Edinburgh Fringe comedy review

In terms of the styles of comedy on offer, this was probably one of the most diverse Chortle student finals yet. Comparing an analytical set written specifically about the competition with a whimsical flight of fancy rich with quirky observational asides is like comparing apples and… well something a lot more different than oranges. 

That’s why judges decided to split the title for the first time ever. The analytical set came from American Anna Rae George, drawing on her Oxford PhD work in artificial intelligence and data science to produce the cold-hard stats on the 3,000 previous entrants and any biases I might have expressed in Chortle reviews to try to game the result in her favour. Apparently it worked.

The sense of mischief that led her to do this research was also evident in the jokes she tagged it with, adding to the joke by self-deprecatingly calling herself an ‘award-losing comedian’, having been an unplaced finalist last year.

This is not a set she can use anywhere else, but it was also a strategy Simon Bird repeatedly used back in the days when he took part – and while he never won, it didn’t do his career much harm…

George shared the title with the offbeat Fred Carver, a softly-spoken, baby-faced comic who sets out his idiosyncratic stall with an opening routine suggesting an alternative to licking your fingers to turn the pages of a book. 

His gentle charm welcomes audiences into his eccentric world, where he lives an alternative to the  CEO lifestyle, his driving instructor is creepily flirtatious and Banksy is working on the moon.

There’s some delightful phraseology as he slyly makes points about living in flatshares and being in thrall to social media algorithms in a well put-together package that was charming and unexpected from start to finish.

The runner-up place went to Kwesi Sekyi, a confident and charismatic performer. He insists that he needs an edge to define himself in comedy, but he flirts with tricky subjects with a sardonic commentary that gives him a unique angle.

He cheekily mocks white liberal guilt expressed at a slavery museum or ADHD for not being a ‘real’ mental disorder, even though he’s been diagnosed with it, diminishing the condition with a memorable analogy. And joking about the adverts on a radio station aimed at London’s young black population may be a niche set-up, but everyone can understand how it’s bizarre. 

The night was opened by Sofia Lambis, whose still, low-key style contrasted starkly with the pounding rock track that played her on. She’s an English student and proudly bookish, which formed the basis of her set – after a pleasing gag about confusing two very different high-profile figures.

But what she most needed to talk about was discovering a namesake who dominates the Google search results – a woman who’s also keen bookworm, although her tastes are a lot more, well, pornographic.  This was a fine example of storytelling, letting the information unfold bit by bit to build up an increasing detailed picture of her frustrations, with a gag at every turn.

Irish comic Robert Mac an Tuile was next, a slick pro in his punchy delivery and leaning into his geekiness as a maths student. Though he’s tried to get into art, the non-evidence-based interpretations he was given of some Goya paintings are greeted with comic incredulity. 

And trying to escape the nerdy image gives credibility to his stories about being very proud to be buying condoms, since it makes him look cool. Whatever his real life, he certainly seems in command on the stage.

Condoms also featured in Anoushay Okhai's set, having being given a huge bag when she didn’t really need them.

That was, however, merely a throwaway section before getting the the meat of her set, calling out sexism. She is on a war studies course that’s trying to become more gender inclusive, with not much conviction. This sets up one of the most niche topics you might see all festival, about one specific misogynistic academic, but the conclusion she drew from his stance is exquisite.  

Similarly she takes aim at sexism in Brewdog pubs with righteous irritation, highlighting the absurdity of its ineffective posturing.

Closing the night Kathy Rivett bursts out in an explosion of mad energy dancing around the stage in party hat and coloured tassels hanging off her jacket and yelling: ‘Can your boyfriend do this?’ It’s daft and funny - and actually sets up a strong gag too.

Beyond that, she’s a breathless dealer in one-liners and silly short routines, from turtle deaths, why she’ll never buy a house and how Gen Zs like her are definitely ruining comedy. And the most controversial opinion of the night: calling Paddington a twat. 

» Watch the comedians’ sets here.

Review date: 13 Aug 2025
Reviewed by: Steve Bennett
Reviewed at: Pleasance Courtyard