THE winner of August's Reviewer of the Month competition is:
Russell Kane @ Pleasance Courtyard, Edinburgh
Michael Monkhouse
THERE are three types of guffaws: side-clutching, side-splitting, and Russell Kane.
'Cause Russell's back at Edinburgh this year, and by goodness you couldn't wish for a finer set: original, bizarre, just plain hilarious…
The second he bounds onstage he blows you away with his energy, his enthusiasm, his outrageous sense of fun.
He kicks off by arguing that gaping flaws are actually a Good Thing - for the Brits - maybe not for the Yanks - releasing a classic UK/US compare-'n'-contrast that's blissfully lacking in the usual clichés.
Similarly, he delves into bigotry, feminism, even genetic engineering - but there's none of the smug, aren't-we-cleverer pomposity that irked otherwise heroic alternative comics, there's just gags galore, sly irony and in-yer-face honesty.
And when he recounts his disturbed childhood, there's no righteous indignation or self-righteous call for sympathy, only satire worthy of Alexei Sayle, dry wit worthy of Jo Brand, painfully funny surrealism worthy of Eddie Izzard…
But Russell's no comedy-by-numbers gagsmith. The gags are there certainly, but they're cunningly embroiled in elaborate routines that seem to go nowhere then suddenly go everywhere - especially your laughter-pulses - and hit you all the more strongly for it. Art concealing art and all that.
He can swoop from the ridiculous (lads' mags) to the sublime (the joys of sex) through the silly (OAPs farting), but all the time he's there and we're there with him and I hope to God you will be too next time.
Gaping flaws? Can't see 'em.
And the best of the rest...
Crystal Castles @ Club Academy
Tim Hall
ANYONE who knows the Crystal Castles will be aware of Alice Glass and her reputation for stage diving in an electro punk frenzy.
Describe her performance to a laymen and comparisons to rage sufferers in 28 days Later would not be inaccurate.
Joking aside the Castles' performance on Tuesday evening was absolutely mind-blowing.
They produced a dance set that would match any club night you could ever imagine.
Favourites like Air War and Crimewave were transformed from their electro roots into epic dance tracks sending the crowd into a frenzy.
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Les Pudding Noir @ Library Theatre
Ste Wood
TO follow last year’s sell out 'She Just Nipped Out For Fags' would be a big ask for MaD but follow it they did.
The story is based around the humble Bury black pudding and the attempts of the lady Mayor of Bury to bring the 'European capital of Cooking' to Bury by closing down all the greasy spoons in the town and making the black pudding into a nouvelle cuisine delicacy.
The play is based around Kath's Caff in Bury (later rebranded as Café Zero), where the people of Bury go to eat their 'Belly Buster' breakfast and pints of builder's tea, the chateau of the evil French chef Monsieur le Bon Bon and the attempts of the people of Bury to adapt to their new place of dining, complete with green tea and Panini’s.
Ultimately though, it's about their successful attempt to bring the black pudding home and restore Kath's Caff to its former glory.
The play bravely takes on the themes of greed, tradition and the homogenisation of our town centers and pulls it off totally.
Of course there are French accents that would make even Rene Artois blush and at times it is difficult to pick up parts of the dialogue but on the whole, Les Pudding Noir is a thoroughly satisfying performance and leaves you wanting more.
There are, as is usual with MaD, some very strong performances and some undoubted stars of the future, especially in Rosie Philips who plays Kath and Charlie Nield who steals the show as Ralph, the assistant to the lady Mayor.
MaD are all about bringing the theatre to the people of Manchester and Les Pudding Noir is another performance that does that with great skill, style and enthusiasm.
A thoroughly belly busting night out.
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The Clock Hour @ Pleasance Courtyard, Edinburgh
Michael Monkhouse
FIFTY minutes in the company of these guys and I'm overwhelmed.
Mind you, I shouldn't be. I mean hell, just look at who you got: two-thirds of the manically creative 'Trap' trio, the whole lotta the 'Congress of Oddities' Victorian-style freak show, plus - ahem - Carol Vorderman's 'Sudoku Live' warm-up act to boot. Sound like fun?
