FESTIVAL COMEDY | Reviews
JAMES ACASTER: REPRESENT Absurdist trip into law, justice and tasty religious treats ●●●●●
Minutes before James Acaster takes to the stage, Supertramp’s ‘Logical Song’ is belting out. Was there ever a more appropriate warm-up tune? While from the outside the Kettering comic’s scripted universe might comprise a litany of arrant nonsense and absurdist grandstanding, it makes its own perfect sense. It’s also unlikely that a show in 2010 would have made more of the trapped Chilean miners than Acaster does so hilariously here as he steadily crawls towards the essential beef of his show.
Last year, he claimed he was actually a private detective
working deep undercover as a stand-up comic; this time around he’s staying on the right side of the law as a member of a murder-trial jury. His willingness to be one of the 12 disciples of justice seems ever more remarkable when you consider his torrid past in a less than notorious south-west London gang. Despite the inherent meaninglessness of his musings, nothing
happens in an Acaster show for no good reason. So, when he makes a meal of getting his mic stand and stool in the precise ergonomic spot before he begins the show properly, they become the Chekhovian firearms that will emerge later when his world threatens to rip apart at the seams of his slacks.
There may well be something deeper going on in Represent about truth and justice and faith (his religious upbringing also gets an airing of sorts, leading to an impressive reconstruction of a food-based ritual at the show’s finale), but it’s better to just surf the wave of Acaster’s over-active imagination. Having already appeared on three Edinburgh Comedy Award shortlists in a row, it seems almost inconceivable that this tremendously vital hour won’t earn him another nomination. A different kind of judge will then consider his fate. (Brian Donaldson) ■ Pleasance Courtyard, 556 6550, until 30 Aug, 8.30pm, £9–£12 (£8–£10.50).
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FEMINAZI Sorting out the world, one misogynist at a time ●●●●● THE MAN Raging against obvious modern ills ●●●●●
RONNY CHIENG: CHIENG REACTION Hour-long rant from the most angry human ever born ●●●●●
The story of Aussie comedian Kirsty Mac’s heroics forms the culmination of this, her first solo show. For those who don’t recognise her name, she was instrumental in getting the ‘pick-up artist’ Julien Blanc kicked out of Australia, who then had his visa revoked in several other countries including the UK. Blanc had been plying his distinctly rapey tactics in ‘seminars’ on how to cop off with women. She claims her campaign was the result of PTSD
and too much whisky. Not that we’d like to wish such trauma on her but we’re glad it produced such a fearless campaign, related here with as much wit as it has defiance. The stand-up that precedes her tale has an equal amount of sass and straight-talking about her lack of desire to have a baby (so stop asking) and her love of the penis: preferably attached to a fella. Mac has a confident demeanour with which she reclaims and lampoons the ‘feminazi’ of the title from the idiot that called her it. The show is a little on the short side and she leaves us wanting more. Can we send her to sort out Donald Trump now, please? (Marissa Burgess) ■ Gilded Balloon, 622 6552, until 31 Aug, 11.15pm, £10–£12.
42 THE LIST FESTIVAL 13–20 Aug 2015
A promising voiceover sets the scene, transporting the audience to Speaker’s Corner, Hyde Park’s famous free-speech spot. Then onto the stage bounds The Man, face painted into a yellow happy acid grin, wearing a black rubber suit with yellow braces and Doc Marten boots. He’s here to soapbox about stuff that’s really pissing him off and a bilious hour follows. His rants revolve around modern ills – corruption in the Catholic church, needless wars, First versus Third World problems. The Man’s delivery is deliberately unhinged, but
the extreme zaniness quickly begins to grate. Although he has a pop at the sanctimonious and self-righteous, it’s hard not to feel a bit preached down to, especially when he launches into incandescent tirades against WMDs and bad primetime telly, seemingly assuming the audience won’t have already clocked the obvious evils of such things or even be on his side. Maybe there just aren’t enough new thoughts provoked here to make it good spoken word, or enough laughs to make it good comedy. Paying a tenner for such (un)free speech could rapidly feel like a shocking First World injustice. (Claire Sawers) ■ Assembly Rooms, 0844 693 3008, until 30 Aug (not 17), 10.30pm, £10 (£9).
Ronny Chieng is an angry young man. Once the crazed introductory light show ceases, reminding us we’re not about to witness a Vegas boxing match, Chieng takes to the stage with barely a hello, launching immediately into an attack upon the idiocy of Facebook users and their concerns over personal data. The overly suspicious employees of an Apple shop also get it square in the neck, as do the marketing scams of Valentine’s Day and New Year’s Eve. And if you happen to be under the age of 25: don’t even try to engage Chieng in conversation. There’s nothing to criticise with Chieng’s technical
ability as a live comic, but a little more warmth somewhere along the line wouldn’t go amiss.
He prowls his stage, one hand jammed into his jean pocket, the other gripping onto his mic for dear life. Were he to set his hands free, you worry that he might start tearing up things with incandescent fury. ‘I always take things too seriously,’ he admits at one point during another virulent rant. There’s not a person in the room who would dare question that statement. (Brian Donaldson) ■ Underbelly Cowgate, 0844 545 8252, until 30 Aug (not 17), 7.20pm, £10–£12 (£9–£11).