Comedy

The Box Show

12/08/23

Pleasance Courtyard (Cellar), Edinburgh

The Box Show (theboxshow.org) is one of the most original acts I’ve ever seen. Incredibly,  the whole production is confined to one small box – every prop, every costume change – like a puppet theatre with myriad human puppets. And Dominique Salerno (dominiquesalerno.com) is the puppet master, changing herself into a giant woman, a fighting couple, a demanding pop star – and a few more esoteric surprises it would be a crime to give away. 

 The constraints of the box mean that Salerno has to be imaginative – necessity is the mother of invention, after all. Low-budget theatre is often more interesting than its splashy, blinged up West End cousin; limiting herself to such a miniscule stage pushes Salerno even further down this road. I’m in awe of her imagination. 

The Box Show is fast-paced, never letting up for the whole hour, the sketches building to a hilarious crescendo. 

Audacious, funny, and perfectly crafted, The Box Show is performed with wit and precision. Salerno has the flexibility of a gymnast or a dancer (it makes my creaky knees hurt just watching her), as well as being a gifted actor and singer.

The tiny venue mirrors the tiny box, so it doesn’t take many punters for this to be sold out. Grab a ticket while you can – this Fringiest of Fringe shows is one not to miss.

5 stars

Susan Singfield

The Ice Hole: A Cardboard Comedy

12/08/23

Pleasance Courtyard (Grand), Edinburgh

The Pleasance Grand is a big venue and this morning it’s packed to the rafters for The Ice Hole: A Cardboard Comedy. It’s the latest offering from French theatre group Le Fils Du Grand Réseau, the people who brought us Fish Bowl in 2019 and, believe me, that’s a tough show to follow. 

But they more than succeed.

This two man production features Pierre Guillois and Olivier Martin Salvan and begins with the latter fishing in the titular ice hole, when he captures a beautiful mermaid called Salina. As he fishes, Salvan tells us all about what’s happening… in Icelandic. Well, alleged Icelandic anyway. Gobbledygook might be a more apt description, but somehow we understand him.

This is just the starting point for an adventure that takes our narrator all around the world – including a memorable stopover in Scotland, complete with bagpipes and authentic weather conditions. The brilliant gimmick here is that Guillois has to provide all the props for the story as it gallops along – and, as you’ve probably guessed from the title, they are all made from cardboard. 

If this sounds underwhelming, don’t be fooled. There’s an endless stream of ingeniously constructed items: machines, costumes, signs (English, not Gobbledygook!), footwear, tools, you name it… and they’re all made from old boxes. The items seem to materialise out of nowhere and the constant interactions between the two actors as this happens keep me laughing uproariously pretty much throughout. 

As I’m watching I’m having the recurring thought that I’m really glad I don’t have to clear up after these guys – and then, at the end, the audience is introduced to the two stagehands who actually have to do it.

TIH:ACC is an inspired piece of surreal lunacy, an hour of sheer unadulterated fun, fuelled by manic levels of invention. Miss it and you’ve only got yourself to blame.

4.8 stars

Philip Caveney

Grown Up Orphan Annie

11/08/23

Gilded Balloon Patter Hoose (Coorie), Edinburgh

Kathryn Bourne Taylor’s premise is a strong one: a ‘Where Are They Now?’ feature brought to life, starring everyone’s favourite plucky red-headed orphan. Leapin’ lizards! Little Annie is an adult! Unfortunately, she’s not a very happy one.

Long estranged from her billionaire adopted father, Annie is struggling to come to terms with his death. She’s angry about the environmental impact of his destructive business model, and bitter about a contract that means he owns the rights to all her songs. “My life has been made into a comic strip, a film, a Broadway musical – and I’ve got nothing to show for it,” she complains. She has a point. Why any kid would wanna be an orphan is beyond me.

Bourne Taylor makes for a believable millennial Annie, effortlessly embodying the familiar ‘please like me’ smile and can-do attitude. She nails Annie’s dazzling desperation, the knowledge that she’ll always have to sing for her supper.

I like the set up a lot, so I’m a little disappointed when the show pivots off in a whimsical direction, as Annie embarks on a mission to find a new sidekick (tragically, Sandy is long gone), and tries to resist opening the box that Daddy Warbucks has left to her. As charming as this stuff is, it’s very slight. There are early hints that we will be dealing with weightier stuff – the troubling power dynamic between a billionaire ‘saviour’ and an impoverished orphan; the effects of childhood neglect and trauma; the impact of sudden fame at an early age – but these are jettisoned in favour of something more kooky and ultimately less satisfying.

