list.co.uk/festival Reviews | FESTIVAL COMEDY
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I N A T H A N E L M A S O N
DOMINIC HOLLAND: ECLIPSED Spider-Man's dad on his son’s success ●●●●●
BUTT KAPINSKI Ludicrous immersive comedy at its finest ●●●●● CHRIS KENT: MOVING ON Engaging storytelling let down by detail ●●●●●
In the Fringe world a long, long time ago, Dominic Holland was quite the big deal. But his early stand-up achievements have been well and truly usurped by that of his son Tom, aka the new Spider-Man. If we hate it when our friends become successful, what can it do to a person’s soul when their offspring outpaces them in the business they’re both in? When the toddler Tom showed off some fancy
footwork, his mum believed him to be destined for showbusiness glory, while dad was on hand to offer some words of wisdom about not expecting too much in the industry. These pep talks all occurred prior to Tom landing
big parts such as Billy Elliot in the West End, and later as Peter Parker (papa Holland seeks some solace at the prospect of spooking young folk by telling them that he’s Spider-Man’s father). He might use it a little too much, but Holland snr
has perfected the glazed expression and middle- distance stare of someone who can’t quite believe what’s actually happening around him. His stand-up abilities are still intact, though the meanderings about being a fiftysomething (prostates, balding, and trips to the garden centre) are the least engrossing parts of his semi-tragic tale. (Brian Donaldson) ■ Voodoo Rooms, until 27 Aug, 4.40pm, free.
Straight out of the seedy depths of a dark and downbeat film noir, private eye Butt Kapinski has a murder mystery on his hands. Recruiting a slew of characters plucked from the audience, he sets about cracking the case. The alter-ego of US performer Deanna Fleysher,
Butt is a parody of old-school Hollywood detectives, shrouded in over-the-top hyper-masculinity and world-weary cynicism. With exaggerated movements and an almost undecipherable speech impediment, Kapinski is an incredibly entertaining, if bizarre, creation. The room is arranged in a way that Fleysher can weave easily between people’s chairs. She uses this to full effect, with Kapinski’s built-in street lamp illuminating the reluctant faces of would- be participants with an accusatory glare.
This is immersive theatre at its best, where the show’s success very much depends on the whims of its audience, who at any point could derail the whole plot. But Fleysher’s strength lies in her ability to manipulate any scenario, even if facts get muddled along the way. A fully realised character and a ludicrous and racy storyline make this an excellent piece of theatrical comedy. (Arusa Qureshi) ■ Pleasance Dome, until 27 Aug (not 21), 8.10pm, £8–£10 (£7–£9).
Moving On is an entertaining hour from a fantastic storyteller. Beginning with his move to England and culminating with the birth of his son, Chris Kent moves seamlessly between anecdotes, painting vivid and funny pictures. From a hate-fuelled rant about estate agents, to unpicking YouTube motivational videos, the Irish comic takes the audience through the ups and downs during a turning point in his life as a comedian, husband and man. However, the show could do with some definite editing: often overly detailed, and containing gags which were somewhat on the obvious side, the stretches with little in the way of laughter lasted too long. The few moments of audience interaction also fell flat, as Kent struggled to think on his feet in response to shout-outs from the crowd. At times, it all felt too rehearsed and lacking spontaneity.
Despite this, his ability as an orator is undeniable. The climax of his tale, involving the arrival of baby Jack, had the captivated audience on tenterhooks. A funny man with a talent for narration, Chris Kent’s latest Fringe offering is less belly-laughter stand-up, and more a pleasant, engaging and amusing story. (Kenza Marland) ■ Assembly George Square Studios, until 28 Aug, 5.15pm, £8.50–£9.50 (£7.50–£8.50).
SARA SCHAEFER: LITTLE WHITE BOX Compelling and smart Fringe debut ●●●●●
Taking to her stage with possibly the most low-key entrance in showbusiness history, Sara Schaefer feels duty-bound to (quietly) apologise to each and every one of us for the current resident of the White House. But there’s a twist to that apology which we would have seen coming a mile off were it not for Schaefer’s subtle beginning. There was nothing especially subtle about her religious
upbringing in Virginia, and here she references the mad rituals from church camp which have left deep psychological scars. The mantra which gives the show its title is buried so far into her psyche that its sudden reappearance knocks her for six. When Schaefer discusses the night terrors which bolt her
awake and in desperate fear for her safety, it’s tempting to view them as a metaphor for the America she is so worried about. Her Trump material acts as a jumping-off point to try and unpick the unholy alliances which make up the Christian far right. How can it be that the liberal values she took away from Bible class can be interpreted so differently? Admittedly, it’s a curiously naïve sentiment to espouse given that history is packed with texts, speeches and positions being read in diverse ways (everyone across the political spectrum has plucked out the bits that suit their agenda in everything from Rabbie Burns to Animal Farm). While lambasting Christian fundamentalists and the conspiracy
theorists that are more or less controlling the US now, she also has little truck with the new-agey spiritualists who turned her mother’s funeral into a living nightmare. This a compelling, smart and tack-sharp hour which Sara Schaefer delivers with a panache that takes us nervously by the hand down into the murky rabbit hole of modern America. (Brian Donaldson) ■ Pleasance Courtyard, until 28 Aug, 7pm, £9.50–£12.50 (£8.50– £11.50).
17–28 Aug 2017 THE LIST FESTIVAL 51