Edinburgh Reviews

Edinburgh Review: Adam Hess – My Grandad Has a Fringe

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© Matt Crockett

Adam Hess sprints around the stage with boundless energy. His observations are creative. It feels as though he is generating these ideas out of nowhere, with random ideas popping into his head, and somehow forming them into inventive, hilarious short-form jokes.

My Grandad Has a Fringe is a show that follows in a similar fashion to Hess’ previous shows, with the comic speaking of his family’s weird quirks (his audience are left wondering where he gets it from), as well as uncomfortable social situations his own awkwardness and anxieties have got him into. Topics covered are wide-ranging, from his mother’s knitting obsession to Hess’ own habit of enthusiastically waving at people he has met while waiting outside toilet cubicles.

Hess’ bright-eyed, genuine childlike glee personifies the homely feel of the entire show. It feels like going round to your friend’s house to play when you were little, Adam of course being the needy, attention-grabbing high-maintenance child (but this is somehow why we like him).

It’s refreshing to see a show that doesn’t drone on about one’s own privilege or the current socio-political climate. Hess presents an hour of true, hectic escapism.

Edinburgh Review: Kai Samra – Brothers (WIP)

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© Kai Samra

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This year, Kai Samra brings his work in progress show, Brothers, to The Mash House. Relatively new to the stand up circuit, this Brummie comedian appears remarkably comfortable in front of his audience. His delivery is calm and self-assured, but certainly not an act.

Samra talks about his family with no qualms about letting his listeners in, and this makes for a deeply personal hour of comedy. There are no sob stories here, just honest anecdotes and clever observations. He’s a very likeable performer and his relaxed and confident nature allows his audience to settle into the show effortlessly.

Brothers is a show about family, along with all its frustrations and affections. And Samra makes 45 minutes feel like ten. The laughs come easily and frequently, making it starkly clear that this comic could warm up even the coldest of audiences. It’s not hard to imagine this comic cracking into the mainstream some time soon.

This show is not a skeleton of a piece, and neither is it an amalgamation of too many half-formed ideas. This show already feels polished. So, when Kai Samra returns to Edinburgh next August, prepare for a fantastic, brilliantly formed hour of proficient stand up.

Edinburgh Review: Abandoman (Rob Broderick) – Pirate Radio

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© Rob Broderick

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Irish improv hip hop artist Rob Broderick returns to Edinburgh with his solo show, Pirate Radio. Unlike previous Abandoman shows, Pirate Radio is a big-scale production. He’s ditched the powerpoint and electric keyboard for strobe lighting and ground-shuddering bass.

Rather than lots of small instances of audience participation (note Abandoman’s previous set-piece, ‘What’s In Your Pocket?’ where audience members hold up the most obscure item on their possession and Broderick improvises a rap about it), volunteer participants in this new show are a far bigger part of the proceedings. If you have something funny or strange to offer up, prepare to have a musical piece devised entirely in your honour.

Single audience members are brought up to stand in front of a packed Udderbelly, and yet there is never any hint of anxiety. Rob puts his participants at ease by spelling out what he requires of them and never failing to make it silly.

Being a much bigger, much more refined performance, it feels at times as though Abandoman has lost its personal touch. But where this show lacks in intimacy, Broderick makes up for in showmanship. From a heart-wrenching song about leaving a sleeping bag on a train, to a musical re-enactment of a childhood three-legged race, Broderick’s skill for snappy improvisation is as present as ever.

If you want your comedy upscaled, exciting and as loud as a music gig, Abandoman is no doubt the show for you.

Edinburgh Review: Simon Evans – Genius 2.0

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© Simon Evans

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Bringing a reworking of last year’s show Genius to this year’s Edinburgh Fringe, Simon Evans proclaims that he has no issue with ‘digging the same furrow’. Genius 2.0 asks what the future of our society is. Are we regressing in terms of intelligence and creativity?

