Frankie Thompson @ Pleasance Courtyard

Frankie Thompson has hit upon an inspired concept with this show: a litany of all the horrible things. It's a generative idea from a restlessly innovative performer. Clipboard and fluffy pen at the ready, Thompson tartly begins her presentation, punctuated by the odd mmkay (à la South Park's Mr Mackey).

On the stage, the classic stand-up pairing of stool and plastic pint is the first horrible thing: promptly replaced by a park bench with flowers (and a rocking chair, for a later bit). A shot across the bow, perhaps: Thompson has little truck with conventional comedy. Next up, a 7-year-old Jacob Rees-Mogg, whom Thompson, the veritable queen of lip sync, distils demonically. Recordings of Tory Whips are added to the list – purest Establishment poison channelled through her small frame as she mouths their words, bluff, gruff, and eminently complacent despite their sins.

Thompson's use of text is ingenious: the screen reads 'Things that aren't AI, but should be' and there's just one entry: 'Cliff Richards'. Frank Sinatra also gets a kicking for one extraordinarily narcissistic recording – here the text on the screen is used to excellent effect in deepening the joke. The 'Baby Boy emergence' sequence, meanwhile, craftily contrives an elaborate routine with an audience member. It's hard to wrangle a wary middle-aged man into a choreographed dance, but Thompson pulls it off.

The expectation of clarity is surely an affront to Frankie Thompson's offbeat sensibility, so any full coherence remains stubbornly obscure. But male narcissism is certainly a theme, and Horrible Things mounts an oblique revenge on any and all complacency.

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Frankie Thompson: Horrible Things, Pleasance Courtyard (Beside), until 30 Aug (not 17), 8.45pm, £14.50-16.50