Edinburgh Fringe comedy review

How many reasons do you need to hate Henry Rowley? Young, posh and good-looking – so of course he’s been sycophantically profiled by toffs’ bible Tatler – he’s come to live comedy via TikTok, where he has 1.3million followers, with another half mil on Insta.

But he’s very aware of his privilege and is quite happy to send it up, a self-effacing trait that negates, or at least lessens, many of those reasons to dislike him. Even if, irritatingly, it gives him more charisma that he wasn’t desperately short of in the first place.

Performed to a packed-out audience of top-end Gen Z peers, his live comedy debut after five years on the socials is a solid affair – undeniably powered by his sprightly dynamism but built on robust foundations.

He’s at his strongest when mocking those who share his background. Minty, an impossibly entitled upper-class Bristol  University student, is already one of his online staples and stands out here. 

We’ve seen plenty of posho ‘gap yah’ trustafarian characters like her before, baffled by Northerners and claiming a modest upbringing in a seven-bedroom West London home, but Rowley inhabits her well. And her DJ chum citing absurdly arcane musical genres is another hit.

‘Write what you know’ informs most of his alter egos, such as the appallingly vacuous finance bro – Huel in human form – whose actions when out on a date prove how awful men can be.

Speaking to which, it looks like Steven Bartlett might have lost the room if even the likes of Rowley are mocking his Diary Of A CEO podcast and its vacuous motivational capitalist platitudes. The snippet here has a guest opening up about a heartfelt trauma, only for Bartlett to react with an insensitive, dick-swinging insensitivity. 

Rowley’s good at enthusiastically occupying characters he’s honed online, but he’s also able to make the most out of the live experience, making a running joke of having a child (well, a 16-year-old) in the front row, exposed to allegedly inappropriate content. 

In stand-up-like elements, he again reflects on his privilege – his dad’s called Hungerford! – and imagines a scenario involving Toy Story’s Buzz and Woody, while recreating what it’s like to have performance anxiety at the urinal. Some of this is Route One, but is nicely executed – which is pretty much the tone for the show.

The container for the sketches is a flimsy one – with Rowley allegedly trying to figure out what makes him like he is, but actually comes with only cursory self-analysis as he makes tangible the inside voices of doubt – and the comedy leans heavily on archetypes. Plus, many of the scenes outstay their welcome.

But Rowley is a powerhouse performer, freeflowing or tight depending on what’s needed, and with a vigorous physicality.  His recreation of a sloppy kiss is as funny as it is troubling.

Rowley can lay decent claim to be the comedy voice of his generation for all that means: outwardly confident, acutely aware of his image and weaknesses, and having grown up entirely online – but perhaps not quite as original a thinker as they would purport to be. And as that shortcoming normally reduces with age, it will be interesting to see if he can come into his own as he increasingly moves off TikTok and into the real world.

Review date: 26 Aug 2024
Reviewed by: Steve Bennett
Reviewed at: Pleasance Courtyard