Comedy

Felicity Ward: I’m Exhausting!

15/03/25

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

Felicity Ward’s manic energy is apparent from the moment we hear her shrieking, “Please welcome to the stage…” from the wings. She bounds on – which is in itself quite a feat, given the towering stilettos she’s wearing. And the tone is set for two hours of mayhem…

Ward is an experienced performer and it shows. The London-dwelling Aussie hasn’t done any stand-up for several months, she tells us, so why not “ease” back into it with a two-hour set? Actually, the show is a little baggy in places – I think I’d prefer a tight ninety minutes – but she has us in the palm of her hand and the Traverse 2 is rocking with laughter.

The subject matter is wide-ranging, from childbirth to the pandemic, from Quorn to, erm… fingering. There are also some weirdly wonderful animal impressions (more of these, please!), as well as some admirably frank references to mental health problems, particularly of the post-natal variety. Ward’s unfiltered openness is what makes her so engaging – well, that and her irrepressible mischievousness. She has an infectious laugh and the cheekiest smile you’ve ever seen.

I’m not usually a massive fan of comedians talking about parenthood because they mostly tread the same old ground, but Ward’s disarming admissions are bold and fresh. She makes us feel the horror of childbirth as well as the wonder; makes us laugh out loud (with schadenfreude) at her various mishaps.

I’m less keen on her weight-gain material. Previously a size 4, Ward bemoans “ballooning” to a size 14. While she aims for body positivity, claiming to love her belly, she also acknowledges that this material doesn’t really work now that she’s lost a lot of the weight, thanks to training for Australia’s Dancing With the Stars. It’s all a bit Bridget Jones and I’m not sure it ever would have sat well with me, especially as lines like, “When your leggings don’t fit, you know you’ve got a problem” and, “At least you’re never too big for a scarf” belie her supposed fat acceptance.

That aside, I have a thoroughly fabulous evening. Ward’s not lying with her titular assertion: she is exhausting. Her ADHD might be undiagnosed but it’s surely undeniable. She ping-pongs all over the place, physically and verbally – yet somehow manages to take us with her.

One thing’s for sure: I’ll be streaming the Australian version of The Office tonight. I can’t wait to see what this kinetic woman brings to the David Brent role. Meanwhile, I’ve laughed more than I have in ages. And I’ll never look at a giraffe in the same way again…

4.2 stars

Susan Singfield

The Happiness index: Jonny & the Baptists

13/03/25

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

We’ve been aware of Jonny & the Baptists for quite some time, though we’ve somehow never managed to catch their act… until now. This is strange when you consider that we saw (and enjoyed) Jonny Donahoe’s delightful solo piece, Every Brilliant Thing, at the Edinburgh Fringe way back in 2015. 

Still, no matter – here we are at the Traverse 2 and there’s Jonny and his ‘Baptists’ (Paddy Gervers – don’t worry it’s explained later), decked out in their colourful Lucy and Yak jumpsuits and ready to launch themselves into their latest opus.

The Happiness Index – so I’m reliably informed – was originally conceived by one David Cameron, some time before he steered the UK into the disastrous car crash that was Brexit. It was, allegedly, a means of qualifying exactly how ‘happy’ his constituents were. As two struggling self-employed performers, both plagued by mental health issues and coming to terms with the fact that performing in Europe was now effectively off the cards, Jonny and Paddy were not chuckle-bunnies. And as the Conservatives’ disastrous years in power unfolded, the pair were clearly not destined to have much respite from the situation.

The ensuing account of their years of struggle could so easily be a tale of steadily-mounting misery, but instead we’re treated to a kind of stream-of-consciousness blitzkrieg, composed of equal parts caustic patter and seemingly unrelated songs, all of which are bitterly funny and most of which have me laughing out loud, sometimes in outright disbelief at what’s just been said.

