FESTIVAL COMEDY | Reviews
R E L P M E T S L A E Y
SAM SIMMONS: SPAGHETTI FOR BREAKFAST One in the eye for critics of this absurdist Aussie ●●●●●
Olives are not for everyone. Sam Simmons reckons that when you first pop one in your mouth, those taste buds are certain to recoil in disgust. But eventually your palate warms to the little fellas’ delights and that fixed, determined opinion will soften. It’s a thinly veiled metaphor for the effect Simmons’ comedy can have on some observers. As someone who has previously failed to see the Aussie absurdist’s appeal (it all seemed a bit Harry Hill-lite), I’m perfectly happy to say that he has won me over with the Barry Award-winning Spaghetti for Breakfast. The unhinged peculiarity seems more engineered now towards
producing laughs than raw daftness for its own sake, with his amusing faux fury at audience members who don’t play ball with his gags or close-up banter less a personal attack than mere punctuation to move onto the next idiosyncratic routine.
Simmons’ wilful nonsense doesn’t simply float aimlessly in the air, like the extension cord which he eventually brings into play (this show is another of his typically prop-heavy Fringe affairs). Serious issues underlie the hysteria such as the cruelty which he experienced at the hands of his mother (her bizarre ‘loving’ methods are the damaging acts of perhaps the first true surrealist he ever met). This has led him to conclude that her off- kilter parenting ‘skills’ shaped the comic we see before us.
Meanwhile, a recorded voice-over from Josie Long delivers potent heckles aimed at his lack of ‘relatable’ comedy. Initially he takes this to heart but eventually dismisses the notion: he’s going to do things his own way rather than add to mainstream comedy fodder. To paraphrase the hour’s central running motif, things ‘that shit’ long-term critics of Sam Simmons will include hearing his acolytes saying ‘told you so’. (Brian Donaldson) ■ Underbelly Potterrow, 0844 545 8252, until 30 Aug (not 24), 9pm, £12.50–£14 (£11.50–£12.50).
I
S N R A C N H O J
DIARY OF A DATING ADDICT Non-revelatory but lyrically amusing trip ●●●●● CHRIS TURNER: XXV Captivating rapping and wordplay ●●●●●
One-woman’s adventures in the dating world is a simple and oft-used comedy premise, especially in the age of internet dating. But Maddy Anholt succeeds in drawing you in with the sheer warmth of her personality. You want to her to find happiness whether it be with a fella or without.
She’s 27 and feeling the weight of 30 looming with her body clock ticking (though not that loudly to be honest, love: ease up on yourself). To anyone who has zoomed way past 30, it might seem a little young to be worrying, but nevertheless it’s a recognisable milestone that everyone has to pass. So, Anholt presents four of the idiots she’s been on a date with in the last year: two knuckleheads, a child and an ice-cream man. All are convenient stereotypes with easily discernible accents to enable Anholt to bring them to life effectively.
Though the show doesn’t offer anything
particularly new on the topic, it’s impeccably and lyrically performed. Gently amusing rather than guffaw-inducing, Diary of a Dating Addict is still nicely written with a fair few celebs who’ve recently featured in the headlines dropped in there to ensure its freshness. (Marissa Burgess) ■ Gilded Balloon, 622 6552, until 31 Aug, 1.30pm, £9–£9.50 (£7.50–£8).
46 THE LIST FESTIVAL 20–31 Aug 2015
Chris Turner has a preternatural gift with words and it’s a genuine thrill spending an hour in his company. At the age of 15 (he's 25 now), he was told that he had a terminal condition which gave him ten years to live. Rather than settle into a period of despondency and introspection, Turner figured that another decade wasn’t such a bad innings and he set out to become an expert at rapping.
Although the thought of a white, middle-class Mancunian performing freestyle rap might sound like an exercise in naffness, Turner’s execution is masterful. The speed and dexterity with which he conjures lyrics is breathtaking and he’s so seamless in his craft that the audience are initially dumbfounded, wary of interrupting the prolific flow of words cascading from his mouth.
When he’s not rapping, Turner displays an
exquisite ear for wordplay through a series of wonderful stories. And just when you think you’ve got the jump on an impending pun, he’ll pull the rug from under you with a flourish. Turner mockingly laments that no one knows who he is: with material like this under his command, that won’t be the case for much longer. (Murray Robertson) ■ Pleasance Courtyard, 556 6550, until 31 Aug, 9.45pm, £8–£10 (£7–£9).
MARK STEEL: WHO DO I THINK I AM? The story of a life with a little bit of politics ●●●●●
The left-wing, anti-Tory, pro-Corbyn Mark Steel promises that his show is not about politics before launching into rabble-rousing invective about the current government. This is followed by a critique of 70s and 80s politics. Next up is a contrarily specific bit about south London that only a small percentage of the Edinburgh audience understands. The reason for this material eventually become clear as Who Do I Think I Am? concerns Steel’s quest to find the birth parents who gave him up for adoption in 1960 and the impact of resultant revelations on his identity. Steel is a professional. His delivery is assured The story is well-constructed, with the seemingly confusing preoccupation with 1970s capitalists and south London locations making sense in the end. The events of his life were even kind enough to
partially take place in Dunkeld so that Steel can throw in some Scottish references. Gifted with an interesting life story, he succeeds in conveying the fascinating way that truth can be stranger than fiction but a lack of emotional vulnerability makes it difficult to relate. (Suzanne Black) ■ Assembly George Square, 623 3030, until 30 Aug, 8.15pm, £13–£14 (£12–£13).