Festival Comedy list.co.uk/festival
ADAM RICHES A rogue’s gallery of male foibles ●●●●●
Despite the rampant commercialisation of the Fringe, it’s still constantly throwing up some hidden gems like Rogue Males. Not that character comedian Adam Riches is any stranger to Edinburgh. His latest show loosely interweaves various characters including a so-very-loud Daniel Day-Lewis in a couple of different guises, Connor Connorson the McMurphy-style member of the sex therapy group for the terminally aroused and a Yakult quaffing surveillance guy.
At the centre of the show there’s a touch too long skit featuring big game hunter O’Hara but it’s the only fault in Riches’ otherwise slick hour. Confident in his ability to cope with any situation the audience may chuck at him, there’s plenty of audience participation. Plus he’s master of the self-referential aside and is even undeterred when faced with a 16- year-old in the front row of his sexaholics class. (Marissa Burgess) ■ Pleasance Courtyard, 556 6550, until 31 Aug, 3.30pm, £8.50–£9.50 (£7–£8).
AINDRIAS DE STAIC For fiddle-fanciers and Hibernophiles only ●●●●●
The Summer I Did The Leaving recalls a seminal season in the youth of fiddler, raconteur and all-round rudderless hippie Aindrias de Staic (the Leaving Certificate is the Irish equivalent of the Scottish Highers). Through song and story he revisits intoxicant-fuelled adventures in Glastonbury, London, Glasgow and Edinburgh. Staic doesn’t want for enthusiasm or
musical prowess. On his battered violin he belts out Irish, Scottish, Jewish and Roma folk tunes with accomplished brio. What is lacking is the least scintilla of real comic flair. The non-musical vignettes are garbled, repetitive, hammy and dull. Does he seriously think he was the first person to sneak into Glasto through a tent tunnel? Did he really just tell that joke about the guy on acid seeing a stream of freeloaders emerging from a tent? At the Edinburgh Fringe? Dear oh dear. Matters aren’t improved by his laying
on the paddywhackery and Irish charm a bit too thick, nor by some desultory and pointless transvestite costume changes, nor by incessant call-backs to lines that weren’t funny first time round. (Sam Healy) ■ Gilded Balloon Teviot, 622 6552, until 28 Aug (not 24), 2pm, £9.50 (£7–£8).
ELVIS MCGONAGALL Poetically charming tartan chappie ●●●●●
There’s something very reassuring about Elvis McGonagall. It might be the tartan jacket or the golden Scottish tones which drip over the audience. It could be the older demographic this poet-comedian attracts, or the hypnotic rhythms of his accomplished poetry. Perhaps it’s just the fact that the targets of his civilised anger, from James Blunt to Jeremy Clarkson, are so deftly ripped apart through verse that it’s impossible not to smile with agreement. However he manages it, McGonagall has his audience captivated throughout this charming show.
Even during the dips in laughter, when the politics of the piece overtakes the humour, his listeners remain loyal, patiently awaiting the
next punchline, poem or supportive applause break. Although some aspects can appear old-fashioned – perhaps an inevitable consequence of reading poems from a notebook – there are some cracking jokes which add a much-needed freshness to the show, with particular kudos for a nice twist on the Olympics. A thoroughly pleasant way to spend an hour. (Siân Bevan) ■ Gilded Balloon Teviot, 662 6552, until 30 Aug, 5.45pm, £9–£10 (£8–£9).
PHIL NICHOL Fringe favourite hits all the right notes ●●●●●
‘Tonight Matthew, I’m going to be Bobby Spade.’ Phil Nichol’s transformation into a white-suited lounge lizard with a sideline in psychopathy, is so complete that all that’s missing is the trademark Stars in Their Eyes dry-ice intro. Accompanied by jazz piano and double-bass, the Canadian comic unfurls his man’s tragic back-story – an abusive mother, a series of ‘uncles’, a string of failed marriages – in hilarious verse, riotous song and priceless one-liners.
Early offering ‘My Show’ – a paean with enough egomania to fill a clutch of gangsta rap records – is pure Spade: misogynistic, lecherous, unnerving, and deeply, consistently funny. From then on it’s a rollercoaster ride of black comedy gold with beat poetry about adultery and incest, rockabilly ditties redolent of an incurably demented Johnny Cash and a
witty meditation on Helen Keller’s husband. Nichol’s stand-up is certainly an acquired taste but in Spade he has found the perfect vehicle for his substantial lyrical gifts. There is physicality to his humour too. While reciting a punk poem entitled ‘Do Everything You’re Not Supposed To’, he grits his teeth and butts the air like an angsty teenager at a My Chemical Romance gig. The laughs come thick and fast throughout, aided and
abetted by a string of one-liners so depraved Jerry Sadowitz would think twice before using them – but so good he’d never pass them up. Nichol even creates a new literary form in the ‘pong’ (a poem/song hybrid) during which he admits: ‘This show won’t make you think/It’s just something I wrote when I’d too much to drink’. Bobby Spade may not be the most cerebral character on this year’s Fringe, but he could well be the funniest. (Peter Geoghegan) ■ The Stand II, 558 7272, until 30 Aug, 9pm, £10.
22 THE LIST FESTIVAL MAGAZINE 20–27 Aug 2009