Edinburgh Fringe comedy review

Waving the Stars and Stripes proudly above her head, Jena Friedman enters singing ‘I’m proud to be an American’ from the Maga anthem God Bless the USA, faking an allegiance to the regime in the hope they won’t persecute her.

Besides, country music has yet to produce a song called I’m Scared And Angry To Be An American. And even if such a track did exist, it would barely scratch the surface of the revulsion the comedian feels at what’s happening to her nation.

It’s very raw, the fear and fury she feels at America’s rapid descent into despotism, with border officers demanding to know if she makes fun of politicians before allowing her to enter her own country.

If she feels betrayed and let down, it’s a feeling she has already come to know thanks to her demanding, tactless mother, and that troubled relationship forms another key strand of the show. Friedman recently became a parent herself, around the same time her mum was diagnosed with the cancer that would claim her life, sparking a maelstrom of competing emotions. 

She's inherited the blunt-speaking gene, and this show is, at present, more defined by her visceral feelings and prickly attitude than by carefully crafted jokes. Professional cameras are filming this performance, though its rawness makes it feel far from a slick special.

Jokes tend to be defined by a mordant, biting snark, although sometimes a playfulness sneaks through, especially on the gags that fit her career aim, stated only partially tongue-in-cheek, of ‘making men uncomfortable’. Other times the bitterness is very real as, for example, she doxxes prominent Republicans over their shameful voting records on women’s reproductive rights.

Often Friedman can only pull a sort of faux-innocent ‘uh-oh’ face after a punchline, as if she’s accidentally let slip a home truth, when in truth it’s the expression of some astringent feeling that’s been stewing inside her.

Just as emotionally tender are the stories of her complicated grief, and some of the intimate details of her pregnancy.  She’s clearly still processing a lot of this, even a couple of years on. 

A bleakness therefore underpins some of the material. Routines are howls of outrage, paid off in bitter sarcasm rather than a reassuring punchline, which would probably seem a disingenuous sop.

While the power of her attitude is intoxicating, it has yet to find form in a show able to balance the dark with the light, and offer a bit more comic relief amid the issues she needs to talk about.

Review date: 16 Aug 2025
Reviewed by: Steve Bennett
Reviewed at: Monkey Barrel Comedy (The Hive)