The Nomad Tent Review

The Nomad Tent

In these troubled international times, with Russia resurgent and recession looming, we would do well to remember how little things change. In the west for example, there is often a Whiggish tendency to see art as a process of continuous refinement and development towards an increased truth and realism. As this exhibition highlights however, there has been a remarkable resilience and preservation of many medieval themes in Russian religious art. Each wooden panel - with equally wooden figures - highlights an extraordinary rejection of innovation. Dating mainly from the 18th and 19th centuries, the style looks to a religious art prior to even Giotto in the 13th and 14th centuries. Indeed Russian orthodox art barely altered in over a millennium. This gives it a depth and resonance that other art can lack. Compassion is shown - though not through the soft humanity of a Raphael - rather by slight, awkward gestures or tilting of heads. If anything, however, this gives the icons a heightened intensity and spirituality: the message is not meant to be aesthetically pleasing, but spiritually fulfilling. Laden with symbols, the icons become unwittingly linked to the Vietnamese propaganda posters. A St George is replaced by a Ho Chi Minh; a pious message from the church becomes a political idea from the state. Intensity of colour and simplicity are evident in both. However the propaganda of Vietnam is (superficial similarities aside) lacking the curious depth that many of the icons radiate. Unlike much of the Soviet art, the Vietnamese propaganda is also more restrained and less bombastic. This is an interesting (apparently unintended) juxtaposition of two visually powerful yet stripped styles. Both highlight the power of art to present ideas, regardless of time or space, to an often illiterate audience.

Mortal Engine Review

Mortal Engine

An elemental static surrounds Mortal Engine. It is a visually stunning symphony of light and noise, sucking us into a world of throbbing energy, lighting storms and ominous drones. In the beginning the stage is void and without form. Gradually a pulsating energy develops into a network of dazzling lights, each competing with another. From this a single vulnerable body emerges, as if at the moment of creation. Each stretch and twitch of the crumpled figure generates light, sound and colours on an empty landscape. Yet the glimmer of helpless life is soon absorbed by a scuttling dark mass, which envelops the gasping body in horrific fashion. This Darwinian theme of survival is returned to throughout the performance and bodies rarely exist in harmony. Some resist carnivorous competition; others remain subdued to the mercy of the elements. As a result much of the movement has a desperate and distraught quality to it. This emotional appeal is interesting considering the performance is, in essence and realisation, infested with technology. Each flinch of organic matter creates a computer generated response, creating pattern and sound on stage. As a result human ability is often eclipsed or violently restrained by an overarching omnipotent energy. Despite this dominance of technology the vulnerability and versatility of the human body is thus exposed. This does, however, mean that much of the performance is less about dance and more about the battery of lighting, sound systems, smoke and lasers brought to bear on the audience. As a result the smoke and lights of this show often blind us to what is essentially mediocre or repetitive movement and dance. Nonetheless this is a spectacular treat for the senses and leaves a real sense of awe.

E-Cyclorama Review

E-Cyclorama

Art is something we enter mainly on an emotional level, usually being physically separated from the process and end product. With Sanford Wurmfeld’s E-Cyclorama, however, the viewer is immersed in a symphony of shifting colours and subtle tones. This is Wurmfeld’s second ‘essay’ in this format, the first being Cyclorama 2000 which appeared at the Talbot Rice Gallery in 2004. Initially we are stuck by the sheer scale of E-Cyclorama, Wurmfeld’s canvass of colour stretching around a huge oval structure and absorbing the viewer. Taking inspiration from Seurat and Rothko, Wurmfeld encourages us to consider both the use of colour and the overall effect this has on the piece. In many ways this is the logical conclusion of Seurat’s style; E-Cyclorama at once creates a panoramic single image, and at the same time an almost infinite multitude of harmonious colours. We are thus presented with something of a contradiction: a piece of clinical science and tone and an electric landscape of sweeping beauty. Closely inspected we realise why it took around a year to paint: the slight variations in tone being exactly measured, and meticulously applied. On stepping back the horizon of colour, ranging from the brilliant to the neutral; the intense to the subdued, is anything but scientific. Despite a lack of human imagery or scenes, and an almost pedantic attention to detail, we become hypnotised by a single scene lacking in any depth, but exuding an energy and timeless quality. E-Cyclorama demands attention and is impossible to turn your back on.

