A Controversial Title In Order To Sell Tickets

After a series of mutually disappointing festivals, the chip on Gavin Webster's shoulder has moved front and centre. The Geordie isn't wrong to suggest that there's snobbery towards northern circuit comics in the comedy industry and media. Yet bitter at being overlooked as a journeyman, he's locked into a spiral of self-fulfilling prophecy, marginalising the kind of surrealism-tinged routines that made his reputation for floundering swipes at the Fringe itself.

Railing against all those, and journalists especially, whom he reckons have misrepresented his knowingly provocative show titles, he wants to sell tickets with his notoriety; yet he eschews responsibility for people getting the wrong end of his shtick. His spoof posters of standup archetypes at the Fringe are so broad and devoid of satirical finesse that they're embarrassing. A creaky setpiece in which he accepts a series of fictional awards for performing the best material about dead parents backfires spectacularly. The appearance of a stooge to deliver the “news” encourages a disruptive element in the crowd to get up as well, leave, come back and pass judgement on the gig as they please, prompting a tense stand-off.

Regrettably, Webster is only reaping what he's sown and the first person he ought to blame is himself. Nobody wants to see a comic of his abilities struggle, ad there are flashes of what he's capable of in the tale he recounts of performing in Monte Carlo, channelling his class anger into an amusingly over-the-top ultra-violent fantasy. He should ditch either the self-pity or the Festival, because he's not doing himself justice at the moment.