BY KATHRYN PIERCE
In collaboration with @SomewhereEdi
[star rating =5/5] Jen Brister: Meaningless, “I was angry in my 20s and now I’m f**king livid.”
With her signature confidence, composed delivery and with no-holds barred style, Jen Brister pulls back a big catapult full of comedy and releases it onto us in a magnificent hour of character-filled mini-sketches; finally calling time on male/female double-standards.
Jen’s been under a bit of pressure of late – her mum has “temporarily” moved in and has entirely taken over, not to mention she is a lesbian mum of 3-year-old twin boys – so best not get her started on Jacob Rees-Mogg (“that flesh-coloured windsock”), or famous parents waving their privilege about; and as for women that don’t stick up for other women, well for that you’ll get perimenopausal rage in all its nearly-period-free glory.
Jen’s been on the comedy scene for many years now, and this latest bumper-sized chapter of life is rich with old and new characters, and a big dose of double-up funny, all played out in completely awkward yet totally familiar moments. Triumphant and truthful, we feel for her and relate to her. The men in the crowd take it on the chin, getting both barrels as we sit in a comedy club that has it’s walls decorated with larger-than-life male faces.
Jen does her bit for the matriarchy, by turning the tables on penis privilege and demanding women’s share of the pie – pointing out that even Woman’s Hour doesn’t quite get its due, with a screening time of only 45 minutes (come on BBC).
In this rip-roaring set, she grabs the patriarchy by the balls and demands the world spend less time obsessing about the thigh-gap and more time working on the gender pay gap. She’s right though, we can all do better; and for a show worth far more than the £5 ticket price, I challenge you to find a better way to spend an hour this Fringe.