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SUZI RUFFELL: DANCE LIKE EVERYONE’S WATCHING A great show about acceptance ●●●●●
There’s a theory that happiness doesn’t produce good comedy, so Suzi Ruffell begins Dance Like Everyone’s Watching with an apology. She loves her job, is getting married, has made it onto the property ladder and – on top of all that excitement – got hold of a life-changing device, the NutriBullet.
Ruffell knows that a little bit of edge goes a long way over the course of a Fringe hour, and so takes a recent heckle (‘she loves herself’) and returns to it throughout the show. Dance Like Everyone’s Watching becomes a proper meditation on happiness, both the kind that you get from love and other people, and the sort that comes from within. The finale is a trip to a Pride march in New York, an emotionally charged ending that discovers joy in acceptance.
Ruffell’s improvement over the last few years has been truly impressive and this is another big step forward from her. She’s a motormouth, rarely passing an opportunity to deploy a snappy wisecrack but also vitally she understands the importance of (and is skilled enough to pull off) a tonal shift. With gags and gravitas galore, this is a deeply wholesome and intelligent hour of stand-up. (Craig Angus) n Pleasance Courtyard, until 25 Aug (not 12), 8.30pm, £8.50–£11 (£7.50–£10).
CRYBABIES: DANGER BRIGADE Zany and chaotic character-filled romp ●●●●●
If you’ve not sat in a basement bar at the Fringe with one other audience member for company, been assigned the bit part of ‘Greta, child-torture liaison’ and watched as the man onstage in pants says a painful goodbye to a broken mop, well, you’ve probably made some good life choices.
This zany WWII romp hits peak Fringe about three times in an hour, if you can stick with it long enough. In fairness to the manic cast, they double down and inflict their Inglourious Bellends plot on an unwitting audience, building a chaotic storyline around dysfunctional, attention-desperate, schoolgirl-chasing baddies, trying to right wrongs done to them.
Chester Daggerboot, son of emotionally unavailable thespian Gammon Daggerboot, has a gaping hole in his heart which he tries to fill through cabaret performances. Meanwhile, Skipps McCoy is using his sex obsession to keep his mind off that incident at a football match where he let his young child die in very unusual circumstances. Jumpers for goalposts, table legs for nipples, and three actors in four-character scenes won’t bring back McCoy’s bitter ex-wife Susan, but it will create indelibly strange new Fringe memories. (Claire Sawers) n Heroes @ Boteco, until 25 Aug (not 14), 4pm, £5 in advance or donations at the venue.
LUCIE POHL: REALLY, REALLY, REALLY, REALLY, REALLY, REALLY REAL Online fame isn’t all it’s cracked up to be ●●●●●
Lucie Pohl’s return to the Fringe after a two-year hiatus offers an entertaining insight into life as a video-game celebrity. As the voice of Mercy on Blizzard’s Overwatch, Pohl is adored by players around the world for being the game’s healer / guardian angel character. In reality though, life isn’t as glamorous as those weeping fans at comic cons might think. Tthe New York-based comedian attempts to dispel
the myths surrounding online fame, providing an hour that traverses topics which shatter the illusions projected by social media. From holding in farts in front of a partner to constructing the perfect post about a dead family member (only to have them actually survive), this is a frank and often brutal look at life behind the filters and hashtags. While Pohl’s ill-fated tales of participating in
comic cons around the world provide the hour’s best moments, there are occasional issues with connectivity between her anecdotes. But it’s her storytelling skills and attempts to convey her authentic self that ultimately provide the most laughs. (Arusa Qureshi) n Gilded Balloon Teviot, until 26 Aug, 9pm, £10–£11 (£9–£10).
SIMON MUNNERY: ALAN PARKER URBAN WARRIOR FAREWELL TOUR Protests, poems and placards from the retiring anarchist ●●●●●
A relic from the mid-90s who even then was anachronistically banging on about Thatcher, it’s even funnier today that bedsit rebel Alan Parker is still obsessed with the late Tory dominatrix. Arguably Simon Munnery’s finest character creation, Alan has been resurrected for one final howl at the impending doom that faces us all. Though the reason he’s called it his ‘farewell tour’ might have something more to do with the planet imploding than any career-closing decision on his part.
Alan is here with hastily sketched placards, protest songs, ill-fitting poetry, a jacket full of curious props, and a stare so intense that would it make the most hardcore Momentum activist wilt under the pressure. Proving that he’s still down with current affairs, he namechecks everyone from climate change campaigner Greta Thunberg to, um, Igor Stravinsky (‘his opera started a riot: good!’), but the modern world has not always been kind to Alan. You might still find him cornering blokes down the pub, but you certainly won’t find him ranting on social media given his distaste for technology and distrust of all machines. Wisely reckoning that a solid hour of Alan could potentially get wearing, Munnery inserts a lengthy ‘dance break’ into proceedings, featuring an ambient track you’d have heard at the sort of chilled 90s house parties Alan would have inevitably ruined due to his ‘opinions’.
Can ‘art effect change?’ he wonders. Maybe. But change has certainly affected art, with Alan’s brand of blokeish anti- capitalism being left far behind by inconvenient obstacles such as strong women. He may not have veered from being a lefty youth into a middle-aged right-winger, but Alan’s subtle sexism is neatly exposed by Munnery’s script. An enjoyable blast from the past. (Brian Donaldson) n The Stand, until 26 Aug (not 12), 3.20pm, £12 (£10).
7–14 Aug 2019 THE LIST FESTIVAL 59