Striking Gold Review

Striking Gold

Broadly speaking banning smoking in public bars was a good idea; I no longer come out of the local tavern smelling like an ash tray, and my eyes are no longer filled with soot. Yet cabaret may never be the same again – all those blue hints of light filtering through a moody haze of smoke may be gone forever… Striking Gold is cabaret for the post-tobacco, sanitized age. Morgan Carberry take us on a musical journey from California to New York, Moscow, Paris, London and Glasgow, showing us her impressive array of talents ranging from flute to fiddle, piano to tap-dancing along the way.  All this made your reviewer feel suitably boring and positively pathetic in any talent stakes by comparison. Yet despite this obvious musical flair, we are not presented with a well rounded and entertaining show. I often got the impression I was the dorky high school reporter, perched on the back row, reviewing a six form talent show. Striking Gold is also painfully cheesy (it is inexcusable to sing ‘Moon River’ to a flute in public, for example) and as a result the potentially cool moody atmosphere cabaret can commands was lost. As a result we have a cabaret, but not as we know it. The show would benefit immeasurably by being plonked into a different venue. There it could create a mood, subtly swooning in the background, rather than attempting to hold our undivided attention through a fairly two dimensional and wooden performance in a theatre.

Scaramouche Jones Review

Scaramouche Jones

The tale of Scaramouche Jones, a clown on the cusp of death, sees an ageing performer tell of the adventures, trials and tribulations of his life. Set on the eve of the millennium, Scaramouche recounts his last 99 years, taking us across continents and oceans; introducing us to Arab traders, African snake charmers and Italian princes. Justin Butcher’s performance is energetic and animated, and his crazed eyes hold your attention well. The writing (also by Butcher) is well crafted, perhaps overly so, and the rambling plot is delightfully implausible. Indeed so unbelievable is the tale that one wonders if Scaramouche’s monologue is in fact one last performance; a final conjuring trick of fantasy, rather than the unmasking of the truth. Yet Scaramouche’s tale has a darker side, his makeup covering a life of tragedy and pain. From the outset we learn of his gypsy mother, a ‘bottomless receptacle for the semen of many nations’ selling herself to sailors in Trinidad. Buffeted by fate, like some modern day Odysseys or Candide, Scaramouche is exposed to many of the horrors of the twentieth century; decaying empires, slavery and genocide. It is only his pale clown-like skin which alleviates some of his misfortune. Yet these events serve merely as misfortunes to the clown, and the play could have just as easily been set in the nineteenth century. While references to symbols of empire such as Elgar, Laurence of Arabia and Disraeli abound, there is no serious attempt to comment on or satirize the many events Scarmouche’s life touches. This would have added an edge to an otherwise sharp and well written play.

Judgement Of Paris Review

Judgement Of Paris

‘Judgement of Paris’ is an interesting attempt at combining Homer’s Iliad with nineteenth century Parisian burlesque - Can-Can included. We are initially presented with a sensually stimulating display of sleek legged platinum blondes kicking up in revealing attire, all showing far too much flesh. This is pure entertainment, and no apologies are made for the clothing rails at the side of stage. A manual spotlight and performers hastily dressing in the wings add to this quaint amateurish feel. The use of space and abstract dance is well done and imaginative, and like a Degas painting, we are exposed to the stretching of legs and preparation before the show. However the performance looses momentum and focus in a cloud of stage smoke when it descends into an abstract sequence representing the battle for Troy. With no hoplite fighting to be seen or scantily clad nymphs frolicking about, it gradually becomes apparent that the dialogue of the play is shaky, as is the paper thin plot. An ace does appear when we are asked to consider the consequences of Helen’s beauty and the hazy lines between love and lust. Yet this is a poor conclusion, and is frankly annoying considering the earlier bombardment of blatant sexuality. Slightly pretentious and weak on plot, but overall an appealing mix of eroticism, dance and Homer.

In Conflict Review

In Conflict

It is now over five years since British and American troops entered Iraq, and it remains a hot topic at the Fringe. ‘In Conflict’ voices the results of interviews carried out with American veterans returning from Iraq and provides a mouthpiece for many opinions and events overlooked by the media; issues such post-traumatic stress, attitudes to America and homosexuality in the army are all explored. The show presents some very poignant and shocking monologues, and gives fascinating incites into the veterans motivation, fears and life after the fighting. Suicide, substance abuse, as well as amputations are all discussed. The numerous anecdotes create a great collage of perspectives, and the show becomes less about the events of Iraq, and more about how the war has touched individuals involved. As a result the play never strays into preachy political territory (George Bush is both praised and condemned) which is a welcome change. Unfortunately, the monologues are poorly held together by a lack of an overall structure or focus to the show. The material is also suffers from a static and repetitive format, and there is little attempt at exploring other avenues of communication or presentation. These factors are exacerbated by what amounts to a very lengthy performance, and while the idea of presenting the opinions of veterans is an admirable one, the show is let down by a lack of narrative and imagination.

