Edinburgh Fringe comedy review

In her approach to comedy, Lorna Rose Treen is something of an old soul. Her 24 Hour Diner People has the sensibilities of those 1950s radio shows where big variety-hall performances were shoehorned into a prototype sitcom format, with just enough ridiculous plotting to connect the exaggerated characters and punny jokes, however corny, that worked so well on the stage.

Talking of which, Treen (in)famously won the now-‘resting’ joke of the Fringe contest a couple of years back with a line so cheesy that The Sun declared she had ‘killed comedy’ – which is a bit rich for a tabloid known for its own creaky wordplay. 

Well, her follow-up to that breakthrough show, Skin Pigeon, features plenty more for The Sun's writers to hate from their office. But in the room, the audience are all on the same page, fully buying into the ridiculousness of it all and giving a triumphant cheer for the more groanworthy lines.

Because Treen’s having so much fun being silly, she gives permission for the crowd to just go with it too, sometimes directly so, by getting a few people to play along as characters frequenting the Blue Tit Diner in small-town America.

The comic adopts the persona of the long-suffering waitress who knows all the regulars. Except for when she has to become one of the customers, when a blow-up doll takes her place behind the counter.

We meet the truck driver with unfeasibly large arms; the awkward teenager with intimidating  braces on her teeth getting insanely horny in anticipation of her first kiss; an undercover spy adept at hiding in the most unlikely places; and an earnest woman ‘Eat, Pray Love-ing’ her way around the States, who could almost be Treen’s memorable Girl Scout character from Skin Pigeon.

Broadly drawn, they all have a generally upbeat approach to life, in tune with the fun Treen is clearly having dicking around with them. Even the female half of the coupled-up crooks hell-bent on robbing the joint, Pulp Fiction-style, is not a lost cause – although her boyfriend, drawn from the crowd to spout deliberately clunky gangster dialogue, is. 

In the wrong hands this could all collapse under the weight of its own eccentricities, but Treen – co-creator of the Radio 4 Women’s Hour parody Time of the Week – strikes a perfect balance between knowing how dumb and uncool the show is, yet performing it with zest and palpable joy… which proves highly  infectious.

Review date: 3 Aug 2025
Reviewed by: Steve Bennett