Edinburgh Fringe comedy review

When Aditya Mayya first got into comedy, he was enticed by the much-vaunted idea that you can get up on stage and say absolutely anything. Yet when he did start stand-up, he found that almost every other comedian took that freedom to mean you should tell the unvarnished truth as you saw it. 

Yet he confesses that he loves to lie, arguing that every good story is, at heart, untrue – so why be confined by reality? ‘I just like telling jokes,’ he tells his audience, and often wildly inappropriate ones too. For he is a man who hates sincerity – and while acknowledging that might not be the healthiest way to engage with the world, it is very good for comedy.

This is all sharply relevant, because the New York-based Canadian has a strong story to tell in his Edinburgh debut, which is squarely at odds with his more primal instincts to be a wisecracker.

His brother died by suicide at an early age, and if that's not a prime subject for poignant award fodder, I don't know what is. Yet Mayya’s every instinct is to resist doing the now-ubiquitous hour that talks sincerely about death and loss and ends with a broadly positive message about seizing life.

He’s first to admit that his flippancy signifies an emotional immaturity – but it was something he shared with his brother. They spent their last conversation concocting a crass comedy sketch, pitching ‘pussy bread’ to a Dragons’ Den-type TV show. In a similar vein, Mayya came up with a barrage of jokes for his brother’s eulogy, retold here in a section that reminds us all of the absurdity of Covid-era funerals. 

Truth like this finds a way of getting into his story, however much he wants to mess with us. Mayya loves to lead us astray, for example, leaning into some stereotypes about Anglicised Indian names or the emotionally unavailable immigrant father, before revealing that it's untrue. However, a dad in touch with his feelings has its own challenges, making this one of the few Fringe shows that contains a plea for men NOT to express their emotions.

More truths come out about, for example, people walking on eggshells around him following the tragedy, afraid to bring up his brother. He self-medicated with alcohol, clearly depressed, even though he couldn't address it at the time beyond cracking the occasional crass joke, as is his wont. 

Those gags are funny, mind, and the first third of this show is a riot as Mayya gets them out of his system. Sharp punchlines are hammered out at an industrial rate, many of them hugely inventive, many of them hugely inappropriate. Most of them damn funny.

Over the hour, the balance shifts to telling the story of his brother’s life and entirely unexpected death, as well as the comedian’s efforts to return to normality after grief. Yet the sadness is always kept in check by the wicked sense of humour that never deserted this sharp comic.

Review date: 16 Aug 2026
Reviewed by: Steve Bennett
Reviewed at: Just The Tonic at The Hive