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ABANDOMAN A hip hop celebration of everyday lives ●●●●●
Sure, they’re ‘the seventh biggest rap act in Ireland’, but hip hop comics Abandoman are quick to append two critical caveats. The first is that Jedward are four places above them in the relevant (and fairly bizarre) newspaper countdown. The second is that there aren’t enough Irish rap stars to compile a full top ten, so they’re actually seventh out of a total eight. This is of little consequence to Abandoman, however: the duo’s real ambition is to be crowned the Andrew Lloyd Webber and Tim Rice of hip hop. With this in mind, they improvise a crowd-inspired urban musical every night. Their ensuing breathless, ad- hoc odes to visibly-delighted punters showcase MC Rob Broderick’s knack for off-the-cuff couplets, and instrumental foil James Hancox’s quick-witted musical instinct. But they also celebrate the brilliant and unlikely details of people’s day-to-day lives: our lively Monday night audience included a wine-maker, a compost- turner, a yeast expert, a tree-planter and a former Metallica roadie. All of whom have now been immortalised via the medium of musical theatre. (Nicola Meighan) ■ Pleasance Courtyard, 556 6550, until 29 Aug, 9.45pm, £8.50–£9.50 (£7.50–£8.50).
HANS TEEUWEN Gloriously divisive absurdist fare ●●●●● Since 2007, Dutch cabaretier Hans Teeuwen has been performing his unique style of absurdist comedy in English. After last year’s cameo appearance he’s back with a full run in a show that is guaranteed to divide
22 THE LIST 26 Aug–9 Sep 2010
audiences right down the middle. Bouncing from one bizarre skit to the next, he seems unconcerned at alienating his crowd. At times his material is wilfully incongruous and some of his creations are deliberately constructed to provoke. Oblivious to the numerous walk- outs, he pushes the boundaries of humour, taste and patience like a mad scientist, darting around the stage and dripping with sweat. He’s also an extraordinary pianist and reprises one of last year’s more quotable (although obscene) songs: a strange, singalong paean to partners’ genitalia. If that sounds like your bag then you’ll likely be carried along in hysterics and it’s a good call to close the show on this, knowing his remnants will indulge him. It’s a shame that some bits are repeated from last year but his is gloriously divisive, often hilarious comedy. (Murray Robertson) ■ Pleasance Courtyard, 556 6550, until 29 Aug, 10.30pm, £14-£15 (£12.50-£14).
NINA CONTI A vast talent for voices and timing ●●●●●
‘First rule of performing: make it look easy; second rule: don’t fuck the elephants.’ Since there are no elephants in this show, Nina Conti succeeds in following monkey’s advice impeccably in prising apart the elderly art of ventriloquism in another display of consummate skill and outrageous humour. And this year she’s got three new puppets to assist her: her granny, a poetry-penning owl, and a vodka- swilling self-loathing New Yorker called Lydia. In Talk to the Hand, there’s plenty of
face-time with her crowd-pleasing nihilist monkey, but each new puppet has a singular personality and liberates Conti to showcase her dexterity as a performer. Owl the artiste sounds like Brian Sewell; Scottish Granny is a vehicle for enjoyably errant phone calls and other gentle antics, and when Lydia decides to invite the audience to
TOMMY TIERNAN A passionate man taking glorious risks ●●●●●
For a few minutes there it looked like Tommy Tiernan had lost the plot. Starting off Crooked Man slower than Wayne Rooney at a Mensa convention, he tosses out a few semi-derogatory quips about the state of comedy at the Fringe and wondering why he’s even bothering to be here in the first place. And then he plunges into a lengthy, room-dividing sequence as he impersonates a whispering, incoherent rabbi annoying his congregation as if to suggest that this mirrors our fate for the next hour. Well, it’s nothing of the kind.
Such a brief false start merely serves to highlight the glories of what’s about to happens as Tiernan preaches and rants and implores and meditates, flying through a wide range of topics including taking his daughter to her first football game, the volley of useless information that floods our 21st century minds and why Australia will never be invaded.
It’s unlikely that a single Tiernan show since he romped into Edinburgh and nabbed the Perrier back in 1998 has failed to contain an anecdote of his early life in Navan. Here, he recalls his best friend debating with a priest how they would inform his mother that he had perished in a hypothetical blaze, while Tiernan’s past and present collide when he has a brief phone conversation with a teacher he had a crush on. With all Tiernan’s stories, there is a fierce humanity at its heart, told with passion and guile. His metaphors are poetic, his imagery beautiful.
At times, you wonder where he is going with some set-ups. When he attempts to make himself look like Hitler as he prepares to discuss sexuality, it turns into an assault on bigotry. This is Tommy Tiernan’s genius. You feel that danger and risk are just around the corner, but in the back of your mind you know you’re on safe and empathetic ground with one of stand-up comedy’s true contemporary greats. (Brian Donaldson) ■ Gilded Balloon Teviot, 622 6552, until 30 Aug (not 26), 8pm, £14–£15 (£12–£13).
suggest new voices for her, each is delivered with flabbergasting aplomb. This is only one of the things Conti makes look easy, along with breathing life into four cloth creatures, challenging our preconceptions and breaking our brains with the sheer scale of her talent. (Peggy Hughes) ■ Pleasance Dome, 556 6550, until 30 Aug, 8.30pm, £12–£13 (£10.50–£11.50). ADDICTED TO DANGER! Surreal and innovative sketch affair ●●●●●
Just when it looked like the sketch show might be eating itself to a slow, agonising death on this Fringe, along comes Steve McNeil, Sam Pamphilon and Rachel Stubbings to stick a hot poker into its dying carcass and kickstart the whole shebang. In parts, there appears to be nothing especially new to Addicted to Danger! with its Laurel and Hardy-esque central pairing (one’s an idiot, the other thinks he’s clever but might well be the bigger dunce), while the standard undermining of each other’s efforts has extra texture added when the scary hair and yet more terrifying, if justified scowl of Stubbings takes to the stage.
Put simply, this trio have a subtle comic chemistry flowing between them that many acts take several Fringes to achieve. The sketches themselves maintain an unusually high standard of innovation and comic writing. The opening segment of a governmental underling stumbling into a cabinet office meeting which is a front for assassination sets the tone starkly from the off while glorious surrealist fancies take flight as the hour draws in. (Brian Donaldson) ■ Pleasance Dome, 556 6550, until 30 Aug, 5pm, £7–£8 (£5.50–£7).
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