Edinburgh Fringe comedy review

Plenty of comedians analyse their pathological need for the approval of strangers - usually in the privacy of their therapy sessions, with the occasional self-deprecating jibe escaping on to the stage.

But as Celya AB becomes increasingly personal and honest in her work, she spends this full hour drilling into her lifelong quest for validation and an almost certainly abusive relationship with stand-up.

The British-based French comic likens herself to the baby she saw at the Arsenal Premier League victory parade, getting huge cheers whenever they were held up to the crowd – and creating an endorphin rush in their tiny brain that they will spend their lives chasing, without ever realising why. 

Her own need for affirmation possibly comes from a wounding backhanded compliment her Algerian father gave her as a child; her late-blooming sexuality after feeling unattractive in her youth; or from being an immigrant, trying to fit in but always knowing she is not truly of this place.

It’s ironically emblematic of the problem that the only way she can decide on her future is to discuss it with rooms full of strangers. But maybe some of this should have been decided off-stage, as it’s not always easy listening to her mull an existential crisis she still hasn’t resolved.

The show bears some scars from AB’s falling out of love with the art, giving proceedings an uneasy edge. Sometimes that parlays into a sharp, mordantly funny line – especially on topics around the periphery of her central disquiet – but the show struggles to build momentum. Audiences need to believe that, deep beneath any cynicism, the comedian wants to be there. 

That is not always so clear here, although she highlights the pros as well as the cons, chief among them being that she feels privileged to have a voice as a French-Arabic bisexual immigrant where others with even vaguely similar backgrounds do not. And back to the other side of the balance sheet, she’s turned 30 and is thinking of motherhood – not a decision that’s especially compatible with the insecurities (in both senses of the word) of stand-up.

Even if she does stay the course, there’s a feeling that she’s trying out a new, more rawly candid, version of herself on stage – a persona which isn’t quite finished yet. Yet she’ll always have her joke-writing skills – her description of ‘unfinished’ Australia is especially memorable – and as a writer on Saturday Night Live UK she’ll surely not be walking away from the wider comedy industry.

Her quitting would be a shame, but understandable given all we hear in this exposingly honest hour. But if she stays, hopefully it will be on healthier terms and with a renewed sense that it should be at least relatively fun for all involved.

Review date: 24 Aug 2026
Reviewed by: Steve Bennett
Reviewed at: Monkey Barrel Comedy Club