Si Hawkins' Edinburgh Fringe 2024: The Comedy Section

Written by: Si Hawkins
Published: Friday 16th August 2024

One thing you learn early at the Edinburgh Fringe: ignore the ushers. Just sit wherever suits. It's helping the show, really, as surely no performer wants someone clenched and cross-armed in their front row? But then Fringe seating is like another Alien movie, you're never really safe, even in the darkness of space.

For example, despite being many rows back I manage to slightly derail the otherwise majestic Weer. This is Natalie Palamides' big-stage millennium romcom, in which the high-concept clown plays both parts of a combustible relationship, via lots of lovingly stitched-together clothes (I particularly liked his half-a-Seinfeld t-shirt).

But when the old chap in front of me is encouraged to play Palamides' ex, then struggles, it falls to me to read the part - and instead I launch straight into what turn out to be stage directions. Chaos ensues. Palamides mock-collapses. Huge laugh (actually a pal of mine, Paul, saw Palamides days later and a similar thing happened - funny that).

Actively avoiding further acting roles, I go deep along a one-ended row at the Pleasance Cellar for Lil Wenker's Bangtail, an engagingly Palamides-esque hour of cowboy shenanigans in which great swathes of the small room wind up with a part. It's an impressive debut, if slightly awkward. During one scantily-clad bit Wenker ends up next to her own dad, in the front row. Front row dad! He should definitely have ignored the ushers.

Audiences are unpredictable. Shitty Mozart actively encourages heckles in his splendidly stupid late-night show - at certain designated times. The general idea? That someone botch-cloned the great Austrian music meister and wound up with this American bozo. His self-titled show is in the South Park envelope, killer songs with crappy animations, live bee attacks, a Killers-quoting robot helper: something for everyone.

Well, not everyone. A reviewer called Richard Bath gave it two stars early on, so Mozart did an animation, shortened the name to Dick... you can guess the rest. And maybe due to that extra section Mozart forgets a big chunk of his show, suddenly realising halfway through the final song, which no longer makes sense - so he stops, goes back, does the bit, then gets back to the finale. Hardly saw the joins.

Riki Lindhome misses out a whole song the day I visit, but just shrugs and moves on ("it's probably the worst one"). The show feels just about the perfect length; so did it ever go back in? That same day, the always inventive Josh Glanc gets into some fabulously open-ended audience participation, notably getting a bunch of Scotts - not Scots; guys called Scott - to go topless on stage. But that all means our host has to leave out full routines - which is a good way to entice people back another day, at least.

Huge Davies has a special guest on Monday night - the cutest pup in all of comedy, Dotty, who's a very good dog and spectates patiently. So Huge picks her up mid-song for a walk on his mobile keyboard - which Dotty does not enjoy so much. Also, at least two of Huge's songs this year feature canine casualties, which is slightly awkward. Aside from that: lots of fun, which does also wildly overrun due to audience over-engagement.

Meanwhile there are two dogs knocking around Banshee Labyrinth before Dan Lees' very funny Vinyl Reflections, one hefty one literally up with his paws on the bar, and a tiny one standing on the sinks in the gents. Perhaps canines just love musical comedy. All that repetition.

Also at that show, next to us, is Mary, from China, who's seeing stand-up to improve her English - again, bit of a tricky choice, as Lees' often-inspired album cover interpretations tend to involve lots of nonsense words. So not wildly helpful, but she has a lovely time anyway.

Then there's Luke Rollason's Luke Rollason, Luke Rollason, Let Down Your Hair, where I'm sat next to a family of non-English speakers, including kids, who the staff are clearly wary of letting stay. Not a problem, as the occasional swearing sails over their heads and they love the visuals. Who wouldn't? Rollason creates a fabulous fairy tale world using toilet rolls as castle walls, occasionally tearing off a turret for other things. Could a handsome prince use one to climb them? Nah. Wrong kind of sheets! Good luck tying those together.

Bits of songs in show titles? Phil Ellis is on cracking form in Come and Take the Rest of Me, early on, complete with a hip-hoppy hypeman interjecting hilariously - but then he loses the crowd with some gags about roadkill and the bants with his colleague gets a bit self-indulgent, so the inevitable closing song is a relief. Hey, you can't expect nominations every year.

Themes? There are at least two chess shows. I don't get to see Vladislav, Baby Don't Hurt Me (there's another song) by Vlad Ilich, but was absolutely on board - boom! - with Kevin James Doyle's After Endgame, at The Caves. It's about how his chess-teaching day job went nuts after the Netflix show Queen's Gambit blew up, then he wound up on boats with billionaires. This is definitely a show that (apologies in advance) you should check, mate.

Jessie Cave's nearest and dearest are taking over the Fringe. While the hugely popular Jessie does a wonderfully colourful and DIY hour of storytelling, puppetry and dance, her daughter sings the end-of-show theme, other kids give badges and sell merch outside after, while her sister Bebe and boyfriend Alfie also have shows this year. When locals mention The Caves these days they might well be talking about Jessie and co.

Rather than helping out, Ian Stone's kids cause an unexpected interlude in his excellent hour of stand-up. It has a recurring theme about Stone's ongoing love of clubbing, although he can't illustrate it with an actual theme - a club anthem - as the kids are using his Spotify account. So he has to kick them off, mid-show, before resuming. There's a great bit about his dad too - quite a character.

If you think Fringe shows are getting a bit noisy, though, do enjoy the last ten minutes of Rob Copland's Gimme (One with Everything) - it hopefully isn't too big a spoiler to reveal that he tries to finish the show in complete silence. Admittedly the previous 40 minutes are absolute bedlam, but it's the thought that counts.

Other memorable moments: Paulina Lenoir's incredible costumes, Elliot Steel's dark delayed-trains bit, Ed Night calling out two homophobic TV comics, Madame Chandelier calling out misogynistic operas (most of them, basically), and the multi-talented Jake Roche apologising to his mum - Coleen Nolan, sitting right in front of me - while he simulates sexy stuff, and being quite tough on his dad, Shane Ritchie, who's due later in the run. Oh to be sitting right behind Ritchie for that one.