John Kearns' sophomore show is richer than the 2013 debut that won him the best newcomer award. Or at least, it is for 40 minutes – then it stops. Last year's outing signalled the arrival of a delightfully unusual act – a perky sadsack in tonsure wig and buck teeth, thrilled to have an outlet for his high-pitched anti-comedy and bedroom philosophising. This year's joke is that Kearns is trapped by his (modicum of) success. The wig-and-teeth creation is his Frankenstein's monster, he tells us – while still in character. And "you're watching a man grapple with a joke that has gone a bit too far".
The problem is that it doesn't go far enough; the shows ends before it gets into fifth gear. That's a shame, because the glimpses of the "real" Kearns – the blurring of the line between act and performer – give the show an intriguing charge. And, in a set that meanders in and out of the nooks and crannies of Kearns' unheroic life, there's terrific comic writing, excellent use of silence and beautifully turned instances of pathos. I'm thinking of his nostalgia for the hard-working years when "I used to finish pencils!", or the great joke about how, given the chance, he'd confuse listeners to Desert Island Discs.
Poignancy is in the warp and weft of the best moments here, so Kearns doesn't have to play it. He's his usual goofy self in the sequence about the old couple sitting blandly in his local pub, which is tender and loopy in equal measure. Elsewhere, he lets self-help axioms hang wistfully in the air, waiting in vain for their punchline. The effect is seductive and surprising. All that's missing is structure, or the buildup of momentum, which might have materialised had Kearns not left so soon. Still, 40 minutes of this is funnier than plenty of hour-long shows elsewhere.
• Until 23 August. Box office: 0131-226 0000. Venue: Voodoo Rooms, Edinburgh.
