Comedy

Jo Caulfield: Here Comes Trouble

10/08/22

The Stand Comedy Club (Stand 1), Edinburgh

With over 3000 shows to choose from at the Fringe, we usually try to avoid seeing the same performers every year, but there are a few exceptions. Like moths to bright flames, we keep coming back to see the latest offerings from Richard Herring, Paines Plough, Flabbergast, Chris Dugdale – and, of course, Jo Caulfield.

Comedy is a broad church, and we have catholic tastes. For us, Caulfield falls into the ‘Mary’s Milk Bar ice cream’ category, i.e. an Edinburgh classic promising pure enjoyment. You know what you’re getting and it never disappoints.

She takes a few moments to check out her audience (who’s seen her before, where people have come from) and then cautions us at the top: “What I do is, I talk about myself and about who’s annoyed me since last year. That’s what this is. You won’t learn anything”. Well, good. I like life-lesson comedy, but I don’t want it all the time. Caulfield is an entertainer, and I’m ready to be entertained.

And we’re off. The laughs keep coming, thick and fast. She’s an expert; she knows exactly how to make her material fly: when to push the boundaries and when to rein things in. The topics are wide-ranging – from her mum’s favourite TV programmes to nationalising the railways; from irksome neighbours to European mini-breaks – and all skewered with her trademark caustic wit. Her onstage persona is blisteringly impatient. “Fuck off!” she roars on more than one occasion, irritated by the idiocy – and sometimes mere existence – of other people (and crafters in particular). But there’s always that twinkle, that sly charm, that means she gets away with it.

We were tired when we arrived. Now we’re energised. We leave smiling, and head off to the pub.

4.6 stars

Susan Singfield

Emily Wilson: Fixed

09/08/22

Pleasance Courtyard (Beneath), Edinburgh

Emily Wilson’s Fixed is part musical, part stand-up and part catharsis. Clearly a born performer, Wilson takes us on a tour of her youth, from beaming toddler to broken teen. It’s all been chronicled, of course: she’s 26 years old, a whole lifetime of phone recordings and insta-chats and YouTube videos. Oh, and primetime national TV too.

That’s the crux of the story: Wilson appeared on The X Factor USA in 2011, as one half of the earnestly named duo, Ausem. “Because my best friend’s called Austin, and my name’s Emily, so together we’re Ausem!” She thought her dreams had come true: she was 15 and destined to become a star. But then they hit a snag. The judges decided they liked Austin, but not Emily…

Wilson’s tale, co-written and directed by Sam Blumenfeld, is compelling. She’s a vivacious, funny, talented woman – and, while she’s disarmingly self-deprecating, she’s justifiably pissed off. The X Factor nearly destroyed her. How is a child supposed to process such public humiliation? How do the powerful adults in charge legitimise hurting her for viewing figures, for more dollars in their bulging bank accounts? Do the haters on social media sleep well at night, knowing they’ve made a young girl cry?

The past is detailed via a series of video clips and diary entries, interspersed with stand-up and original songs revealing Wilson’s current perspective. What emerges is a thoughtful commentary on fame, ambition and exploitation, and it’s riveting.

Oh, and she really can sing. Whatever Nicole Sherzinger says.

4.6 stars

Susan Singfield

Zach Zucker: Spectacular Industry Showcase

08/08/22

Monkey Barrel 4, Blair Street

Zach Zucker isn’t entirely new to me (I saw him in 2018’s Where Does the Love Go?, in partnership with Viggo Venn), but he’s clearly much more familiar to the crowd packed into the sweltering confines of the Monkey Barrel. When he asks, ‘Who has seen me before?’ a large contingent shouts an enthusiastic ‘Yes!’ He launches into an opening song, his glitter shirt open to the waist, as he works through a series of Travolta-like moves to the sound of a keyboard accompaniment. The fact that the ceiling is mere inches above his head gives the impression that at any moment, he could smash headlong into it, but he manages to get through it without serious injury. Phew!

And then, abruptly, he’s into the stand-up routine and, it has to be said, his confidence is not misplaced. The crowd loves him. A guy sitting in front of me is at serious risk of falling off his chair.

