Mae Day

39658 original

Ideally, a standup show should be judged once it has been practiced and polished; on the opening performance, some missteps and uncertainties can be forgiven. So it is all the more impressive that, on the first night of Canadian comic Mae Martin's Fringe run (the 'arc' of which she admits is still evolving), she turns in a warm, vibrant, involving and very funny meditation on the imminent apocalypse, the horrifying truth about Kesha, the effect of Buffy the Vampire Slayer on burgeoning sexuality, adolescent crushes on camp councillors and the meaning of being young.

Mae Day is an uneven mixture of music and standup. While the songs don't lack charm (helped by Martin's solid, Amanda Palmer-esque singing voice) and usually reach their punchline so quickly they finish in under a minute, they do pale in comparison with the disarming, sweetly genuine, off-kilter monologues in between.

There are two challenges for the autobiographical comedian. Firstly, their life must be funny or at least contain enough amusement to entertain an audience of strangers and, secondly, it has to be interesting. Many can achieve the former, but few the latter. The plentiful laughs Martin elicits show her comic talents are not in question but, by the show's end, the audience are also fascinated by her life, opinions, neuroses and fantasies. 

Balancing wry cynicism, knowing innocence, self-deprecating sentimentality and a sardonic awareness of her own eccentricities, the worst you can say is that, sometimes, she doesn't seem to think herself worthy of such interest. Those willing to invest themselves in her story, however, will be rewarded.