COMEDY

Not all comedians can get away with that sort of look-at-me-I’m-awkward-cute-and-still-funny type of act, but Mae Martin, perhaps because she genuinely is all of the above, pulls it off.

What I really liked about Martin’s show was the breath of topic within her humour.  Underpinning the show was her anxiety of life, YOYO (you’re only young once) and a general uncertainty of what direction she should be taking.  These are feelings at some point, we have all felt, and to juxtapose them with increasingly amusing anecdotes and songs was kind of lovely.

The gawky slightly nervous demeanour enabled the audience to feel safe and as though they could relate to her.  Hers is not the type of comedy where you’re terrified to sit in the front row, save the comedian verbally accosts you for your fine choice of plaid shirt.  This is not to say her comedy strays on the safe side, it is an eclectic jumble of songs about endless showers, Ke$ha rants and a startling accurate impersonation of Julia Roberts.

I think when Martin is at her best, is when she is just sort of, fucking confident.  She’s a clever gal; she knows how make an audience laugh.  Her portrayal of herself as a young, spidery 14 year old is a bit silly, but loud and full of the confidence of a veteran comedian.

Mae Martin is enticingly endearing, despite looking slightly like Sid from Toy Story.  I feel myself sort of willing her on throughout her set.  There are moments of brilliance from this lady and I’m crossing my fingers she’ll be back in Edinburgh next year.

THEATRE

Set in a world in which Mother Nature has taken her revenge; the ice caps are melting, people and polar bears are desperate to survive but stand very little chance against the rapidly rising water.  This is a dying world, in need of a hero.  Enter, the eponymous character Alvin Sputnik, who, with little left to lose embarks on a quest to save the planet.

This is a simplistic tale, but one which captures emotions inherent in humanity.  We experience loss, hope and love, all within the space of a wonderfully romantic hour of pure abandonment.

The staging of this magnificent, Disney eat your heart out type show, was beautifully managed, with lighting and the gentle mandolin tracks toying with the audiences emotions and making us ever more empathetic with a little animated stick man.  The mixture of puppetry, animation and mime kept the show fresh and interesting, whilst being easily inventive too; a plastic bag used as a jelly fish wafting around in the ocean was met with many ‘oohs and ahs’.

It is not the most intricate of tales, and in all honesty that much doesn’t actually happen, but it is relatable, winsome and utterly enchanting. An absolute ‘must see’, of the Edinburgh Fringe, 2011.

COMEDY

To any who state the old ‘but women aren’t funny’ diatribe, The Boom Jennies are about to knee you in the balls.  But will do it with a smile, and a sprinkling of cayenne pepper.

These girls are sketch and character comedy at its absolute best.  Often slightly surreal and with a touch of the bizarre, this energetic trio rocket through character sketches, a couple of hilarious dance routines and some brilliantly written running jokes.  The focus on food becomes more apparent, but for no apparent reason too.  Watch out for the mayo if you deign to sit in the front row.

The girls interact with the audience like old friends, mingling, with some slightly scary flirting and inviting unsuspecting guys to dinner.  The best audience interaction I’ve seen at the Fringe, impeccably timed whilst making everyone feel quite at ease.  They utilise every inch of their stage space making this performance an all round welcome attack on the senses.  The hurricane-esque force with which these three perform is something other performers should take a note of.  Managing to balance in your face laughs and subtlety quite perfectly.

The writing is fantastic, with a plethora of characters from a French pen pal gone wrong to a desperate single hankering for a husband.  With a bloody great soundtrack; Cher anyone? This show was an hour of constant laughs, hilarious bemusement and free chips.

Be blown away by the Boom Jennies, go and support them and ask them to marry you.  They’ll say yes.

THEATRE

This modern day adaptation of Euripides’ classic theatrical drama, was a jumble of strange accents, a dire chorus and questionable set design, with the only redeeming feature being Nadira Janikova managing to just about drum up some stage presence.

The set seemed to think it was a space age hotel, with two sets of grey marbled elevator style doors and what looked like a prop from the Science Museum’s planetarium exhibition stuck in between them.  The vast orange sun was meant to represent Medea as ‘the fiery daughter of the sun’ and thus glowed violently any time the lead was feeling particularly murderous (which was often, by the way).

Richard Fry played Jason, Creon and Aegus and to help us audience out, he kindly put on three different accents each time he swapped character, to aid us in the difficult process of understanding basic theatrical practice.  Firstly, Creon spoke in quasi West County/Cornish jargon, Jason in a terrible Del Boy esque Londoners drawl; ‘Naaaaaaaaah, you won’t ‘av it’ and finally Aegus in a slightly upper crust public schoolboy manner.  This at least made for some amusement

Janikova managed to convey all feelings of desperation, fury and despair and I feel she was let down by the rest of the cast.  Janikova and Fry had little chemistry and at the crux of the play, when Medea has murdered her own children, a bleak wail from Fry ruined what should have been a chilling finale.

This play had some potential; the modern day text by Stella Duffy was easy to understand and fresh in its dialogue.  Yet the flat delivery by all but Janikova made Medea less fire and brimstone and more sad, dying firework.