Somewhere in there, there’s J and the B’s woeful attempts to compose advertising jingles – I can only picture the looks of disbelief of the faces of the people who might have commissioned them. There’s a thank you to one Nigel Farage, whose outraged complaint about being ‘mocked by people who are taking money from the Arts Council’ alerted the performers to the fact that they might actually be eligible for such funding in the first place. There are songs about the various medications for depression and their potential side effects. There’s a swift summation of Liz Truss’s short lived prime-ministerial career. And there’s a song about a monkey’s funeral (of course there is!) that frankly defies description.

If the object of tonight’s exercise is to lift my spirits, then Jonny & the Baptists succeed in epic style. Maybe it’s simply that I’m on the same wavelength as them, but this is one of the funniest shows I’ve seen in a very long time. Afterwards, I spend an hour or so on YouTube, checking out some of the duo’s greatest hits, which are well worth further investigation.

In short, if your own happiness index is at a low ebb, my prescription would be to find a venue where Jonny & the Baptists are playing and get yourselves down there at your earliest opportunity. If laughter really is the best medicine, this is the place to get your fix.

4.2 stars

Philip Caveney 

Edfest Bouquets 2024
Another incredible August in Edinburgh. Another Fringe packed with wonders to behold. As ever, we’ve put together our annual list of virtual bouquets for the shows that blew us away.

Julia VanderVeen : My Grandmother’s Eye Patch – ZOO Playground

“A lot of the comedy comes simply from VanderVeen’s exaggerated facial expressions and her tendency to skewer audience members with a scarily intense stare…”

Luke Bayer – Diva: Live from Hell – Underbelly (Belly Button), Cowgate

“Channing (the name is obviously a reference to Bette Davis in All About Eve) is a delightful character, supremely self-obsessed, deliciously callous and intent on achieving stardom at any cost…”

The Sound Inside – Traverse Theatre

“Director Matt Wilkinson handles the various elements of the play with skill, and guides it to a poignant conclusion…”

Summer of Harold – Assembly (Checkpoint)

‘If you’re looking for an hour-and-a-half of impressive theatre, with snort-out-loud humour as well as profound emotional moments, then Summer of Harold ticks all the boxes…”

Rebels and Patriots – Pleasance Courtyard (Upstairs)

“Loosely stitched with a sprinkling of history and Shakespeare, it all adds up to something very thoughtful…”

Chris Dugdale: 11 – Assembly George Street (Ballroom)

“There are some examples of mind control that have us shaking our heads in disbelief – and I may be guilty of muttering the odd expletive…”

Natalie Palamides: Weer – Traverse Theatre

“A great big slice of the absurd, expert clowning performed with such reckless abandon that you can’t help loving it…”

V.L. – Roundabout at Summerhall

“A whip-smart comedy that also has some incisive things to say about the difficulties of adolescence and the importance of friendship…”

Sam Ipema: Dear Annie, I Hate You – ZOO Playground

“A wonderfully inventive and cleverly-assembled slice of true experience, by turns funny, profound and – at one particular point – very challenging…”

Michaela Burger: The State of Grace – Assembly George Street (Drawing Room)

“Not so much an impersonation as a transformation. Burger talks eloquently and provocatively about the lives of sex workers, explaining why there is a need for their business to be recognised…”

Honourable Mentions

Werewolf – Summerhall (Former Women’s Locker Room)

“I love it. The wardens do an excellent job of inhabiting their characters at the same time as managing the narrative, expertly drawing what they need from the participants…”

Megan Prescot: Really Good Exposure – Underbelly (Belly Button)

“Prescott is an accomplished performer. She tantalises and reels us in before skewering our internal biases and forcing us to think…”

Come Dine With Me: The Musical

19/08/24

Underbelly, Bristo Square (Cowbarn), Edinburgh

There’s a well-established route to success at the Edinburgh Fringe. Find a long established TV series (one that already boasts legions of devotees), tack the words “The Musical” onto the end and design a poster to go with it. Voila, you have the ingredients guaranteed to pull in large crowds of festival-goers in search of an hour’s entertainment. 

The results can sometimes be mediocre, but to give Come Dine With Me: The Musical its proper due, this sprightly production, co-created by Neil Butler and Genevieve Welch – who actually worked on the original programme – is slickly put together and nicely performed.