Grown Up Orphan Annie is a pleasant show, but I can’t help thinking it could be so much more.

2.8 stars

Susan Singfield

Jo Caulfield: Razor Sharp

07/08/23

Stand 3, Edinburgh

As Fringe reviewers, we’re generally on the lookout for new acts. On the other hand, there are some old favourites that we just can’t stop returning to. Jo Caulfield is one such performer. This woman is an enigma, relentlessly old school in her approach, yet with an acidic edge that never feels old fashioned. She has the uncanny ability to nail her chosen target with a few carefully chosen put downs and move on to the next subject.

Razor Sharp is this year’s title and it sums her up very succinctly.

Out she comes and we can see she has a cob on about something and she isn’t holding back. People brave enough to sit in the front row are quickly excoriated, but here’s the thing: they love being demolished! A range of targets are unceremoniously despatched. Old grudges are aired in no uncertain terms. And, most importantly, we are all laughing uncontrollably, pretty much from the word go, at the comprehensive list of irritations she’s made notes on since we last saw her.

In a variation from her norm, she’s recently published a book, but – unlike many comics who go for the ‘how I became funny’ approach or the (inevitable) children’s series – she’s chosen to write about death, more specifically, the untimely demise of her beloved sister. Even more unusual, she’s donating all of the proceeds to Macmillan Cancer Support, and she’s already raised thousands of pounds. Yes, copies are available at the shows.

If you’re thinking that it all sounds a bit grim, relax. She reads a brief extract and, while there’s a thread of melancholy woven through the writing, it’s as incisive and bitingly funny as just about everything else she turns her attention to.

So, yes, there will probably be more groundbreaking comedians at the this year’s Fringe. There will be performers who will take you on a journey, who will make you look into your souls and rethink your very existence. But if you’re craving the experience of being absolutely helpless with laughter, this is where you need to come. And to those who quibble about her sharp edges, she has her own glorious riposte.

‘Unlikeable? Me? I’m fuckin’ delightful!’

4.7 stars

Philip Caveney

Chelsea Hart – Damet Garm: How I Joined a Revolution

04/08/23

Gilded Balloon Teviot – Sportsmans, Edinburgh

Chelsea Hart makes TikTok videos. It’s what they do. So they were taken by surprise when one of their posts went viral in Iran, sparking the kind of fame they never expected to have. After all, it’s not every day you accidentally join a revolution.

Hart is undoubtedly a born performer. Despite their slender frame, they have a huge presence, prowling the small stage. They’re compelling – I can’t look away, and it feels as if they are making eye contact with me almost the whole time. (I wonder if the rest of the audience experiences a similar sensation; is it the same trick as a portrait whose eyes follow you around a room?)

The material is wide-ranging, incorporating – among other things – tales of life in a small Alaskan town, revelations about Iranian culture, trans rights, opera, suicide, dick jokes, abortion and British sarcasm. There is a lot to unpack. In fact, there’s so much here that it’s almost to the show’s detriment: the whole thing feels scattershot and it’s hard to find the through-line that links it all together. There are analogies to be drawn, but they’re lost in the flurry. I think the structure could do with a little work: a stronger arc would lend the shocking ending more impact. I’d also like them to have shown us the original TikTok videos that brought them to the attention of the Iranians, to provide us with something concrete to establish the premise.

That’s not to say this doesn’t work. It does. It’s original and provocative: Hart has great energy and real, well, heart. They are expressive and engaging, exuding both confidence and vulnerability, and their outlook on life is genuinely inspiring. The show’s message is a fine one too: let’s learn from the united liberation movement the Iranian women are leading, and stop being so individualistic. Imagine what we could achieve if we all actually worked together, striving for something good.

3.3 stars

Susan Singfield

The Baron and the Junk Dealer

03/08/23

Assembly Roxy, Edinburgh

Okay, so the Festival doesn’t officially start until the 4th, but it would seem rude not to fit in an extra show when it’s right there for the seeing. The Baron and The Junk Dealer comes from the team behind The George Lucas Talk Show and concerns the adventures of two mysterious fugitives, who are the only survivors of a disastrous crash-landing on a desolate planet. It’s the kind of premise that traditionally calls for a decent production budget but this is the Fringe, and the charming shonkiness of the props somehow works in its favour. A ‘rescue pod’ which is actually an adapted one-person tent, operated by a stagehand, is a particular delight.

