Jamie Demetriou: People Day

Jamie Demetriou is a special talent. On the night I see his show he’s just been diagnosed with laryngitis. He’s holed away in a tiny Portakabin round the back of the Pleasance Courtyard. Sure, at the top of his register he’s a little raspy and he’s sweating up a storm. But when the lights go down on his solo Fringe debut, the unflinching commitment he dedicates to each of his four characters is mesmerising.

The humour is uproarious, violent almost, and at times delicately nuanced, coming from intonation, a slight tic, an observation of the human condition so consummately recreated before your eyes. Sure, you've heard that said about character comedy before. But have you seen Jamie Demetriou?

Then there are the characters themselves; there’s the loveable musician wrongly billed as a comedian, the deranged, big-headed nanny, the god-fearing, bullied choirboy and the superficially suave absent father. In their fully realised forms they do what good character work should do: they infer an entire world, the details creep in and you are immersed totally in their story. Each is frustrated in their own way, Demetriou taking them to the brink of breakdown and often beyond, finding hilarity in the extremes of emotion. Indeed, his range is really a sight to behold — the contrast between dark and light after viewing big-headed nanny back-to-back with bullied choirboy demonstrates the spectrum contained in his imagination.

It would be callous to denigrate this show for not adhering to some overarching theme. Who cares? This is spectacular comedic work, a genuine thrill tucked away in a sweatbox, as all great discoveries should be.