What: The Comedy Reserve
Where: Pleasance Dome
When: 8 – 31 August (not 18 and 25)
How Much: £7.50 – £8.50

In theory, The Comedy Reserve is a great idea. Three up-and-coming comedians share an hour-long show with a respected, but still relatively unknown comic performing compere duties. In practice, however, it’s something altogether less than the sum of its parts. Doc Brown, London-based rapper turned stand-up and brother to author Zadie Smith, certainly performs the role of MC to the height of his considerable abilities adding such much needed cohesiveness to a bill of comedians, each with an entirely different concept of humour.

Jared Hardy is barely on stage before launching into an exceptionally self-deprecating routine which, try as it might, can’t quite recover after the audience loses confidence early on. Hardy claims to resemble “an emo Harry Potter” but with his slight West Country lilt, painfully scrawny frame and the admission that he hails from Bristol, the character Sid from Skins is perhaps a more appropriate comparison. Like his small-screen counterpart, Hardy appears agonisingly awkward and, while endearing in some small way, seems out of his depth in front of an Edinburgh crowd.

Canadian comic Pat Burtscher (or “Pat Butcher!” as a lady in the next seat squealed with delight), by contrast, seems exceptionally sure of himself though appears entirely unaware of the fact. Whether drug-induced or otherwise, Burtscher spends the early part of his short set in a stupor, only snapping out of it to battle an errant mic stand. By the time he finally manages to attain something vaguely resembling lucidity, he’s riffing off the sexual differences between men and women, ending in an outrageous – and excruciating – masturbation gag. Burtscher is certainly an intense performer but his dozey demeanour and crass payoffs are something of a let-down.

Final act Chris Stokes is a minor revelation after the previous two comics. Like Hardy, Stokes plays on themes of personal deprecation and poor esteem but possesses just enough self-assurance to pull it off. He is a deconstructivist, playing on social misconceptions and dismantling them on stage. The pace is slow and meandering but there’s a surrealistic element that acts as a smoke screen, keeping the audience distracted while Stokes weaves additional layers into the fabric of a sometimes thin initial joke. His personal life proves a rich source of material, as tales of his veganism and of living with his flatmate are used as springboards for introducing new concepts. It’s difficult to see a relatively offbeat act like Chris Stokes truly going mainstream but the comedian can certainly expect to attract a cult following if this performance is any indication.

There are undoubtedly laughs to be had at The Comedy Reserve but with Doc Brown confined to his role as Master of Ceremonies, it’s left to Chris Stokes to lift the show above the level set by Hardy and Burtscher. As it is, he can’t quite manage it single-handedly and his complex, deadpan routine may prove something of a turnoff for many. Was the ticket price for The Comedy Reserve a couple of pounds cheaper it might seem a more reasonable prospect but as it is, it’s hard not to come away with at least a slight sense of disappointment.

Festbuzz Rating:

Words: Jodi Mullen

Original review at blog.festbuzz.com.

In 140 characters or less: “Brigstocke, Vincent and guests bring TV panel show to life with mixed results.”

The panel show has become ubiquitous on television over the last few years as Mock the Week and 8 Out of 10 Cats have blurred the line between news and comedy with sharp writing, carefully calculated gags and slick production. It’s a compelling, if formulaic, approach to TV comedy, which, with a little bit of editorial magic, gives the impression of a thirty minute barrage of constant gags. It’s jarring then, to see the format transplanted directly into a live environment, warts and all.

The Early Edition, the live descendant of Marcus Brigstocke and Andre Vincent’s irreverent television panel show The Late Edition, sticks to much the same format as it has in previous years at the Fringe. Brigstocke and Vincent, along with a pair of panel guests, dissect the day’s newspapers (“and the Daily Mail”) in front of a live audience. Save a few staple gags, the show is almost entirely improvised and audience participation is actively encouraged. Inevitably, overall quality varies somewhat depending on how brisk the day’s news is and on how successfully the guest stars interact with the hosts.

