James Acaster: Reset

James Acaster has become the Radiohead of Fringe comedy. After years of critical acclaim and ever-growing expectation, the pressure to reinvent the winning formula is palpable. Much like his seminal alt-rock equivalents, though, he's managed with Reset to balance the blueprint on which he made his name with just the right amount of innovation.

His trademark brand of subtly crafted whimsy has helped him blossom from indie kid on the block to must-see festival fixture in recent years, but there's no laurel-resting here. His command of the comic form is as impressive as ever, with a graceful poise to his craft that belies his gawkish stance and wiry frame.

This show follows his previous two in purveying the micro-observational material by means of elaborately constructed conceit; here the artifice is a story about witness protection programmes. The jokes are still delivered via his uniquely laconic mutterings, but this time the minutiae he frets over appear to be even more minute. His brilliant segment on a honey laundering scheme feels like a symptom of his desire to push the boundaries of triviality even further.

You'll spend most of the hour one stop behind his eccentric train of thought, waiting for a punchline that arrives from a direction you never expected. But that's a marvellous place to be. There's no need for him to overhaul his act just yet.