Adam Hess and David Elms

In the boomingly over-large expanse of a basement nightclub, young English standups Adam Hess and David Elms huddle together for mutual support, splitting 50 minutes down the middle into two individual sets (don’t come expecting a double-act). It’s a sensible idea given that they both struggle to eke any solid laughs from even half the duration of a standard Fringe show, something which doesn’t augur well for their capacity to graduate to full-length sets anytime soon.

Elms is the warm-up, a straighter-than-straight man who nervously clutches an acoustic guitar upon which songs, reminiscent of Fran Healy on Valium, are intermittently strummed about the likes of awkward interactions at pirate-themed family gatherings and the difficulty of being sincere with women. His delivery is so one-note deadpan droll, it’s barely possible to discern the difference between set-ups and punch lines. The best bit is when he looks at his bare wrist for the umpteenth time and jokes he’s worn his watch away from staring at it, a feeling I can strongly identify with by the changeover.

Hess is the contrastingly loud, animated and camp one; where Elms underplays everything to his detriment, his compatriot has the inverse problem, rushing and garbling lines, flying off wildly at tangents to infrequent avail. There’s possibly something somewhere in Hess’s talent for being able to make a quick-fire joke out of any random word audience members can shout at him, though he typically jabbers that part at such a rate it’s hard to keep up, and he soon loses the thread.

Two stars, one each.