Edinburgh Fringe comedy review

Character comedian Joanna Neary is an undercover spy behind the net curtain of Middle England. She’s friendly, well-spoken and has a penchant for arts and crafts that opened doors at the Eastbourne Women’s Institute. But once inside, she discovered a judgmental world of vicious back-biting, snobbery and reactionary thought, barely concealed behind passive-aggressive politeness. And now she’s here to report back on those findings.

It’s a world her most enduring alter-ego, the Celia Johnson of Brief Encounter would recognise as she delivers withering but superficially well-mannered commentary via her clipped upper-middle class vowels. The character - portrayed as the sort of woman to have a knitted lady over her toilet rolls – hosts this hour, needlessly presented as a variety show benefit with the level of donations tracked by the whimsical means of a wasp climbing up a cat’s jumper.

In her preamble, Neary explains this is a show about being genuinely happy in her life, married and with a nine-year-old son, but occasionally getting angry at relatively trivial things. These mostly come from her professional frustrations of being forever asked to audition as old Crone as an actress on the ‘wrong’ side of 40.

But actually, its main theme is of marriage and relationships, inspired by her relatively recent wedding and held over from the show that got canned because of Covid. 

The husbands do not emerge well from her bitter-sweet sketches, being portrayed as dullards, slowly crushing their wives’ spirits. Though at least that’s more benign than the alpha male comic she describes, hoovering away her self-confidence in the green room before a gig. 

Neary’s embodiment of her characters is impeccable, conjuring up believable, rounded people in a heartbeat. Many are based on family and acquaintances, such as her Welsh grandmother (the sort of woman who dreams of collecting crystal animals), her friend from childhood back in Cornwall – and an artsy woman she spotted working in a gallery gift shop. 

In all of them, her attention to detail in both performance and writing is forensic, with the smallest reference immediately saying so much about their character. There’s a touch of the Victoria Wood about her in that respect.

When Celia Johnson returns for her own skit, she gets flustered flirting with a double glazing salesman with a familiar name, while her husband Fred is taught the the pitfalls of polygamy via the medium of puppet show.

Other creations swap realism for just being daft. There’s Baby Bjork, as insane and surreal as the real thing; a brilliantly accurate parody of XTC frontman Andy Partridge; her take on Kate Bush, newly relevant again, singing about what Michael McIntyre would call the man drawer; and her very committed interpretive dance to a monotone rendition on Close To You that would do John Shuttleworth proud. That singer returns later for an hilariously deadpan version of Ring My Bell.

Some of Neary’s chat between the sketches can be aimless, but it does show a little of the real her, kind, curious and maybe a little scatty. 

The other reason she bears comparison with Victoria Wood is the fact she fundamentally likes most of her creations, whatever their foibles. That lends a warmth and affection to the gentle mockery, even if Neary is making pointed comments about the likes of misogyny along the way. 

• Joanna Neary: Wasp In A Cardigan is at Stand 2 at midday.

Review date: 24 Aug 2022
Reviewed by: Steve Bennett
Reviewed at: Stand 2