It’s been almost ten years since Michelle Wolf was last at the Fringe, where she was nominated for best newcomer, and her stature has only continued to grow in the meantime, partly due to the infamous 2018 White House Correspondents’ Dinner, where she took down Trump in his place of power.
Well, a fat lot of good that did, and she’s still justifiably angry, although she wisely steers away from addressing Trump too much by name.
Instead, the anger is more diffuse, alighting mainly on things that can’t really be changed by anyone. Yes, she’s eight months pregnant as she performs this show, and yes, she’s suffering from intrahepatic cholestasis, a pregnancy disease of the liver which causes intense itching beneath the skin, and means she has to strictly regulate her diet to fruit and vegetables while feeling hungrier than she ever has in her life. She’s in a good position to be talking about how life’s unfair.
With a two-year-old back at the hotel as well as the bun in the oven, most of Wolf’s material is focused on motherhood, particularly the ways in which society lets down women, isolating them from the communities that would have helped raise the baby in times past.
It elicits a lot of laughs and many groans of recognition, but there’s a tepidness to the observations that feels indicative of parenthood creep.
In her era of life, it’s totally understandable that Wolf isn’t spending as much time as she used to in comedy clubs. If she was, she might have noticed that jokes about women’s clothes not having pockets became hack at least five years ago, and at the very least is not the runner that you should hang your whole show on. Having just come from whip smart Pierre Novellie across town, some of her observational material felt laboured and simple.
There’s nothing wrong with the delivery, though, and she’s just as likely to hit as to miss. A smoothly gifted storyteller, she’s best when relating things that have actually happened to her, as there’s less of a chance we’ve heard that stuff before. In particular, a story about her baby throwing up is brilliantly repulsive. Emetophobes stay well clear.
Starry American names have their place at the Fringe, but in the midst of all the madness and creativity of the festival, some of them can’t help but seem a bit run-of-the-mill in their pursuit of the middle ground.
• Michelle Wolf's Fringe run ends tomorrow