Of the two stalwarts, Marcus Brigstocke essentially acts as anchorman. Not only does he keep the show roughly on track, he facilitates most of the exchanges between audience and performers and leads with some of the juiciest news stories. As ever, he’s biting and sarcastic though rarely strays too close to controversy. Andre Vincent, on the other hand, is brash and loud and careers headlong into delicate topics with all the subtlety of an enraged wildebeast. In spite, or perhaps because of, this however, Vincent is the only panel member to really step away from safe material and take risks. His wonderfully tasteless one-liners about 9/11 and basement-dwelling Austrian families may get a few groans but they’re certainly memorable.

Though nominally appearing as a panel guest on The Early Edition, Carrie Quinlan has been a regular on the show since it first ran in Edinburgh in 2007 and is by now as much a headline name as either Brigstocke or Vincent. Quinlan tends to gravitate towards softer stories and offsets some of Vincent’s bluster and Brigstocke’s acerbic wit though her brand of humour is no less incisive, despite the material she chooses to work with. The second guest slot rotates daily and has been filled by such luminaries as Phil Jupitus, Stewart Lee and Ed Byrne in the past. On the day Festbuzz popped along to the show, American comedian Jamie Kilstein was sitting in on the panel.

Back home Kilstein has cultivated a certain level of infamy as a biting left-wing comic, loudly touting his atheism and veganism as well as radical political polemics. Despite his firebrand reputation, however, Kilstein is surprisingly tame. His rebuttal to the right-wing savaging of the NHS in the American press is certainly timely but lacks real bite. Otherwise, he plays it safe sticking to tried-and-tested routines about the Bush Administration, US insularity… nothing we haven’t heard before a dozen times over.Kilstein is clearly capable of much greater things, begging the question of why he chooses to regurgitate the same kind of lowest common denominator political material that has seen both Janeane Garofalo and Rich Hall take a beating from the critics this year.

While The Early Edition is certainly an entertaining way to spend a lunchtime, it remains too closely tied to the television panel show format. At an hour, it feels overly long, as if attempting to justify the cost of admission. While the show picks up towards the end, the middle seems flabby and lacking in structure. With the absence of an editor,the cracks in the format really begin to show in a live environment and the audience is left at something of a loose end. Though The Early Edition is certainly worth checking out, it seems that Brigstocke and Vincent may need to rework the format before bringing it back for another run in 2010.

Festbuzz Rating:

Words: Jodi Mullen

Original review at blog.festbuzz.com.

In 140 characters or less: “Dylan Moran: a slightly unhinged genius walking the fine line between madness and comic brilliance.”

After nearly a year and a half on the road in support of his latest show, What It Is, Dylan Moran finally returns to his adopted hometown of Edinburgh for a two-night stand at the Playhouse at the height of the Festival. Yet anticipation and excitement are tempered by apprehension after a slew of mixed reviews for the current tour. The Irishman has recently been accused of looking disinterested on stage, disconnected from his audience, of giving the impression that gigs are an ordeal to be endured, a tiresome distraction between glasses of wine.

Not so tonight. Whether invigorated by the energy of a hometown crowd or simply feeding off the buzz of the city during the Fringe, Moran is electric. Eloquent, intense and engaging, he seizes on audience cues and improvises freely. A cough, a heckle, the sight of cameraphone set him off on meandering tangents. The ad-libbed sections never feel out of place though he sheepishly confesses to losing track of the script on more than one occasion.

As ever, Moran’s stage persona is an amalgam of Bernard Black, his celebrated Black Books character, and a disillusioned existentialist philosopher, neatly pickled in wine. Rather than relying on jokes and punchlines, the Irishman blends the mundane with the surreal, his astute observations balanced by wonderfully absurd mixed metaphors and witty wordplay. And while his yarns rarely hold up well to re-telling, every so often a single phrase reduces the audience to tears of laughter.

Nowhere is his subtle brand of humour better showcased than his Scottish-themed material, apparently written specially for the brace of Edinburgh shows. He gently probes the rivalry between the capital and Glasgow. However, rather than falling back on the Glaswegian stereotype perpetuated by the likes of Frankie Boyle, Moran instead celebrates the virtues of the West Coast city before coyly informing the audience that, “The difference between Glasgow and Edinburgh is, well, Edinburgh is like the beginning of a wedding. Glasgow is what’s left afterwards.”

