Review by Steve Bennett

Matt Devereaux has clearly come to the Fringe well ahead of his time. Judging by his aristocratic accent, he has the cash to blow on staging a show to blow on an exercise that might help him grow as a comic.

It is more for him than his audience, who have to suffer a 40 minutes of poor material as he struggles to find his comedy feet.

The sparse few who do show up endure a lot of aimless chit-chat. For example, after explaining that his surname is French, he embarks on an unfocussed discussion of the language with a fellow speaker in the room, showing off his mastery of French tongue-twisters, though I’m not quite sure why.

He has got quite a range of accents, all employed to no good effect. He does a Loyd Grossman, for instance, just to say he can be a bit annoying. Or he adopts a harsh Ulster tone to imagine Margaret Thatcher in a porn film. What is this, I Love 1989? Not just in references, but in tired, aching style.

Add to the mix of styles he can’t quite settle on a crushingly dull comedy song, and some stand-up that doesn’t come from the heart… more like the colon.

There are some glimmers of hope for Devereaux, with a small smattering of lines suggesting sly wordplay might be his forte.

With a bit of experience and hard work, he could have a solid ten minutes in time for next year’s festival. Which is a bit tough when he’s doing 40 at this one.

Review date: 1 Aug 2005
Reviewed by: Steve Bennett