Comedy is in a bit of a fractured state at the moment.
Think about it – while there's the genuinely hilarious likes of Stewart Lee and Doug Stanhope doing the live circuit rounds, television networks remain clogged with dross such as The Friday Night Project – a show roughly about as funny as an Al Qaeda beheading video. And at least they don't stretch out the thin premise to half-an-hour.
The Edinburgh Festival, then, surely stands out as a good opportunity to restore some faith. Every year (as well as pulling in all manner of experimental theatre malarkey) the city transforms itself into a seething hotch-potch of comedic talent. It therefore becomes the artistic focus for the entire world, meaning that journalists also tend to descend on the city like bombers around Dresden. Which also means that the combination of journalists and comedians creates the hardest-drinking group of people anywhere on the planet.
Anyway. Hecklerspray has been hanging around this little get-together. And we've been catching a few acts.
Today we're looking at Canadian moustache-bearer Glenn Wool.
One look at Wool – a fusion between a Cowboy and a seventies porn star – and your brain may instantly switch those 'beware' circuits. After all … an appearance like that literally screams the word 'quirky.' And nothing is worse than 'quirky'. Just look at Ross Noble. Or rather don't – he's overexposed as it is.
You needn't be worried, however. Wool – despite a nicely-pitched laid-back exterior – is as vitriolic and razor-sharp as the best of 'em. His show begins with a brilliant video montage, pulsating with pictures of other famous mustachioed stars before cutting away to an astonishing visual gag that will leave you open-jawed. All we can say is this: if you're slightly sick of certain hypocritical tabloids exploiting the case of a certain missing young girl to sell more papers, then you'll think this is right on the money.
Then we're into the act. Establishing that the gist of the show is about identity, Wool proceeds to rip and riff on the subject with impeccable comic flair. Strutting and arrogant while remaining hugely likeable, he gets the audience on his side immediately, drifting from a series of brilliant gags about failed terrorists to more standard (yet well-done) fare such as arguments with his spouse.
In fact, it's that marriage of political and personal that Wool handles so well. Wool understands that rampant shouting and posturing doesn't work unless it's funny (something which the legions of stupid public schoolboys pretending to be Bill Hicks on the UK Comedy Circuit should pay attention to). His humour stems as much from his own inadequacies as his anger: a unique mix that makes his show a joy to watch.
Sometime in his diatribe, Wool remarks on the fact that he has given up drugs and alcohol. The part of you that necks disco biscuits and reads Charles Bukowski will be disappointed. The part of you that loves great comedy won't be. By all accounts, Wool is only going to get more focused and fantastic. And that's certainly something to look forward to.
Glenn Wool's show Promises, Promises runs until the 26th August at the Underbelly, Edinburgh. Tickets range from £10 to £12.
