IDIOTS OF ANTS
Messing about with form and content 0000
To the rousing theme of Grandstand, this quartet of white- shirted, black-tied lads (still not sure whether they're more idiotic or antlike’?) race into the venue. For the previous few minutes. we've been looking at them on screens prancing around London. lirnbering up in their pants as they prepare for their Edinburgh run. When they finally make their entrance, it's weirdly uplifting and utterly daft all at the same time. It's truly fortunate that sketch show groups are still hell- bent these days on messing ar0und with their chosen form rather than just writing drop dead funny set-pieces: and the likes of the ldiots are messing around with the best of them. A mysterious and seemingly flat scene where a stand-up
ANDREW MAXWELL
Irish export continues to delight 0...
It's a been a few years since Andrew Maxwell consolidated his talents and realised he would be better off not boxing himself into some TV—friendly pigeon hole and just getting on with what he does best: telling very funny stories. The ghost of Ireland's other true comic genius Dave Allen (no sorry, Frank Carson, just narrowly misses ‘genius' status) is resurrected here again as our little comedy pixie perches on a stool to tell of his adventures in the last 12 months. His timing is impeccable as he pokes around for every last ounce of comic gold from his subjects. which for the most part here involves tales of his crossing paths With high security prisoners and the supposedly dormant terror groups of Belfast. Despite early teething troubles With structure and the gnawing irritation of some persistent (and admittedly rubbish) hecklers in
comic appears to be experiencing unwelcome spectral attention is later revisited with the sketch re-run with added spookiness. The bit where one of the Ants blandly serenades an audience member makes you wonder where it's all going: the answer is riotous. But for downright anarchic fun. the finale with the team of clown decorators being castigated for their health and safety record is nothing short of blissful. Whether the Ants/ldiots have moved on much from last year's highly praised debut seems to be a moot point. They have a solid identity and a sense of highly constructed fun that will be hard to beat this year. There's plenty time for them to develop themselves into oblivion. (Brian Donaldson)
I Pleasance Courtyard. 556 6550, until 25 Aug (not I I, I8). (5.20pm, l,‘8.50—f.‘$).50 (£7438).
ALCOCK IMPROV
Hateful yet seemingly hilarious ad libbing 00
Apparently this lot are causing sleepless nights for the Cambridge Footlights crowd. as the establishment quake in their boots as the Alcock crew go around snapping at their improvised heels. The whole ad-lib game is at best hit and miss. and at worst the most hated sub- genre within the comedy field: when you see repeats of Whose Line Is It Anyway? with the expert likes of Mike McShane or Josie Lawrence chortling away at how brilliant their friends are. it's irritating enough. When a group of undergrads collapse into fits as their mates manage to make one joke in 50 work, try not to feel bile rise in the throat.
Events weren't aided by one of their number arriving 20 minutes late. her pals‘ collected annoyance seeping across the room. leaving the remainder of the sketches floundering. Still, I'd be surprised if
the sauced-up crowd, Andrew Maxwell proves again why he is still one of the funniest men in town. (Mark Robertson)
I Pleasance Courtyard, 550 (5550 until 25 Aug (not 13), 8.20pm, 5‘14— 15 (f‘l?.50-« I360).
38 THE LIST FESTIVAL MAGAZINE /'- 14 Aug 7008
we didn't hear more in the future of Patrick Walsh McBride. whose humour strike-rate was positively Olympian in comparison to his irnpro chums. (Brian Donaldson)
I C Soco, 0845 260 1234, until 72 Aug, 72. l5prn, £T6.50—£‘8.50( 5.50- L‘ 7.50).
BETHANY BLACK
Personal story told with little verve O.
You would think that a goth, lesbian. post—op transsexual might have a few interesting stories to tell? And Bethany Black does, but she doesn't know how to tell them. From an early ago Black felt she was in the wrong body. By her twenties she was ‘keeping piss in jars and covering mirrors with tintoil'. A failed suicide attempt later she found herself at the doors of the biggest transgender unit in Europe. Her family are supportive: the operation goes fine. everyone's happy.
It's hard to think of a show with a more personal pedigree at this year's Fringe. Unfortunately there is so little edge to the likeable but bland Black and her nervy nice—girl delivery allows her to murder the comedy gold dust and linger over the mundane. Disappointineg second rate.
(Paul Dale)
I Baby Bel/y. 0844 545 8252, until 24 Aug (not I l), 1 1.05pm, f..‘S)——£,‘l0 (YB—£19).