Posts Tagged comedy

Dusty Limits Leads a Wild, Joyous Burlesque Night at the Liquid Rooms

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★★★★★ Burlesque nights at the Fringe can be hit‑and‑miss, but the Liquid Rooms delivered one of those gloriously chaotic evenings that reminds you why cabaret survives every cultural cycle. Hosted by Fringe stalwart Dusty Limits, whose sly crowd work and razor‑edged asides are well‑documented in his cabaret appearances at The Voodoo Rooms , the night had that unmistakable mix of glamour, grit and mischief that marks out proper burlesque from the pretenders.

Limits is a natural ringmaster — sardonic, warm, and just dangerous enough to keep the room alert. His genuine love of performance, noted in reviews of his Bowie‑themed cabaret work , carries over effortlessly here. He knows how to hold a crowd, tease it, and then hand it over to the performers at exactly the right moment.

The acts themselves were a lively blend of classic strip‑tease, comic burlesque, and magic. The Liquid Rooms — usually a nightclub and live‑music venue  — proved surprisingly intimate for burlesque, helped by tight lighting and a crowd that arrived ready to play along.

What made the night work wasn’t polish but personality. The performers were bold, funny, and gloriously unafraid of leaning into the absurd. One moment you’re watching a sultry slow‑burn strip, the next you’re hit with a comic number that breaks the room open. It’s the kind of cabaret chaos that feels alive — messy in the right ways, sharp in the right moments, and carried by performers who know exactly what they’re doing.

If you wandered in expecting a tidy, packaged Fringe show, you’d be in the wrong place. But if you wanted a late‑night hit of queer joy, camp theatricality, great dance performances and a host who knows how to work a room, this burlesque night more than earned its applause.

Reviewed by Pat Harrington

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HR The Musical: A Fast, Funny Skewer of Workplace Madness

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★★★★★ There’s something instantly appealing about a show that decides to take on the baffling, shape‑shifting world of HR — or whatever rebrand it’s hiding behind this week — and this New Zealand trio do it with a grin, a raised eyebrow, and a surprising amount of musical bite.

What unfolds is a brisk, knowingly absurd tour through the corporate labyrinth. We start with the coded niceties of the classic HR email — those soft‑focus euphemisms that somehow manage to say everything and nothing at once — before meeting Dick, the magnificently un-woke CEO whose opinions feel like they’ve been preserved in amber since 1993. From there, the show barrels into a series of increasingly deranged hire‑and‑fire scenarios: interviews conducted mid‑childbirth, performance reviews held at funerals, and a general sense that HR has finally slipped its moorings and floated off into pure theatre.

It’s all delivered with tight choreography, bright vocals, and a willingness to lean into the ridiculous. There’s even a rap battle between AI and a human employee, which lands with the kind of knowing silliness that makes you wonder how long it’ll be before your own workplace tries something similar in earnest.

The charm of the piece lies in its relatability. No matter where you work — office, shop floor, charity, gig economy — there’s a moment here that will feel uncomfortably familiar. HR The Musical doesn’t pretend to diagnose the modern workplace; it simply holds up the mirror and lets you laugh at the reflection.

Reviewed by Andrew Hunter

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It’s a Struggle Coming Out: Strong Performances, Slick Choreography, Flawed Story

★★★ I really wanted to like this production. The actors were young and enthusiastic. They put their heart and soul into their roles. The music was excellent. The scene-shifting choreography was slick and effective. But – and it’s a big but – they were let down by a confusing script.

There were some genuinely funny moments, but the play lost focus with unnecessary subplots and distractions from the main plot, an evangelical Christian girl finding a way to express her lesbian identity in an unsympathetic environment.

The script added vampires, a Jewish guy, to the rivalry between four evangelical Christian girls seeking to please their pastor by selling Bibles or making converts while preparing for some sort of prom event. The cocaine-addicted Pastor Ignatius was a cartoonish caricature with no nuance whatsoever. This could have been a lot better with a tighter script.

