list.co.uk/festival Reviews | FESTIVAL COMEDY
P H O T O :
S T E V E U L L A T H O R N E
MICHAEL LEGGE: JERK Gripe-happy and ranty surrealism ●●●●●
TIFF STEVENSON: BOMBSHELL Light relief and misplaced rants ●●●●● SOFIE HAGEN: DEAD BABY FROG The talented Danish comic returns ●●●●●
Shouty misanthropy and indignant outrage are what Michael Legge is good at. Although the Fringe is full of soapboxers who forget to make the ranting funny or give it any kind of point, Legge’s loud, bilious bitterness comes with big laughs even if not all of them make much sense. The show is named after his dearly departed dog, Jerk, who he pays tribute to with a baffling musical comedy bit. Hopefully it’s not too much of a spoiler to say that lyrics from Texas pop songs are given a white supremacist twist. Describing himself as a childless, alcoholic vegan,
Legge treads a good tightrope between absurd non-sequiturs and legitimate gripes: visiting the Apple store, hate-watching Ed Sheeran and being cornered by his alt-right friend (albeit a made-up one) have all got him livid lately. Dressed in a Hansa Tonstudio t-shirt (the Berlin studio where David Bowie’s Low and Heroes were recorded), he goes to elaborate lengths to compare his dog’s life to Bowie’s music career.
There’s also a surreal bit about a masturbation fantasy that gets ruined by an interruption from a butterfly. Sharing his spite and trips down the shame spiral might lead to burst eardrums but it’s very good fun along the way. (Claire Sawers) ■ The Stand II, until 27 Aug (not 14), 1.20pm, £9 (£8).
One too many bombshells have dropped in the past year for Tiff Stevenson. Things started feeling ‘apocalypsey’ for her when Trump got into power, and the Grenfell Tower fire in the area where she grew up seemed like more soul-crushing proof of the government’s ‘contempt for the poor’. Her bile rises as she calls out Victoria Derbyshire for taking offence at Grenfell resident Peaky Saku, who swore while giving an eyewitness account, as he suggested it wasn’t an accident. The policing of his language made her blood boil and leads to a soaring rant: ‘that’s no joke,’ she says, defiantly. ‘That’s just anger.’ Stevenson makes excellent points (manspreading on the underground, toxic masculinity among world leaders, numbskulls on Twitter) but a confrontational delivery slaps a barrier between her and the crowd. It’s as though she assumes they want a square go. Comparing reticent Edinburgh crowds to her non- demonstrative Scottish boyfriend, she doesn’t seem to consider that they could actually be on her side (or craving more laughs among the vitriol). A 70s disco finale is a welcome attempt to lighten the heavy mood as she acknowledges that traumatised London (and maybe herself) needs to heal now. (Claire Sawers) ■ Gilded Balloon Teviot, until 27 Aug, 5.30pm, £10–£12 (£9–£11).
The men in Sofie Hagen’s family are, to put it mildly, quite the pieces of work. After poring over her absent father in last year’s Shimmer Shatter, the comic turns her attention to the grandfathers in her clan: all three of them. It’s a convoluted set-up which you should hear from Hagen herself amid a story that involves Nazi memorabilia, animal cruelty and psychological torment.
There’s never a point during Dead Baby Frog when you’re not on her side, even when she’s giggling at a funeral or threatening to break Brian ‘Westlife’ McFadden’s lap while, whatever your views, she’ll have you punching the air when she fights back against those who condemn fat people without knowing their backstory. And Hagen is so sensitive to the needs of others that prior to the show, she offers a get-out clause for those who might not want to listen to an hour about abuse. Ultimately, this is a compelling tale of resistance
and breaking free from the shackles of tyranny, with Hagen’s finale revolving around a pivotal familial example which she witnessed first-hand. As an added bonus, your command of the Danish language will marginally improve after 60 minutes in her company. (Brian Donaldson) ■ Bedlam Theatre, until 28 Aug, 2pm, £10 (£8).
JAN RAVENS: DIFFICULT WOMAN Joyful, poignant hour from impressionist extraordinaire ●●●●●
Already one of the hottest tickets at this year’s festival, Jan Ravens might have been tempted to coast along on her reputation as one of Britain’s top impressionists and deliver something safe and unimaginative. But dismiss her at your peril: this show from the Spitting Image and Dead Ringers star is a joy from start to finish, a gleeful mix of top-notch impressions and pointed political comedy. Ravens is on a quest to reclaim the term ‘difficult woman’,
the phrase with which Ken Clarke famously branded Theresa May last year, and she spends much of this show calling out sexism where she sees it, in politics and in the media. Plenty of political figures get a look in, from the Prime Minister and Nicola Sturgeon to Diane Abbott and Angela Merkel. Merkel, in fact, is Ravens’ weakest turn and the sympathetic
note she ends on will probably gall some of Theresa May’s more virulent opponents. But these limper moments are pretty forgettable, eclipsed by the slickness of the rest of the show’s remainder. Watch out for a particularly pointed routine of Joanna Lumley filming a ‘travel documentary’ in Mosul, ignoring the carnage around her. Best of all is a heartbreaking ode to Victoria Wood, who passed away in the Year of Doom (aka 2016), which brings more than a few tears to the eye: hers, and ours.
Unsurprisingly, Difficult Woman is pretty Radio 4 in its tone;
indeed, when she asks the audience how many in here are Radio 4 listeners, the majority raise their hands. But even in potentially tired material about getting older, Jan Ravens is a gutsy comic and a remarkable entertainer, with one of the most satisfying hours at this year’s Fringe. (Yasmin Sulaiman) ■ Gilded Balloon Teviot, until 27 Aug (not 16), 7pm (plus 14 Aug, 8.15pm), £12–£14 (£10–£13). Extra shows at Gilded Balloon at the Museum, 12, 19, 26 Aug, 4.30pm, £14 (£12).
10–17 Aug 2017 THE LIST FESTIVAL 47