{COMEDY} Reviews
THE TWO WRONGIES Confused and confusing naked double-act ●●●●●
It’s unclear where the poorly concealed punches in this crude cabaret of physical comedy are aimed. From five minutes into their performance, the female double-act remains in various states of undress, with predictable simulations of sex and naked high-kicks, lunges and intimate fumbles, revealing their bold intentions. Derivative of a rich lineage of female performance art, a strange homage that dangerously references everything and nothing simultaneously, accessory changes are enabled by a series of absurdist low-fi interventions, projections of the pair on the streets mimicking collective actions or prostitution.
Near beautiful, a dance sequence involving a long stretch of black dress is pretty, but out of place amongst the other routines. A ballerina stands proud in a white tutu before scratching at her vagina, teasing her nipple and popping a tit out of the top of her leotard. Naked except for nose clips, goggles and caps, the pair’s synchronised swimming set provides an opportune showcase for their agile physiques, and whilst their powerful movements signal a possible direction for this pair, one must not forget that this is billed as comedy. Speech is sparse and it’s hard not to get hung-up on the
rather humourless admission that one of the women had lost her virginity in her early teens: she’d cried, but Tim hadn’t noticed. Surely they aren’t aiming their angst at teenage lusts? Perhaps it’s youths that may appreciate this performance, but surely it would be condescending to assume that the shock value of nudity still holds currency with the young when their screens and stages are equally saturated. As far as ‘subverting the locker room mentality’, this routine falls short. It’s a bewildering, potentially damaging hybrid of dance and slapstick that attempts to glean leverage from its assimilations to art. Oh, and they spit at the audience. (Rosalie Doubal) ■ Assembly George Square, 623 3030, until 28 Aug (not 22), 10.30pm, £9–£10 (£8–£9).
L A V I T S E F
JOE FAIRBROTHER Gentle audience-teasing character comedy ●●●●●
JOSH HOWIE Patchy quest with dodgy material ●●●●● W KAMAU BELL Race-related comedy that avoids cliché ●●●●●
Whoever was doing the flyering for this show should be awarded some kind of Edinburgh Flyering Award. They absolutely nailed the target audience for the opening salvo of Joe Fairbrother’s fiendishly subtle character show. Welcomed in by a posh farmer- type, it appears that we have arrived at the AGM of a village called Tumble-on-the-Weed. It’s a delightful conceit as he discusses the problems and predilections of members of the audience/village. Somewhere along the way, the idea that a sniggering comedian telling a badly-timed rape gag is the vanguard of free speech has become entrenched. It’s not: it’s just lazy. There’s nothing ‘edgy’ about Josh Howie’s material in I am a Dick; he’s not making points about taboos that haven’t been done better a thousand times before. He’s just an overgrown adolescent, splashing about in shocking words, prone to petulant outbursts about not having as many Twitter followers as his friends.
The gentle mood continues as we meet more He doesn’t even have the courage to follow
quirksome oddballs, such as the cycling proficiency officer with ear, nose and throat concerns, and the leader of a swingers club with a fetish for getting down and dirty to ‘Lady In Red’. As Fairbrother disappears backstage, we hear inappropriate snippets from a local radio station. The character left to bring the house down is Pastor Anthony, a Geordie more interested in his flock’s wallet than its soul. The mild audience-ribbing is cranked up as Fairbrother/Anthony coaxes a punter/acolyte on stage to be transformed from a sinner into a winner. Genial rather than genius. (Brian Donaldson) ■ The Caves, 556 5375, until 28 Aug, 1.20pm, £7–£8 (£6–£7). 42 THE LIST 18–25 Aug 2011
through on the impact of his words: the homophobic material is carefully leavened with casual mentions of gay friends, and he all but melts down when he realises the sole loudly-laughing man is actually taking his ‘racist section’ at face value.
This Fringe is embedded in such a shocking year that it’s disappointing to see so many comedians trotting out safe material. And by ‘safe’, I mean the rape gags: hurling spears at political correctness for cheap laughs that don’t always come. Josh Howie could do better: his quest to discover whether he’s a dick already looks vapid and dated. (Kirstin Innes) ■ The Stand V, 558 7272, until 28 Aug, 6.20pm, £9 (£8).
Ending racism in ‘about an hour’ might seem like a bit of a challenge to set yourself. Rosa Parks, Martin Luther King and Nelson Mandela were at it for a lot longer and they still didn’t eradicate the hate, but W Kamau Bell’s Fringe show is still a discernibly different beast to many other performances on offer this month. The US comic is wry and intelligent in his good- natured explanation of why race is still a massive issue in the post-Obama climate. ‘Post-racism’, he argues, is simply not something that exists; just because a country is governed by a black president, it does not mean that the entire nation is an understanding, broad-minded lot (certainly not if the anecdotes on show here are anything to go by).
And don’t think us Brits are getting off lightly either,
because Bell has a whole range of guffaw-worthy examples of our compatriots acting like ill-informed dunderheids, and worse. PowerPoint slides, videos and current affairs-related dialogue keep this from being stand-up with a preachy edge. The result is akin to the witticisms of Dave Chappelle or Eddie Murphy at their vintage best. (Lauren Mayberry) ■ Pleasance Courtyard, 556 6550, until 29 Aug, 9.30pm, £11–£12 (£9.50–£11).