Reviewed by David Kerr

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Omar Badawy: Guided Detour Hits the Spot for Wry Social Commentary

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★★★★The comedian Omar Badawy was walking through London, dressed as a Viking, and minding his own business, on his way to a fancy dress party when he was caught up in Tommy Robinson’s Unite the Kingdom rally. As he’s Egyptian born, he got some abuse from some of the marchers, but one – John – thought Omar was on his side as he was dressed as a ‘pure European warrior.’ John loves the Vikings.

Omar brings genuine wit and humour to his account of growing up as the only Arab in a posh Church of England school and accounts of encounters with the police. He makes a plea for the Garys of this world. Mohammed may now be the most common boys name for newborn boys in England, but there are now no Garys. Garys are on their way to extinction! As an illustration, when asked, there was not one Gary in the audience.

Omar Badawy hits the spot for wry social commentary and observational humour.

Reviewed by David Kerr

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Tom Read Wilson Delights with a Charming Alphabet of Talent

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★★★★★Tom Read Wilson has long been a familiar face on Celebs Go Dating (E4), but seeing him live reveals just how much more there is behind the polished charm and impeccable diction. His Fringe show, The A to Z of Me, is a full display of his multi‑talented personality — and he wastes no time proving it. The hour is packed with tap dancing, Shakespearean sonnets, poems, songs, and even a few well‑timed jokes. It’s a variety platter delivered with such ease that the audience can’t help but be swept along.

The conceit of the show — using an A to Z of words to define himself — is clever, playful, and surprisingly revealing. Each letter becomes a doorway into a different facet of his personality, from the theatrical to the tender. The alphabet is the perfect prism through which to learn about his logophil It’s a neat idea, but what makes it work is his delivery: warm, articulate, and just a little mischievous.

What stands out most is how effortlessly he charms the room. There’s a sense of genuine connection — not just performance — as he moves from one skill to the next. One moment he’s tapping away with crisp precision, the next he’s reciting Shakespeare with a flourish, then suddenly he’s singing with a sincerity that hushes the room. It’s eclectic, but never chaotic; everything feels stitched together by his unmistakable personality.

If you’re looking for a show that packs a punch — something lively, polished, and full of surprises — The A to Z of Me is well worth your time. Being entertained by Tom Read Wilson is simply delightful, and this hour proves he’s far more than the persona you’ve seen on television.

Reviewed by Jacqueline Sharp
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Talk About Pop Music: Michelle McManus Delivers a Joy‑Packed Pop Party at The Stand

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★★★★★Michelle McManus and Anna Welander’s Talk About Pop Music landed at The Stand with the kind of energy that fills a room before the show even starts. By the time the lights dipped, the place was already packed wall‑to‑wall with people clearly ready for a good time — and McManus delivered exactly that. She launched straight into a run of pop classics, belting them out with the confidence and warmth that have made her a favourite with Scottish audiences for years.

The show isn’t just a concert; it’s a pop‑culture hangout. Visual nods to Kylie Minogue, Mariah Carey and the Spice Girls flashed up throughout, giving the hour a playful nostalgia that had the crowd grinning. These references weren’t thrown in for decoration — they were part of the rhythm of the show, little sparks that kept the audience buzzing between songs.

Pairing McManus with Anna Welander was a smart move. Their chemistry made the whole thing feel conversational, almost like you’d stumbled into a lively living‑room debate about who really deserved the crown of pop royalty. Welander kept the pace tight and the tone cheeky, and the pop quizzes they tossed out were a genuine hit. People weren’t just watching; they were shouting answers, laughing at their own wrong guesses, and leaning into the fun.

Then came the surprise guest: Glasgow comedian Susan McCabe. She bounded onstage and immediately had the room howling. Her appearance wasn’t long, but it was sharp, loud, and perfectly timed — the kind of cameo that lifts a show from enjoyable to memorable.

