Sophie Wu is Minging, She Looks Like She’s Dead

Firstly, a big boooo to the organisers of this late-starting PBH Free Fringe gig at the Wee Red Room for one of the least friendly welcomes in Edinburgh: not only are drinks banned (huh?), but there are festival-style bag searches, surly security staff and an enforced, previously unadvertised over-18s only policy, leaving at least one audience member stranded on the wrong side of the door.

Not that any of this is Sophie Wu's fault, of course, and the elfin star of Fresh Meat’s sunshiny demeanour provides a much-needed tonic to the militancy around her.

This afternoon, Wu tells us, she’s taking it back. It’s Edinburgh, 1998, and her pubescent days of house parties, boys, botanical gardens and, um, hand rape, are in full swing. Except, somewhat unbelievably given the present day incarnation, the teen Wu is something of an isolated, acne-ravaged outcast. Can you spot what’s coming?

The conceit—as regurgitated incessantly by everyone from Sue Townsend to Helen Fielding to all the other Ugly Bettys and Mean Girls of this world—would ideally give life to some choice outsider comedy and hard-won underdog epiphanies. Except that nothing of any real interest actually happens to Sophie. There’s unrequited love, the odd scrape with mum, a fumble on the dancefloor and—gulp!—one too many vodkas here and there, but it’s hardly ripping the lid off Generation Y.

Despite the breezily articulate delivery and undeniable pleasantness, Wu’s solo debut is just a bit beige – epitomised by a closing, tacked-on life lesson that rings particularly hollow.