{COMEDY} Reviews
WITTANK A dazzling display of sketch genius ●●●●●
A sketch show to make even the most po-faced Fringe- watcher break out in hives of hysteria, WitTank takes comedy to brilliantly berserk new levels. An unlikely kleptomaniac, a sinister headmaster, a sugar freak and an unhappily-housed grandfather are just some of the incredible, bizarre and breathtakingly funny characters dragged out of WitTank’s comedy coffers. A seasoned sketch group, WitTank has been garnering the kind of breathless reviews that most comedians only dream of.
Now made up of Naz Osmanoglu, Kieran Boyd and Mark Cooper-Jones, WitTank has been gracing Fringe stages since 2006, and this experience shows. It’s an incredibly polished performance, with over-the-top characters mixing with humble everymen. A particular stand-out sketch in a show filled with them is the creepy headmaster and his unctuous encounters with the school’s cook and handyman. There’s a gradual building of hilarity as it becomes clear what the demented headmaster wants, but even so, when it is revealed, it is as fresh and bonkers and unexpected as if it had never been hinted at.
These are performers at the height of their writing and sketch comedy powers. The sequences are tight, the rhythm of the show has been choreographed to clinical timing, and the jokes are first-rate, top-drawer and dazzling. The sugar- freak sketch may seem as though it’s treading on familiar turf – the nice guy on a date harbouring a secret – but then arcs uproariously onto leftfield with its strobe lights and house music. It really has to be seen to be believed. This is all smart stuff which toys with our expectations, and the pay-offs are huge. There isn’t a single down moment in WitTank’s exhilaratingly perfect set. (Carmody Wilson) ■ The Caves, 556 5375, until 28 Aug, 6.15pm, £8.50–£9.50 (£7.50–£8.50).
KEITH FARNAN Well-informed monologue about money ●●●●● NICK HELM Shouty Marmite musical act ●●●●●
CARL DONNELLY Meandering tales that finally pay off ●●●●●
L A V I T S E F
Irish stand-up Keith Farnan has a lively stage presence and off-the-cuff style, with a congenial, raggedy appearance that is equal parts Bee Gee and Celtic Jesus. Such up-beat charisma serves Farnan well for his wandering, socially-conscious monologues on the Irish financial crisis by way of economists (portrayed here as modern-day witches) and lawyers – or ‘bamboozlers’ as our comic would have it, and he should know: he’s a former solicitor.
Farnan mentions several times that he gave up the legal profession (ergo: financial security) for happiness (ergo: stand-up comedy) but that is not to imply any levity in his subject matter. His rants on the rise of Irish suicide rates and clinical stress since the economic breakdown are troubling and well- informed, and Farnan doesn’t spare himself: he details his own recent experience of related (or so his doctor suggests) panic attacks.
His commentary is not always amusing and it veers toward the clichéd at times, but Farnan’s ideas offer pause for thought, and he has some ingenious suggestions for bailing Ireland out. I still don’t know what Ice Cream Sadism is, though. (Nicola Meighan) ■ Underbelly, 0844 545 8252, until 28 Aug, 6.20pm, £9–£10.50 (£8–£9.50).
34 THE LIST 18–25 Aug 2011
Nick Helm is whipping up quite a storm on the comedy circuit, and you can see why. He is certainly a force to be reckoned with: confident, commanding, and able to straddle the line between brusque, brash delivery, and engaging moments of mock-vulnerability which keep the audience on-side. He’s equipped with a mixed bag of jokes, poems
and songs, some of which are carbonated with wry, cheeky wit but others never seem to have a point. We’ve seen from earlier material such as the rascally song ‘He Makes You Look Fat’, that Helm is at his best as a gravelly-voiced jongleur with a guitar, and he’ll give you ‘15 More Reasons to Stay’ with him in a tour de force of a song halfway through the show. The emotional breakdown ending, however, draws more uncomfortable titters than belly-laughs, and his charmingly bullish delivery is too often swept away by a cyclone of shouting. Yes, we can entertain a rambunctious opening; but like the old proverb says, you can have too much of an offensively loud thing. And this is too much. That said, you know what you’re getting with Helm, and he’s sure to divide opinions, like Marmite or pie charts. (Rebecca Ross) ■ Pleasance Courtyard, 556 6550, until 29 Aug, 4pm, £11–£12 (£9.50–£11).
It’s easy to see why critics and award judges have heaped plaudits on Carl Donnelly. But on this occasion, his easy style of stand-up is muddied somewhat by his inability to stay on topic. In the initial few minutes he becomes preoccupied chatting to his front row and during the remainder of the set goes all round the houses on his way to concluding his tales.
He’s a self-confessed waffler who notes that he’s easily distracted and that his show is simply a series of stand-up stories strung together. If there is a theme it’s about being true to yourself (which is not as wet as it sounds). Most of the time Donnelly’s tendency to prevaricate is probably endearing but in a crowded, warm room you really do want him to just get on with it.
Nevertheless, when he does complete an anecdote it proves worth the wait; routines such as people’s habits of building up an elaborate story around the reason they can’t eat a particular food is perfectly executed and his closing story about a novelty dancing routine involving other comedians is close to being sublime. (Marissa Burgess) ■ Udderbelly’s Pasture, 0844 545 8252, until 29 Aug, 7.50pm, £10–£12 (£9–£11).