Banterous and dangerous, this night of eclectic stand-up comedy is in the hands of three very capable performers. Our host for the evening, Scott Gibson, is a large, formidable-looking Glaswegian man, both Scot and Scotophile, equipped with bushy beard and verbal vulgarisms. Initially it seems like Gibson’s playing it safe. He chats with us, enquires about homelands, occupations, marital statuses. Then, he brings out the big guns that make the show well worthy of its late night title. A woman sat beside her boyfriend in the front row is comically drunk. Gibson enquires as to why said boyfriend has taken her to a sweaty underground room to sober her up, as if to make sure she ‘remembers the pounding she’s about to get when you take her home’. It’s a bit of a shock, but everyone is laughing, none more so than the couple in the front row.
This is a night of comedy not exceptional in its experimentation
Danny Deegan, the last act, is also roguish. Although perhaps not as controversial as he thinks he is, this Northerner certainly has a childish, sometimes cruel charm to his comedy. His material covered the desired death of rich relatives, the poor quality of his set, how the Fringe is where dreams go to die, all the while managing to squeeze in a healthy dose of bullying the audience. Deegan is strangely engaging, a confident performer who kept us giggling throughout.
Sandwiched between filth and filth was Glenn Moore, fresh-faced, straight out of university and with virginity jokes galore. Like a mixture between the nerdy Matthew Crosby and the posh Jack Whitehall, Moore’s comedy is quaint and clever. His set featured plenty of wordplay and a witty deconstruction of the art of storytelling.
This is a night of comedy not exceptional in its experimentation, but well worth watching for its crowd-pleasing success in straight up stand up.
