[kuh-MEE-dee-uhn]

While definitely one of the more eye-catching and ingenious titles at the Fringe, Martin Mor's hour of randomly generated and "bespoke" comedy is less noteworthy.

It's a pity on various levels. First, the conceit that we dice roll against him to get the right to ask him a question or be asked a question was always unlikely to lead to routines as interesting as those in his previous shows. Second, it's a shame to dress down a performer with the ability to make a gig feel like a hostage situation but who still errs on the right side of coercion.

[kuh-MEE-dee-uhn] is essentially extended banter with little or no room for any extended stories or routines. The burly Northern Irishman teases and coaxes his audience to talk about subjects as delicate as penis size and shape, and has particular fun with two white Kenyans on the front row, one of whom has just taken part in the Commonwealth Games.

We all get some attention, but no one ends up feeling violated. We are, however, occasionally perplexed by moments such as when Mor asks why Kenya are in the Commonwealth Games and the likening of his preferred genital shape to a nuclear button.

It's not all knob gags, there's juggling too. In fact there is sufficient here for many in his audience to leave happy enough, but, while the balance between playfulness and menace is entertaining in itself, there is room for more content and less gimmickery.