{COMEDY} Reviews
MATTHEW CROSBY A safe and hilarious haven for geeks and nerds ●●●●●
Any fears that Matthew Crosby would be exposed under the Fringe glare without the back-up of his showbiz buddies have been put resolutely to bed with this debut solo effort, the distinctly Pappy’s-esque entitled AdventureParty. Let’s get one thing straight off the bat: just because he wears glasses, has facial fuzz and dresses like a nerdy-geek (‘schoolboy chic’, Crosby calls it) doesn’t necessarily mean that he is a manchild riddled with petty obsessions and hampered by social awkwardness. Except, of course, that is exactly what he is.
And this terrain is where he sows his most fertile comedic
seeds all over the floor of the Pleasance Cellar. As if you hadn’t guessed already, the show is motored with the aid of PowerPoint, which he uses to devastatingly caustic and humorous effect. He introduces matters with a B-feature about Victorian men, analyses the differences between himself and that other favourite son from his home borough of Bromley (it’s Charles Darwin and there are a lot of differences) and witheringly chastises anyone who still has a hotmail account. But his fascination with Nando’s lifts everything to a whole
new level of hysteria. At first, you think it is simply a set-up for one quick gag, but soon (and quite scarily) his intense affair with the Portuguese chicken chain is revealed and built upon, leg by bone by breast. A show like this would not be complete without elements of self-deprecation, but again Crosby hikes it up, happy to fully flagellate himself by allowing us to stare at a series of his fashion statements down the years (what’s not to like about his Racist Roundhead period?) As if all that wasn’t enough, the quality of Crosby’s audience chit-chat might be difficult to beat this August. But then, who else is going to have a front row littered with nerds and geeks? (Brian Donaldson) ■ Pleasance Courtyard, 556 6550, until 29 Aug (not 16), 4.45pm, £9.50–£12 (£8–£10.50).
SINK OR SPIN It’s gym life, but not as we know it ●●●●●
WEDDING BAND: A COMEDY BY CHARLIE BAKER Crooner delivers a gentle comic play ●●●●● WHO ARE THE JOCKS? A multi-faceted tale of love and loss ●●●●●
L A V I T S E F
A site-specific comedy set in the working environs of Bannatyne’s Health Club, you’ll spend most of Sink or Spin on an exercise bike in a distinctly unusual class taught by Clement (Donal Coonan). The situation demands a certain level of audience interaction and light exercise, so don’t be surprised by the odd trickle of sweat, but mercifully it’s definitely not a full work-out.
Any mild droplets you exude are worth the effort though, as there’s some wonderful absurdist physical comedy here, including an inspired mounted dance routine. There’s more depth still as we work our way though his ‘seven modules’. His wife has left him, the breakdown of his marriage matching the slippage of his sanity. To Clement, spin is akin to religion, his class a mix of self-help, philosophising and desperation.
As with the best comedy, there’s an element of
realism to the show and Coonan presents a brilliantly constructed character. It’s an inspired set-up that really drags you in as you pedal away, making you complicit in the madness. Funny, thoroughly entertaining and wholly unique. (Henry Northmore) ■ Bannatyne’s Health Club, 226 0000, until 29 Aug (not 17), 2.15pm, £9.50 (£8).
54 THE LIST 11–18 Aug 2011
What’s the worst thing that could happen to you as the head of a jobbing wedding band? High on the list would be mislaying the PA, having a keyboardist who can’t stop muttering about being fed and, arguably most awkward of all, discovering that you might actually have once known the bride-to-be. These are the core dilemmas at the heart of Charlie Baker’s Fringe comedy play, Wedding Band. The gruff yet boyish comic, who in the last year
has appeared in Doctor Who and was the Let’s Dance for Comic Relief champ, chose to croon only once in this hour, as he turned a tacky 80s Eurovision hit into luxurious jazzy gold.
Featuring Baker’s tuxed-up singer, the ever-hungry piano man, a haughty caterer (‘I’m a wedding planner’) and a slightly obvious wacky/troubled DJ, the play itself is a gentle meander through a series of tricky situations which resolve themselves with little fuss. Baker smartly avoids firing Chekhov’s gun (in the shape of a precariously positioned cake) and the final twist is as satisfying as a thick slice of marzipan. (Brian Donaldson) ■ Gilded Balloon Teviot, 622 6552, until 29 Aug (not 15, 22), 2.45pm, £10.50–£12.50 (£8.50–£10.50).
Having cultivated a persona for being a callous shock-comic, it was something of a surprise to learn that Scott Capurro was turning to the death of his mother as the basis for his latest Fringe show. Dubbing her his ‘best friend and coke dealer’, he flits in and out of his grief and the atypical message she left behind for him, weaving in tales of a horrendous gig in Cardiff and the 1999 Columbine High School massacre. The words of Dylan Klebold and Eric Harris, as they prepared to open fire on their peers, gives the show its title, Capurro happily clearing up that it has nothing to do with a quest for Scotsmen. There’s not a glaringly obvious link between these threads, other than possibly being an ode to ‘the outsider’ and they mainly act as a springboard onto the kind of unapologetically dark material that has been the San Fran stand-up’s trademark for over two decades. Anyone who feared the comic had withdrawn his talons will be blissfully relieved with a rapid opening ten minutes which crams in abortion, AIDS, Madeleine McCann and the Holocaust. That Capurro is now showing us his sensitive side can only add to his appeal. (Brian Donaldson) ■ Pleasance Dome, 556 6550, until 29 Aug (not 16), 8pm, £9.50–£10.50 (£8–£9).