LIST.CO.UK/FESTIVAL REVIEWS FESTIVAL COMEDY
MILO MCCABE A bemusing family affair ●●●●● JOHN SCOTT An unsure and unfocused hour ●●●●●
It’s all a bit barmy in the Gilded Balloon’s Billiard Room, as character chameleon Milo McCabe brings his unique brand of funny to this year’s Fringe. Irish comedy legend Kenny Moon (played by McCabe’s real-life father and New Faces star, Mike McCabe) is appearing on This is Your Life. McCabe Jnr plays the multiple roles of Moon’s motley crew of family and showbiz ‘pals’. Following so far? Good. First up, it’s gypsy neph-
ew-cum-‘technosexual’ Keith Moon, in what is argu- ably the funniest skit of the hour. Next up comes ‘variety’s best kept secret’ Bunny, before we meet flamboyant luvvie Troy, cockney showbiz agent Steel and dopey simpleton son Tyson. McCabe is a relentlessly energetic and captivating performer, and his attention to detail brings life to each of his char- acters. A largely amusing, if slightly bemusing hour of comedy, served with a twist. (Anna Millar) ■ Gilded Balloon Teviot, 622 6552, until 26 Aug (not 13), 5.35pm, £8.50–£10 (£7.50–£9).
A successful Edinburgh show is a marathon not a sprint and for a lot of jobbing comedians used to doing 20-minute slots on a bill, an hour to them- selves can be a bridge too far. Even with this, his second full Fringe set, that still seems to be the case with John Scott. Wielding a scattergun approach, he pinballs across subjects from religion to politics and back with none of them given time to breathe as he constantly loses his way.
There are a number of comedians for whom the appearance of mental drifting is an integral part of their act, but here it is less whimsical and more con- fused. He covers his topics with a lack of conviction and is overly apologetic about some of the cheesier one-liners which, ironically, are among the stronger moments.
Everything about the show feels unsure, includ- ing Scott himself, and while it’s early in the run, this feels a long way from the finished article. (Gordon Eldrett) ■ The Stand III & IV, 558 7272, until 26 Aug (not 13), 10.30pm, £8 (£7).
NICK HELM Charming manchild bellows orders at his audience army ●●●●●
Nick Helm was the comedian who won last year’s best joke of the Fringe, for his gag, ‘I needed a password eight characters long, so I picked Snow White and the Seven Dwarves.’ If you saw his show, you’ll also remember he likes to shout a lot, sweat a lot, fondle (mostly male) audience mem- bers, and end the show semi-naked.
All this happens again in This Means War!, a hybrid of boot camp, military history and confessions about his relationship problems. With hair metal songs. Loosely themed around war, with references to WWII, ’Nam, and Deerhunter, his show offers the Helm insight on Nazism (‘people used to say Hitler only had one ball. No! Complete bollocks!’), and touches on his own ‘personal wars’ (being made to watch Sliding Doors by his girlfriend, for example, or a particularly stressful incident last festival, when he spilled an entire box of flyers). His material is the kind of ridiculous, tongue-in-cheek-and-right-through-the-other-side stuff that,
in a lesser comedian’s hands, really wouldn’t work. But his H-Bomb delivery — lots of barked orders and Chuck Norris-style manliness, paired with flashes of sobbing clinginess — let him get away with murder. ‘Actions speak louder than words. And I speak louder than action,’ he deadpans through dry ice in his intro, an action movie voiceover piss-take.
The crowd laps up the affectionate abuse, doled out among nonsense poems and soft rock ballads; those who took up position in the front row clearly hoped they’d get dragged up for a sweaty head- lock, followed by whispers of tenderness. Not to sully Helm’s name with a Jack Black comparison, but if the sweary, clowning side of the Kung Fu Panda was fused with a Londoner’s cuddly bile, then made to read Tim Key’s poems after being force-fed testosterone and steroids, it might come close to the Nick Helm experience. (Claire Sawers) ■ Pleasance Dome, 556 6550, until 27 Aug (not 14), 5.30pm, £12.50–£13.50 (£11–£12.50).
MARCUS BRIGSTOCKE A jolly Big Society satire ●●●●●
Early in The Brig Society, TV talking-head comedy panelist Marcus Brigstocke hands a man in the front row his mic. ‘Tell us a joke!’ he beams enthusiasti- cally. When the man can’t, Brigstocke acts sur- prised. ‘But . . . I’m empowering the audience?’ Brigstocke explains his ‘top down’ approach, where a nominated central provider (the stand-up comedian) gives power back to the public. It’s one of many smart, biting analogies to the Tory-fuelled Big Society ‘idea’ in this concept show. Randoms in the crowd are picked as culture, finance and educa- tion ministers, while Brigstocke leads his jolly tirade against David ‘Can-moron’, ‘Gideon’ Osbourne and co. It’s comedy with a conscience, as the Greek crisis, the Leveson Inquiry and Jimmy Carr’s tax scheme are covered (look out for comedian cat- tiness, as Carr is ripped apart in an expert imper- sonation) but it might be too swotty to raise big laughs for some. Brigstocke’s posh self-deprecation is charmingly done, particularly his idea of keeping a hawk on his arm for hecklers. (Claire Sawers) ■ Assembly Hall, 623 3030, until 25 Aug (not 13), 9.10pm, £12–£13 (£11–£12).
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