We are first introduced to harassed TV producer, Mary (Danielle Coombe), her hunky camera operator Roy (Tom Bowen) and her shy and hapless sound man, Teddy (Harry Chandler). The series is fast approaching it’s 1000th episode and the trio drive with some trepidation to the remote English village where it is to be filmed. They need something to boost their flagging viewing figures. Teddy is anxious for entirely different reasons. He grew up there.

Of course, we all know the format of the show (four disparate people cook dinner and are scored out of 10) but who will be the winner? Will it be snooty Barbara (Kim Ismay), who is completely obsessed with all things Françaises? Will it be evangelistic vegan, Ernest (Leo Udvarlaky), who can do some pretty inventive things with a bowl of lentils? What about the self proclaimed ‘King of the Sausage Roll,’ Duncan (Paul Hazel), a man who equates meat with manhood? And, lest we forget, how about Teddy’s old school chum (and secret crush), Jenny (Sophie Hutchinson)?

But when Teddy’s microphone picks up what appears to be somebody scheming to spike another chef’s culinary creations, the scene is set for a memorable landmark edition…

This is an enjoyable and occasionally very funny show, with a selection of songs memorable enough to have me humming the closing melody as I leave the theatre. All the performers have excellent vocal skills, with Coombe in particular reaching some impressive top notes.

You might argue that it’s slight fare, an amuse bouche rather than a dish of the day, but if it’s an hour of escapism you’re after, you could do a lot worse than Come Dine With Me: The Musical, before heading out for a slap-up meal in Edinburgh.

4 stars

Philip Caveney

Michelle Brasier: Legacy

18/08/24

Gilded Balloon Patter Hoose (Doonstairs), Edinburgh

First up, a disclaimer. It’s not Michelle Brasier’s fault, but there’s something wrong with the sound in this room. I don’t know if it’s where we’re positioned – first row, far left, directly in front of a gigantic speaker – but the volume is so amplified that Brasier’s voice is distorted, and I find it hard to follow some of what she says. I leave the show with a headache.

It’s a loud, high-octane production anyway. But, if you can sit further back or in the middle, I’m sure that works in its favour. Aussie comic Brasier zips along at a frenetic pace. I feel breathless just sitting here, as if I’m one of those maximise-your-time people who listen to podcasts on double speed. Her stage persona (and maybe her real-life self, for all I know) is a diva-drama-queen, who warns us from the start that she has ‘main character energy’. This makes for a lively hour – with some deeper themes beneath the fun façade.

The conceit is simple. Visiting her local cinema, Brasier is handed an envelope with her name on it containing $10.50 in coins – but it’s not for her. She embarks on a quest to find this other Michelle Brasier and return the money. At first, I assume this means we’re setting off on a Dave Gorman-esque mission, but no – it’s very much an original tale and actually not really about any other Michelles at all. After all, this Brasier is the hero of her own story. She did tell is us that from the start. Even the most banal occurrences are exciting if they happen to her.

But not everything that happens is banal.

The threat of an early death laps at the edges of this musical comedy show, surfacing in the form of a refrain (“What if I die younger than I should?”), in the cyst she’s just had excised and in a terrifying plane journey. Brasier has a high risk of cancer and doesn’t want children. And so, as the title tells us, she’s concerned about her legacy. How will she be remembered? Will she be remembered at all?

I like her brash, bold approach to her story, and her amusing digressions along the way. She has some insightful things to say about the generational divide and the shock of realising that you’ve aged out of being cool. Her partner, Tim Lancaster, provides an interesting counterpoint, as well as guitar accompaniment and backing vocals. He’s quiet and, in comparison to Brasier, seems to move and speak at a glacial pace. This difference is cleverly mined for all its potential; he’s the perfect foil for her manic style.

This is well-crafted comedy with some catchy songs, and Brasier has the vocal skills to make it soar. Just be careful where you sit – and then prepare to be caught up in her infectious energy.

