LIST.CO.UK/FESTIVAL Reviews {COMEDY}
NEIL HAMBURGER Anti-comedic filth, hate and fury ●●●●●
Almost 20 years ago, Gregg Turkington released an album of prank phone calls in which he first unleashed the now fully-formed and twisted character of Neil Hamburger. God only knows the current state of mind of those individuals on the receiving end. An hour with Hamburger is one long, unforgiving nightmare but, amazingly, only two people flee the scene early, during his most frustrating sequence in which he tries (and tries and tries) to get the set-up of a joke correct, finally delivering a punchline that was barely worth the wait. Semi-inflated balloons litter his otherwise empty stage
as he slowly shuffles on nearly a minute after being announced to the room. To the uninitiated, such as the departing drunken duo, this is the first hint that we’re witnessing either the most lame comedian in the world or a masterclass in anti-comedy. With badly greased hair, ill-fitting spectacles and a manky tuxedo (which is furtherly sodden by his imperfect balancing of gingery- coloured drinks in the crook of his arm), Hamburger soon (but not swiftly) offloads a tirade of hate and filth upon poor old Britney Spears before launching into Donald Trump, Madonna and Michael Jackson. When a stony silence greets his gag about Eric Clapton, you’re fairly sure it’s because the relatively young audience are unaware of the death of his child rather than them having suddenly drawn a line in the sand.
His delivery might make you think of Emo Philips’ deranged uncle, while the entire persona feels like a gentle nod at Andy Kaufman’s calamitous cabaret act, Tony Clifton. Within the context of the over-polished Fringe comedy fraternity, Neil Hamburger seems like a breath of fresh air. Even with an act, and wardrobe, that stinks to high heaven. (Brian Donaldson) ■ Assembly George Square, 623 3030, until 28 Aug, 10.40pm, £12 (£11).
ANDREW LAWRENCE Mirthful and delicious kamikaze comedy ●●●●● RUBY WAX A fevered and empowering monologue ●●●●●
JIGSAW Accomplished but light sketching ●●●●●
Coming on like a poetic auctioneer or a wayward racing commentator, Andrew Lawrence channels the guises of his grandmother, a fitness buff, a middle- aged man and a long-lost Trinidadian relation. All the while he discharges kamikaze philosophies a- hundred-to-the-dozen. And it is outstanding. The whippet-like stand-up is revered for his
cantankerous rants, and he opens his show by carping at stragglers coming through the door and crabbing about the lighting. Yet his crepuscular outlook and crooked demeanour are often best targeted at himself with some barbs about passing down wisdom, New Year’s resolutions and sharing a bed with the one you love. I can’t corroborate the verity of these tales, but
what’s certain is that Lawrence is an accomplished storyteller; each of his extended tirades had countless punchlines and endless surprises, and his performance was shot through with several unlikely recurring motifs – skin-lightening cream, Croatian wine – most of which felt fully-formed and deliciously bleak, despite appearing totally off-the-cuff. (Nicola Meighan) ■ Pleasance Courtyard, 556 6550, until 28 Aug, 8pm, £11–£12.50 (£9.50–£11).
According to a 2009 report, one in ten Scots take daily medication for depression. This demographic are Ruby Wax’s kind of people. Broadened out from a community project that Wax and best friend/musician Judith Owen toured around NHS mental health centres, Losing It is a fevered comedy monologue punctuated by musical interludes. Wax traces a line from life as a spoiled media professional to the cold black night of clinical depression, digressing while the talented songsmith Owen jokily sits at her piano, permanently bemused and awaiting her cue.
It seems churlish to criticise a show with such honest and decent intentions but Losing It feels rambling and padded in parts and rushed and incomprehensible in others. Wax’s oft repeated mantra that ‘there is no manual’ grates while her revelations about her own illness (which she puts down to the result of being handed a genetic shit bag by her Austrian parents) feel contrived. Still, Wax and Owen are consummate performers and Losing It does seek to empower an increasingly marginalised section in our society. (Paul Dale) ■ Udderbelly’s Pasture, 0844 545 8252, until 29 Aug, 4.10pm, £15–£17.50 (£14–£15).
F E S T I V A L
There’s no doubting the talent on offer in Jigsaw. The rapid-fire sketch trio comprises stand-ups Dan Antopolski, Tom Craine and Nat Luurtsema and thus boasts a triple Perrier nominee, a Times Top Five 2010 winner and a Chortle best nominee respectively. But as with any super-group, you wonder how three solo stars will fare under a single spotlight; happily, the rampant, oft-surreal succession of express sketches showcases their lively chemistry and fluid choreography. Despite a tiny set and minimal props, they veer
from doctor’s surgery through candle-lit restaurant to seaside holiday with speedy aplomb. An opening misfire (are human penguins really that funny?) was soon appeased by a string of variously likeable and absurd characters, such as the Schrödingers at Christmas and the sexually voracious shark.
It’s odd seeing Luurtsema playing it (relatively) straight, however, flanked by the farcicalities of Antopolski and Craine. And while Jigsaw works well as a light-hearted ensemble, there’s an occasional sense that this combo equals less than the sum of its impressive parts. (Nicola Meighan) ■ Pleasance Courtyard, 556 6550, until 29 Aug, 5.45pm, £8.50–£9.50 (£7–£8).
25 Aug–22 Sep 2011 THE LIST 33