Fringe Round-Up Review

DESPITE the fact that the Clydebank comic is only 23, it seems dated to still refer to Kevin Bridges as a promising rising star.

As confident as a pitbull in a nursery, he already has six years of stage time under his belt; can sell out the 700-capacity Music Hall at the Assembly Rooms and will almost certainly sell out a national tour in the autumn. Many comics with 20 years' experience would kill to have risen as far as Bridges.

His stage persona is a little Jekyll and Hyde. There is the abrasive friendliness of the omniscient Glaswegian Big Man who tackles knife crime, ned culture and lads' package holidays head-on. Contrasting with this is the more naive 23-year-old who talks about living with his parents, "scuddy" films and going to "empties" or teenage parties in houses where the responsible adults are absent. His comedy isn't absolutely defined by his Scottish upbringing but the gallows humour of his home turf is where Bridges shines the brightest. The payoff line to his closing routine skilfully combines laddish lust, Jihadi politics and sparkling Weegie patter in one neat but explosive sentence.

At the opposite end of many spectrums is Kevin Eldon. A veteran of hugely influential TV comedies such as Brass Eye and Alan Partridge, his Stand show is, surprisingly, his debut solo Fringe appearance. It is a smart show which is aimed at comedy connoisseurs but, mostly, avoids too much beard-stroking pretension. Essentially, the show takes an almost detached view of the concept of comedy, deconstructs several different comedic styles and then playfully holds them all up to ridicule. Michael McIntyre's bland observational comedy is savaged; Russell Howard's whimsy is mocked and the stand-up's stock in trade of belittling audience members is shown to be a sham. There is a deft send-up of over-earnest performance poets and some deliberately dodgy comic songs. All in all, the crowd gets about ten comedians for the price of one.

Much more straight down the line is the ebullient Greg Davies, aka the tall one from the We Are Klang sketch trio. Perhaps surprisingly for a show entitled Firing Cheeseballs At A Dog, Davies's show is autobiographical. But, instead of explaining his life with reference to the big events, this show illuminates his life's arc through the inconsequential incidents which have stuck in his mind and made him truly happy. An example is watching his adult sister squirming when cornered into explaining a sex act to their pensioner mother.

It is an endearing conceit that lends itself to the more absurd anecdotes from his life, and Davies relates them with a huge amount of relish. Davies looks as though he is enjoying every minute of his show and he confidently sweeps his audience along in his happy if slightly malevolent wake.

There is a similar but more simple joy to be found in the Abandoman show. The premise couldn't be easier. An Irish duo, comprising smiley frontman Rob Roderick and instrumentalist James Hancox, Abandoman conjure up instantaneous raps from audience suggestions. There are plenty of laughs to be had in the incongruous nature of Roderick talking Benjamins and honeyz in a strong Irish accent. However, the most impressive aspect is his sheer lyrical dexterity and the assured way that he slips into convincing pastiches of Snoop, Kanye West and Beyonc. Fantastic fun and, while a smidgeon of familiarity with hip-hop's megastars might help, it's by no means vital to rating Abandoman as, er, dope.

After a five-year hiatus from Edinburgh, Justin Edwards is back in the chaotic guise of Jeremy Lions, a children's entertainer whose dependence on the bottle does much to undermine his child-friendly credentials. Edwards has been busy lately with acting roles in TV programmes such as The Thick Of It and The Secret Diary Of A Call Girl and he needs his thespian skills as much as his comedic talents to successfully pull off the desperate, dyspeptic character of Lions.

Edwards is a big man and, as his character becomes increasingly more blotto, there are echoes of Oliver Hardy's awkward but mannered deportment in Lions' doomed attempts to maintain his composure. While getting drunk is easy, acting it is a good deal less so, but Edwards is scarily convincing.

The idea of the show is that it is an educational theatrical class for schoolchildren. Lions realises the value of jumping on the environmental bandwagon but his grasp of the issues is foggy and his ramshackle manner of presentation gruesomely inappropriate. As the booze kicks in, Lions begins to confuse the environmental sins of his generation for his own drunken trespasses against his more successful brother and a pitiful back story emerges. It's packed with pathos as well as belly laughs and the terrible alcoholic climax to the show is one of the Fringe's great comic set pieces.

Also returning after a hiatus is the master of the twisted one-liner, Emo Philips. Long-term fans will notice that not much about the American's comic persona has changed and that includes some of the gags. The ungainly, goofy demeanour; the voice which never seems to have stopped breaking; the flashes of taboo sexuality and the underlying sociopath tendencies are all there and they add up to a deeply weird but compelling character. His snappy, unexpected and often unsettling jokes still cut the mustard but it feels at times as though he is on cruise control.

Comedy magician Pete Firman is more of a Fringe regular and his shows usually hit their mark but don't make the jump from pretty good to must-see great. This year's Jokes And Tricks show follows the same pattern: it's a solid, entertaining hour. As the title infers, the jokes take precedence over the often deliberately shoddy magic. The patter is a tongue-in-cheek update on working men's club schtick: a bit predatory with the women and a bit belligerent with an audience who are clearly beneath him. It sounds arrogant on paper but it's done with a cheeky charm.

If Pete Firman is as smooth as a car salesman, then Paul Vickers, singer with cult Scottish band The Dawn of the Replicants and the man behind the enjoyably odd Twonkey's Cottage show, is his shambolic polar opposite. Looking like Galashiels' answer to Noddy Holder, Vickers presides over his own prop-based world of underwater circuses, windmills inhabited by witches and elephant chimney sweeps. The show is a haphazard mix of Grimms' fairy tales, spoken-word performance and wilfully duff puppetry that, should you need it, provides an antidote to the parade of slick, career-focused comics.

Vickers can't really sustain it for the full show and, if it has its own internal logic or narrative then it passed me by, but I would still heartily recommend you drop in on Twonkey. It is part of the Laughing Horse Free Fringe and so far it's the only show that has actually made me cry with laughter.

Written and performed by ones-to-watch Mike Wozniak and Henry Paker, The Golden Lizard is a daft adventure story with a cast of thousands, all of whom are inventively played by Wozniak and Paker. The loose plot provides the framework for an increasingly surreal set of sketches involving wonky maths, strange science and amorous librarians. It is performed with energy and verve and no little imagination but tries a bit too hard to be clever. The result is that, at times, The Golden Lizard feels more like a begging letter for a Radio Four slot than a Fringe show. Still, I expect that we will be able to tune into them sooner rather than later.

Kevin Bridges, Assembly Rooms, until 30 August, times vary. Kevin Eldon, The Stand, until 30 August, 2.30pm. Greg Davies, Pleasance Courtyard, until 28 August, 9.45pm. Abandoman, Pleasance Courtyard,until 29 August, 9.45pm. Jeremy Lions, Pleasance Dome, until 30 August, 8.20pm. Emo Philips, Pleasance Courtyard, until 29 August, 8pm. Pete Firman, Pleasance Dome, until 30 August, 7.10pm. Paul Vickers, Laughing Horse @ The Counting House, until 29 August, 12.10pm. The Golden Lizard, Pleasance Courtyard, until 30 August, 4.45pm

• This article was first published in Scotland on Sunday, August 15, 2010