The Baron (Connor Ratliff) is a self-important sort, who dresses like a cross between an archbishop and a death metal guitarist. By contrast, the Junk Dealer (Griffin Newman) is twitchy and paranoid, liable to kick off at the slightest thing – and considering the two of them have virtually no provisions, he kicks off quite a lot. It’s also clear from the outset that both characters are hiding something about their respective pasts. As the two men wait for rescue a sort of Godot-like atmosphere prevails.

The snarky, deadpan script, written by Ratfliff, incorporates some interesting twists and turns, and makes wry observations about the nature of storytelling. It’s by turns acidly funny and thought-provoking.

However, as this is a play where we need to hear every word clearly, it’s a shame that Newman is hampered by a novelty elephantine nose, which hangs in front of his mouth and sometimes obscures what he’s saying. The acoustics are further impeded by a noisy air-conditioning unit.

Despite these reservations, I thoroughly enjoy the play and its clever observations. Fans of science fiction in particular will find this play suitably diverting and, for a non-believer like me, BATDD makes for an interesting and unusual start to Fringe 2023.

3. 2 stars

Philip Caveney

Dear Billy

18/05/23

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

Gary McNair’s Dear Billy is a charming and affectionate love letter to the much adored comedian/musician, Billy Connolly. McNair is a self-confessed fan – and, it must be said, that there’s something about his looks and general demeanour that chime with The Big Yin’s own personality. But rest assured, this isn’t some kind of a tribute act.

Instead, McNair has wandered the highways and byways of Scotland, talking to Connolly’s fans – and, over ninety minutes, he recounts the various things they’ve said about the man they (mostly) idolise, assuming their voices and mannerisms to comic effect. If this sounds like an unpromising premise, don’t be fooled. Mostly because of McNair’s consummate skills as a raconteur, I find myself laughing pretty much throughout the proceedings.

He’s joined onstage by musicians Simon Liddell and Jill O’ Sullivan (the latter occasionally given the opportunity to sing some of her own songs in a truly astonishing voice) and it’s fun to note the struggles they have to keep straight faces as McNair lets rip. But this is essentially a showcase for his comic skills, as he strides fearlessly back and forth between four microphones, inhabiting a whole range of personae, from grandmothers to dockers, with testimonies that range from the heartrending to the hilarious.

There may not be an awful lot of substance here, but it’s certainly an entertaining show. McNair references many of Connolly’s most iconic routines, so fans of the Big Yin in particular, will have a field day. But it’s worth saying that you don’t have to be a fan in order to enjoy what’s on offer.

Anyone looking for a much-needed giggle will find what they’re looking for right here.

4 stars

Philip Caveney

Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs

21/12/22

Festival Theatre, Edinburgh

It’s late December and it’s time for another panto from the King’s Theatre… 

Oh no it’s not! Because of course, the Old Lady of Leven Street is closed, awaiting its much heralded refurbishment, so this time the regular crew have relocated to the Festival Theatre, a much bigger space, but one that they fill with their usual raucous aplomb. This year’s panto is Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, which has a more complicated plot than most. Perhaps with this in mind, the set designer has usefully created a hi-tech ‘magic mirror’ which offers us a lengthy preamble to set the scene. Unfortunately, a bunch of latecomers troop across in front of me during this sequence, so I’m left to figure things out on that score. 

As usual May (Allan Stewart) is the absolute star of the show (she’s a Nurse this time around). Stewart has his persona fine-tuned to perfection, skipping around the stage in stilettos while offering perfectly-timed put-downs. Grant Stott eschews drag and plays it straight as the evil Lord Lucifer (the clue’s in the name), currently trapped in the magic mirror and hoping to gain his release with the help of the wicked Queen Dragonella (Liz Ewing). Jordan Young returns as Muddles, and has his physical routines down to a T. Muddles, of course,  is in love with the Princess Snow White (Francesca Ross), but she only has eyes for the handsome Prince Hamish (Brian James Leys). Meanwhile, Dragonella’s daughter, Princess Lavinia (Clare Gray), is having second thoughts about being such a thoroughly bad egg…

Look, with these pantos, the plot hardly matters. They are really just an excuse to have a fun time, and it’s clear from the exuberant reception as the curtain goes up that the audience has a lot of love for these seasoned performers and are ready to shout ‘It’s behind you!’ and bellow their best boos every time Stott stalks onto the stage. There’s the familiar check list of sure-fire comedy routines, some new additions (Stott’s song about the Edinburgh trams goes down a storm), plenty of references both topical and regional and, naturally, there are seven talented (and brilliantly costumed) dwarfs – with Kyle Herd even doubling as Nicola Sturgeon for a dance routine.

