All stand for a drag delight

Pleasance Courtyard (Venue 33) JJJJ Cayden Hunter is just awful, which is just great for us. Cayden (the deliciously realised creation of character comedian Jon Pointing) is an acting coach, as well as a writer, mentor, all-round smoothy, raging narcissist and fragile self-deluder. In the consistently hilarious Act Natural, we are ushered into his sacred space to benefit from a masterclass in acting which is really, you know, a pathway to self-actualisation, if you’re open to following it, but if you’re not ready yet, that’s cool too. Yeah?

The format is elegantly simple: we in the audience are Cayden’s students, subjected to his pontifications on the craft, his step-by-step guide to meaningful acting, his cringe-making autobiographical devised pieces, a couple of participatory exercises (don’t worry, the spotlight stays firmly on him) and the occasional glimpse of a painfully lost psyche in freefall.

The formal range of the show is impressive, moving from motivational speaking and set-piece monologues to improvisation and mime. Some of the writing veers toward the cartoonish although Pointing’s embodiment of his character’s persona is copper-bottomed.

Cayden stands in the fine British tradition of selfdeluded ogres but he’s no crude stereotype: Pointing has imagined him in nuanced detail, exploiting his own good looks in the name of a character whose egotistical manipulation of his environment is undercut by a palpable need for multiple kinds of validation. He stays the plausible side of grotesque, using judiciously over-articulated physical gestures, over-projected, faintly mid-atlantic delivery, and facial expressions that flicker between self-satisfaction and occasional irritation at a lack of sufficient awe from his students.

Pointing’s engagement with the audience is great too, remaining in character while embracing what happens in the room.

It cements a Faustian pact in which we submit to this would-be arty alpha in the hope he’ll provide something of value. Which, despite himself, he does. BEN WALTERS Underbelly, Cowgate (Venue 61) JJJJJ It is rare, in a Fringe venue, for a show to get a standing ovation. But these ladies deserved every single bum that rose from every single seat. This is a fabulous show. OK, we are not Wembley (they might be slightly confused about their venue) but we have Wembley sized love for them.

Denim are a quintet of queens with voices as true as their wigs are fake. They are knowing, they are funny and they take songs you love and turn them into songs you love even more. Shirley Du Naughty (Hugh Wyld) does things to Old Fashioned Girl that would make Eartha Kitt spit, Aphrodite Greene nee Jones (Charles Parham) could be Ellen Greene’s long lost identical twin, the only discernible difference being Aphrodite’s fabulous bass register. Crystal Vaginova (Tom Rasmussen) is her own kind of fabulous. She has had what might be termed a ‘full’ life so when she lets rip on her version of I Was Here, she The Jazz Bar (Venue 57) JJJJ Lorna Reid manages to bridge the gulf between jazz and country with some panache. The Edinburgh singer-songwriter has a highly personable stage presence as, accompanied by a robust quintet including saxophonist Konrad Wiszniewski, guitarist Neil Warden and pianist Fraser Urquhart, she sings jazz standards and selfpenned numbers with soul.

She opens with a sassy account of the Ella Fitzgerald classic A-tisket, A-tasket that has the audience with her right away, Wiszniewski declaring his credentials in no uncertain manner with a tenor sax break.

Some of Reid’s own material comes with whimsical anecdotes attached, such as the lazy, bossa-tempoed Doggone Good, inspired, we’re led to believe, by a visit to Pitlochry and a Cairn terrier. Another, co-written with Texan singer-songwriter Darden makes Beyonce sound like a mewling kitten. Elektra Cute (Guy Woolf ) is my first fullon Marxist punk queen – yes, that is, as of now, a thing. TBH she seems slightly scary but if you are feeling hopeless, helpless and, well, anything from a bit meh to utterly devastated, listen to Elektra sing Rise Like a Phoenix and your soul will be healed. And then there is the leader of the pack, the queen of these beautiful bees, Glamour La Denim (Amrou Al-khadi). Glamour pretty much has the Iraqi Muslim drag queen thing to herself (“too Iraqi to be gay, to gay to be Iraqi”, she shrugs) and comes to us in many spangles and a wig that is a huge fire hazard. As with Crystal and Elektra, there is heart and soul in her version of So Emotional.