Dybbuk Review

Dybbuk

In an increasingly connected world the idea of an inescapable blood tie to our past, something stronger than borders or reason, sits uneasily in multi-cultural society. It unnerves us to challenge an apparently harmonious setup whereby we can sip Italian coffee, watch American films, eat Asian food and converse with ‘global citizens’, all wired to a mainframe of world news and culture. ‘Dybbuk’ rocks this premise, and presents an uncomfortable vision of a present where the past refuses to stay buried. In this updated version, we see Szymon Anski’s play sit alongside a contemporary short story by Hanna Krall. Anski’s original piece revolves around a pre-arranged Jewish marriage; bride being suitably distraught at being torn from her true love (Channan) and in a fit of fury becoming possessed by the spirit of Channan. Except it’s not that simple. Despite protests from wedding guests (‘the dead cannot be among the living’) the Dybbuk retorts that he is not in fact dead. As a result it is less a tale of exorcising demons and more about the present attempting in vain to run from the shadow of the past. The performances are exceptional and the use of lighting and computer imaging, bold. We see the bride, for example, as a ghost one minute, a shrieking banshee the next and finally a motionless vessel for the Dybbuk. The overall effect is unnerving and claustrophobic, the use of sound adding to our unease: Stravinsky’s Rite of Spring (written one year prior to Anski’s ‘Dybbuk’) having a similar effect. Carrying the weight of the past on its shoulders, Krall’s piece on a Jewish academic possessed by his brother’s spirit confronts the issue of genocide. The past remains a deeply personal issue in Krall’s story, but is applied to a Jewish immigrant, highlighting that it is his blood and kin, more than any passport, which holds the key to his identity. ‘Dybbuk’ could be criticised for a plot which on the surface is essentially a tragic love/ghost story steeped in Jewish theology and culture. This is true to a point, and there is no getting away from the fact many of the ideas will sail over the heads of non-Jews. Yet the idea of a Dybbuk – a spirit neither good nor bad; simply a soul seeking to achieve something on earth that it could not in its life time – highlights the complex nature of the tale. We are not presented with a malevolent spirit, but rather a manifestation of a culture and identity so deeply engrained, it cannot, for better or worse, be ignored.

Tim Minchin – Are you ready for this? Review

Tim Minchin – Are you ready for this?

It’s odd to see members of an audience get visibly excitable before a comedian’s entrance. We usually sit expectantly, conversing with our neighbour or twiddling our thumbs. Yet Tim Minchin achieved this level of excitement from a small core of the audience which went wild with his opening barrage of noise ‘Are you ready for this?’ Apparently I was not. After this initial display of lights and vocal pounding, Minchin appears, strangely frail and timid after such a build up. His opening lines, as he confesses, don’t make for a ‘cracking start’, and he likens it to initiating sex. Your reviewer’s comedy loins were in no way aroused, and the usual rigmarole of spotting odd looking items of clothing was commenced with. Perhaps not as dazzling as the initial fanfare makes out. Minchin then takes us through his opinions about America, which soon becomes a torrent of over the top abuse heaped on their attitudes to religion, evolution and ‘the good book.’ However much we might agree with his ham fisted and crass ranting, it amounts to unoriginal and lazy humour. Statements such as ‘why can’t you just float the f**k away’ often result in quiet embarrassment, rather than a laugh. A sparkle of individuality does appear in a nine minute beat poem about a new age environmentalist, something initially witty and subtle. Yet this is stifled by Minchin’s glaringly obvious opinions triumphing over humour; his animal rights song (not, surely, a recipe for hilarity) suffering a similar fate. Strangely reminiscent of a philosophy society meeting, this show has more reckless ranting and signs of personal insecurities than decent jokes. Behind the initial lights and noise, Minchin sticks to traditional subjects and often allows opinion (dare I say it, ego) to trump good comedy.