I laugh, I clap, I cheer, I boo and I genuinely have a great time with this charming production. They’ve started somewhat later than usual, so those who want to grab a generous helping of Ho, Ho. Ho! should book early to avoid disappointment. The show’s on until January 22nd, so come on, what are you waiting for? It’s not Christmas without a good panto. 

(And the first person to say “Oh yes it is” will be politely asked to leave.)

Merry Christmas everyone!

4.5 stars

Philip Caveney

Tim Minchin: BACK

23/11/22

Cineworld, Edinburgh

The tagline for BACK promises “old songs, new songs and fuck you songs” – and that’s exactly what we get. It’s great to see Minchin ‘back’ on the stage, albeit – for today – via the medium of screen. I loved Matilda, and am truly sorry his animated movie was so cruelly canned, but I did miss Tim-the-performer while he was working on those other projects, and BACK is a triumphant return.

I admire his resilience. Whatever private tears were shed over the Hollywood let-down, his public self is irrepressible. And I imagine live performances as popular as these provide quite the tonic for a bruised ego.

BACK is wide-ranging – both topically and musically. There’s an ode to cheese, a rant about progressives’ infighting and a plaintive memorial to a lost loved one; there’s a capella, solo piano and an accomplished eight-piece band. This makes sense: after all, the show is loosely constructed as a memoir, looking back at almost thirty years of an unusual career.

Three hours seem to fly by. Minchin’s ebullience makes him fascinating to watch, as well as listen to: this is as much a spectacle as it is an evening of song. As if his trademark bare feet, big hair and eyeliner weren’t arresting enough, he’s rarely still, jumping on and off the piano, doing backward rolls off the stool, and even sweeping broken glass off the stage (his own glass, I should add; the crowd is on his side).

Standout moments include If I Didn’t Have You, for it’s cheeky observations, and I’ll Take Lonely Tonight, for its wistful honesty, but the whole show works well. I find myself impressed anew by Minchin’s witty lyrics and musical dexterity, and I’m also engaged by his attempt to confront the thorny issue of ‘cancel culture’ from a liberal standpoint, highlighting the hypocrisy of promoting empathy via rage.

The tour is over, but this recording remains, and – if you get the chance to see it – do. Minchin is a joy.

4.6 stars

Susan Singfield

Pride and Prejudice* (*sort of)

20/10/22

Lyceum Theatre, Edinburgh

It’s a real treat to revisit writer/director Isobel McArthur’s rambunctious retelling of Jane Austen’s best-loved novel. Since we last saw it in January 2020, a lot has happened – and I’m not referring to the pandemic. Pride and Prejudice* (*sort of) has wowed the West End and bagged itself a well-deserved Olivier award. McArthur must be buzzing.

This adaptation is actually pretty faithful to the original. The set-up is intact: we have the Bennett family facing financial ruin, and Mrs Bennett (McArthur) desperately trying to marry off her five daughters. And the central romance is intact too: we have sparky, reckless Lizzy (Leah Jamieson), determined to marry for love or not at all – consequences be damned – and we have Darcy (McArthur again). Her portrayal of the enigmatic, uptight ‘hero’ is as exquisite as I remember. She nails his inarticulacy, highlighting his inability to express himself, rendering him sympathetic, despite his brusque manner.

The difference lies in the telling. The conceit is that five servants are dressing up, playing, showing us what they’ve observed in the houses where they work. Thus class barriers are broken down, and so is the gap between the 19th century gentry and the theatre-goers of the 21st. McArthur’s talent lies in unveiling the jokes, so that Austen’s satire – hidden from a modern audience behind bonnets and mannered language – is exposed to the light. Via karaoke and biting sarcasm.

Hannah Jarrett-Scott almost steals the show: she’s a natural clown, clearly relishing the twin roles of Caroline and Charles Bingley, but also flashing her acting chops in a nuanced depiction of Charlotte Lucas, repressing her feelings for Lizzy. Christina Gordon (as Jane, Wickham and Lady Catherine) and Tori Burgess (as Lydia, Mary and Mr Collins) are both excellent too. I’ve nothing negative to say.

Pride and Prejudice* (*sort of) is at the Lyceum until November 5th, which seems appropriate for such a dazzling firecracker of a show.

4.6 stars

Susan Singfield