Alfie Brown is opening himself up to ridicule – more even than the comedian's usual share. The 25-year-old has set himself up as a passionate critic of our cultural life, and of the comedy industry in particular. It's not fashionable to claim intellectual superiority these days, nor to care this much – and, in comedy, you must never do either without irony. So Brown is on a hiding to very little, deploring the debasement of his beloved artform, sneering at popular culture, and mocking the critics who say – this is his catchphrase – "you're clever, but you're not funny."
You're not itching to book a ticket, are you? So let me add: Brown's is one of the boldest new voices I've encountered on the fringe. His ardour, and lack of apology for it, is compelling, he's a confident and charming performer, and he's sometimes funny too. Perhaps not funny enough, though – he has a disdain for cheap laughs and is mapping a route to a different class of humour. I'd trust him to get there eventually, but for now it's too often the case that Brown expounds at length on what he thinks about an issue before getting round to his actual joke.
Yes: it's as much sermon as entertainment. But there's space for that in comedy, whose demand for the quick laugh Brown lampoons here. Elsewhere, he has routines about Oliver Stone's mawkish 9/11 movie, a rumination on our attitudes to paedophilia and a dissection of the double standard that censures bad language and gives bad ideas a free pass. Some of his targets are barely worth the candle; others ("People can have Aids, and music can have Live Nation") have it coming. In all cases, Brown twins his spiky, sparky manner with a zeal to communicate things that matter. And that's exciting to watch.
