Edinburgh Fringe comedy review

Grace Jarvis is no stranger to vulnerability. As an autistic comedian with a chronic illness and a constant level of anxiety ‘that would kill a flamingo’, she puts herself on the line every day. Happily, her sweet, romantic new show is an example of a time when putting herself out there really paid off.

She sets the stage with some charming material about her early life spent trying her hardest to conform to the world’s vast supply of unspoken, conflicting rules. Her happy place was in the Scouts, where the rules were at least made explicit in the Scouts Code. 

This show is less overtly political than others she’s performed, but her sense of justice still gets an airing when she pokes fun at the imbecilic furore kicked up by the Australian right-wing press on discovering that the fairy penguin species was being renamed little penguins (it was a decision made on taxonomic grounds, not moral).

Material about her pandemic experience in Melbourne, the city subject to the world’s longest lockdown, finally provides her gateway into the show’s real story – the tale of how she met and fell in love with her boyfriend, himself a beloved comic.

She doesn’t mention his name in the show, so I won’t mention it here, but the relationship has been public for a few years so it’s lovely to hear the story of how it all came together against the odds, a low-key but winningly romantic story between two reportedly lovely people, with a few anecdotal cameos from other famous comedians who were clearly going all-out behind the scenes to facilitate the union. 

You really get a clear sense of just how challenging it was for Jarvis to reckon with the nuance of the situation and overcome her anxiety to accept a positive change trying to come into her life.

Throughout the show, she proves herself to be a perceptive and puzzled documentarian of human contradictions, and even concedes to try a bit of British observational stand-up in order to connect with her audience – and she ends up being good at that too. 

I was surprised she’s opted to return to the Underbelly’s Wee Coo for four Fringes in a row, as it’s not a good room for comedy: it’s dark verging on void-like, with stark white lighting and felt walls that swallow up the audience reaction while still allowing significant soundbleed from outside. It’s a tough place to build momentum. This sweet-natured hour deserves something warmer and more intimate.

Review date: 19 Aug 2026
Reviewed by: Tim Harding
Reviewed at: Underbelly George Square