Michael Legge: Free Wi-Fi

In the glittering firmament of standup, Michael Legge knows exactly where he stands: celebrity is something he comments upon from far, far away, and such a position of observation suits him well. This is not to say he does not deserve every success, but his acidic self-awareness and admitted outsider status allows Legge access to a brand of humour far removed from those comics aiming ruthlessly for the top of the heap.

At first glance, Legge comes off as a shouty, angry comedian of a very familiar type, but his true originality lies in recognising and subverting the fact that misanthropy has become a meal ticket for many. He may be mad as hell, but so is everyone else, it seems: "Remember a few years ago," he asks, "when I invented anger?" As a result, Legge practises what should be near-impossible: the deadpan rant.

He also brings a clear and unpretentious intelligence to his standup, which most artificially angry comedians cannot hope to fake. His material ranges from some well-aimed jabs at Twitter, a tale of roller-skating street toughs, and a David Lynchian parable of loneliness concerning a holiday in Bulgaria and spontaneous frog sex. Legge is also an utterly natural comedian, riding the wave of audience reactions with grace, turning lukewarm responses into fresh gags and always mocking himself rather than the crowd. He might have made his peace with being a comedy middleweight, but the quality of his performance shows he deserves far more.