It’s apparent from the word go that Zucker is supremely charismatic, able to ignite belly laughs with the merest sideways glance or throwaway gesture. Some comedians are funny because they have good. material and others because they are just funny in their bones. Zucker falls into the latter category and I cannot deny that he soon has me laughing like a maniac, particularly at the extended routine where he attempts to read a ‘serious’ poem in a weird approximation of a London accent. There’s also comedy gold to be found in the bit where he offers to improvise a rap about three random suggestions from the audience…

But, in a profession where content is king, this does feel increasingly like a sixty-minute slot that’s only got forty minutes worth of material to fill it. Zucker’s tendency to free form and ride on his audience’s evident enthusiasm occasionally feels a bit like repetition. Perhaps Spectacular Industry Showcase (I love the self-aggrandising title) is a work in progress and, over the Fringe run, he’ll add more substance to the pot. I really hope so. It won’t take more than a few extra belters to turn this promising show into a triumph.

Meanwhile, if you’re looking for laughs, make no mistake – you’ll certainly find them here.

3.7 stars

Philip Caveney

The Anniversary

08/08/22

Pleasance Dome

Jim (Daniel Tobias) and Barb (Clare Bartholomew) are eagerly preparing for their 50th wedding anniversary but they’re not always in control of things and some of the items in the finger buffet might better be avoided. Still, they stubbornly insist that every last detail must be just right for their guests. As the clock counts steadily down to party time, the problems become harder to deal with…

This handsomely mounted helping of slapstick from Australian company, Salvador Dinosaur, features no real dialogue, just gibberish and the occasional mention of each other’s names – but the soundtrack is far from silent. It’s essentially a piece about the indignities of ageing, replete with references to forgetfulness, dodgy bowels and the ill-advised over-application of both prescription drugs and prunes. It ought to be tragic but it’s somehow horribly funny.

There’s a delightfully constructed set, a central corridor using forced perspective to make the place seem bigger than it actually is, and cleverly constructed props, designed to fall apart at inappropriate moments. A (mostly) hidden technician takes care of the show’s other ‘performers’ – a cat, a rat and a cuddly rabbit. Tobias and Bartholomew throw themselves into the clowning with gusto. We’ve seen and been impressed by both performers at the Fringe before, Tobias in The Orchid and the Crow in 2015, and Bartholomew in The Long Pigs in 2019.

What begins as silly slapstick metamorphoses steadily into something darker. The weather deteriorates and soon there’s a full-blown thunderstorm and rising flood waters to contend with. There’s a charming scene where Jim improvises a song about his long suffering wife – some Elvis styled mumbling with the occasional ‘Barb’ thrown in for good measure – and Barb’s headlong tumble onto a table laden with food actually makes me gasp. While you can spot some of the gags coming a mile off – put a rabbit and a liquidiser into the same space and the result is both inevitable (and inedible) – The Anniversary nevertheless has me laughing pretty much from start to finish.

If the conclusion is undeniably OTT, it still reinforces the fact that a couple who have been together for fifty years are always going to stick it out to the bitter end, even if some of that sticking involves kitchen knives. Those who relish clowning should give this a go. But be warned, if Jim offers you a taste of his pâté, perhaps you’d best say you’ve already eaten.

4 stars

Philip Caveney

Death Drop

17/11/21

King’s Theatre, Edinburgh

There’s nothing subtle about Death Drop. This pantomime-style murder-mystery spoof is as big, bold and spangly as a sequinned frock, and there are plenty of them in evidence too. Director Jesse Jones has embraced the ostentatious, which is, let’s be honest, the only option for a show with an international cast of Drag Race stars.

The set-up is familiar: we’re in a spooky manor house on a remote island. It’s 1991 and Lady von Fistenburg (Vinegar Strokes) is hosting a party in honour of Prince Charles and Princess Diana’s tenth wedding anniversary. Okay, maybe not all of it is familiar. Blue, Brie and Spread Bottomley (three sisters – or peas, named after cheese – all played by writer Holly Stars) have been engaged to do the catering for an eclectic mix of guests. These are: has-been pop starlet, Shazza (Willam); TV weather girl, Summer Raines (Ra’Jah O’Hara); odious newspaper editor, Morgan Pierce (Karen from Finance); Tory MP, Rich Whiteman (Richard Energy), and film-maker, erm, Phil Maker (Georgia Frost). But – oh no! – there’s a storm! Cue OTT sound and lighting effects from Beth Duke and Jack Weir. The phone lines are down, the electricity’s playing up and a fallen tree has blocked the only bridge to the mainland. And, one by one, the guests begin to die. Someone is clearly intent on murder. But who?

