Fringe comedy reviews: Dirty Work | Lucy Pearman | Paul Campbell

Underbelly, Cowgate (Venue 61) until 24 August

Enchanting but riotously funny clowning with an edge, Jessica Barton's vivacious Fringe debut utterly corrupts the primness of Mary Poppins, trashing and turning the Disney musical upside down. The Australian performer is all sweetness and light when Mary Floppins arrives and begins her household chores.

Rhythmically folding sheets in largely noiseless mime, engaging in a gently adversarial contest with the volunteer that she brings up to help her, she good-naturedly chides them when they don't quite follow instructions to the absolute letter and rewards them when they do.

Edwardian pristine and precise, insisting on the audience following her singing prompts exactly, she's nevertheless impish to the point of flirtatiousness with the “big, strong men” she inveigles to assist her directly. And there's a wholly modern hip hop and dance vibe to those moments when she clocks off and lets her hair down, either energetically kicking her hobnailed boots high or indulging in rather more than a spoonful of sugar.

The contrast between the serene domestic goddess and her starched cuffs loosening with naughty intent, the Disneyfied innocence and more adult themes, is initially smoothly separated with careful delineation. Over the course of the show, though, something darker gradually takes hold, with a recriminatory blast of jilted fury, of exploitation and betrayal seizing upon the narrative, the stage left bestrewn with rubbish and detritus, evocative of psychological chaos.

Unquestionably, it's a jolt to the senses.Yet Barton doesn't let it overwhelm the hour, merely contextualise it. And there's a strong sense of recovery. With a singing voice to rival Julie Andrews, boundless wide-eyed energy and a benign, affectionate spell upon those she summons forth to assist her, Dirty Work is an untrammelled delight, with Barton very much a multi-talent to watch.

Jay Richardson

Lucy Pearman: Lunartic ★★★★

CabVol 1 at Monkey Barrel Comedy (Venue 338) until 24 August

What a joy to find this hour of moon-related material and hugely silly prop comedy to start the afternoon. Audience members become planets, astronauts and minor nursery rhyme characters in this joyful and very funny romp into the night sky. Pearman’s character, encircled by a giant stretchy silver disk, is moonlighting at the Fringe, away from her regular duties circling the Earth.

It’s lonely being the Moon. Pearman’s Moon is rather vague, easily distracted, possibly sex starved and with a faint Birmingham accent. She’s trying to keep her new career a secret from the Sun, who calls her on a banana phone with slightly irritating regularity.

Pearman is one of those prop comics for whom lack of budget is no obstacle. She has a giant glittery telescope, an abseiling astronaut, a laughing dog and a couple of sexy aliens stuck to her chest. Forgive me if they were expensive, but they don’t look it. And the home-made, slightly shambolic, creaky character of her props is definitely part of the charm. Most of her materials are contained in a silver glittery suitcase festooned with jewels.

When she realises one of her biggest props has been misplaced, she ropes in venue staff to help, staying in character and doing the next bit in reverse until the missing bit of kit is found. Audience members help her clamber on and off the stage in her unwieldy costume. They become planets, are invited to share kisses and tickled. (The Moon is very careful to elicit consent.) In return, she helps make their wishes come true, sings sweet moon-related songs and shoots them with a giant foam missile gun.

The Moon can only reflect light, so she needs an audience. So do go and see her. With our co-operation and a bit of community spirit, she helps us all become stars.

Claire Smith

Paul Campbell: The Lost Tapes of Somerfield ★★★★★

Hoots @ Potterrow (Venue 243) until 25 August

This is a show to fall in love with. Please do not look for actual jokes, as you won't find them, which is part of the wonder of this hour in which you laugh while you shake your head, while your eye has a tiny tear in it. The closest comparison I can think of is that in the same way Victoria Wood could get laughs out of biscuit names like Garibaldi and McVitie's Digestive, Paul Campbell creates his from Albanian Cheesy Twists and Ker-PLunk, Pickled Onion Monster Munch and Gala Pies. He has the same genius with life's minutiae.

Paul is 40 and living with his mum, but he has not been without love. Somerfield Supermarkets saved and enriched his life in so many ways. Somerfields IS him in supermarket form, we are told. From Paul's misfit teenage years, through much personal growth and happiness until the tragic demise of the Somerfield brand in 2006, we are led via the Crisps and Confectionary aisles, past Somerfield Sue and despite Pacey Witter (from Dawson's Creek) to a sadder but stronger Paul, as he helps us through the five stages of Supermarket Grief.

Unlikely as it seems, you will not find a more personal, passionate show in Edinburgh. In addition to the captivating narrative, should you happen to know Martin Jarvis, the manager of Somerfield in Manchester, or Gerry in Trollies, you will really appreciate Paul's impressions. But it is not all fun and special offers. Fans of Hot Fuzz will see the movie in a whole new light and, hopefully, feel suitably ashamed. Safeway shoppers, hang your heads. True love – like Paul's for Somerfield – is hard to find, and even harder to describe, but this show gives us all hope that one day we will find a supermarket with a Somerfield Sue.

Kate Copstick

Britt Migs: Dolphin Mode ★★★

Underbelly, George Square (Venue 300) until 25 August

Think you’ve had a tough couple of days? Well spare a thought for New York standup Britt Migs, who managed to lose her job and her husband over a single Super Bowl weekend - things got so bad that she even missed Rihanna’s half time performance.

Still, as she says, at least it’s all great material for this short but accomplished set that combines the break-up with the resultant re-embracing of her queer identity as she aims to enter the titular ‘dolphin mode’ - a state of gliding through life like the marine animal (and the removal of the majority of her body hair).

Her former spouse of 18 months doesn’t come out of this well, an impulsive man-baby who finds it impossible to stay faithful. The first half is dedicated to the “crazy guy” who had more red flags than a rifle range, while the second sees her find redemption, despite navigating the choppy waters of modern dating and some genuinely alarming DMs.

The laugh-per-minute rate here is high but the performance barely lasts for 35 minutes, which feels odd in a festival where an hour-long show is the benchmark.

It’s something you’d be delighted to see as the headliner in a comedy club, but as a standalone, it’s hard not to feel shortchanged.

David Hepburn

Cobra Kai ★★

PBH's Free Fringe @ Bannermans (Venue 357) until 24 August

This is not so much comedy as storytelling. Great fun without being particularly funny. True fans of the Karate Kid (at any point) or Cobra Kai will, of course, get more out of the hour than those of us who remember “wax on wax off” and little else. We also get entertaining tales from Dan's surprisingly violence-strewn travels around the world, (except in Japan, because Japan is lovely) and a perfect analysis of female vs male mid-life crises. This is a relaxing, fun way to start a day at the Fringe. And you get a badge!

Kate Copstick