Seann Walsh: The Lie-in King

It's one of the key rules of comedy that standups must open their shows with an extended list of all the celebrities, historical figures and stereotypes to which they bear a passing resemblance. Seann Walsh falters during these integral few moments, for although he does indeed call Justin Lee Collins, Jesus Christ and a legion of homeless men to mind, the image he most strongly evokes is that of Steve Coogan performing in character as a hack comedian.

Having apparently made a conscious decision to address only the subjects his colleagues find too trite and banal to bother with themselves, Walsh's fourth Fringe finds him utterly bereft of ideas. In their place is a list of mild grievances, the performer proceeding to act out each observation while never once expanding upon the original gag. He's a fine physical performer, but these interludes are exhausting to watch and lend the hour an air of hopeless inevitability.

For many, it may be best to approach The Lie-in King as an insight into the hell of the careerist comic's mind, a place in which the tedious minutiae of everyday life is pored over in agonising detail, with only small doses of respite. Others will find it one of the festival's most consistent offerings. It's possible that his words strike a chord with the capacity audience, or perhaps he's just got a knack for selling poor material. Crucially, any criticism of Walsh's work is irrelevant because he can chalk tonight's gig up as another resounding victory on the road to certain stardom.