Bec Hill: Out Of Order

"I'm not an edgy comedian, I'm just an immature one", proclaims Bec Hill. The line between edge and immaturity will scarce be toed more precariously this Fringe than in the "pop-up book of terrorism" she's brought along with her this year. Sinister show-and-tell, or playful creativity? Your answer to this is probably a decent gauge for your enjoyment of Out Of Order.

The Aussie comic is self confessedly a standup who thrives on a live rapport with her audience, rather than a clean-cut TV-friendly act. She specialises in organised chaos, no better illustrated than by the structural gambit at the heart of this hour: the entirety of her material is compartmentalised into post-it notes arranged on stage, and she calls on her audience to shout out the joke they want to hear next.

It's more than just a gimmick (there's genuine, anarchic fun to be had in deciding the order of her show) but her deconstruction of the comic form does tend to disrupt her flow, and the result is slightly disjointed. The material itself is a blend of throwaway puns and narrative bits. The gags are performed with cheery whimsy, offsetting the mordant sting at the heart of her sense of humour.

At times it feels a little too close to PG-13; a stifled attempt at something darker. Perhaps she's casting her comic net too wide and trying to please too many. The good news is that means you're bound to find something to your taste here.