Mac's delivery is not aggressive and he comes across as a competent comedian, but his material was really quite offensive (without being funny enough to justify).

I would not be in a hurry to watch him again.

**
August 2008