Edinburgh Fringe comedy review

Bursting onto stage in an explosion of sunny, slightly damaged confidence and flamboyant mannerisms, Jessie Nixon immediately nails her flag to the mast of what type of comic she wants to be. ‘Sexy, greedy little slut! Bisexual; non-practising! [peace sign, leg pop, sticking out tongue]'. 

It’s the familiar play of monstrous egotism, but make it girly. Catherine Cohen is the forerunner, and I’m sure a lot of the acts that followed owe a lot to her, but she’s merely the form’s most accomplished practitioner; it’s something that’s been bubbling under culture’s surface for a long time.

Nixon – one of the Chortle Hotshots making their debut this year –  is very good at it too. She wields a messy, overpowering charisma, a quick wit and a tight script; you can almost see the early-evening crowd’s hair blowing back as she launches into some of her more explicit stuff. 

And in case we were ever in danger of mistaking her for a single threat, she also performs Tim Key-style narrative poetry and blasts through a solid country song about the weird men who hit her up on Instagram, despite also choking on loose fibres from her false moustache. Like Helen Bauer’s work, it’s designed to be Too Much from the get-go, and that’s a big part of what makes it funny.

You’ll notice there’s been a lot of comparisons deployed already in this review, which hints at Nixon’s biggest weakness. She’s undeniably funny, but has yet to hit on anything truly distinctive about herself. I’m not saying the persona is consciously cobbled together from its influences, but when we drill down into it, every act has some kernel of unmistakeable selfhood that they can bring to bear in their work. And Nixon will find hers too, it’s only a matter of time.

Interestingly, the closest she gets in this debut show is towards the end, as you realise the sunniness has been slightly draining out of the room since the beginning, and Nixon goes in pretty hard on men and the male gaze, to the extent that it becomes quite venomous. 

At this point, semi-ironic ‘misandry,’ as Nixon describes it, is an almost universal pose among comedians of all genders, and while it can get a little repetitive seeing it in every show I understand the reasons for it and have no issue with it. 

In Nixon’s case though, the way it’s deployed rings a little false. She’s keen to offset her party girl image and obsession with surfaces via some carefully deployed feminist theory language, but it feels like protesting too much, like she’s peeking out from behind the character to save face.

The synthesis of her interests will occur more naturally as she finds her distinctive persona. Excitingly, she’s already capable of delivering a boisterous and fun night out.

Review date: 16 Aug 2025
Reviewed by: Tim Harding