These ladies are not just here for laughs, they are here to make a statement about identity and acceptance. And for laughs. And to celebrate the power of pop music. Yes, even Wrecking Ball. Their three-piece band is spot-on and once again, the Underbelly’s sound tech deserves a medal. KATE COPSTICK Smith, Sweet Baby Blue, is unremarkable in itself, but comes over with real heart, while she takes up acoustic guitar for the country-popish My Anchor – another joint composition, this time with Boo Hewerdine, and delivers Sacrifice Me with a soulful holler, as Wiszniewski, whose sax accompanies her unobtrusively like a second voice, lets rip once more.

Urquhart provides a gentle piano gateway to the Rodgers and Hart title number, which Reid handles with sensitivity, while, in contrast, Bessie Smith’s Sugar in My Bowl shimmies brazenly. For her closing number it’s back to a western vibe for her piquantly titled My Hotel Wrecking Days Are Over. Whether or not we believe her, it comes over convincingly. JIM GILCHRIST ZOO Southside (Venue 82) JJJ Possibly the slowest-moving production at the Fringe (and

0 Denim have much to say as they celebrate the power of pop not necessarily in a bad way), Beam is the second collaboration between performer Lucy Haighton and theatremaker Heather Morgan. It stars Granny (Haighton), an 86-year-old Yorkshirewoman who totters slowly across the stage, a generous smile permanently plastered across her face. In between professing her love of jelly babies, sprigs of lavender and newspaper romance ads, she relates how she journeyed to Canada by ship in her youth, carrying nothing but a dress, ten pairs of pants and a five pound note.

While Granny’s delivery is faultlessly polite and welcoming, the flashbacks to her youth are much less restrained: Haighton’s face clearly registers every moment of panic, trepidation, joy and excitement in her voyage as she glides and spins across the stage. Her impassioned, flowing movements are a marked contrast to Granny’s shuffling steps.

It’s a show where very little happens over a long period of time, but after shifting gear from the bustle of the Fringe, that slowness is a balm. It’s also not a production that aims at any great profundity, other than perhaps reminding you that, before she got into knitting, your dear old gran had grand adventures of her own. NIKI BOYLE Gilded Balloon (Venue 14) JJ She doesn’t say how long she has been a comic but Gráinne Mcguire treads some familiar ground. She has a funny Irish name so she talks about her funny Irish name. She’s Irish but she lives in London so she talks about that. She has a family so she talks about that. You get the idea.

There is not a lot of shape to this show, just a string of mildly amusing observations. Mcguire needs to dig deeper to create something that doesn’t feel so much like a series of ten-minute slots strung together into an hour. CLAIRE SMITH The Stand Comedy Club 3 & 4 (Venue 12) JJJ Lots of people believe audience participation is a form of torture. Louise Reay has taken this to its logical conclusion with an absurdist show about totalitarianism which intentionally makes its audience feel uncomfortable.

We are hustled to our feet, given identity papers and surrounded by masked guards who are watching our behaviour.

In the past Reay, who is fluent in Chinese, has been sponsored by the Chinese government to create absurdist mime shows in Chinese.

It is safe to say Reay and the Chinese government are getting a divorce – particularly as she has worked on this show with dissident artist Ai Weiwei.

She is also getting a divorce in real life – and her heartbreak seeps into this show in painful fashion, bringing Reay to the brink of tears.

It’s a bold experimental comedy which only partly works. Reay has always performed in Chinese and doesn’t have a confident enough style or delivery when she speaks in English.

Also, her portrayal of the BBC as the voice of freedom of speech will not sit well with many Scottish audience members.

She should also have considered the changing political climate. In the light of the election result, her portrayal of Theresa May as the supreme leader is the most absurd thing of all. CLAIRE SMITH C venues – C cubed (Venue 50) JJ Nathan Cassidy’s day job (or rather, his other night job) as a comedian is easy to deduce from this hour: certain sections of the script seem like the extended riffs of a standup set, and he sows the seeds for future call-backs handfuls at a time. For this theatrical endeavour, he employs a few more techniques – a playing card visual motif, at least one grand emotional reveal – but, like the self-referential title, it feels calculated and cynical, and lacks substance. NIKI BOYLE