Bridget Christie bounces on stage with the enthusiasm of a puppy let loose in a box of bubble wrap. Explicitly billed as a feminist comedy gig starting at 11am, she admits she’s amazed anyone has shown up at all, quietly ignoring the fact A Bic for Her had a sold out run.
Motivated by the tedious claim women aren’t funny, Christie kicks off the show with a brilliantly furious attack on Stirling Moss, who told journalists he thought women lacked the mental aptitude to drive racing cars – before falling down a lift shaft and breaking both his ankles.
F1 winners and their ridiculously macho celebrations are next on the hit list, as she likens the the champagne opening to the winner shouting about having the fastest, fizziest sperm. Her rage is then turned on ballpoint pens designed for a woman’s hand, a Bic for Her, by re-imagining the Brontë sisters flummoxed at their inability to write with their masculine pens, before a skit on Martin Luther King’s I Have a Dream speech interspersed with gags that wittily burns the straw-man argument that feminists have no sense of humour.
With the audience in stitches, Christie has the freedom to polemicise about banning Page Three and taking an individual stand against the objectification of women a lesser talent wouldn’t get away with. Her skill is demonstrated by leaving the stage playing an interview by Pakistani education campaigner Malala, which comes off as moving instead of cheesy.
A stand-out show this Fringe.