After two hugely successful Fringe shows in a row (including the award-winning A Bic for Her), maybe there’s been a sense that the time was ripe for the Bridget backlash to kick in. After all, how long could she get away with this hilarious feminist shtick (Andrew Lawrence is probably wondering)? Turns out that with a new majority Tory administration in place merrily showing next to no regard for women (the tampon tax, anyone?), Christie is going to have plenty source material at hand to keep up the good fight.
Her new hour also takes in a Book for Her signing, and Christie is able to glean comedy from recent post-show / literary-tour reactions, requesting that we keep any negative feedback inside until after she has left the building and is out of earshot. That this isn’t strictly a full hour of new stand-up might leave some feeling marginally short-changed, but that would be churlish.
In a move suggesting she felt that some criticism might need to be headed off at the pass, Christie dials up both the quality of her arguments as well as the quantity, whipcracking through her material in that accent which reminds people, who want to upset her, of comedy bumpkin Jethro.
By now, you might well know the Christie modus operandi: impassioned pleas for social justice bumping up against surreal musings (17th century muskets and contemporary kitchen taps get, you’d presume, their first airings at this year’s Fringe) while exaggerated character decapitations (Andy Burnham, Rachel Dolezal, Jeremy Clarkson, Eddie Izzard and Nigel Farage are all uniquely dismantled here in superbly original ways) help to make her broader points. All are present and correct here in another devastatingly funny and vital hour.