Soup is a stand up hour kicking off with tales of a ‘Soup Sharing’ WhatsApp group and its tyrannical leader. All of a sudden, conversation turns to CPTSD, bath bombs and worms. It’s a smörgåsbord of treats and giggles.
You would never have thought that the contentious hot liquid could cause such a stir
Spittle’s stand-up demeanour is refreshingly wholesome, which allows her to comically ebb and weave through topics in the blink of an eye. Her tone is conversational and down to earth, which earns further laughs when the audience is hit with a sudden shift to more gruesome material. The organic and improvisational approach is a wonderful choice.
Mental health has become a hot topic for comedians as of late, yet, Spittle’s take is fresh and authentic. The awkwardness of self care and strange internal dialogues build into witty anecdotes that make for laugh-out-loud comedy. The upshot is a touching and hopeful message to not fear the world around us, which is particularly poignant in the current climate.
Though Alison’s more haphazard delivery is funny in its own right, it makes her liable to increasingly bigger gaps in between punchlines, which made the second half of the show lag slightly. I raise this issue hesitantly, as I found Spittle’s charisma so bountiful that I almost didn’t mind. Her bright energy and lightheartedness is the spoonful of sugar that we all need—she would earn good money delivering bad news. I am sure it wouldn’t be difficult for the talented Spittle to amend the dip in jokes and the show’s somewhat unclear ending.
Her soup material, however, is epic. You would never have thought that the contentious hot liquid could cause such a stir. Tied in to the cost of living crisis and personality profiling, Spittle impressively manages to continuously earn a mighty response from her uplifted audience. It is this that justifies Soup as a hot tasty treat for the Fringe-goer.