Well it is. Breathlessly so.
The proceedings - introduced by canny, cloak-clad Avis Sherman (actually multi-talented stand-up Michael Legge) - can't really be described. The closest I can get is Twilight Zone meets Eddie Izzard meets tragically-underrated Scots sketch fest 'Absolutely'. With a bit of Macbeth, CNN news and Viz thrown in. And Spike Milligan directing.
But ultimately, comparisons would be reductive. Check incorporeal madwoman Zoe Gardner, the all-too-British ghost… Sassy Margaret Cabourn-Smith, the all-too-Hollywood heroine… Perky Paul Litchfield, one minute Hammer House herald, the next John Inman juvenile… And of course Jeremy Limb, both puerile prankster and nice-but-dim ninny. It's an explosive mix with an explosive script and explosive directing.
Okay, there are - in the tradition of said Spike - moments of unease. There's a fine line between in-yer-face fun and what-the-hell's-going-on weirdness. But it's a line Monty Python tread and they got away with it and so should these.
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Angry Puppy @ Pleasance Dome, Edinburgh
Michael Monkhouse
JUST when the stand-up format's getting a tad tired, along comes sketch outfit Angry Puppy to blow it all away.
Angry Puppy's a female quartet and they're straight-down-the-line funny, no messin'. They don't waste precious time blowing up ponderous whimsicalities, they kick off with strong gags and then build accordingly - if the idea's broad, they'll play it for minutes; if it's simple gag, they'll leave it as it is.
The characters are tough: fascist headmistress, ubersensitive hi-fi shop proprietor, lady determined to be a sex symbol even though she's 90, disturbed and disturbing teen harbouring an Electra complex.
More importantly, the performers are tough too: stand-up Susan Calman, the loveable, Stan-Laurel buffoon; Marj Hogarth the control-freak; Leah MacRae the loud-mouthed Gallagheree; Kirsten McLean the (usually) Fonzie straight gal.
Now I mentioned that this is an all-female set, but thankfully they don't make a point out of it, they're too busy making us laugh. They don't make a point out of anything really, they just play with crazy ideas, often based on an increasingly crazy member of an increasingly bemused troupe.
It's an old technique but an effective one, one which lets each member shine without outshining her colleagues. And it's this sense of harmony which makes them such an enthralling ensemble - even the sole recurring character goes for escalation rather than repetition.
No wonder this show's backed by the Comedy Unit. And no wonder it's been garnering rave reviews like this 'un.
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John Gordillo @ Pleasance Dome, Edinburgh
Michael Monkhouse
I LAST saw John Gordillo at London's Camden Head in April and went home impressed. Elated. Clutching my sides.
What I didn't know was there was more to come and it was gonna be even better. Not necessarily funnier or wittier or crazier, just - more honest.
Tonight John eschews the traditional gimmicks of comedy and goes straight for the jugular. The meat of the material covers his relationship with his father, a manic Marxist left to bring up the kid alone following the death of the mother.
A father rabble-rousing… In the post office (clerk slams down the window? 'Warpath for the working class!').
A father reminiscing about Franco and comparing anyone vaguely right-of-centre to Adolf Hitler (cue an Alexei-Sayle-esque routine on the Fuhrer's post-war career opportunities: driving a bus maybe, or repairing tellies).
A father whose extremism prompts John to ruminate on fundamentalism, never more appropriate than now… But don't worry, this is no shouldn't-we-just-hold-hands do-gooder speaking. There's also laughs galore as he lays into such topics as free-range eggs, school nativity plays and Zippo's circus.
It's a bizarrely impassioned set and a momentum-gaining one too as we bound from ire to irony to giggles galore to…
The final moments. Which I can't do justice to. Which go beyond comedy to - sorry - poetry. It's as if he no longer cares about garnering gags, he's just throwing himself pellmell into life itself without losing the sense of humour that got us here in the first place.
Comment would be puerile. Just go and watch.
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