Funny diversion to cross

is not going to do it any more. She is too angry for comedy. Anger is new to Hannah. But, it has to be said, she is embracing it like a pro. She has a lifetime of things to be angry about and now she has found her anger she, for one last time, is kind enough to wrap it in beautiful, powerful and even funny words so we can try to understand it.

As an art historian, Hannah understands the power of the story, and of where we place the focus in the story, and by the end, so do we. When you understand Hannah’s story you understand why she is walking away from comedy.

Her words are beautiful and awful when she speaks of “soaking children in shame”, when she talks about her mum and when she charts her own path to discovering anger in a London hotel room.

You have always mattered, Hannah. Sorry we weren’t a bit better. KATE COPSTICK neighbourhood porn studio is merely an accidental refuge for protagonist Chase, where he is taken in by kindly porn director Carl and his kooky crew while fleeing local drug baron Mason.

Sadly, the cast don’t have the collective vocal or acting skills or even just the necessary conviction to make this implausible premise work, and the sometimes tortuous results are more likely to induce titters of embarrassment than moans of ecstasy. FIONA SHEPHERD rarely land, but the show is full of them. The sketches are linked thematically by the apocalyptic potential of Trump and Brexit. They’re skilfully performed, but I didn’t laugh or smile once. PAUL WHITELAW Underbelly Med Quad (Venue 302) JJ “I’m from the trendy part of town,” says Tamar Broadbent. “That’s right. East London.” Good grief.

Broadbent is a musical comic locked in a self-referential world of hipsters, lattes and bikini waxing. Her observations are obvious, her songs a sort of quasi-musical theatre style, and her voice thin and strained. At one point she lets slip that she’s a teacher, which makes sense. She asks the audience for suggestions and completely disregards them.

“Let’s have a cheer from the blondes,” she says. “It is more fun, isn’t it.” Not so much. CLAIRE SMITH This fresh and funny show about losing your virginity should shame many professional productions on the Fringe. Performed by Loose Cannon, a newly formed company made up of students from a variety of disciplines at Bristol University, it’s a remarkably fluid collage made up from 300 recorded interviews and anonymous written submissions (the audience is invited to submit their own after the show).

Six talented young performers (four women and two men – a pretty accurate gender split when it comes to talking about emotions there) recite a variety of frank, funny or embarrassed testimonies, mime to the audio of actual interviews, perform a stand-up comedy routine about “losin’ it” and, in one extremely funny moment, the dialogue track to 50 Shades of Grey’s “contract” scene. It could so easily be an unwieldy mess but the supremely confident staging keeps proceedings (and the cast) constantly moving without misstep. Although front-loaded with humour to break down the taboos and embarrassment there’s also a serious side to the show as demonstrated in a substantial dramatic monologue towards the end about a young Christian girl’s first time with an emotional manipulative older boy which is sensitively performed and rather heartbreaking. RORY FORD thespace @ Jury’s Inn (Venue 260) J In this portentously named play from the excellently named Gin and Chronic Theatre Company, a widower gets too deeply involved with the pharmaceutical company whose drug keeps his memories of his wife alive.

It’s a neat idea for a story, concocted from equal parts Limitless and Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, but writer Chris Townsend’s occasionally clunky dialogue and frequently flat characterisation don’t do it justice. NIKI BOYLE