If you’re looking for something that lets you switch off, sing along, dance a bit in your seat, and remember why pop music is such a joy, this is the one to pencil into your Fringe diary. It’s an hour of pure fun — unpretentious, upbeat, and packed with the kind of nostalgia that makes you smile long after you’ve left the venue.

Reviewed by Jacqueline Sharp

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Gag Writer: A Five‑Star Showcase of Wit, Warmth and Total Command

 

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⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ Melissa Todd has lived a life that most people couldn’t make up, and Gag Writer turns that life into a lively hour. She’s warm, funny, and very good at pulling a room along with her.

It’s not the show I thought I was walking into, I’ll admit. I expected more exploration of the psychology of clients, the why behind the fantasies. Those moments are there and they’re genuinely intriguing, but they surface briefly before the next anecdote takes over.

Still, the audience was with her from start to finish. She has that easy rapport and never forces the laugh. One reenacted story with an unexpectedly talented audience volunteer, had the room in stitches. Beneath the humor, there’s a consistent theme about trust, honesty, and negotiated boundaries, which gives the show some grounding. It hints at what wider society might learn from the bdsm world.

The history snippets are a welcome texture too. I was intrigued by her account of how she entered the world of kink and her early interest in spanking and initiation as she herself was spanked at a Soho shop selling magazines devoted to that subject.

If I have a reservation, it’s only that I wanted more, more depth, not because what was there wasn’t good, it was, but because the deeper threads were so compelling. I loved here explanation of why some people craved pain, for example. That’s a critique born of interest rather than disappointment.

Gag Writer is funny, engaging, and refreshingly non-judgmental. It earns its audience and leaves you thinking after the laughs.

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Oh Man!: Alice Fraser Brings Wit and Philosophy to the Masculinity Debate

Click on image to buy ticketsThe Edinburgh Fringe is at its best when comedy leaves you with something to think about, and Alice Fraser’s Oh Man! does exactly that. Fraser tackles the contemporary debate around masculinity with sharp intelligence and a light touch, unpicking the rigid, impoverished definitions promoted by the so‑called manosphere and examining why these ideas take hold — especially among younger men trying to make sense of purpose, identity and belonging. What makes the show land is the way she does it: with wit, warmth and a philosophical curiosity that keeps the hour playful even as it digs into difficult territory. It’s thoughtful, humane comedy that never forgets to be funny.

What impressed me most was that Fraser avoids the trap of turning the discussion into a criticism of men themselves. Instead, she examines the appeal of these narratives while offering more thoughtful, humane alternatives. The result is a show that invites conversation rather than confrontation, allowing the audience to reflect without feeling lectured.

As a philosophy graduate, I particularly appreciated the way Fraser builds her comedy around questions of definition. Philosophy has long been concerned with examining the meaning of concepts, and Oh Man cleverly applies that approach to modern ideas of masculinity. The result is a show that is intellectually engaging without ever becoming dry or inaccessible.

The production also makes imaginative use of technology, something that is becoming increasingly common in Fringe solo shows. Rather than feeling like a gimmick, it broadens the theatrical experience and adds another dimension to the performance while keeping Fraser firmly at the centre of the show.

That said, at the performance I attended, the opening section felt a touch too rapid-fire for my taste. The jokes and ideas arrived so quickly that it was sometimes difficult to absorb both the humour and the underlying arguments. As the performance settled, however, the pacing became more measured, allowing both the comedy and the philosophy to breathe. There were also a couple of minor technical glitches, but these felt like the sort of teething problems that often disappear as a Fringe run progresses.

These reservations are modest in what is otherwise a thoughtful and highly entertaining hour. Oh Man is intelligent without being smug, philosophical without becoming heavy-handed, and consistently funny while tackling a subject that deserves more nuanced discussion.

