I can't help thinking that somebody, somewhere must have watched Oliver Maltman's show, Little Black Book, before he brought it up to Edinburgh; but clearly didn't have the balls to tell him it just wasn't funny.
Maltman's comedy is character based, and this show was delivered by four of his grotesque creations. The Bank Manager from Theydon Bois; an American redneck called Bobby Donker; Professor Warwick Castle whose accent jumped skittishly between plumy R.P. and Kenneth Williams' East End, and a German performance artist who attempted to cure afflictions through mime.
The real problem is that the material he's working with is shoddy. It's pretentious and self-indulgent and barely raises a titter. The characterisations occasionally got interesting, particularly the nutty professor, but by this point the audience were elsewhere. Possibly wishing they'd stayed in the bar and had another pint rather than joining the few that had ventured into this hot room.
