Jo Caulfield: Cancel My Subscription

Amid the wild experimentation and bewildering pretension of Edinburgh in August, one thin woman is doing her bit for those who lean toward the more sedately sardonic (but who wouldn’t go anywhere near certain contentious old-school comics). Jo Caulfield has been mining comedy’s coalface for several decades, and looks as comfortable onstage as she would be reclining on the sofa at home, with a decent Beaujolais and a box set.

Home is Edinburgh now, so her annual Fringe experience is much less taxing than most – and it shows. As she openly admits early on, this show isn’t aiming to win any alternative comedy, Spirit of the Fringe-style gongs: it’s her best stuff from the past year, some of which has already been broadcast, admittedly, so ardent fans may suffer flashbacks.

It’s a treat watching such a seasoned pro at work, though. While the majority of Fringe comics need to stick fairly rigidly to their hour-long scripts, Caulfield chats freely to the audience early on, selecting a few likely candidates to pick on later, before slipping seamlessly into her set. That’s largely a series of caustic moans about modern life—ads, restaurants, husbands—but with useful hints of positivity and a handy snatch of obscenity here and there, so we don’t descend into a dark, Daily Mail-style cesspit.

True, she does briefly lose us at the midway point with the denouement of a hotel tale that doesn’t ring true, but otherwise Caulfield keeps the home fans firmly onside. A class act.