COMEDY

Turning 40 soon, and outwardly reflecting on what she has accomplished so far, Zoe Lyons sets herself up as an underachiever who is content staying at home, watching Come Dine With Me in her Snuggie (a blanket with sleeves don’t cha know).  For such a self-proclaimed underachiever, Lyons is certainly doing a-ok at the moment; with a successful Edinburgh show and permanent panel show appearances on the beeb.

Lyons material is fairly safe, she skips through jokes about nudist beaches, airports and drug smuggling, raising solid laughs all round.  When Lyons is at her best however, is when she crosses that line between playing it safe and daring to be a little riskier.  Her scathing condemnation of the ‘high achieving youth’ offering her life advice, is delivered in such a ferocious manner with excellent use of comedic tone and timing, Lyons should perhaps focus a little more on this more cutting type of narrative.

The best thing about Lyons is her widespread appeal and what it stands for.  She goes down well with the Michael McIntyre type; a sort of middle England, funny but not outrageous type of humour.  This for a 39-year old lesbian from Glasgow is the highest of achievements, and it seems despite the premise of her show, Lyons is coolly aware of this.

COMEDY

This interminable piece of dross performed by two women, who on first appearance I thought to be drag queens, should be served with a health warning: Danger to anyone who possesses an inkling of subtlety, shrewdness or intelligence and does not wish to be treated like a voyeur watching not so much a car crash but more a terrorist attack on the senses.

This piece of ‘comedy and dance’ as it is described, is a confusing mix of performance art, failed humour and pointless nudity.  One sketch involved one half of the catastrophic duo, dressed in a ballerina costume, picking her nose, trying to eat her own foot and licking her nipple.  I speak for myself and the rest of the audience, when I say we were all rather hoping she would choke.  This display of self indulgent and patronising wannabe comedy is an insult to the few audience members that paid money to have an hour of their life crassly taken from them.

I believe the point of this façade, was meant to be some sort of illustration on comedy duo’s, done as they put it, in an ‘honest female sort of way’.  This I do find funny, as I have no idea how on earth, miming fellatio and premature ejaculation is at all characteristically female.  I think any woman watching this spectacle would be offended that such immaturity is akin to any sort of femaleness.

There are a fair few infamous double acts in history; Myra Hindley and Ian Brady, Fred and Roesmary West, the Kray twins, and… you see where I’m going with this.  The Two Wrongies will be well known through Edinburgh fairly soon as having not only the worst show of the entire Festival but for the first riots in Scotland starting as irate audiences demand their money back.

COMEDY

With all the subtlety of a cheap bottle of red on a Friday night (just chuck it down your throat and enjoy yourself) Margaret Cho sashays onstage, confident that by the end of her show, the audience will be eating from the palm of her casually extended hand.

Cho’s humour is energetic, ballsy and raucous.  Hedonism is the dish of the day and as Cho journeys through a sample of her sexual exploits; complete with finite detail (think bush and lots of it) the audience cringe but crack up simultaneously.  Cho talks frankly of topics often avoided by women and I feel her ‘asshole’ should get its own credit on her flyer.

Whilst Cho has the room in stitches, she unites a queer friendly audience in her no bullshit attitude to same sex marriage and gay teen suicide.  This more political and sensitive material is interspersed with her love/hate feelings on Sarah Palin; ‘I don’t like Sarah Palin’s politics at all, but, I wanna fuck her’.

Cho uses her cultural heritage to elicit a few more, cheaper laughs.  Extended impersonations of her Korean mother are amusing, but a little tired.  Although Cho herself states that she is not as famous here, as she is in the US, she can still rely on her credentials enough to merely sneeze onstage and bring the house down.

As with that cheap bottle of vino, Cho is to be enjoyed on a rare occasion but leaves a taste in your mouth you won’t be forgetting for some time.

COMEDY

DeAnne Smith is rather charming.  She is also fairly laddish, a touch self deprecating and a little manic too.  Not exactly all things to all men.. but she’s damn well trying.

The fact that Smith appeals to all sorts is a testimony to her show and herself.  Her comedy is polished and perfectly precise.  A hair doesn’t fall out of place from her side swept haircut (what is it with lesbians and their fringes?), yet she makes the time to gently mock herself, referring to the fact she does look rather like the geeky hybrid love child of Justin Bieber and Harry Potter.

Her punch lines are delivered swiftly yet it does seem as though she has perfected her routine a little too much, perhaps newcomers’ nerves at wanting to make everything perfect.  But then comes the undoubtable highlight of her set; ‘Six and a Half Minutes of Bonus Hilarity’.  Bruce the tech sets a timer and off she goes, chatting with the audience and finding herself amongst a self confessed polygamist and a young teen with daddy issues.  Smith interacts so naturally and confidently with a small room of strangers it makes me think she should spend a little more of her set straying from her material.

For the past hour, like HP himself, Smith has been casting a spell over the audience and is now about to sever the connection.  This lady is a brilliant comedian, perceptive and original and as an audience member I do feel as though I have fallen for her charms.  The break up is swift, but I have no doubt she’ll be entering into our lives once more, on a much bigger stage.