Good to know (and I mean this seriously) that Edinburgh comedy is not cowed by squeamish PC seriousness. If you can’t laugh at everything, you probably can’t laugh at anything for long. So here is Victor Frankenstein, driven by rivalry with his old schoolfriend, competing for the coveted academic chair of P.A.E.D.O. (Physics of Artificial Expertise in Developing Organisms). He must invigorate a Creature, sending Igor (an Avenue Q puppet obsessed with musical theatre) to fetch body parts. But Igor is careless with the liver, so the otherwise perfect, mop-haired creature can’t take his drink, sings a lot of Rolf Harris tunes to his own slurring words, and after one tot of whisky becomes – well, the floppy blond wig sort of gives it away.


Hey, why not? We have lived in an atmosphere of hushed horror for too long. Laugh at the wicked: it’s better than cringing. Not that this particular strand goes far, for they’ve a tale to tell. In a flurry of songs, dopy jokes and clever ones, by way of a wickedly parodied University Alcohol Awareness seminar and a full Chippendale silver-thong routine, Mary Shelley’s tale of Dr Frankenstein and his creation Frankie is traduced in fifty hugely enjoyable minutes.
This is Last Chance Saloon again – Sam Dunham, Jack Faires and Jack Gogarty. I saw their Dracula two years ago with delight and I am frankly (ha ha, see what I did there?) a fan. Their shows are intensely silly but also intensely disciplined: they understand audience atmosphere and pick it up, but are masterly with their vaudeville and slapstick skills. No sound-effect misses by as much as a millisecond, no joke outlives its mayfly impact. These things matter, especially here this month where , up and down the roaring, laughing, chaotic Fringe lanes, there is so much sloppier comedy. Welcome back, lads. to 24 August

rating:  4  4 Meece Rating



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