Dane Baptiste: Citizen Dane

Dane Baptiste makes his Edinburgh standup debut as—he tells us—“one of the seven black comedians.” This kicks off a set which mines hit-and-miss humour from his sense of difference and exclusion growing up.

The child of Granadian immigrants who came to the UK in the 60s, Baptiste sets his own struggles against his parents’ experience of racism and his friends’ broken homes. He makes some well-judged ironic contrasts as he talks about envying presents lavished on his schoolmates by their divorced parents.

The best elements here evoke the complicated selfishness of being young and feeling out of place. Baptiste has a nice way of spinning spiky jokes out of little things—his dismay that Granada is known for nutmeg and his annoyance at being a twin—but also inter-generational tensions.

His semi-confrontational style of delivery adds an interesting tension to even the most innocuous punchlines. Sharp humour is edged by a rumble of aggression that never lets us slip into complacency about the inequalities he describes.

But this is mixed with misjudged moments of boorish schoolboy humour that leave a sour aftertaste. A joke about friends “changing sexuality” when faced with wasps isn’t leavened by anything to make it funny other than a mincing run.

This tone is there from the start and gets stronger towards the end of the set, as Baptiste raises fewer laughs. It’s an unfortunate contrast with the promise of his material and jars with the inclusivity he says he’s found in comedy.