August 2 marks the beginning of the Edinburgh Festival Fringe, during which hundreds of comedians from all over the world will travel to Scotland to perform their thoughtfully crafted and well-rehearsed solo shows and vie for critical legitimacy, awards glory, and future career opportunities. Many more comedians, however, will make the journey to the festival to perform solo shows that suck. Some will clumsily plumb the depths of unprocessed trauma, some will revel in spontaneous chaos and call it “clowning,” and others will attempt to retroactively hammer a theme onto their existing act and give it a vague title like Ambiguity to signal depth. One deserving solo show that fans regrettably won’t be able to catch at the Fringe this year is by comedian Carmen Christopher, who includes a preview of this yet-untitled piece a little over halfway into his new Veeps comedy special produced by Tim Robinson and Zach Kanin, Live From the Windy City.
The show centers on the time Christopher, at 19 years old, got stabbed at a house party. It’s a story he’s been reluctant to share in the past, he explains, because it inspires too much jealousy of his “street cred.” But he’s tired of tiptoeing around others’ sensitivities at the expense of his career. “The time to be humble is over. The time to shine is now,” he says. “How many people in the alt-comedy scene do you know that have been shanked? None! Me! I should be winning the Newcomer Award at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival. Tina Fey got stabbed in the face; they let her be the head writer of SNL for nine years. I should at least be allowed to host once. Alec Baldwin hosted 18 times, and he killed a person!”
If it isn’t clear by now, Christopher’s one-person show is not the comedian’s sincere attempt to craft resonant theater but a send-up of these shows at their most cynical. And in just five minutes, it hits all the major tropes. There’s an irredeemable main character, hokey audiovisual cues, manufactured stakes, strained attempts to build time and setting, unearned theatrical flourishes, and poor narrative structure. It begins with Christopher, who is actively trying to cheat on his girlfriend, trying to break up a fight at the party he’s attending and getting stabbed in the process. His biggest concern at the time? “Would I ever be able to do yoga again?” Soon, he makes his way to the hospital, where he passes out and mimes sleeping onstage for an indulgent 17 seconds. The doctor who eventually wakes him is greeted with immediate petulance. “Had you been a half-hour later, we would’ve had to amputate your foot,” he says. “Good to know, doc,” Christopher replies. “Next time I’ll be sure to squeeze in an episode of Seinfeld.” Then, in place of an ending, the piece smash-cuts to Christopher reciting a canned epilogue about the incident and using a callback to create the illusion of narrative conclusion. Fleabag this is not.
Still, parodying this brand of show so precisely requires a deep understanding of what makes the best of these shows work, and perhaps it’s not a stretch to say it belongs at Edinburgh after all. In 2022, Liz Kingsman made a splash at the festival with her acclaimed Fleabag parody, One Woman Show; why couldn’t Christopher follow in her footsteps? True, the show, as presently constructed, runs about 55 minutes too short, but that only adds to the effect. What screams “bad solo show” more than trying to milk more out of a premise that’s already creatively spent?
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