Comedy Reviews

HHHHH

TIME: 1:55pm – 2:55pm, 4–28 Aug, not 15, 16

There are no great revelations in Vidura Bandara Rajapaska’s anecdotal Fringe hour, no radical reinvention of the stand-up form. Indeed, in this relaxed, undemanding afternoon show, which he performs seated throughout, only occasionally leaning forward to make the mildest emphasis, the much-travelled 27-year-old Sri Lankan gives the impression that comedy is only the latest phase in his drifting vagabond existence, hardly his vocation. Regardless, he’s a gifted storyteller and has already lived quite the cross-continental life, having spent time in the US, Malaysia and Berlin after departing his homeland, before ultimately arriving in the UK.

He offers a well-judged balance of personal material and informed cultural analysis, on everything from Buddhist militancy to Teutonic sex clubs. Even when the whips and chains are flailing, he remains a wry, detached observer. And when it emerges that a girlfriend has been covertly using him as an ethnic case study for her thesis, he’s not outraged but incredulous, envisioning the ridiculous logical end point of her method. At various times poor or comfortable, marginalised or accepted, privileged or disenfranchised, depending on where he’s been, Rajapaska is especially compelling on the immigrant experience. He marvels at the illegal daring of his gay friend in Malaysia. And he has a keen satirical eye for inequality, coercing you into seeing afresh aspects of Western and UK society that you’d otherwise take for granted. Shared in a light, unshowy spirit of connection, it makes for a thoroughly enjoyable debut. ✏︎

Jay Richardson

HHHHH

VENUE: Pleasance Courtyard

TIME: times vary, 3–28 Aug, not 17

In 2019, Sophie Duker made her Edinburgh debut with Venus, a show about her life as a Black, pansexual woman. It earned her an Edinburgh Comedy Award nomination for Best Newcomer; she was the first Black woman ever to be up for the award – but now she’s back, older, wiser and mature enough to properly speak her mind. “I don’t know what your dreams are, but I know they’re stupid,” she says to a group of innocent-looking 19-25-year-olds (the worst years, according to Duker). She means business.

It takes a while to kickstart the main narrative of Hag, but once it does, it flies. With gleeful knowingness, she takes us back to her childhood spent in Ghana with her “power stinking” Granny, affectionally known as Ma. But it is the tales from her journey on a lesbian cruise, alongside “700 adult women”– that she “accidentally” and “deliberately” ended up on in her early 20s that get the most belly laughs.

It is a whirlwind of sexual awakening – and we are right there with her. There’s an elaborate and bawdy re-enactment of heterosexual sex, where she likens the role of women to a cup. She urges us, over and over again to have a threesome. It’s spikier and more frisky than her first show, but Duker’s gentle prodding of her audience for being white and rich remains. Not scared to push the boundaries, she has perfected a cool-girl persona that has us clinging to her every word. ✏︎

Anya Ryan

VENUE: Traverse Theatre

TIME: 9:00pm – 10:00pm, 9–21

Aug, not 15

Alok Vaid-Menon moves from playful to intense and intense to playful in a many-hued hour of comedy and poetry. Their delivery is similarly layered. Sometimes their voice stabs with staccato rhythms, beating with a resolute purpose. Western traditions and institutions are compared to a performative art; the strange preoccupation people have when asked to enlarge their vocabulary is called out for its hypocrisy. These parts of the show rise to the familiar crescendo of stand-up routines. But then, with a weightless subtlety, ALOK is voicing a poem about their grandfather’s last days. We find ourselves leaning forward, to catch their murmur, because the tenderness of their grief heals like song.

ALOK creates vivid pictures from their family history, such as their father’s bribes to cheer them on to the sports field. Not that ALOK plays ball, an irony given today’s culture war about sports. Later, they present a concise history of medicine. A history which in- forms a current lack of refinement, forcing doctors to hand out non-diagnoses which are no more than a blame game. It’s a situation which leaves patients in flailing attempts to find answers elsewhere – hypnotism via Zoom, anyone?

If the enraged spleens that blame outsiders for the collapsing structure of western civilisation are correct, it perhaps isn’t unreasonable to ask those with experiences such as ALOK to help replace it. At least then it’d be a civilisation with nuance. Meanwhile, more modestly, we can settle for a comedy hour with a refreshing point of view.

✏︎ Ben Venables

VENUE: Pleasance Courtyard

TIME: 5:40pm – 6:40pm, 3–28 Aug, not 16

This is not the show that Sarah Keyworth had wanted to perform. But, after a year dominated by coronavirus, grief and the breakdown of their five year relationship, a

“silly” show where they were supposed to be carried in by a wrestler just didn’t feel right. Instead, most of their jokes come from moments of difficulty and upset. They are in sessions with “the cheapest therapist in London”, whose sky-high prices make them aware of the cost of every second that ticks by. Their “covid-casualty” break-up has meant they could write a “thesis” in the art of female masturbation. They even started sleeping with their best friend of 10 years. Spoiler, they are now together, but that only means Keyworth has to constantly fight against not being a paedophile for first meeting her when she was 16. Still, it is as tender as it is amusing. Keyworth speaks fondly of their friend and writing partner, Paul Byrne who passed away last year. He was the funniest person, they tell us –and it certainly seems like they had a blast. To cheer them up in lockdown, he even made an X-rated version of a Where’s Wally puzzle, with a willy hidden instead to find.

Anya Ryan