Review of five promising female comics heading for this year's Fringe

Two things seem certain about this year’s Edinburgh Fringe. That post-pandemic, there will be far more newcomers than usual, with three years’ worth of debutants packed into one. And that, thanks to eye-watering accommodation bills that would stretch an oligarch, the cost of putting on a show is higher than ever before.

To make some dent in that, London’s 99 Club has in recent years been offering £500 bursaries to help female and non-binary acts with their festival debuts. And the first fact meant that competition for this year’s awards was tougher than ever - good news for the audience watching the shortlisted acts demonstrating their skills tonight.

In the end, the cash went to Sikisa and Lara Ricote, two comedians with very different styles.

Sikisa owns the room. Her club-honed act comes with swagger and raunch – and a predatory air when flirting with the blokes in the front row. But she restrains these elements, like a sports car driver purring along at 40mph knowing there’s a lot more power under the hood were it needed.

She starts with the standard crowd-wrangling question ‘who’s drinking?’ and a discussion of Britain’s boozy culture that leads into wider issues of nationality – on which she’s an expert, given her day job as an immigration lawyer.

Likewise, talk of dating apps is the new go-to for almost any stand-up singleton, but she offers a witty explanation for the prevalence of dick pics – and a perfect riposte for those who insist on sending them. And it all ends in an attitude-rich monologue about how ‘I’m a boss, bitch’, which she playfully jokes about without diluting the confidence, encapsulating her personality.

Lara Ricote does not exude any such alpha-female energy but appears a more ditzy and self-deprecating – thanks in no small measure to her archetypical ‘girly’ voice.

Yet her disarmingly effervescent nature conceals a slightly cynical nature, not least when it comes to describing her family members, from her anti-vaxxer dad to the sister with whom she has a fierce rivalry.

The Mexican-born, Dutch-based comic has a winning, unique energy and a set, much of it about her deafness, that constantly surprises in the directions it takes and layers it adds. Expect to see a lot more of her…

Opening the show was former Cambridge Footlights performer Ania Magliano  with a lean, effective routine. Her topics can be formulaic, especially in the first half of the set, as she talks about the traits of her Italian mother or going in for a Brazilian waxing, but there are some nice turns of phrase here, which she delivers with confidence.

The more personal material about exploring her relatively recently discovered bisexuality has even more impact. She may have placed a bit too much  emphasis on a dark fantasy about how a marriage might work out – but the willingness to commit to such a long bit on a showcase gig is admirable.

Magliano, who was a finalist in the Chortle Student Comedy Awards of 2018, seems to be working hard to develop as a comic, and this was the strongest set I’ve seen from her yet. But there’s probably better to come, too.

Second up, Sian Davies had a slightly cold reception, though it’s hard to understand why as her observational material and friendly style are proudly mainstream, in the tradition of fellow Northerners like Peter Kay and Jason Manford.

There’s a strong strand of recent nostalgia, which usually proves crowd-pleasing, wedded to discussion of widely identifiable traits exhibited by family members. She admits to becoming something of a dad-like figure herself, and that extends to the love of a pun, leaning into the occasional cheesy line here, but only as garnish, not the bulk of the set.

She feels like the finished deal, certain in herself, her stand-up persona, and material. But somehow the stars weren’t aligned tonight.

In contrast, Lily Philips feels like a comic with more to learn, especially when it comes to exposing more of what’s unique to her. But she’s an engaging, lively performer who owns the stage and brings the audience on board with her stories, with have a tendency to fixate on bodily excretions.

She wrings every possible laugh out of a tale of a woman who went to extreme, ill-fated lengths to hide her embarrassment after going for a poo on a Tinder date – though a simple retelling would be hilarious enough.

Further exploiting a ‘yuk’ factor she tells an elaborate first-hand anecdote of a slapstick Mooncup malfunction that ended up very messy. She has a skill for telling this story that plays up the farce, suggesting a comic with plenty of potential.

Review date: 8 Jun 2022
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Reviewed at: Arboretum