LIST.CO.UK/FESTIVAL Reviews {COMEDY}
FRISKY AND MANNISH Wry ribbing of pop culture ●●●●●
For those still unfamiliar with Frisky and Mannish, where have you been? It’s time to get up to speed with the flamboyant cabaret sensations. The pair, who have previously had great success at the Fringe with 2009’s School of Pop and 2010’s follow-up, The College Years, like to poke fun at pop culture idols du jour; and their latest show, Pop Centre Plus, seems to be coming from the same sarcastic place. Under the pretence of providing help to fame-seekers
and musical wannabes, Laura Corcoran (Frisky) and Matthew Jones (Mannish) run through a set that mashes up tunes from the cream of the pop crop, from Lady Gaga and Madonna to Missy Elliot and George Michael. Both performers are unexpectedly gifted in the vocal pipe department, Corcoran especially mastering everything from a classical, operatic piss-take of ‘Papa Don’t Preach’, to a cover of Jessie J’s ‘Do it Like a Dude’ in the style of kookie indie fodder, Ellie Goulding. Their onstage personae are larger than life, always glam in the utmost, wonderfully camp and musically flawless.
Crowd interaction is a must for this one, so be
prepared to make a fool of yourself for the sake of good fun. Highlights include their mutated, nursery rhyme- inspired version of Girls Aloud’s ‘Sound of the Underground’ and a snigger-inducing rendition of ‘Rude Boy’ by Rihanna in the style of sexy 70s hair and tooth siblings, The Bee Gees (complete with eardrum- lacerating high notes).
Clever, accessible and undeniably hilarious, this is a Festival tour de force. Sure to sell quickly if their previous Fringe success and YouTube hits are anything to go by, so jump aboard now to avoid missing the popular pop parody boat. (Lauren Mayberry) ■ Udderbelly’s Pasture, 0844 545 8252, until 28 Aug (not 15, 22), 9.30pm, £12–£14 (£10.50–£12.50).
FRANCESCA MARTINEZ A charmingly caustic look at ‘normal’ ●●●●● GLENN WOOL Hobo comic’s killer dispatches ●●●●●
JAMES ACASTER Mixing up the comedy flavours ●●●●●
She may be ‘the world’s wobbliest comedian’, but the force of Francesca Martinez’s convictions and the energy with which she puts them across never falter in a show that’s as hard-hitting as it is caustically funny. She takes to the stage with this poser: ‘What do you do when you’re labelled abnormal in a world obsessed with normality?’ And then makes a fierce and affecting argument against the gloss of the media, discouraging careers advisers and so-called school ‘friends’ (‘bitches!’), lampooning Sarah Palin, Nick Clegg and Rupert Murdoch as she goes, not only to bare her political fangs but as foils for her own good fortune. She swithers conversationally between the
particulars of her childhood and difficult teen years at the local comp, and anecdotes about Grange Hill, Jehovah’s Witnesses, Irish poets and (not) carrying an Olympic torch, her delivery direct, warm and charming. Though the ending is slightly at odds with the rest, the sentiment is nevertheless touching; a powerful, thoughtful curtain closer on an altogether inspiring lesson, for folk who wobble as well as folk who don’t. (Peggy Hughes) ■ The Stand V, 558 7272, until 28 Aug (not 15, 22), 7.35pm, £9 (£8).
Gruff Canadian Glenn Wool hasn’t been at the Fringe for a couple of years, instead travelling the world, performing and gathering material inspired by his en route adventures. The hobo comic’s set opens with an account of the time he was strip- searched in an Indonesian airport, stopping short at the point where the border guard was lubing-up a plastic-gloved finger. But why was the comic smiling as the finger inched towards his anus? Was it because he’d already had his worst day ever, having been too drunk to attend a free Iron Maiden concert? Or because he realised that no matter how bad things got, his travails could never compare to the hardships endured by some members of the animal kingdom?
Wool’s anecdotes tend to be delivered in a rasping holler that would be intimidating if it weren’t for the self-deprecation behind the ire. At times he comes across as a little shambolic, but you know he’s about to hit you with a killer line; and in No Lands Man, the final pay-off is eye-wateringly, excruciatingly funny. (Allan Radcliffe) ■ Assembly George Square, 623 3030, until 29 Aug (not 15), 9.30pm, £12–£14 (£10.50–£13).
F E S T I V A L
In the modern stand-up world, there seems to be a desperate need to fill every moment with high- octane verbiage, constant blather and, maybe, a spot of shouting while running, hoping to dear christ that your mic-cheek stays in position. You won’t find yourself Live at the Apollo any time soon with all that taking-your-time nonsense. There are few comics who dare to use a lot of
space and a little bit of silence to their advantage, but solo debutant James Acaster is one such rare breed. He takes absolute real-time ages to impersonate someone creeping around in the dark, messes around with a semi-willing audience member to re-enact a recent skydive and even departs the stage to let his old teddy bear do the talking. But it’s a glorious bonus when he does simply tell tales, as he just so happens to be blisteringly funny and highly original, riffing intriguingly on flavours of doughnuts, the joys of hiding and how to make surprise parties more, well, surprising. Perhaps Acaster has simply observed the competition and realised that standing out in stand- up means mixing it up a little. (Brian Donaldson) ■ Pleasance Courtyard, 556 6550, until 29 Aug (not 16), 9.45pm, £9.50–£12 (£8–£10.50).
11–18 Aug 2011 THE LIST 47