4 stars

Susan Singfield

300 Paintings

18/08/24

Summerhall (TechCube 0), Edinburgh

Aussie comedian Sam Kissajukian had an epiphany in 2021. Okay, so it turns out it was actually a manic episode, but he didn’t know he had bipolar at the time, so he really believed he’d seen the light. It was time, he decided, to turn his back on comedy and become an artist. So what if he’d never painted before? He had a beret. He was good to go.

We have his bipolar to thank for the art we see today: without the high levels of energy, the euphoria and the delusions that come with a manic episode, Kissajukian might never have rented a workshop, moved into it and obsessively painted massive (and tiny) pictures for several months. He might never have created the Museum of Modernia or held exhibitions of his work across Australia – or visited the Edinburgh Fringe with this fascinating show.

Of course, he wouldn’t have had to endure the crippling depression that followed either, but he’s doing well now, he tells us, so we’re allowed to laugh at the crazy, funny stuff he did.

300 Paintings is essentially a story about finding yourself and, although most of us won’t experience periods of transition with quite the same intensity as Kissajukian, the urge to escape our shackles and work out what we really want is very relatable. Unleashed from the need to please a drunken comedy audience, Kissajukian turns out to be extraordinarily creative. His ideas are inventive (literally) and exciting; his artwork primitive but fresh. He pushes every concept beyond its boundaries, so that this show is unlike anything I’ve seen before.

Kissajukian’s previous incarnation as a comic means he’s adept at communicating with the audience, even if the early morning is an unusual time for him to be awake. His easy-going patter makes the complex mental health issues accessible, and the projections of his artwork illustrate the story perfectly. Twenty-five of his paintings are on display here at Summerhall, the performance and exhibition inextricably linked.

Today’s show was sold out but, if you can get a ticket, 300 Paintings is an invigorating way to start your day.

4.2 stars

Susan Singfield

Hold On to Your Butts

15/08/24

Pleasance Forth, Edinburgh

At the Pleasance Forth, a huge crowd of film fans has eagerly assembled for Hold Onto Your Butts. The raison d’etre of this New York-based outfit, making its debut at the Fringe, is to take a big-budget movie – you know the kind of thing, epic scale, massive special effects – and replicate it. They do this pretty much scene-for-scene, using a series of cheap-as-chips props to capture every detail. So for instance, a spinning umbrella becomes the rotor blades of a helicopter. Got it? Good.

Today we’re being treated to their version of Jurassic Park, though (presumably for legal reasons) the title is never mentioned. A grand cast of two performers (Natalie Rich and Matt Zambrano) and one foley artist (Kelly Robinson) gleefully launch themselves headlong into the action. The actors mine the film for its weaknesses, having fun with Ian Malcolm’s proclivity for pregnant pauses, John Hammond’s habit of fitting in lavish meals at inopportune moments, and the seeming inability of the adults in the cast to realise that they are repeatedly plunging the two kids in the story into harm’s way.

And then of course there are the dinosaurs. It’s amazing what can be achieved with a bike helmet and a traffic cone…

This is great fun, but I should probably point out that anyone with little or no knowledge of the original film will be somewhat bewildered by what’s happening onstage. Fans of Jurassic Park – and there are many – will have a whale of a time. Judging by the gales of laughter filling the room, that’s a sizeable part of the audience.

Fast, funny and irreverent, Hold On To Your Butts has all the makings of a monster hit and I fully expect it to become a regular fixture at the Fringe. We’ll see how that one er… evolves.

4 stars

Philip Caveney

F**king Legend

14/08/24

Pleasance Courtyard (Bunker Two), Edinburgh

Olly Hawes isn’t a bad guy. Okay, so maybe things get a little out of hand on stag dos now and again, but he and his pals are not like those other lads, misbehaving drunkenly in historical European cities. Sure, they go to the same places and drink the same booze, but their raucousness is performative and self-aware. They’re being ironic – and that makes all the difference. Right?

In this one-man show, Hawes veers between biting humour and apocalyptic despair; it is at once a confessional and a call to arms. The affable persona he creates serves as a hook, allowing him to reel us in and bring us face-to-face with our own hypocrisies.