I spend the first ten minutes thinking I’m going to hate this show. I like drag, but the humour here is way beyond broad. They’re establishing the context, so there are lots of 90s references, but it’s all a bit sub-Peter Kay. I mean, just mentioning ‘Anne Diamond’ shouldn’t be enough to get a laugh, should it? I want my comedians to work harder than that: tell me a joke about Fray Bentos; don’t just say the words.

But it soon hits its stride, and I find myself laughing with everybody else. The assembled drag artists strut their stuff with aplomb, and the silliness is disarming. There are a few songs thrown in to good effect (penned by the ever-marvellous Flo and Joan), and these really help the carnival atmosphere. I’m less familiar with the work of drag kings than I am drag queens, but they make perfect sense: like their counterparts, they focus on exaggerated gender and cartoonish caricatures.

Holly Stars is a standout: her deadpan delivery guaranteed to entertain. Richard Energy’s Rich Whiteman is noteworthy too, a study in extravagant characterisation. I like Karen from Finance’s Morgan Pierce; it’s a peach of a part and Karen aces it.

There are a few issues. The second act is baggy, and the payoff isn’t strong enough. Death Drop peters out instead of climaxing, and – in a show as dependent on innuendo as this – that really matters. Nonetheless, this is fun. If your three favourite things are Drag Race, The Play That Goes Wrong and panto, then this is your dream production.

3.4 stars

Susan Singfield

Eric and Ern

15/11/21

Festival Theatre, Edinburgh

Picture this.

It’s sometime in the late 1960s and I’m a kid. (Yes, I actually was a kid, back in the day. I have a birth certificate to prove it.) I’m with my parents and my older sister, sitting in our modest house on an RAF base somewhere in the UK (probably Lincolnshire). We’re all gathered in front of a television set, housed in a walnut cabinet the size of East Anglia, with a screen that has the dimensions of a postage stamp. This is of course in the years BS (before streaming), so if there’s a show you want to see you have to be there, on the dot, otherwise the chance will be gone pretty much forever… or at least until somebody invents the concept of reruns. I’m a typical kid, already displaying symptoms of being an individual, and there aren’t many shows my parents like that I’m willing to watch. But there is one notable exception. Morecambe and Wise.

The decades move on, but still all four of us are happy to sit down together and watch these two northern comics whenever they have a new series or a Christmas special. What is it about them that’s so good? Nobody could accuse Eric Morecambe of having brilliant material – his stuff was kind of hack – but he was just a genuinely funny man, who, with a wiggle of his glasses and a sidelong glance, could humiliate the pompous, overbearing Ernie Wise, a man so convinced of his own talent that he was willing to employ major stars to appear in ‘the plays what he wrote.’

I never tired of the act and, like many, I was gutted when Eric Morecambe died, Ernie Wise retired and there would be no more nights worshipping at their shrine.

Eric and Ern is, I suppose, a tribute act but it seems somehow more than just that. While Ian Ashpitel and Jonty Stephens look, move and sound like the real McCoys, there’s such warmth in this performance, such evident affection for the original duo, that it feels like stepping into a time machine and heading back to those long-mourned nights. The show is cleverly paced, composed of excerpts from classic sketches, each one just long enough to ensure it doesn’t outstay its welcome. There’s also a stooge in the form of vocalist Sinead Wall, who somehow succeeds in keeping a straight face through her lovely rendition of Send in the Clowns, while ‘Eric’ and ‘Ern’ cavort in costume just behind her.

Long cherished routines are observed: the paper bag trick (which I have been shamelessly unleashing on various young relatives over the years); the Austrian dance routine; the ‘two men in bed reading newspapers;’ even ‘Mr Memory,’ who knows everything about anything…. given enough prompts. From the opening scenes, I’m laughing helplessly, a condition I find myself in until the duo finally dance offstage, legs akimbo in time-honoured fashion.

