Edinburgh Fringe comedy review

Lein is the final part in a Fringe trilogy, whose titles have spelled out the Shetland comedian’s name over the past three years. The first, Marj, dealt with the mind, the second, O, was about the body, and  Lein is essentially about the soul.

Both her previous shows were born from trauma, and here she reveals the emotional toll it took to process things so publicly, shares some deep insecurities, and talks of the worst year of her life when she found herself homeless and jobless in Amsterdam.

The previous shows have woven her personal stories with a myth from folklore, and this year’s is no exception. However, the tale of a  girl getting lost in the mountains after the mist descends is relatively simple compared to other legends. At the risk of sounding like a vicar on Thought For The Day, the metaphor here is the straightforward: ‘Haven’t we all been a little bit lost sometimes?’

It’s probably not much of a spoiler to say the fictional girl made it down to safety, with the moral of the story essentially being: persevere.

Resolve got Robertson through her tough year in the Netherlands, where she ended up living with jazz musicians and dabbled in two things that have ruined many a promising comedy career: cannabis… and improv.

OK, cheap joke. Actually she found salvation with that troupe, as well as some nuns, who between them started Robertson on the journey into stand-up and storytelling which has led her here, back out of that metaphorical mist. But what if the thing she loves makes her upset, as the last two shows did? The relationship is complicated.

The girl-in-the-mist story adds a trademark ethereal layer to her personal stories, although some – such as her belief that she has had a secular guardian angel since the age of five – were already otherworldly. In such sections the lyricism of Robertson’s writing combines with her entrancing presence and accent to transport you into her world.

It’s quite affecting. And ultimately heartbreaking to think someone capable of making such emotive art thinks herself ‘unloveable’, as she asserts at the start when she gives a platform to her internal voice of doubt. 

Elsewhere, there are more traditional stand-up routines that don’t always segue seamlessly into the main narrative. She makes mischief about nepotism, especially at the Fringe, talks about her background in town planning in Lerwick and shares the sex dreams she’s had about Orlando Bloom. That leads into a too-niche segment about what you can learn about someone from which Lord Of The Rings character they fancy. It wasn’t the only time she implored the audience to go with her at this gig - but it was the time it was most needed.

More generally, though, you shouldn’t need much encouragement to sign up to her distinctively poetic brand of stand-up, whatever happens now her trilogy is over. Maybe she starts on her surname next… book your tickets for Ro, Bert and Son now…

Review date: 15 Aug 2025
Reviewed by: Steve Bennett
Reviewed at: Pleasance Dome