The Improverts Review

The Improverts Review

A deafening, messianic opening heralds the arrival of The Improverts to this years Fringe, who bound onto stage with matchless energy and enthusiasm. Scenes are improvised, and the players’ zeal for performance spills over into the audience, who are encouraged to participate. Thankfully, this improvisational force is held together at the seams by structuring it around various on stage games. These range in entertainment value from songs to crime solving and story telling with an alternating narrator. Each of the five performers invites the audience to choose a subject and duly proceed to improvise scenes. One game involved the players solving a world crisis of ‘no more tea’ with only a piece of broccoli and some fairy liquid for help. This anarchic style of show is not to everybody’s taste, however, and is pulled off with varying degrees of success by each performer. The Improverts frequently stray into the realms of a surrealism that doesn’t always lend itself to good humour. The comedy is edgy and fresh, but don’t expect too much wit. Yet the energy and daring of the show should be applauded for its innovative style and dynamic quality. As the shows are all improvised you are also encouraged to come back if you liked it or not – each show being different. The premise of stripping comedy ‘down to the bare bones’ provides a refreshing jolt of adrenaline amongst some very tired stand-up routines.

Rich Hall – 50 cent words Review

Rich Hall – 50 cent words

‘It’s a book reading’ Hall explains to a slightly bemused audience. I thought I came here for stand-up. Rich Hall, it appears, is feeling a pang of ‘comedic pressure’ in his life, and finds it almost impossible not to laugh or make fun of places he visits. This is lucky for the audience however and Aberdeen is soon singled out for a brilliantly verbose ridiculing. Alabama taxi drivers, teaching soft-ball to the British and Las Vegas (the only place ‘where tumble weed will actually appear on stage’) are also considered. However Hall’s thoughts are often clunky when read out, and his well-crafted sentences are let down by fumbling readings. There is also a distinctly thrown together feel to the performance - most of the material being available in book form already. Hall does manage to display his natural gift for story telling and aptitude for words however. Yet he is usually more relaxed and engaging between readings, and it’s disappointing he relied so heavily on his books. While this is undeniably an interesting, intelligent and entertaining hour, it’s not always laugh out loud funny. Too much of the performance relies on written material, which when voiced, does not always have the same effect it would on paper.

Reginald D Hunter – No Country For Grown Men Review

Reginald D Hunter – No Country For Grown Men

Reginald D Hunter, creator of last years Fringe show ‘Pride & Prejudice & Niggas’ comes back with a title he admits is more neutral, but a show much more ‘f**ked up’. Certainly the audience (many a quiet, middle-class couple to be seen) were shocked by much of Hunter’s edgy material. Yet the moral indignation tended to follow an instinctive laugh, usually a sign of a good joke. In terms of raw energy, Hunter exudes a confident assertiveness that makes many British comedians look pathetically inadequate in comparison. Added to this, Hunter is not simply a ‘big black mother f**ker’ being crass – his comedy is intelligent and his observations astute. Unfortunately he relies far too much on his own novelty, performing to a (mainly) white audience. Many of his comments revolve primarily around his colour and this becomes predictable and tired. His comedy also ‘crosses the line’ morally, and revels in tearing up the accepted rules of comedy etiquette. Your reviewer is a great believer of freedom of expression, and a laugh is a laugh regardless of the content. However, Hunter often relies more on sheer shock value – and make no mistake you will be shocked – to get a reaction from the audience, rather than decent jokes. Reginald D Hunter could teach many a British comedian a thing or two about good stand-up, his assured presence and sharp-witted comedy putting many to shame. Yet his delivery lacks precision and jokes often degenerate into long swearing rants, or merely shocking opinions – neither of which works particularly well.

Paul Tonkinson Review

Paul Tonkinson

‘Anyone pop ‘Es’?’ Paul Tonkinson is met with embarrassed silence. ‘Cocaine?’ Indeed, like many a man coping with the trials of a mid-life crisis, Tonkinson tries very hard to appear both dynamic and exciting and fails on both accounts. His subject seems all the more apt given his propensity towards using ‘mother f**ker’ (ludicrous in a Yorkshire accent) and snapping his hands like an aging Ali G (only without the irony). To be fair the Yorkshire comedian’s jesting does attract laughs, but the subjects of choice are generic and tired: marriage problems, kids, and oral sex, all discussed ad infinitum. We are also treated to the predictable opening barrage of finding out where people are from and what their relationship to the closest member of the opposite sex is. ‘She’s a friend is she?’ Nudge Nudge, wink wink. I also had the misfortune of being in an audience with a Scot, Liverpudlian and New Yorker, all perched on the front row; clearly prime targets for your run-of-mill regional stereotyping. Predictable material aside, the laughs kept coming, but this is due to the veteran comedian’s presence and honed delivery more than anything else. This is standard stuff from Tonkinson, and his lack of ambition and imagination in writing are only saved from the abyss by his natural abilities and comfort on stage. For anyone looking for cutting edge comedy that goes beyond the ordinary, look elsewhere.

