You Bastards

I hate comedy. Preening stand-ups have abdicated any sense of moral responsibility, preferring to comment on the supposed differences between the genders rather than address the socio-political malaise that has led to the modern economic meltdown. The Fringe is submerged beneath a tidal wave of grinning male egos that have all the charm of the passer-by who tells you "cheer up, love, it night never happen".

Thankfully, Serate Bastarde is more than just funny. The subtle word play and timing that comedy needs is sometimes lost in the translation from Italian. There are moments of slapstick hilarity - three women pouring Berlusconi's sperm over themselves, and the entire Fez and The City short - but what has been left behind is a smouldering fury that shoots at American imperialism, moronic celebrity and the gradual destruction of Italy by a government that doesn't understand "conflict of interest".

By the time that they quote Bill Hicks in the finale, Dionisi have successfully subverted the sketch show format, reminding us how it can be used for the bleakest satire that is both darkly funny and absurdly familiar. They never quite rant: the Sex and the City parody avoids becoming too explicit, even when the toothsome foursome are wandering around in full burqas, and the Burn Victim Beauty Pageant sends up celebrity TV with attention to detail and a lovely nastiness. A sense of frustration is palpable. Yet it is nuanced and precise, aware of its own culpability and only occasionally hitting too easy a target.