This is a show of comparison through the ages, from drinking laws to the Guinness Book of World Records. It’s about how our lives have become more restricted as the years have passed. Though academic in his tone, this doesn’t feel like a lecture. Evans is surprisingly able to keep his large audience on the same page as him, despite his flowery language and analytic, black-and-white approach to assessing the problems he raises.

Evans’ point is glisteningly clear, but it’s hard to fully invest in the idea that our society is less intelligent (or less intelligence-orientated) than it was forty years ago. Yes, there is certainly more of a focus on mind-numbing reality television and a vacuous idea of what constitutes beauty (often consisting of botox injections and lip fillers), but aspects of our society are arguably thriving as strongly as ever, in areas including but not limited to science, philosophy and literature.

I’d feel a little uncomfortable, as a twenty-year-old university student, to be sat in this comic’s audience if I didn’t know he had teenage children himself. It is these anecdotes about his kids’ experiences, inspirations and education that allow us to ascertain that Evans isn’t simply having a go at the youth of today.

As the show goes on, Evans allows himself to exist at the same level as his audience, sharing his irksome experiences with ageing, from thinning hair to forgetfulness. But the set piece of the show is one that rings in the ear long after Evans has left the stage. The downfall of our society, as Evans see it, is the fact it is shrouded in apathy. Our country is lead by someone who studied at Oxford, yet graduated in a 2:2 in Geography. Someone who bends over backwards, surely almost to the point of snapping, at a slight gust of wind.

Simon Evans’ outlook on the state of society today is strangely motivating rather than depressing. The powers that be may be failing us, but we each have the opportunity to flourish however we want to, despite this unsettling prognosis.

Edinburgh Review: Paul Foot – Image Conscious

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© Paul Foot

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Paul Foot’s shows are always absurd, with only a vague grasp on reality. But this year there is something far more tangible about his material. Image Conscious has more popular culture references scattered throughout than previous years; has the world worn this comic down? This new turn for Foot is definitely a step in the direction of mainstream, but the reliability of it is somewhat refreshing.

The core of the show, a winding narrative about how to host a decent orgy, has Foot’s trademark madness written all over it. He layers details of setting, character and circumstance until he works himself up into a shouting frenzy. This is what Paul Foot’s fans come for.

These moments where Foot’s material flirts with reality are very satisfying. A particular stint about his hatred for Greg Wallace is particularly entertaining. We’re used to seeing Foot screaming at the top of his lungs about shire horses and fire engines, not BBC cookery shows. Foot is an expert at introducing various celebrities and celebrity has-beens into his ridiculous narratives, and this show is no disappointment. The things he has us imagining the likes of Clare Balding and Ronny O’Sullivan doing should not be repeated.

Leaving Paul Foot’s show feels like waking up from a dream; reality becomes a bit of a haze. At one point Foot had thrown pickled gherkins at the audience. Classic Paul Foot with an edgy twist, Image Conscious is unlike anything else you will see at the Fringe.

Edinburgh Review: Werewolf Live

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In Jon Gracey’s Werewolf, audience members are pitted against each other as they play the characters of werewolves and villagers. A fraction of the group of volunteers are given the role of werewolf, which means that they can choose one villager to be killed each night, under the cover of darkness (well, when we all have our eyes closed). The villagers must work out who the werewolves are and have them killed before it’s too late.

With only the werewolves being aware of who is innocent, this is a game of guesses and rash accusations. And watching people turn against their friends at the flick of a switch is always entertaining, especially when the reactions are spontaneous and unfiltered.

© Kate Rodden

Frontman Gracey is unsurprisingly the highlight of this show, and it’s a pity he doesn’t get more time to ad lib. He’s clearly comfortable on stage and his sarcastic comments and piss-taking is the glue that keeps the show from descending into chaos.

Werewolf is a an inventive concept. The rules are complicated enough, and the set up varied enough, so that the audience doesn’t get bored, and yet the game is sufficiently short to allow for three or so games during the show. A larger audience would undoubtedly make Werewolf more entertaining, as there could be an entirely new set of participants each round. This is why the comedian charity special on August 21st looks particularly promising.