Donald Robertson Is Not a Stand-Up Comedian

Standup comedy has become so self-referential in recent years that it’s actually quite common for acts to discuss the mechanics of their routines mid-way through performing them. Just as mother-in-laws were once the preferred targets of tuxedoed bigots, today's crop of clued-up iconoclasts oppose the conventions of comedy itself. In this respect, Donald Robertson Is Not a Stand-Up Comedian is somewhat redundant, however unaccustomed theatre audiences are to its self-aware fourth wall breaking.

Set in the Edinburgh Chuckle Hut, a venue complete with an incongruously American red brick backdrop, this story is related to us by a mediocre, largely unsuccessful standup. When he first takes to the stage, his nerves get the better of him and he begins to vie for the audience's attention in the most obnoxious manner possible. Chastened by our response, he requests permission to start again and proceeds to open up to us. He describes his relationship with the young title character, a victim of bullying to whom he briefly taught basic standup skills as a means of self-defence. Along the way, he tells a series of groan-inducing gags and explains comedy terminology such as "the rule of three" and "first person fallibility. Ultimately meditating on the desires for control, validation and power that might drive an individual toward a career in standup, this resoundingly masculine work is never as funny or insightful as the real thing at its best.