🎭✈️ Graeme Roberts

⭐️⭐️⭐️

McEwan Hall

Every Fringe season needs a first show, and this year that dubious honour fell to Sara Pascoe: One Night Only at McEwan Hall. I wish I had better news.
The queue outside should have been the first clue something unusual was afoot. We turned up a solid 20 minutes early, which has always been more than enough for McEwan Hall in previous years, and still found ourselves swallowed by an enormous line snaking round Bristo Square. Somehow we squeaked in without a hitch and even managed to bag seats together despite the Fringe’s charmingly chaotic non-reservation system. Better still, we ended up elevated above a walkway, with a generous gap to the row in front and none of the usual knee-to-chin rake situation. Small mercies.
Then Sara arrived, and things got promising for about thirty seconds. She swept on stage in a fluorescent pink dress, gloriously oversized and flouncy, paired with novelty socks, trainers, and her hair scraped into a messy bun that looked like it was doing comedy all on its own. Great entrance. Genuinely great.
Unfortunately, that was more or less where the highs ended. We’re generally wary of “new material” shows from established comedians, having been burned before (a Jo Brand one springs to mind, still remembered with a wince years later), and this had the same warning signs baked in from the start: Sarah walked out clutching notes and notepads, script visibly scrolling down her left hand. Not exactly the picture of a polished set.
I measure how much I’m enjoying stand-up by how often I actually laugh out loud, even just a chortle, and on this occasion I could count the chortles on one hand. That’s not a good sign for a comedian I genuinely rate.
Because here’s the thing: I like Sara Pascoe a lot. On telly she’s sharp, warm, and brilliant, an Have I Got News For You regular done right. But live performance clearly asks something different of her, and on this particular night it wasn’t quite landing. I can only judge what was in front of me, and what was in front of me was underbaked.
Still, there’s a silver lining. It’s become something of a tradition for us to kick off the season with a bit of a clanger, and if that superstition holds, the rest of the Fringe should only go up from here. This year I’ve had zero say in what we’re seeing, so I’m entirely at the mercy of Bryan’s programming instincts. Fingers crossed he’s cooked up something better than this for round two.
Verdict: 3 out of 5, and that’s being generous because I like her.