list.co.uk/festival DIXIE’S TUPPERWARE PARTY A hilarious and naughty time is had by all ●●●●●
Dixie Longate is fabulous. With enormous beehive hair, gingham get- up, more plastic storage solutions than you could use in a lifetime, patter so glib she could sell every piece, and a sultry Southern drawl, hers is the risqué take on the cosy world of the Tupperware party. Forced to find a job to get back her kids on her release from prison, Dixie’s parole officer suggested she try Tupperware. ‘Working my ass off’, she became America’s number two Tupperware seller before ditching her catalogues and setting off on a tour to exhibit her skills as party hostess extraordinaire.
Never hokey, her tale of domestic violence, crime, the parole officer who got her into this business, her idol Brownie Wise (inventor of the Tupperware Party), and her ‘You Matter’ message give the show a heart-warming hue. It’s also deliciously bitchy and irreverent. With vodka beaker in hand and screwdriver ice lollies for the kids, Dixie teases, winks, banters, glares, giggles, smiles sweetly, and huffs her way through the most hilarious and naughty Tupperware party you’ll ever attend; name tags, games, raffles and all. (Kate Gould) ■ Assembly Rooms, 623 3030, until 31 Aug, 7.35pm, £11.50–£12.50 (£10.50–£11.50).
BEN DOVER Penetrating tales of filth with dodgy jokes ●●●●●
Everyone in the room knows what to expect from this chirpy pornography pioneer. His show is unashamed filth, packed with glorious details of the fascinating world of the professional shagger. In a festival full of sex tales, it’s intriguing to hear the perspective of someone whose career has been based around being a well-hung opportunist. Tales of porn gone wrong and of the people behind titles from his infamous back-catalogue (including
an amazing Bay City Rollers fact) are charmingly delivered to a rapt crowd. And yet, subject matter aside, there’s something distinctly old- fashioned about Mr Dover. He’s a fan of the dreadful pun, as proved by most of his film titles, and his shiny suit, incessant pacing and dodgy haircut give him the air of a jobbing entertainer at a working men’s club. Perhaps appropriately, there’s a lot of groaning at the cheesy jokes designed to wedge this into the ‘comedy’ section of the Fringe programme. If only there was a section for ‘vastly inappropriate after-dinner speaker’. Now there’s an area he’ll always come first in. Bad pun intended. (Siân Bevan) ■ Underbelly, 0844 545 8252, until 30 Aug, 10pm, £6.50–£10.50 (£8–£9.50).
TOM DEACON Fairly ordinary romp through an indecisive mind ●●●●●
The choice of Kasabian’s ‘Fire’ as the walk-on music for Tom Deacon’s show is telling. It establishes a checklist of expectations which go utterly unchallenged during the subsequent hour of serviceable, unremarkable, rut- deepening comedy. Young Deacon is indecisive about his dual nature: he wants to drink and be a lad, but he’s also a sensitive, compassionate boyfriend who doesn’t want to turn out like his philandering father. So far, so grindingly mainstream. It’s just conceivable that a comic might have a skewed enough viewpoint or surprising enough delivery to alchemise such tedium into memorable fare. That comic is elsewhere. In stand-up, it’s interesting how the wirework of ego shows through when material isn’t strong enough to conceal it. Not that Deacon is a particularly self-regarding fellow; on the contrary, he seems like a decent, pretty humble guy. But never forget that he’s standing before a roomful of people to whom he has sold the privilege of 60 minutes in his company. Until he finds something less ordinary to talk about, it ain’t worth it. (Sam Healy) ■ Pleasance Courtyard, 556 6550, until 31 Aug, 8.30pm, £8.50–£9.50 (£7–£8).
Telephone Booking Fringe 0131 226 0000 International Festival 0131 473 2000 Book Festival 0845 373 5888 Art Festival 07500 461 332
LAURA SOLON Impressive but patchy follow-up to almighty glory ●●●●●
When Laura Solon first burst into the Fringe psyche in 2005, it was under the most trying of circumstances. Having just split from her comedy partner, she had two months to come up with a completed script. That show, Kopfraper’s Syndrome, won her the last ever Perrier Award. Four years on and she’s been back having worked with the likes of Al Murray and Harry Enfield, which will bring its own pressures of course, but that sense of giddy danger has been replaced by a comedic comfort zone. Rabbit Faced Story Soup tells of a
publishing house spinning out of control when the star author goes missing days before she needs to deliver her latest manuscript, leaving it in the hands of an inexperienced publicist to finish the job (hauntingly familiar scenario, that). A sassy literary agent with the waterboarding tongue of Bette Davis and a Russian billionaire who loves nothing better than a money fight are among the characters Solon plays with wit and panache but whom she gives a surprising ratio of flat jokes. Fringe success came so quickly and so massively for Solon that the slow learning curve option came and went with a fizz. Raising her game will need a fresher motivation. (Brian Donaldson) ■ Assembly Rooms, 623 3030, until 30 Aug, 5.05pm, £11–£12 (£10–£11).
JON HOLMES Safe and silly hour of rock’n’roll nostalgia ●●●●●
During a success-studded radio career, Jon Holmes has been sacked from employers for ‘sick’ live antics such as urinating in Dermot O’Leary’s desk drawer and forcing minors to spell out naughty words. And as
Festival Comedy
recently as February, The Now Show participant and BBC6 DJ was slaughtered by The Sun, of all people, for saying nasty things about the dying Jade. Strange, then, that this hour of memories about rock star excess and/or pretentiousness should be as threatening as the theme tune to The Archers. Holmes jokes about his height (or
lack thereof) and takes sideswipes at such ludicrously soft targets as James Blunt, the Daily Mail and Sting, while he even trots out the Bono fingerclicking/dead Africans anecdote as though this was the first time it had ever been aired. Still, despite the overbearing Radio 4ness, plenty of Rock Star Babylon is above-par nostalgic entertainment: how can you not love tales of metal legends hiding their own excrement in hotel hairdryers? The best moment arrives when he secretly films himself strategically putting copies of his own book into the recommended section of a high street bookseller before being stopped in his self-marketing tracks during an almighty scrum. Now that’s edgy. (Brian Donaldson) ■ Gilded Balloon Teviot, 622 6552, until 30 Aug, 7pm, £9–£10 (£8–£9).
JOEY PAGE A distinctive voice that belongs to someone else ●●●●●
Joey Page comes to Edinburgh for his full Fringe debut with a ringing endorsement in his lugs from Noel Fielding. Which is as good an explanation as any why a large proportion of the decently-numbered Caves gathering look like the sort of people who go along to Mighty Boosh gigs dressed in full character regalia. It’s one thing to be commended by such an idiosyncratic British talent, quite another to just go ahead and become a carbon copy. The surreal meanderings are
delivered in a deadpan and faux-bored style which lets us know that he’s really good at memorising absurdist drivel, while his audience interaction leaves a lot to be desired: what’s the point in picking on individuals in the crowd who have failed to laugh at a deliberately bad joke? Still, there’s an underlying comedic warmth and sensitive charm about Page which will come through stronger if he forces himself to slide off the Boosh bandwagon and find his own voice. (Brian Donaldson) ■ The Caves, 208 0882, until 30 Aug, 8pm, £6–£7 (£5–£6).
27 Aug–10 Sep 2009 THE LIST FESTIVAL MAGAZINE 77