 

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John-Luke Roberts: What I Talk About When I Run About Talking

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★★★★★ John‑Luke Roberts returns to the Fringe with an hour that blends surrealism, sharp language play and candid reflections on health, therapy and mortality. In a small room that suits his conversational style, he delivers a show that’s warm, inventive and consistently funny, proving once again why he occupies such a singular corner of British comedy.

John-Luke Roberts has long occupied a distinctive corner of British comedy, where surrealism, wordplay and intelligent observation meet. What I Talk About When I Run About Talking demonstrates why he has earned that reputation. This is a show that is often gloriously absurd, occasionally deeply personal and consistently engaging.

The intimate venue suits both the performer and the material. With room for around sixty people, it creates exactly the kind of atmosphere this show needs. Audience and performer feel part of the same conversation rather than separated by a stage. There’s also something pleasingly Fringe about the adjoining bar, where people can gather over a drink before taking their seats. By the time Roberts walks on, the audience already feels relaxed and receptive, and he rewards that goodwill from the opening moments.

One of Roberts’ greatest strengths is his command of language. He clearly enjoys words, not simply as vehicles for jokes but as toys to be turned over, stretched and occasionally twisted into unexpected shapes. His delivery is conversational yet meticulously controlled. There’s never a sense that he’s racing towards punchlines. Instead, he allows ideas to unfold at their own pace, trusting the audience to follow him wherever he’s heading.

What impressed me most was his ability to move effortlessly between comedy and subjects that, in other hands, might feel overwhelmingly serious. He speaks candidly about a recent health scare involving blood clots on his lungs, alongside reflections on mortality and therapy. These are not easy themes to make funny, yet Roberts never trivialises them. Instead, he finds humour in the way we process frightening experiences and the strange mental journeys they provoke.

His stories about therapy were among the afternoon’s highlights. The recurring image of his therapist ending sessions with probing questions for him to ponder until the next appointment became an inspired comic device. It reminded me, oddly enough, of the cliffhanger endings from the old Batman television series, forever leaving viewers hanging until the next episode. Roberts mines that structure brilliantly, turning psychological introspection into something unexpectedly hilarious.

Interspersed throughout the show are short poems that arrive almost without warning. They provide delightful changes of pace and consistently earned some of the biggest laughs of the evening. Roberts understands the value of surprise. Just as the audience thinks they know where a routine is heading, he quietly changes direction and lands somewhere entirely unexpected.

His physical presence on stage should not be overlooked either. Although this is a language-rich show, he uses movement economically and effectively, maintaining the audience’s attention throughout. He projects warmth and confidence without becoming overbearing, and there is a generosity to his performance that keeps everyone with him.

Perhaps the most impressive aspect of the hour is its rhythm. Many stand-up shows have noticeable peaks and quieter patches. This one scarcely does. Roberts maintains a steady flow of laughs from beginning to end, moving naturally between stories, observations, poems and surreal detours. The different strands might appear unrelated on paper, yet on stage they knit together into a coherent whole.

Comedy that embraces the surreal can sometimes become self-indulgent or leave audiences behind. Roberts avoids that trap. However eccentric the destination, he always provides enough emotional truth to keep the audience invested. Beneath the absurdity lies an astute observer of human behaviour, capable of making us laugh at life’s anxieties without ever dismissing their seriousness.

Above all, John-Luke Roberts knows how to entertain an audience. He combines intelligence, imagination, excellent timing and complete command of the room into an hour that feels fresh, thoughtful and consistently funny. Fringe audiences looking for comedy that rewards careful listening as much as spontaneous laughter should make time for this show.

Reviewed by Patrick Harrington

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Meet the Debut Comedians Redefining Humor at the Fringe 2025

In a year when laughter feels like both rebellion and relief, the Edinburgh Fringe’s debut comedians are redefining what comedy means. Their shows aren’t just entertainment — they’re essays on identity, absurdity, and survival. Counter Culture explores how this new wave of performers turns humour into resistance.


