Review by Steve Bennett

There’s a particular form of one-person show, usually favoured by thespians and/or Americans, which are designed primarily as live calling-cards. They usually come with an over-earnest introduction in a desperate bid to inject some pretentious intellectual weight to the proceedings, every scene of which is designed first to showcase a different talent, and only secondly to entertain.

Rebecca Drysdale’s Edinburgh debut fits this pattern closely. A formal introduction gives the dictionary definition of the word ‘pieces’ (for those people who still remember the exact title of shows when they arrive at them), as Drysdale loftily intones: ‘Let us consider for a moment what it means to be known…’ And continues to spout some cod psychobabble about needing to see people in various situations until, piece by piece, you can build up a true picture of their character.

Saying ‘here are some sketches about me’ – or even nothing at all - would have done the trick with a lot more precision and a lot less conceit.

Subsequently, true to the blueprint, she show off her acting, her rapping, her singing, her poetry, her ability to play guitar, her lack of embarrassment as she strips completely naked to mime out her morning routine…

It was, presumably, such demonstration of her versatility that helped her win the award for best ‘break-out’ performer at the 2005 Aspen Comedy Festival. That, and the fact that despite the stiflingly rigid presentation, there are some strong comic ideas.

Predictably enough, it’s when Drysdale gets away from the straitjacket of Performance with a capital P, that the show most comes alive. Starting from the old tragedy+time formula for comedy, she ponders why she can’t make jokes about 9/11 yet. It’s a relaxed stand-up slot, and all the more naturally funny for it, especially when she comes to devise ontemporary nursery rhymes based around modern tragedy.

Her poem – unlikely as it may seem – also provides another highlight, detailing a fantasised fashion battle between tribes of fem and butch lesbians. And the flashback sketch that comes just after her pompous prologue, casting her back as an awkward 12-year-old nervously giving her bat mitzvah speech, is endearing and amusing.

Other monologues are less rewarding, especially an over-long and under-funny one in which she describes feeling threatened by a potential attacker, which contains very creaky gags.

If she was one to watch in 2005, the same probably applies today. There are some fine moments in this show, and Drysdale has clearly got many talents – the human showreel can certainly be considered a success on that score. But as a whole it takes itself a bit too seriously, and isn’t consistently strong enough to be a stand-out. Even getting naked isn’t enough for that these days…

Reviewed by: Steve Bennett

Review date: 1 Jan 2007
Reviewed by: Steve Bennett