The Scotsman

Stories that stay with you

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thespace @ Symposium Hall (Venue 43) JJ

Her theme is what distinguis­hes good luck from bad and the way life can turn on an instant.

She sometimes plays little tricks with truth and falsehood but her stories are fundamenta­lly true to life, reflective, wise and sometimes a little bit messy.

Kendall was a stand-up before she forged her storytelli­ng style and has the ability to make an audience laugh at will.

Her loving but perpetuall­y fraught mother is a source of endless fun and she also introduces her rebellious grandmothe­r and talks about her little son.

It is a family divided by geography but united by shared experience.

Kendall’s narrative is fluent, simply told and astonishin­gly beautiful in places. Like life her tone can turn in an instant, taking you from sadness to joy in a moment.

She’ll make you laugh, she’ll make you think. And as you leave the theatre and walk out under the stars Kendall’s stories will still be running around in your head. CLAIRE SMITH

0 Kendall’s narrative spans hemisphere­s while she was still in Russia and her homosexual­ity when she moved to the US, though she partied freely at her Sunset Boulevard mansion, dubbed the Garden of Alla, and ferociousl­y “scrapped my way through the boy’s club”.

Grainy photograph­s and footage of Nazimova and her world flicker behind Nordlinger, like hazy black and white memories of a character who lived her life in saturated technicolo­ur. FIONA SHEPHERD music fan and latterly singleton, revelling in the idiosyncra­tic behaviour he can indulge in now he’s alone.

Almost gentlemanl­y in his viewing of porn, Ward has thought long and hard about sex, from his favourite sample of Prince’s moans to the age he’ll be before he truly masters intercours­e, his likening of impending orgasm to galloping horses evocativel­y presented.

Alluding to his ex, Jane, the one who got away, he also memorably depicts a serial killer neighbour and takes phone calls from his sister, who initiated him into the world once he left hardcore Christiani­ty.

His troubled relationsh­ip with his mother meanwhile, forms the bedrock of his hour, Ward’s efforts to reconnect with her going further than anticipate­d.

Initially slow, with mixed success for his initial crowd work, he neverthele­ss artfully draws you into his story without being explicit, drip-feeding you just enough informatio­n to keep you invested. JAY RICHARDSON When we last met Paul Sinha on the Fringe, he was a very happy chappie. He was a regular on ITV quiz The Chase and, in his mid-forties, was in his first gay relationsh­ip, with someone younger than him, better looking than him – he said it, we aren’t given the visual evidence – and a trainee solicitor. This last point was like all his parents’ Christmase­s coming together. Well, he’s still on The Chase… After spending three weeks telling 2015 audiences how well everything was going, he returned home only to be dumped under pretty unusual circumstan­ces.

And things didn’t get any better, as the one-time locum doctor was beset by several days that were, at best, rubbish.

Which, in the hands of Sinha, makes for comedy gold. A confident, engaging performer, he’s relaxed enough to go a little off-route without losing control of his narrative, whose constituen­t parts include, but aren’t limited to, the day adolescenc­e kicked in, his autistic nephew, neck heckles and looking for love among quiz geeks.

So has he found a new man in the last couple of years? I shan’t spoil that one, let’s just hope Sinha gets past this month without incident.

Though if he doesn’t, that’s his next show sorted. MARTIN GRAY Pleasance Dome (Venue 23) JJ Do you know how it feels to be a 34-year-old woman who desperatel­y wants a child? No? Nor do I. Jenny Bede has created a one-woman musical comedy about wanting a baby with no notion that people in her audience might have a different experience of life.

An actress pretending to be a comic, she does impression­s of her friends, screeches unfunny observatio­ns about her sex life into a microphone and, most unpleasant­ly of all, bursts into song. With the volume in this tiny room turned up to the max, you feel like your ears are bleeding. CLAIRE SMITH

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