This is Richard Herring’s 21st Edinburgh show, which marks him out as an elder statesman. And by his own admission, he has his own creative agenda these days when performing at the Fringe. To push and challenge himself, to experiment and take risks, to hone his material – allegedly free from any desire to impress TV executives or win awards (though he would be an unusual comedy beast indeed, if this were actually true.)
Perhaps this necessitates a fair critique be more fluid, to accommodate the shifting sands of the ongoing creative processes. Or perhaps itÂ’s all a clever ploy on HerringÂ’s part, to discourage reviewers from in-depth examination of his material.
2006 sees Herring transfer from Pleasance to Underbelly, and tonight he plays to an echoey, half-full room, with the added encumbrance of an irritatingly loud and sibilant mic. This renders his opening gambits less effective, as the audience struggles to adjust to the acoustics. Herring tends to be at his comedic best when perched jauntily upon his high horse, layering clever upon clever –and then some. Indulging in long metaphysical rants and following absurd flights of fancy. He uses ideas as building blocks with great finesse – transforming pommes de terre to apples of the sky. He weaves in and out of stories, deliberately labouring over some and trying the audience's patience to breaking point with undisguised glee, (the Hand Job Centre saga), and slicing through other routines with the precision of a surgeon.