If you’re worried about accidentally booking a book festival ticket instead of an hour of stand up, don’t be.
Gigantic, beardy Northern Irishman Martin Mor looks more like a circus strongman than a comedian, which is perhaps down to the fact he is one. He used to perform in the big top and still offers family circus shows under the name Martin Bigpig.
At one point in this extremely funny show, Gavin Webster pauses to let us know what he thinks of comedy journalists. Unsurprisingly, it’s not pretty. In typically vituperative style, he announces that we can’t tell our arses from our elbows. We’re thick. We don’t have a ruddy clue.
Tiffany Stevenson looks rather angelic with her blonde hair and shimmering blue-green dress, but the minute she opens her mouth you realise that she’s just the opposite. She’s a brash, complex, unhinged demon woman, and she knows it.
It’s impossible not to like Patrick Monahan. The lively, witty Irish/Iranian/Teesside comic is so friendly that his entire set feels a bit like it’s taking place in his living room over a pint of Newcastle Brown Ale and some traditional Persian snacks.
There’s a reason why no one has ever tried to base a stand up show on the books and diaries of an early 19th century Danish philosopher: it’s a ludicrously hard thing to do, something that even Simon Munnery admits, saying that as comedy material goes it rates about 8.5 on the difficulty scale.
Trying to review Adam Riches’ insanely creative, confident, character-filled Fringe show is a bit like trying to nail fog to the Forth Bridge: it’s virtually impossible.
Jason Cook is a broken man. He doesn’t look broken – a bit tired, perhaps – but he repeatedly assures us that he is.