There’s a gulf between the opening scene, where Hawes stands contemplating which socks to wear, and the terrifying ending, where we all stand on the precipice of a climate disaster. But Hawes is an effective guide, leading us from an introspective focus on the daily minutiae to a bird’s eye view of what’s happening just out of shot. If this sounds bleak, it is, but don’t be misled – it’s also very entertaining.

There’s an overt meta-quality to this monologue. Hawes invites us to picture our own lead character. It might be him or it might just be someone a bit like him. It might be us. (It is us. We’re all guilty.) The piece is presented as a screenplay, with Hawes narrating the cues, which works well as a simple means of establishing where we are in time as well as place.

There’s no denying that the ending is frenetic and hyperbolic – but it feels earned. This is clever writing with a relatable protagonist, striking exactly the right tone to keep the audience on board.

And we need to actually do something about climate change, don’t we? The planet’s burning while all us f**king legends look away and party.

4 stars

Susan Singfield

Graham Kay: Pete and Me

13/08/24

Gilded Balloon Patter Hoose (Dram), Edinburgh

Before Canadian comedian Graham Kay even enters the room, we’ve learned a lot about him – via PowerPoint. A series of images shows us two boys growing up into men, smiling, striking Spider-Man poses and playing up to the camera. They’re clearly very close.

Kay ambles onto the stage and introduces himself as an affable slacker. He wants to talk to us about his relationship with his autistic brother, Pete. “Do I mock him?” he asks rhetorically, before confirming, “Yes, I do.”

In fact, he doesn’t. Not much. Over the next hour, we learn a lot about Pete: how funny and endearing he is, and how much Kay loves him. We also learn how Kay’s own childhood was affected by having a sibling with additional needs – and the strange mixture of resentment and pride he feels when he considers their shared past.

There are some amusing stories and some heartbreaking ones, some seriously emotional moments and some lessons about love. It’s impossible not to warm to Kay as he looks out frankly into the audience, chuckling self-effacingly or – at one point – tearing up.

If I have a criticism, it’s that I don’t think he goes far enough. He’s somehow too polite, too nice about it all. I’d like to see him mine his anecdotes for their full potential, being a little more transgressive. What he unearths might be difficult or shocking, but it would give this show some extra punch.

Nonetheless, Pete and Me is a gentle and affecting show by a likeable comedian. Hang on until the end for guest appearances by Berserko and Big Boss. “It’s crime fightin’ time!”

3.3 stars

Susan Singfield

My Grandmother’s Eyepatch

13/08/24

Zoo Playground 1, Edinburgh

Award-winning actor and clown Julia VanderVeen is hosting a memorial service for her beloved grandmother, the improbably-named Mamie Lee Ratliff Finger. It’s time for Julia to deal with her grief head-on, a mere eighteen years after Mamie’s demise.

We’re all here to pay our respects to the piratically-attired matriarch, and we’re soon ensconced in VanderVeen’s giddy, absurdist world, our cheeks hurting from laughing, our hands held to our mouths in gestures of oh-God-what-now? A lot of the comedy comes simply from VanderVeen’s exaggerated facial expressions and her tendency to skewer audience members with a scarily intense stare. Sometimes she moves achingly slowly, making us chuckle just to relieve the tension; other times, she capers about the small stage frenetically, or performs a ridiculously elaborate dance, contorting herself into a range of awkward poses. There are props a-plenty littering the stage – a more-is-more approach akin to Natalie Palamides’ in Weer.

Macbeth? Check. Card tricks? Check. Hobby horse? Of course. What else could you possibly ask for?

Perhaps unsurprisingly, the show tells us more about Julia than it does about Mamie, although we do learn quite a lot about her grandmother in the process. It would be a crime to reveal too much here, as it’s the unpredictability that makes it so entertaining; suffice to say, I’m pretty sure you’ve never been to a memorial service quite like this one – and if you have, I hope your therapist is good.

Sly, silly and absolutely hilarious, My Grandmother’s Eyepatch is the funniest show about grief I’ve ever seen.

5 stars

Susan Singfield