Rhys James: Forgives

Even in his earlier, more autobiographical shows, Rhys James always had a firm grasp on his place in comedy and his standup persona. Projecting an aloof arrogance, he'll puncture it with a blatant hypocrisy, flash of career insecurity or calculated moment of ignorance – as with the unwitting testimony he offers about his girlfriend's parrot, suggesting their relationship might be about as real as this fantastic bird.

Without being able to trust just about anything he says—he is, after all, proud to be an inveterate prankster—he does project a strong sense of feeling wronged, like he's not been afforded the requisite rewards for his manifest talent or expectations. Forgives bristles with sneering prickliness at his girlfriend's pseudy flatmate, over-earnest spoken word artists and the life choices of his baby boomer parents, with each routine adroitly mocking both his target and himself for his over-reaction, the latter example cracked especially wide with self-awareness.

Notwithstanding the engaged performances of his impressive beat poetry, couched in ironic sideswipes as they are, you'll struggle to find heart and emotional depth in James' comedy. Still, it's easy to admire his technical brilliance, as he writes clinically sharp lines for finely structured routines. To be fair, there's a semi-serious moment at the end of this hour that approaches an expression of true feeling towards his girlfriend. But it's a disparate note in the sheen of an otherwise slick, impersonal hour.