{COMEDY} Reviews
JOANNA NEARY A period piece with confusing threads ●●●●●
Have we finally wrung out the vestiges of 80s nostalgia? Joanna Neary’s latest show, Youth Club, suggests that this may be the case. Neary is a likeable comic actress, a former Perrier Best Newcomer nominee, and a familiar TV face to viewers of Armando Iannucci’s Time Trumpet or Ideal, where she starred alongside alongside Johnny Vegas. But her solo, character-based tale of awkward Cornwall teenagers in 1987 lacks dramatic and comical punch. Largely centred round a youth club disco, it focuses on a
child-like, contradictory 15-year-old protagonist called Diana, who is variously described as a ‘Victorian prude’, then twice thereafter witnessed singing about anal sex. Neary’s caricatures of Diana and her friends, however, are unconvincing and confusing. Her narrative thread is similarly hard to follow and, in truth, we never develop enough empathy toward Tamsin, or Gavin, or even Diana, to care.
There’s no doubting its historical location, though: this is 1987 writ in fluorescent lights, an era when kids collected novelty erasers, skewed conventional spellings of their names in favour of the letters ‘i’ and ‘k’, used wet-look gel, wore bat- wing jumpers and learned the words to songs like The Firm’s ‘Star Trekkin’’ via the pages of Smash Hits.
Yet these cultural embellishments felt incidental to the saga – just another excuse to play Level 42 and exploit our easy predilection for basking in nostalgic reverie. Neary did make one nice observation toward the end: that The B52s’ ‘Rock Lobster’ implied that there was ‘an alternative’ out there – something other than Garfield, Starship and Cornwall – but it was under-explored, and gone in a flash. Despite Youth Club’s resounding 80s theme, Neary concluded her lengthy account with a wholly incongruous cocktail-jazz epic that spanned puerile subversions of nursery rhymes, and nods to ‘hepcats’ on the school bus. It wasn’t funny, but it was absurd. (Nicola Meighan) ■ The Stand V, 558 7272, until 28 Aug, 3.50pm, £9 (£8).
L A V I T S E F
JOSH WIDDICOMBE Steering away from the dangers of blanding out ●●●●●
After an impressive opening flurry of gags about trees, scissors and burglars, Josh Widdicombe is bumped off his stride. Not by hecklers per se, but by the woman on his front row who has, shall we say, a bit of a thing for him. Once the awkward hilarity subsides he does recover, but never quite hits the same mark. Still, there’s more than enough evidence to show that Widdicombe is an adept and warm stand-up who will be playing spaces with a lot more room than the Pleasance Hut in years to come. Pitching himself as an observational comic with a permanently bamboozled reaction to the weirdness all around, he frets about common phrases that seem to have been designed simply to irritate Josh Widdicombe. And why do people have a special dish that they put their wet teabags in? Madness. And what’s the deal with waxy tyrants at Madame Tussaud’s? Traffic light parties: what’s that all about? Widdicombe’s topics may be a recipe for blandness, but he has developed a keen eye for teasing out a deftly funny punchline. Let’s hope the groupies stay away for the rest of the run. (Brian Donaldson) ■ Pleasance Courtyard, 556 6550, until 28 Aug, 7.15pm, £10–£11 (£8.50–£9.50).
44 THE LIST 18–25 Aug 2011
SARA PASCOE An honest but sheepish hour ●●●●● ANDREW MAXWELL Blistering set from the mercurial Dubliner ●●●●●
This comic actress returns to the Fringe a year wiser with Sara Pascoe vs the Apocalypse, an hour-long insight into the world post-December 2012, when all but she has perished. The performance begins with a brief introduction, during which Pascoe outlines the nature of the show while bemoaning the two- star reviews received on her 2010 debut, a result she attributes to her overtly egotistical style. Then again, that show was actually about egos. This time, Pascoe offers up rules and guidelines for
future generations after the continuation of the human race has been left in her hands. Themes include Angelina Jolie, a unique smoking policy and veganism. Although well-conceived, the performance is too often let down by Pascoe’s sheepish delivery and while her material may be good, her curious lack of stage presence sees much of it fizzle out. On the flip side, Pascoe is open and honest throughout her show and does not hide when a joke does not receive the desired response, instead utilising her leading qualities of quick wit and self-deprecating humour to try and resolve any sticky situations. (Jamie Cameron) ■ Pleasance Dome, 556 6550, until 29 Aug, 7pm, £9.50–£12 (£8–£10.50).
Many people will, this August, witness a comedian making a fleeting reference to the summer riots, if only to prove they have a handle on what’s going on outside the Edinburgh bubble. Not Andrew Maxwell. He devotes around 20 minutes of The Lights Are On to analyse in very specific, and frankly hilarious detail, the reactions to the fact that many parts of the country have been ablaze this month. Not Scotland, though, as Maxwell points out: ‘far too damp’.
Probably the majority of the Fringe’s stand-ups will, night after night, professionally deliver their delicately honed script leaving the potential for severe flagging come 29 August. Maxwell has opted to, perhaps temporarily, completely ditch almost a third of his prepared set but all you can do is revel in the mischief this comically-attuned Dubliner makes. He also weaves utter magic from his observations
about Edinburgh’s junkie couples, the media reaction to the Middleton sisters and the varying attitudes towards religion in Scotland and the US featuring an array of imagery and metaphors that live long in the memory. The lights are on, and Andrew Maxwell is well and truly at home. (Brian Donaldson) ■ Assembly George Square, 623 3030, until 29 Aug, 9pm, £13–£15 (£12–£14).