Every August, the Fringe becomes a mirror — not just for the arts, but for the anxieties and contradictions of the age. The debut comedians stepping onto its stages this year (2–26 August 2025) are not simply chasing laughs; they are testing the boundaries of what comedy can say about who we are.

Comedy, at its best, has always been a form of resistance. From the cabarets of Weimar Berlin to the satire clubs of 1980s Soho, humour has thrived in times of uncertainty. It is the art of turning discomfort into connection — of finding solidarity in absurdity. The new generation of performers emerging at the Fringe seem acutely aware of that lineage. Their work is not escapist in the shallow sense, but rather a way of reframing the chaos of modern life into something bearable, even beautiful.


Caroline McEvoy – Train Man

📍 Assembly Roxy (RoxyBoxy) at 1:20pm, 2–26 August
A captivating, hilarious and heartfelt tale of sibling rivalry in post‑Troubles Northern Ireland, Train Man sees McEvoy — host of the Chortle Award‑winning Comedy Bandits and three‑time Funny Women Stage Awards nominee — reckon with her lifelong battle with her autistic younger brother, who loves trains and getting his own way.

McEvoy’s stand‑up blends sharp Northern wit with emotional storytelling, making her one of the most compelling new voices in Irish comedy.


Su Mi – ThisMotherPhucker

📍 Underbelly Cowgate (Iron Belly) at 6:40pm, 2–26 August
Award‑winning stand‑up and drag performance artist Su Mi presents an immersive, surreal comedy extravaganza that resurrects forgotten nostalgia and heals the inner child through play. Their show dismantles stereotypes of Asian women and challenges comedy’s narrative through intersectional, queer, and punk‑infused chaos.

Su Mi’s work fuses drag, theatre, and social commentary, creating a genre‑defying experience that’s as cathartic as it is anarchic.


Becky Umbers – Put That Cat Back in the Bag

📍 Assembly Roxy (Snug Bar) at 8:40pm, 2–26 August
New Zealand’s award‑winning comedian Becky Umbers dives into the delicate art of keeping your metaphorical cat — your inner weirdo — hidden. Her joyous debut hour mixes cartoonish voice work with cheeky adult wit, exploring why we hide our quirks to fit in.

Umbers’ blend of absurdism and warmth has made her one of the most exciting rising stars from the Antipodes.


Cabbage the Clown – Cinemadrome

📍 Underbelly Buttercup at 9:45pm, 2–26 August
A minimum‑wage cinema employee turned viral tragic fool, Cabbage the Clown brings a multimedia drag‑clowning spectacle about queer heartbreak, consumerism, and popcorn‑covered despair. Cinemadrome is part parody, part social critique, and wholly chaotic.

With over eight million views online, Cabbage’s mix of clowning and drag transforms everyday drudgery into surreal, glitter‑stained rebellion.


Ada & Bron – The Origin of Love

📍 Pleasance Courtyard (Attic) at 11pm, 2–26 August
BAFTA‑nominated newcomers Ada & Bron invite audiences to third‑wheel their absurd, kaleidoscopic exploration of cursed couples, doomed romances, and the beautiful chaos of human connection. The Origin of Love unfolds as a patchwork of vignettes, confessional letters, and romantic misfires, each one stitched together with the duo’s signature blend of surrealism and emotional candour. It’s a show that treats love not as a tidy narrative arc but as a mythology — messy, contradictory, and often very funny — built from longing, miscommunication, and the strange rituals we invent to feel less alone.

Ada & Bron’s partnership blends theatrical invention with a startling emotional honesty, creating character comedy that’s both strange and soulful. They move with the ease of performers who trust each other completely, slipping between personas and emotional registers with a kind of mischievous grace. What makes their debut so compelling is the way it balances the grotesque with the tender, the ridiculous with the sincere. Beneath the heightened characters and absurd scenarios lies a quiet truth: that connection, in all its flawed and feral forms, is still the thing we’re all reaching for.