This is a great big warm hug of a show. If you’re already fans of M & W, you’ll have a whale of a time. If they are new to you – I suppose such a thing is possible – why not go along and see what all the fuss was about?

Your time machine awaits!

4.4 stars

Philip Caveney

Charlie and Stan

17/09/21

The Lowry, Salford Quays

Told by an Idiot’s Charlie and Stan is a charmingly whimsical piece, a musing on what might have happened when Charlie Chaplin and Stan Laurel first met – as cabin-mates on a steamer bound for New York, both members of Fred Karno’s music hall troupe. Fittingly, it’s a largely silent piece of theatre, reliant on mime, music and physical comedy.

The performances are as peppy as you’d expect from Told by an Idiot, and it’s a fascinating premise. There is lots of potential for silly jokes and tomfoolery, which writer/director Paul Hunter enables his ensemble cast to utilise to full advantage. The choreography (by Nuna Sandy) is sharp, and the movement (courtesy of Jos Houben) is precise, as it needs to be in a piece like this. Danielle Bird’s Chaplin is glorious, all verve and spirit, while Jerone Marsh-Reid’s Laurel personifies sweetness and likability. The piano and drum accompaniment (Sara Alexander and Nick Haverson) works well too, and I like how it’s incorporated into the action.

I am also impressed by Ioana Curelea’s set: the wonky ship’s interior and hanging bunk beds contribute to the sense of impermanence and making do.

There’s so much to admire here, and yet – for me – it doesn’t quite come off. I think it’s to do with the tech. I need lighting that directs my eye; some of the physical jokes don’t land because I don’t know where I’m supposed to be looking, and simple sound effects to underscore some of the more obscure punchlines would also be helpful. Without these guides, I sometimes feel overwhelmed by the business of the stage, and I miss a lot in the mayhem.

I’m also unconvinced by the flashback and flash forward sequences. The former – depicting Chaplin’s troubled childhood – seems tonally wrong. It’s a weighty topic, but it’s depicted in exactly the same way as the rest of the piece; I feel it needs to be markedly different. The latter just seems grafted on: Haverson’s portrayal of Oliver Hardy is uncannily accurate, but the scene doesn’t fit with the rest of the story.

So, for me, this is a bit of a mixed bag. A nice idea, a pleasant way to spend an evening, and some undeniably strong performances but, in the end, a little disappointing.

3.4 stars

Susan SIngfield

Skank

18/08/21

Pleasance Courtyard, Edinburgh

Skank is a surprise. I’m expecting a wry look at Millennial life, and – to some extent – that’s what I get. Clementine Bogg-Hargroves plays Kate, a young woman flitting from one temping job to the next, dreaming of being a writer but hardly ever actually writing anything. She won’t commit to a ‘proper’ job because the thought of it fills her with dread. She has nothing in common with her colleagues, but they seem to like her: she’s funny and sparky, and even has a crush on one of them. But Kate’s real life happens outside the office: in trendy coffee shops and pubs; in too much booze and one-night-stands; in knitting classes and doctor’s appointments.

Ah yes. Doctor’s appointments. Because this isn’t, it turns out, as light as it first seems. It’s a clever realisation of how people conceal their mental health problems. No one in the office can possibly have a clue about how anxious Kate is, all the time, of what her upbeat humour hides. As the play progresses, we see Kate unravel, all the while maintaining that same bubbly persona.

A smear test is the catalyst. An abnormality sends Kate spiralling, her tinnitus is out of control and she doesn’t know what to do. And why is it so bloody hard to recycle a baked beans tin around here?

Bogg-Hargroves truly inhabits the part, which makes sense, as it’s based on her own experience. She’s a charming, engaging performer, easily eliciting laughs from this afternoon’s audience. I cry too, because there is real heart here, and plenty of stuff that resonates. If at times it’s a little too close to home, a little difficult to bear, well, that’s the point, I think. That’s art, doing what art is meant to do.

There’s some lovely direction here (from Bogg-Hargroves and Zoey Barnes). The transformation of Kate’s desk into an examination table is simple and wonderfully offbeat, drawing a laugh all by itself. I like the little bit of puppetry too, and the pre-recorded offstage voices (sound tech by George Roberts) are a quirky and effective touch. (I do wonder, however, why the final voice is different from all the others; apart from this one, they’re all Bogg-Hargroves, who has an impressive range of accents and tones. Is this meant to signify something? If so, I don’t get it.)

