FESTIVAL COMEDY | Reviews
ADRIENNE TRUSCOTT Aiming gags away from the victims for once ●●●●●
Having stood out in what was already a fairly feminism-centric Fringe last year, Adrienne Truscott is back with another short run of her radical one-woman show about rape. Pantless and breathless, Truscott bares her body and soul in an event – and it is an event – that straddles the gap between performance art and comedy show. We are looking at where rape lies in comedy. Jokes about the subject force laughter from the crowd: blanket statements and facts do not. ‘I’m gonna do a comedy show about rape whether you like it or not,’ says Truscott bluntly. ‘I feel real comfortable, even if you don’t.’ Going for the jugular from the off, every studied line or scenario
that comes out of her mouth can be reconsidered, reinterpreted and thought about for hours. Playing a southern belle character who’s giving stand-up comedy a try, Truscott is confrontational, needling and hard-hitting, while remaining stiletto-sharp and biting. The rules about how society views rape are torn asunder as notable examples of rape rhetoric are brought up, flipped and, essentially, annihilated: think comic Daniel Tosh’s gang-rape joke incident or (while running for the US Senate) Todd Akin’s ‘it’s not “legit” rape if you get pregnant’ worldview. Her jokes are at times visceral and painful. However, the fact that her vagina – ridiculously the main talking point in all of this – is just there for all to see, brings an unexpected lightness to the discourse.
While the take-home point is that jokes about controversial topics are at their most searing when aimed at the aggressor rather than the victim (as any comic worth their salt should know), Truscott has time – through a projector, her bush and a headstand – to indulge in some acrobatics and prove that perhaps there is a ‘right’ way to do genitalia jokes. (Kirstyn Smith) ■ Bob & Miss Behave’s Bookshop, 226 0000, until 16 Aug, 11pm, free (£8 to reserve a seat).
P H O T O © M A R K D A W S O N
TONY LAW Comic lunacy almost tempered by life ●●●●●
MR SWALLOW: THE MUSICAL Relentless and hysterical vehicle for a silly man ●●●●● WHAT DOES THE TITLE MATTER ANYWAY? A sentimental journey into improv ●●●●●
Tony Law is apologetic for not being fully prepared: 'if I go over here, don't think I’m looking at my notes, I'm just checking on my beverages!' It seems surprising that he prepares anything at all. Law is simply a force of funny. Bounding on stage in a skin- tight onesie and a handy red rag 'distraction' tied into his hair, he issues forth with typically obscure statements, some actual gags and a running commentary on what he's doing which also covers his own subtext to save us reading anything into it.
Law always seems to create utter hilarity out of apparently nothing: as the unitard suggests at the beginning. There's another knicker-wettingly funny, expressive gymnastics routine, this time with an unruly beach ball as his prop. This year, however, Law has suffered a family tragedy and yes he still manages to get jokes out of that too, largely through his own somewhat juvenile, yet genuine, reaction to death.
But normal service is resumed by the end with an incredibly contrived and absurd rounding-up of all the disparate elements. The man has funny bones, even if they are feeling a little sad at the moment. (Marissa Burgess) ■ The Stand III, 558 7272, until 24 Aug, 12.10pm, £11 (£8).
54 THE LIST FESTIVAL 14-25 Aug 2014
With the unstoppable force of monstrous nature that is Mr Swallow having pretty much obliterated the competition in Nick Mohammed’s canon of characters, the next step was almost inevitable: starring in his own musical of Bram Stoker’s Dracula. Not that he is fully in charge as there’s the irritating inconvenience of having a director and cast to negotiate with, but Swallow being Swallow, his squawking, self-righteous tuppence-worth will be shoved in at any given opportunity. All of which leads to clashes with his fellow
thesps, notably Kieran Hodgson who makes an ideal Jonathan Harker. While it’s sometimes hard to decipher what anyone is singing, the story is so iconic that the gist is enough.
The main pleasures arrive when the text is wildly deviated from, Swallow halting proceedings to comment enthusiastically about the number he’s just performed or to order some Chinese food. Such a simple task becomes a mini-drama but this is nothing when compared to his inability to say the words ‘satsuma’ or ‘tech lady’. Hysterically funny and relentlessly silly in equal measure. (Brian Donaldson) ■ Pleasance Dome, 556 6550, until 24 Aug, 7pm, £11–£14 (£10–£13).
Last year, a new series of the 1990s comedy fixture Whose Line is it Anyway? was commissioned. This year, either the cast have reunited to recreate the magic or several ageing comedians are throwing themselves about to emulate a show that exists unattainably in the memory. It’s a bit of both. On the night of this review, Stephen Frost, Josie Lawrence, Colin Mochrie, Greg Proops and pianist Philip Pope go through a series of physical, linguistic and lyrical contortions. Like an episode of the show, it’s a mixed bag with moments of gut-busting hilarity tempered by too many audience suggestions involving penises; but the hit rate is surprisingly high without the luxury of televisual editing.
Host Clive Anderson seems to be in less control of the stage than he used to be, fumbling through some rules of the games. He’s not the only thing different from memory: legal issues necessitate the altered show title. The result is a complex equation balancing rose-tinted memories, the live thrill and a few more grey hairs. The title is fooling no one: this is Whose Line is it Anyway? on stage. (Suzanne Black) ■ Underbelly, Bristo Square, 0844 545 8252, until 19 Aug, 9pm, £16–£17.50 (£14.50–£16).