Edinburgh Fringe comedy review

The Fringe is home to the bonkers and brilliant. And so Marty Gleeson’s debut fits right in. With flashes of musical comedy on the bodhrán and a stretched-out section where she takes the time to shake the audience’s hand, one by one, as we are all at a funeral, Gleeson draws us into a world that is strange, linguistically playful and uniquely her own.

Dog Ear is fascinatingly unpredictable. Just when you think you know where Gleeson is going, she veers off in another direction. She approaches the crowd and asks us, in her straight-talking style, direct questions, never letting the room settle into total comfort. 

The heart of her show is her time at art school in Limerick, where she learnt about the importance of detail and the idea that everything has some meaning. Here, that idea plays out in both content and structure. You’re never quite sure what is real and what is fiction.

It can feel properly, head-spinningly bizarre. And, at times, a little more clarity would not go amiss. Still, what is certain is that Gleeson is a diamond in the rough. Her distinctive Irish delivery is a big part of the appeal; almost everything lands on the right side of funny in those matter-of-fact tones, whether she’s rejecting the idea that she might be ‘adorable’ or insisting that we take note of her ‘juicy booty’. By the end, she manages to move as well as entertain us, too.

Not all of the ideas land with equal force. We hang on a newsreader impression for a little too long, but there’s something undeniably compelling about a performer so willing to commit to the bit and keep us digging into her work to find its purpose. Gleeson has a comedic wisdom beyond her years.

You’re unlikely to find another debut with as much imagination or potential anywhere else on this year’s Fringe. Gleeson has a brave, spontaneous energy and this more than makes the case for comedy as art.

Review date: 24 Aug 2026
Reviewed by: Anya Ryan
Reviewed at: Pleasance Courtyard