Edinburgh Fringe comedy reviews: Li Jin Hao | Simon Munnery | Paul Hilleard | Evaldas Karosas

Li Jin Hao: Falling From a Moon ★★★★

Pleasance Courtyard (Venue 33) until 30 August

Material about nostalgia is normally the preserve of those who can no longer sit down without grunting, but Li Jin Hao, still only 27, has devoted this show to it. Specifically, he’s contemplating whether you can pinpoint the moment childhood gave way to adulthood; he really, really misses being 17 in Singapore.

When he was shortlisted for best newcomer in 2024’s Edinburgh Comedy Awards, the Chinese-born comedian and writer, who studied at St Andrews, was known as Jin Hao Li. But, in keeping with cultural traditions, he’s now brought his surname, Li, back to the front of his name.

Throughout this enchanting hour, the fat, illuminated moon behind him on the stage is a constant – though shifting – presence as he weaves glimmering threads of Chinese, Greek and even biblical mythology into a cosy blanket of contemplation. It’s unwise to look back, these stories tell us. But how can you not when you’re craving relief from the discomfort of now? When the feeling of being with your first love is still so vivid?

If this all sounds a bit bleak, never fear: Li has properly funny – if understated – bones, from the way he acts out “smoking Chinesely” or peaks from behind a curtain, to subtle, playful changes in his facial expression.

Falling from a Moon is rich with nuggets that start like one-liners, but float away into surreally entertaining musings. A thought about counting sheep to fall asleep, for example, is quickly hijacked by a vivid simile, and inanimate objects such as fire alarms, buses and even italicised letters are personified to delightful effect.

As with his debut show, you find yourself almost holding your breath because you don’t want to miss a thing by laughing too loud. It’s soft and special, and a uniquely communal experience. Ashley Davies

Simon Munnery ★★★★

The Stand Comedy Club (Venue 5) until 31 August

In the hands of a master such as Simon Munnery, every wrinkle inherent in a preview is a source of joy. It is unlikely you will see the same show we did, but, given he and his Flip Chart Refill pad have enough material for several hours of magical Munnerytastic laughs (I know, I could have said mirth but that would be too much), whatever you experience will be uniquely glorious.

Fans of the steam locomotive will be in audio heaven with his pre-show soundscape. They are a niche audience little served till here. The stage is littered with props and the laughs Munnery squeezes from them. He loses his glasses, breaks his phone and loses control of Taz, his gorgeous dog who suffers from separation anxiety.

I can only hope you get to see the blow up unicorn, admire his plan for thwarting the algorithm and join in his ode to the B660. There is laughter in lard, in the Old Testament, in Dalek impressions, and in philosophers celebrating goals.

It is quite simply beyond imagining that there might be another comedy mind that would dare list dead comics – even the recently deceased ones – and get giggles. Munnery does.

To be fair, for someone with Van Gogh's ear for a melody, Simon does like to sing. And we don't mind.

He makes, I hope he will not mind my saying, a glorious poster boy for AA. This is Munnery, seven months sober, back on top of his game, and it is a marvellous thing to watch. He has, he tells us, started to enjoy making people laugh. Just as well. A tiny bit of “banter” moves on to fun with Tourette’s and a man with extremely high self-esteem, without a dip in the funny. Kate Copstick

Paul Hilleard: Grogg ★★★

Monkey Barrel Comedy (Niddry Street) (The Studio) (Venue 80) until 30 August

Paul Hilleard's status as a recent BBC New Comedy Award winner rather contradicts his opening claim to not be very successful. And on the basis of this rich Fringe debut, the pained Welshman, forever clapping palm to cheek in casual, distracted torment, is going to have to continue balancing his underdog perspective with career prospects coming his direction.

Metaphysically musing on God's mysterious ways (“He's a funny lad inee?”) and given to gnomic observations, his is a gentle logic hardened by the depressed circumstances of growing up in deprived Pontypridd, where he compensated for his limited horizons with imagination and an enquiring mind. A droll student of eccentricity, the Grogg shop in Ponty, selling bizarre, parochial, troll-like figures, affords his show a case study in the inexplicable.

But Hilleard isn't content to tarry in whimsy. And he starts to offer more urgent thoughts on mental health and his often desperate grip on his own. As his story shifts from Wales to Bristol, the stakes rise, from the ongoing fallout of breaking up with the love of his life, to becoming a reluctant participant in a polyamorous marriage. More than simply à la mode and pruriently compelling, it's a lovely, endearing tale of social awkwardness as he bumbles into an escalating situation he never truly understands. Jay Richardson

Evaldas Karosas: A Very Capable Man ★★★

READ MORE: Here are all 12 Last One Laughing stars at the festival this year

Monkey Barrel Comedy (Cabaret Voltaire) (CabVol 2) (Venue 338) until 30 August

Such is the rich seam of comedy Evaldas Karosas mines from his vaguely post-Soviet mien, that he's a fair way into his goofily charming debut before casually acknowledging that he's specifically Lithuanian. And that element of East-West culture clash is forever in his background. But it's the basis for tight, analytical routines about economics, masculinity, mental health and relationships.

A comedian of eight years standing, performing in his second language, he suggests that English-speaking audiences are only getting around 60% of his potential, a characteristic humblebrag from a personable act who switches between humility and cartoonish swagger in the same anecdote, not least reflecting upon the Small Country Syndrome league table in Eastern Europe.

Having grown up poor, his survivalist mindset more or less legitimises his absurdist and even criminal behaviour, amusing extremes that he's developed a carefully calibrated and ironic delivery to exploit. Pithily perceptive on the psychological impacts of inequality at a liberal arts festival, he derives much mileage out of teasing progressive parenting and human rights, as well as sensitivities around toxic male behaviours and psychosis. These are luxury values borne of privilege that he can aspire to or blithely dismiss, whatever serves the joke. Jay Richardson

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