Moran is well capable of holding his own against other performers when it comes to politics, science and other staple topics but is at his best when dealing with more human issues – pleasure, pain, life, death, love, sex – and lifting the veil on his personal life. His comic threads are spun from whimsy and anecdote and weave a colourful tapestry that exposes the deeply-buried, and often hilarious, truths about human relationships and behaviour.

Yet for all his post-modern, deconstructivist bluster, Moran’s rambling tales are ultimately life-affirming, underpinned by a genuine warmth and a sense that, in spite of all else, love, family and guilty pleasures are at the heart of what makes us human and are to be cherished. While the main set peters out rather than coming to a satisfactory conclusion, a superb encore more than makes amends for any shortcomings. In a show lasting an hour and a half – half as long again as the standard What It Is set – Dylan Moran is a constant delight, a slightly unhinged genius walking the fine line between madness and comic brilliance.

Festbuzz Rating:

Words: Jodi Mullen

Original review at blog.festbuzz.com.

Who: Phil Nichol
Where: The Stand Comedy Club II
When: Fri 7 – Sun 30 Aug (not 17)
How Much: £10

Musical comedy is all the rage in Edinburgh this year. Since David O’Doherty took last year’s If.comedy award at the Fringe for Let’s Comedy, his whimsical collection of oddball songs, tapped out on a tiny keyboard, other performers have re-invented themselves as all-singing (and, more rarely, all dancing) comedy acts. The Irishman is a tough act to follow though. The last few years have seen the bar for tune-based comedy raised to dizzying new heights as comics like Bill Bailey and Doc Brown have pushed the medium far beyond the boundaries of bawdy three-chord singalongs and trite lyrical parodies.

Enter Phil Nichol. The Canadian comedian, a former member of comedy songster trio Corky and the Juice Pigs,  has abandoned his now familiar stand-up routine in favour of an outrageous over-the-top musical show at this year’s Fringe. A Deadpan Poet Sings Quiet Songs Quietly sees Nichol take to the stage with slicked-back hair, a wide grin and a dapper suit, acoustic guitar hanging from his shoulder; think Johnny Cash meets Frank Sinatra after a few tequilas too many. He’s accompanied by a jazz pianist and a double bass player who add a carefully calculated air of pretentiousness to the proceedings, together with their finely-honed chops and backing vocals.

Despite the change in format, Nichol’s trademark deadpan humour has survived the transition to musical comedy fully intact. He’s witty and cutting, with absolutely impeccable delivery, as unexpected lyrical twists leave the audience writhing in mirth. The songs themselves form the backbone of the show and direct audience interaction, while not entirely absent, is kept to a minimum. Nichol remains in character throughout, a brooding, cynical veteran of a thousand lounge performances, determined to inflict his misery upon the world. The subject matter ranges from darkly comic personal diatribes to surprisingly incisive criticisms of PC culture, all held together by the performer’s infectious intensity and ludicrously foul mouth.

Gaps between songs are bridged with loosely-themed collections of short, sharp one-liners which act as a prelude for Nichol’s next irreverent slice of poetry. If the quips seem hit and miss, the effect is surely deliberate. Razor-sharp witticisms induce genuine belly-laughs while some of the more low-brow material elicits unsympathetic moans just as heartfelt. Nichol, however, seems to thrive on the cheesiness of some of the more ropey gags. “A groan is as good as a laugh to me!” he gleefully informs the audience after an especially hammy pun.

It’s clear that Nichol hasn’t quite ironed out all the creases in A Deadpan Poet… but the show is brimming with comic potential. The songs that make up the middle section lack the intensity and imagination of the opening and closing salvos and, despite the intended ironic uncouthness, too many of the one-liners are devoid of the sophistication an Edinburgh audience demands. Thankfully, however, the show’s ending and Nichol’s exhilarating stage presence more than compensate for any shortcomings in the rest of the material.

For a performer who has been away from the musical comedy scene for so long – the Fringe is A Deadpan Poet’s first outing in front of a live audience – Phil Nichol acquits himself admirably and, with a bit of spit and polish as the festival goes on, his latest show could easily become one of the highlights of the Fringe.

Festbuzz Rating:

Words: Jodi Mullen

Original review at blog.festbuzz.com.