Nick Doody Review

Nick Doody

Comedians often strut around the Fringe being offensive for the sake of it. Much of the time this provokes an audience reaction funnier than the actual joke, or simply grabs a headline. Thankfully Nick Doody understands this, and while much of his material touches on risky subjects, it is in an intelligent way and never degenerates into mere shock humour. The audience I sat with were a fairly diverse bunch anyway, providing a good litmus test for the appeal of Doody. Middle aged women, various foreigners, fathers and sons, mothers and daughters: all seemed quite willing to laugh at the Yorkshire man’s material. Doody explores a range of ideas from driving instructors, Yorkshire place names and performing in the piece of freight that is the Pleasance Beside ‘theatre.’ His Catholic upbringing in west Yorkshire and a Granny that used to terrify him with bedtime stories provides some excellent comic material, as does his description of English packs of males abroad. He also wades into global events, such as a teacher in Sudan calling a classroom Teddy Bear ‘Mohammad’ and the reaction that followed. As a result we have a comedian who can mix of self-deprecation with cutting observations. All this is topped by an intelligent and often wandering mind, which seems to stumble on new jokes while on stage. This is comedy with a very contemporary blend of sharp observations and risky humour, which manages to be massively entertaining.

Michael Fabbri – Dumbing Up Review

Michael Fabbri – Dumbing Up

Special School, hats on jam jars and sneezing during oral sex: Fabbri’s material is a lot of things, but it is not intelligent. This is one of the main ideas in a show exploring stupidity. Why is it, for example, someone saying they’ve travelled to an exotic place (preferably in the ‘East’ and with Buddhism as a state religion) makes them automatically more intelligent? ‘I feel climate change is one of the most important issues of the 21^st century – I should know I’ve seen a puddle in Nepal.’

Michael Fabbri, as he highlights, is not intelligent. How, I wonder, can a grown man accidentally put Shreddies into a washing machine instead of washing powder? Is the situation in the Middle East so confused that all wars should be stopped – and then restarted – for simplicity? Is going to your granny’s party dressed as Harold Shipman really a good move?

Despite a life of moronic behaviour Fabbri’s material and delivery are both fairly sound. Although not a lot sets him apparent from many other 20/30 something T-shirt clad stand-ups, one does get the impression this is a comedian who could definitely hone his style and rise in popularity.

Mark Allen’s Pet Project Review

Mark Allen’s Pet Project

Rarely do the titles of comedy shows correspond in anyway with their content. It is rarer still to have a comedian who has not only done his research, but has helpfully provided us with a bibliography. As a result from the second Allen walks on stage, with his rodent like facial hair, it is no surprise that the effect is of a nerdy biology student presenting a paper on pets. This unusual sense of structure in a comedy show leads him to some interesting observations. Cat food for example: what possible interest would a cat have in ‘Roast Beef and Gravy Flavour’? Allen highlights the lunacy of our relationship with animals, and how the lines separating ‘pet’ and ‘human’ have become fatally blurred. Pets are often dressed up, made to wear makeup or even trained to walk upright - one even got into the top ten of ‘Britain’s got talent.’ Extrapolate this worrying trend and you get the ‘Furries.’ These are a group of normal (sic) people who feel they have an animal spirit trapped inside them, be it a tiger, cheetah or stallion. Rarely is it a tortoise or marmot. Allen, diligent student that he is, infiltrated the group and eventually ends up in a dog costume at a Furries convention. All this provides a wealth of insights and ideas, although the delivery is often lacking confidence. It is, however, refreshing to see a comedian explore something other than religion, nationalism or middle age.