Ted Milligan – United

📍 Pleasance Courtyard (Bunker Three) at 9:45pm, 2–26 August
Sketch Off Winner 2024 Ted Milligan’s United is a live mockumentary following a fictional football club’s desperate bid for redemption. Inspired by Sunderland ’Til I Die, it’s a whip‑smart, character‑driven comedy about loyalty, hope, and the absurdity of fandom.

Milligan’s background in sketch and character work gives his debut a cinematic rhythm and a distinctly British heart.


The Mayor and His Daughter – A Genuine Appreciation of Comedy

📍 Assembly Roxy (Snug Bar) at 4:10pm, 2–26 August
Leicester Square Sketch Off finalists Ciaran Chillingworth and Kit Finnie bring a folk‑horror sketch show about Englishness, identity, and the demonic forces of modern Britain. When their village discovers a sacred tome — a box set of Russell Howard’s Good News — chaos and catharsis ensue.

The duo’s surreal, literary approach to sketch comedy makes them one of the most original partnerships at this year’s Fringe.


Douglas Widick – Paperclip

📍 Gilded Balloon Patter Hoose (The Penny) at 10:20pm, 2–26 August
Microsoft Word’s Clippy returns in Widick’s high‑energy musical comedy adventure through the internet’s retro past, and it’s every bit as unhinged and nostalgic as that premise suggests. Paperclip is a full‑throttle, interactive romp that treats the early web like a mythic landscape — dial‑up tones as battle cries, pop‑ups as omens, and forgotten mascots as fallen gods. Packed with rock tributes, improvised detours, and a kind of joyous digital archaeology, the show revels in the absurdity of a time when the internet still felt like a frontier rather than a marketplace.

A celebrated New York performer, Widick brings a musical improv background that gives the hour a frenetic, infectious pulse. He moves with the confidence of someone who understands that nostalgia isn’t just comfort — it’s a cultural archive, a way of remembering who we were before algorithms learned to anticipate our desires. Beneath the silliness lies a surprisingly sharp commentary on obsolescence, usefulness, and the fear of being left behind in a world that updates faster than we can. In Widick’s hands, Clippy becomes both a punchline and a prophet, guiding the audience through a past that feels increasingly like a warning about the future.


Jacob Nussey – Primed

📍 Pleasance Courtyard (Bunker Three) at 7:15pm, 2–26 August
Award‑winning comedian Jacob Nussey unboxes the absurdities of warehouse life in his Amazon‑themed debut, peeling back the layers of a world built on scanners, quotas, and the quiet indignities of minimum‑wage survival. With his trademark deadpan precision, he explores working‑class aspiration and corporate absurdity, finding humour in the places where ambition meets algorithm. Primed becomes a kind of workplace archaeology — a look at the systems that shape us, the compromises we make to get by, and the strange camaraderie that forms in the fluorescent hum of a distribution centre.

Chortle’s “One to Watch” 2023, Nussey’s understated delivery hides razor‑sharp social insight. He has a gift for turning the mundane into the quietly revelatory, for exposing the surreal logic of modern labour without ever losing the human thread. What makes his debut stand out is the clarity of his perspective: dry, incisive, and unafraid to poke at the gap between how companies talk about work and how it actually feels to do it. In Nussey’s hands, the comedy of survival becomes something both bleakly funny and unexpectedly hopeful — a reminder that even in the most automated environments, the human element refuses to disappear.


Josh Elton – Away with the Fairies

📍 Hoots @ The Apex (Hoots 4) at 8pm, 2–26 August
Elton’s debut blends rapid‑fire stand‑up with vivid, almost cinematic storytelling, moving between identity, humiliation, and the strange, fragile places where we try to locate meaning. His world is one where fairy curses sit comfortably alongside playground trauma, where the ridiculous and the painful coexist without ever cancelling each other out. The result is a show that is both riotous and unexpectedly tender — a reminder that the stories we tell about ourselves are often funnier, stranger, and more revealing than we intend.

