If I were to condense this review into a single word, it would unfortunately have to be the title.
It’s true: the party doesn’t start until Jesus walks in
Wayne comperes the night with an air of unpreparedness, leading us through an unimpressive line-up of distinctly average performers, of whom several have standalone shows up at the Fringe. The first act – a Glaswegian drag queen – takes her place on stage, and the incorrect backing track is played. Perhaps the night is not going be the accomplished celebration of variety for which I had hoped. Following suit is another drag queen; this time the correct music is played but the queen has decided not to pin her wig and to wear heels she can’t walk in (let alone dance) without falling over.
Australian comedian Rosie Brady manages to save the night a little, bringing her uniquely brash sense of humour to the otherwise dull line-up. Her stand-up routine incorporates how similar the Scottish are to Australians and punchy anecdotes about feminist issues of the modern world entertain before sadly it’s time to return to Gayshit.
Rosie Sings also makes an appearance, using her time to sing and to tell us about the diva lifestyle of her character, but it isn’t enough to attract me to her show.
In the interest of giving credit where due, I was impressed by the Jesus sketch of double-act Hurt and Anderson, in which they discussed the testament as though it had happened in the modern day. It’s true: the party doesn’t start until Jesus walks in (and turns everything to wine). If only he could have been there for the rest of the show – I certainly needed it.