Luke Toulson Review

Luke Toulson

A tragic quality surrounds clowns and supply teachers everywhere. Both put careers on the line in front of often tired, uninterested audiences, and attempt to entertain/teach. Luke Toulson, himself a former teacher, highlights this even more by an hour of self-deprecating jokes locked up in the Pleasance cellar. He isn’t actually bitter of course; it’s all part of the humour…ahem. Comedy reviewing surely remains unique in the sense that the likeability of the performer is central to any recommendation. Toulson is certainly a likeable stand-up (or am I just feeling sorry for him?) and his performance has a relaxed down to earth feel that many relish. His material is another matter however. It often fails to rouse the audience to laughter at all, and on a few occasions we are left hanging. Yet Toulson’s delivery is such that substance is often inconsequential. He seems to stroll about the comedy landscape with a style that means he can touch on almost any subject and make them sound wholly appropriate for any class room. His ‘Scot off’ – where Scottish members of the audience are challenged to an accent standoff flounders a bit though - most people going to Fringe being English anyway. As a result Toulson is left with about four Scots in an audience of around twenty. Toulson has a good style and his class seems fairly amused. Yet his material is somewhat lacking in substance. See Me.

Living With Johnny Depp Review

Living With Johnny Depp

Johnny Depp: Renaissance man, pirate, sex god and less than adequate barber. He can even play the guitar! What a guy! No doubt he will one day get his rightful place in the pantheon next to Dante, Shakespeare and Voltaire for his services to civilization.  Living with Johnny Depp attempts to put this over the top, hormonally charged ecstasy many fifteen year old girls feel on to stage. This is not a good idea, and ends up being an irritating hour long strop from a chav school girl (where have we seen this before?) Joanne Mitchell does perform well, bounding around the stage and playing pupil, teacher and head mistress all in one. Yet much of the humour fails to rouse the audience in anyway. The plot also suffers from being almost non-existent. I seem to remember being told (by an equally desperate teacher) that every story needs a beginning, middle and end. Living with Johnny Depp has none of these - it is more like a big gooey mess of fantasies, desires and emotions. Eventually even the head teacher begins to wander into the world of the a-sexual weirdo. In an alcohol fuelled rage she laments her situation in the ‘dark, depressed, drunk country’ that is Ireland. Johnny Depp with his diamond like bone structure, is imagined tottering around South France with his girlfriend, buying baguettes. Mildly funny, this eventually backfires and ends up becoming a tedious drunken mess. A commendable effort from Mitchell on stage is marred by aimless writing and a rambling plot.

Lewis Schaffer Review

Lewis Schaffer

Two Germans, an Arab and a black guy walk into a comedy venue. A Jewish comedian, Lewis Schaffer, welcomes them and invites the Germans to the first row; they happily oblige. The comedian proceeds to fire off some insults (‘I forgive you for the Holocaust 9/11’ etc.) in a whinny New York accent. The Germans (failing to grasp the concept ‘humour’) are suitably offended, a mother scowls in moral indignation and the black guy is commended for his well endowed physique. If this were a joke it would now make you laugh, the ending may have been funny or it may have had a punch line. It doesn’t. Instead Lewis Schaffer spends the best part of an hour spouting forth a froth of tired clichés, political ‘observations’ and comments on different cultures. To many the idea of an opinionated New York Jew may sound like the very essence of what stand up is. Yet his jokes fizzle out in an embarrassed silence rather than roars of laughter. Schaffer, despite his cocky posturing, desperately clings to a wavering audience, pleading his insults as jokes. But hang on: jokes should make people laugh shouldn’t they? Schaffer is thus no comedian, just a ranting, unrehearsed middle aged man, shocking (and then boring) more than anything else. His ‘routine’ is not worth an hour of anyone’s time, and certainly not ten pounds of there money. This is guff: avoid.

Jimeoin Review

Jimeoin Review

Jimeoin informs us before his routine that the beginning is usually a bit ordinary and indeed ‘ordinary’ can be applied to much of the shows material. Yet it quickly becomes apparent that the balding Irishman with his many faces is anything but. Yes, we are given ye olde drinking, marriage and death joke routine, but Jimeoin is a cut above the standard comedian. While his observations can be razor sharp, it is in delivery and timing that he excels. The humour is imaginative, and there is a willingness to delve into mundane issues, such as buttons or eye contact. These pedantic interludes furnish his comedy with a childlike charm and oddness which balances some of his crasser material. With his subtle facial expressions and slightly crazed eyes, Jimeoin also proves to be an excellent visual comedian, often getting the audience going with the slightest facial contortion. For example, we are asked to consider the ‘fine line between cunning and sleazy.’ Jimeoin admits to being a ‘lazy mime’, and frequently uses actions to get jokes across, adding to a lively performance. There is also a brief foray into song at the end, but this was sadly brief. Clearly an intelligent comedian worth considering, but it is his physical charisma and imagination, rather than his material, which elevate him above most stand-ups.