A natural storyteller, Elton has a gift for turning personal embarrassment into communal recognition. His mix of absurdism and vulnerability gives the hour a restless emotional charge, the sense of someone excavating their own past not for catharsis but for connection. What makes him stand out among this year’s newcomers is the precision with which he balances silliness and sincerity: he can land a joke with the speed of a seasoned comic, then pivot into something quietly affecting without losing the room. It’s comedy that feels alive to the messiness of being human — and generous enough to let the audience see themselves in it.


Rohan Sharma – Mad Dog

📍 Pleasance Courtyard (Below) at 7:10pm, 2–26 August
British‑Indian comedian and Leicester Square New Comedian champion Rohan Sharma delivers a surreal, multimedia odyssey through identity, race, and modern Britain. Mad Dog ricochets between sincerity and absurdity, weaving together confession, cultural critique, and outright chaos. What emerges is a densely layered exploration of truth and lies — the stories we inherit, the ones we invent, and the ones we cling to when the world refuses to make sense. Sharma treats identity not as a fixed category but as a shifting, glitching interface, corrupted and nourished in equal measure by the pressures of contemporary life.

Sharma’s sharp intellect and theatrical flair make his debut one of the most ambitious at the Fringe. He moves with the confidence of a performer who understands that comedy can be both a scalpel and a smoke bomb — cutting through the noise while simultaneously destabilising it. His humour is restless, probing, and deliberately disorienting, inviting the audience into a space where contradictions aren’t resolved but illuminated. Beneath the surrealism lies something unmistakably human: a search for belonging in a country that can’t decide what it is, or who gets to feel at home in it.


Steffan Alun – Stand Up

📍 Hoots @ The Apex (Hoots 4) at 9:30pm, 2–26 August
Welsh optimist Steffan Alun finally presents his full debut hour — a rich, raucous blend of politics, sexuality, and unapologetic queerness. What begins as playful irreverence gradually reveals itself as something more deliberate: a quietly radical insistence on joy, on community, on the right to take up space without apology. His comedy moves with the rhythm of someone who has spent years thinking about identity not as a fixed point but as a landscape — shifting, contradictory, and often very funny.

Seen on BBC Wales and S4C, Alun brings a proudly Welsh perspective to the stage, one shaped by a neurodivergent lens that sharpens both his humour and his humanity. He has a knack for turning personal chaos into collective recognition, for finding the soft underbelly of a political moment and pressing just hard enough to make the room laugh before it winces. It’s not just the punchlines but the warmth: a sense that comedy, in Alun’s hands, becomes a small act of defiance — a reminder that joy is something we build together, especially when the world feels brittle.


These performers share a common thread: they treat comedy not as escape, but as confrontation. Their work reflects a generation living through economic precarity, political fatigue, and digital overload — yet still finding ways to laugh, connect, and resist. In their hands, comedy becomes a form of empathy, a way to reclaim joy from cynicism.

As the Fringe approaches, Counter Culture will be watching closely. The question is not simply who will make us laugh, but who will make us think — and, perhaps, who will remind us that laughter itself is an act of resistance.

By Pat Harrington


Picture Credits

  • Caroline McEvoy — photography by Rebecca Need‑Menear
  • Su Mi — photography by Michael Julings
  • Cabbage the Clown — photography by Lina Sakoviča
  • Ada & Bron — photography by Michael Julings
  • Ted Milligan — photography by Rebecca Need‑Menear
  • The Mayor and His Daughter — photography by Jamie Mckaela
  • Jacob Nussey — photography by Andy Hollingworth
  • Josh Elton — photography by Michelle Huggleston
  • Rohan Sharma — photography by Rebecca Need‑Menear and Michael Julings
  • Steffan Alun — photography by Michelle Huggleston

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