Review by Steve Bennett

Character comics love creating lifestyle gurus and one of this year’s crop is flirtation expert Gay Furnish, the alter ego of Charlotte McDougall – who is both a member of Radio 4 sketch troupe The Bearded Ladies, and a ‘personal development coach’ in real life.

And it would not be much of a spoiler to give away the fact that Ms Furnish hasn’t quite got her own life together in the same way she preaches.

She is a brash suburbanite with a nasal voice and a gusset-flashingly short skirt. She sees herself as sensual, successful and sophisticated – though in truth she is none of these things. She frequently drops malapropisms, not especially hilarious ones, just enough to portray the gap between her aspirations and her ability.

She’s a bold, brash, cabaret-style parody, not big on subtlety and quite under-written. With heavy dependence on one audience victim – and tonight’s chosen one was a wonderfully good sport – the vibe is that of a Knockabout gameshow, fun but slight. Another front-row punter was singled out for insults, amusingly cruel even if Furnish is no Dame Edna, a clear role model.

Early doors, our guru sings a parody of A, You’re Adorable including such lines as ‘D is for dogging’ and ‘L is for ladygardens smelling of trout’. That’s the general level: plenty of knob gags and even the sort of ‘pussy’ pun Mrs Slocombe might baulk at.

A few touches elevate it from this quality basement, particularly the non-sequiturs Furnish spouts, from stray thoughts that enter her brain to longer a reverie recalling her erotic dream about Theo Paphites. Pianist Chad Le Long adds an occasional laugh too, especially with his most minimal of jingles introducing each section.

Perhaps aware that Furnish is not really a character who can sustain a full hour, McDougall also introduces us to Eileen Spangle, an ageing, much-married star of musical theatre, to sing a show tune about not being dead yet and diva it up in another exaggerated performance.

McDougall also becomes a businesswoman, speaking in corporate, Sir Humphry-style bullshit even when discussing her children (‘junior associates’), and an Aussie fitness instructor Casey with a huge arse, bottle-top glasses and an inability to count. And that seems to be the only joke.

There’s a lot of oomph to all these personalities, but the vigour of the performance is not matched with a rigour in the script to paint the characters in anything but the broadest strokes.

Review date: 8 Aug 2015
Reviewed by: Steve Bennett
Reviewed at: Underbelly Cowgate