Andrew Maxwell

Alone on the huge stage at the Old Fruitmarket, Andrew Maxwell looks titchy at first, but soon fills up the space, chuckling into his bottle of beer as if he can’t quite believe he’s getting away with this. Lots of well trodden comedy ground is covered here – American tourists, Scottish weather and the like, but with devilish giggles, swearing and grinning, he has a floppy haired charm and a brilliant mind for juggling the clever with the silly. From a bar stool in the middle of the stage, he shares the comedy terror of trying to make lifers and murderers laugh rather than rape him and often seems as amused by the audience as we are of him.

The crowd were pretty frisky at times with a regular commitee of weird hecklers at the back, but Maxwell worked hard to kick ‘em back where they belonged and keep everyone laughing, and you had to admire his skill. Despite the size of the venue, Maxwell chats easily with the audience, negotiating a mid-show break and mocking our love of teacakes. By the end we were all sorry to see his scrawny figure bound off stage.