Edinburgh Fringe comedy review

This is a show like no other. Though I hesitate to use the word ‘show’, as most of what happens here occurs in the spaces between what Ali Brice planned to do.

The nominal plot is that his alter-ego, Eric Meat, is returning to work at the biscuit factory after a long sabbatical, after which he plans to head on down to the Honkers bar for a go on the Deal Or No Deal quiz machine. For then he will have played every such game in the country and, legend has it that once that quest is complete, Noel Edmonds will appear and invite him on to the real show.

At most, this would take ten minutes to cover. The rest of the show is taken up with audience interactions as Brice/Meat takes care to ensure everybody is on board with every minute aspect of the story, getting audience members to explain each reference to each other.

This includes telling foreigners the full Edmonds backstory – including the man killed on his TV show – explaining biscuit industry acronyms or the concept of doughnuts; and debating the make-up of ‘biscuits in cheese and biscuit selection packs’. This strange conversation especially bemuses latecomers and the cheerful Danish man trying to make sense of all this in his second language. 

‘Easily distracted’ barely covers how Brice picks up on the slightest noise in or movement in the room. It may be a comedy show, but that won’t stop the comic demanding to know ‘What are you chucking at?’ from one punter. That can be a hard question to answer at the best of times, as it’s the atmosphere that’s funny, more than any identifiable gags. Another woman is forced to explain herself after being caught adjusting the tongue of her shoe that had become skew-whiff. It feels like the childhood game of statues: if the comic catches you moving, you’re out.

Brice is a hugely likeable performer, clearly enjoying this nonsense, and the interactions are never mean. But they are almost always awkward. Whether it’s him or the punter making things weird, laughs come when the tension is broken and we can move on.

The nature of the beast means some chats result in dead-ends, others are frustrating, as the obvious resolution to a conversational impasse remains tantalisingly out of reach. You just have to submit to the process and accept this; if you don’t you’re in for a long 50 minutes.

As the silliness unfolds, we’re introduced to another couple of characters: a barista who thinks single-origin coffee shops are a sell-out, and the long-nosed barman at Honkers, who concludes his section with the most convoluted musical pun imaginable. 

But you have to admire Brice’s audacity for going to such great lengths to set this up. Not just this one joke, but the whole concept of this delicate, semi-spontaneous endeavour.

Review date: 16 Aug 2025
Reviewed by: Steve Bennett
Reviewed at: PBH's Free Fringe @ Carbon