Brighton Fringe comedy review

Taking a straw poll as to what brought people to this rather forlorn tent in the middle of a Brighton square, Grace Mulvey finds a trio of women drawn by her Instagram post in which she owned up to a hangover.

That’s probably a good gauge of her comedy, as she has the vivacity and candour of a girls’ night out, pitched just at the merry point where the prosecco has loosened inhibitions and the oversharing has started. Not for nothing is one of her best routines an hilarious, detailed description of the archetypes found at a bottomless brunch.

Her show, in name at least, is about her inability to flirt effectively, which has kept her single these past four years. That and the terrible sex education she received from her repressed parents and conservative Catholic teachers growing up in the Irish county of Roscommon.

But the hour is a wider romp though so many aspects of her experiences as a thirtysomething woman, from the ill-advised sanitary products she used for her first period to the dread of the menopause and her recent conversion to body-positivity after years of feeling needlessly shitty about her shape. Though anecdotes are unique to her, relatability is the watchword, exploiting anxieties and awkwardnesses everyone feels, primarily – but not exclusively – women.

This is a work-in-progress gig, and there are a few rough edges. A great anecdote about her now dementia-hit father going down on one knee for a late-in-life renewal of his engagement commitment needs an ending, while a flurry of Biblical jokes – about Jesus being ripped or Joseph being ridiculously understanding about his wife’s ‘virgin’ birth – are old hat.

But Mulvey – a recent winner of the BBC’s Galton & Simpson bursary for comedy writing – is a gloriously gregarious presence. She’s an affable, self-deprecating storyteller who makes the audience feel like old friends with whom she’s sharing confidences, holding them in thrall with her indiscretions.

Review date: 9 May 2023
Reviewed by: Steve Bennett