Anticipation for Phoebe Robinson's Fringe debut is palpable, with plenty of enthusiastically appreciative Americans in the crowd to catch the US comic and podcaster-turned-television star.
Phoebe Robinson: Sorry, Harriet Tubman, Assembly George Square Studios, Edinburgh * * *
And she doesn't disappoint. Her material might be solid rather than spectacular but she sells it with a mix of infectious bonhomie and relatable human frailty. Naturally, she's down for the civil rights cause. But her life is one of comfort and privilege, so she isn't going to do the hard miles of activism, preferring to fight racism in a way that doesn't impact upon her lifestyle. Besides, we're all only human.
Robinson cedes to no-one in her admiration for Michelle Obama and gushes about accompanying the former First Lady on her book tour. Still, she notes the hypocrisy in the healthy eating advocate's post-discussion snacking, even as she propels herself to the bathroom in her ill-conceived attempt to exist in Obama's orbit. From bowel functions to sexual peccadilloes, Robinson is gloriously open discussing the messier, usually private aspects of the body. Even if her British boyfriend's uncircumcised penis and the adolescent male fantasy of Kingsman's notorious final scene lead her to well-worn stand-up subject matter. Regardless, it's endearing to hear her laziness extends to the bedroom yet she's enjoying the best sex of her life.
Until 25 August