Incidentally, the Pleasance Rear Courtyard is my favourite performance space so far this Fringe – the best example of a joyous outside/inside Covid-safe venue I’ve seen. And Skank is a delight too. Make time to see this. It’s a gem.

4.8 stars

Susan Singfield

Myra DuBois: Dead Funny

13/08/21

Underbelly, George Square Gardens, Edinburgh

Myra DuBois is dead. Except for the fact that she is very much alive. But she wants us to pretend she’s dead, because this is her funeral. Clearly, she has to be here! If she waits until she’s actually dead, there’s no telling how it’ll go. This way, she’s in control, and can ensure it’s a suitably fabulous event.

As a conceit, this works well. It’s silly and audacious, and affords DuBois the chance to posture and self-aggrandise to her heart’s content. Actor Gareth Joyner’s alter-ego is an acerbic delight, bitching and carping her way through the proceedings, and eliciting helpless laughter from her audience along the way.

There’s nothing especially new here: DuBois clearly revels in exploring the old traditions of music hall, drag and cabaret. But it’s all so well done, so consummately performed, that it serves to remind us why these entertainment forms are so prevalent and popular. She’s funny. All the time.

If you’re shy, don’t sit on the front row. The Yorkshire diva’s best moments are when she’s interacting with (okay, picking on) the audience. She’s adept at choosing her victims: they’re lapping it up. Tonight, two men called Ross and Paul are singled out for special attention, along with a woman dressed in leopard print, whom DuBois keeps calling Lyndsey, even though she says her name is Louise (I can’t work out if this is part of the put-down or a genuine error). Someone shouts about a plot-hole in the punchline of a joke, and is told to fuck off, before being treated to the most venomous look I’ve ever seen. It doesn’t sound very funny when I write it down. It is though. The place erupts.

DuBois treats us to a reading, a poem by her sister and a few songs along the way. And oh, that voice. Annie Lennox somehow never managed to make Why sound quite like this…

RIP, Myra. You did yourself proud.

4 stars

Susan Singfield

Eugene

11/08/21

Pleasance Courtyard, Cabaret Bar, Edinburgh

The Edinburgh Fringe thrives on good ideas and there’s a great one one at the heart of Eugene.

Set in the not-too-distant future, this show takes the form of a presentation by ‘Hugh'(Daniel Nicholas), the CEO of Hubris Industries. (Think of the grandiose, over-sincere product launches that Apple are so fond of and you’ll get the general idea.) Hugh is here to present his new invention, Eugene. The titular star of the show is the world’s first superhuman Artificial Intelligence and is represented by a glowing cube on a rostrum. Hugh assures us it’s capable of controlling the entire planet’s electricity supply, whilst simultaneously solving climate change. In his pocket, Hugh has the three er… floppy disks needed to make all that happen.

Hugh is blissfully unaware that Eugene has already introduced itself to the audience, using lines of text on a big screen – and also on our mobile phones, via an app called The Difference Engine. Thus it’s established from the outset that Eugene is a mischievous character with a mind of its own and a propensity for telling us more about its creator than he would like us to know.

Then out strides Hugh to present his TED talk. Hugh is a delightfully monstrous creation: smarmy, self-possessed and, not to put too fine a point on it, is so up himself he’s lost all sense of proportion. His every announcement is accompanied by an artless pose and an inane laugh, a kind of deathly chortle. As the presentation continues, more and more of Hugh’s darkest secrets come bubbling to the surface – and it’s evident that his plan to get Eugene up and running as quickly as possible is probably not going to end well.

On the day I view the show, there are a few glitches with the technology, which I think throw Nicholas off his stride a little – and the middle section consequently feels somewhat muddled. This is a shame, because the idea of combining integrated captioning with live action is something I haven’t seen before and there’s so much potential here, I’d like it to be developed even further – because the show is at its best when that pesky AI is inviting us to break all the rules.

Even with some gremlins in evidence, Eugene is an enjoyable way to spend an hour at the Fringe.

4 stars

Philip Caveney