Go on, expose yourself to some comedians

Reading about comedy is frustrating. You need to see it live to make a proper judgement

I'm a little wary about commenting on comedy at the Edinburgh Festival. I once did so, remarking that the female stand-ups that year weren't very good. I was then attacked by the London listings magazine Time Out in a po-faced article, which included the unintentionally memorable advice: "David Lister should expose himself to more female comedians."

The perils of writing about comedy. It is the most difficult genre to write about sensibly; in fact, it's nigh impossible. Pity the poor reviewers for a start. They can't actually mention any of the jokes. No one who has bought a ticket for a subsequent night would thank them for that. Nor would performers be thrilled to have their gags made public. And so comedy reviews contain endless variations on: "The exquisite, rambling monologue about the sheep and the astronaut was the funniest thing in the entire festival." The other 60 people who were in the room will no doubt wet themselves at the memory. To the rest of us it will mean absolutely nothing. The New Statesman critic, for example, praised the stand-up Jo Caulfield for being "very sharp at parrying heckles". But what does she say? What does she do? That, of course, would be telling, and comedy reviewers don't tell.

Then there are the perennial Edinburgh chestnuts, which also cannot be proved or disproved in print. Can women be funny? Can racist jokes be funny? Can misogyny be funny? Can Reginald D Hunter be funny?

Mr Hunter is a black American who has a risqué routine in this year's Fringe. He asks his audience questions such as, "Who do you think is more likely to beat their girlfriend, a white man or a black one?" He follows up this with: "Which of the two is more likely to sell you drugs?"

Laugh? I almost did. One thing's for certain: a white comedian asking those questions would have emptied the house. The routine isn't my cup of tea, but I nearly warmed to Hunter when I read the criticism of him by Alex O'Connell, the comedy critic of The Times, but more importantly the woman chairing this year's Perrier Award judges. She said that Hunter had "a lot of problems in terms of women and race... I don't believe in censorship, but for me there is not enough distance between the real him and the comedian on stage."

If Hunter is harbouring any hopes of a special award at tonight's Perrier prize-giving, he should take that as no. But, equally, should Ms O'Connell feel it necessary to approve of (or even judge at all) the man as well as the routine? Good thing Lenny Bruce isn't around for this year's Perrier.

Perhaps her words illustrate my point: comedy is the most difficult and dangerous thing to pontificate upon in print. My own favourite at Edinburgh this year was Alex Horne, a delightfully surreal comedian who had found an actual report of a 1970s seminar on the science of comedy and what made people laugh. His show consisted of putting the conclusions to the test. Even tickling was analysed. A woman was brought out of the audience and Mr Horne's laconic sidekick announced to her in a mournful tone: "I shall be tickling you tonight."

I found it a scream. Reading it, you probably don't find it remotely funny. And, in the case of Mr Hunter, you might think that he has daringly stretched the socio-political boundaries of comedy, or that Ms O'Connell is absolutely right, and he is simply encouraging racial prejudice. The point is we don't know. Almost no comedy turn works in print, and because of that, discussion of it in print usually doesn't work either. Only when seeing it live and hearing the tone of voice of the comic, sensing how much irony is involved, and experiencing the performer's relationship with the audience can a judgement be made.

Reading about comedy is frustrating. Go out and expose yourself to some comedians.

¿ I went to the last night of the Madness musical Our House in the West End last weekend. The show seemed far too enjoyable to be coming off early, but such is the parlous state of the tourist-free zone that is the West End. It was a riotous occasion and the only night at the theatre that I can recall where the audience kept shouting for more, even after the safety curtain had fallen. Sadly, actors, unlike rock groups, don't tend to have encores up their sleeve.

¿ A genuine highlight of this year's Edinburgh Festival was the Monet exhibition at the Royal Scottish Assembly. The paintings that Monet did on the Normandy coast were accompanied by an illuminating text, which told how the artist complained that the "English game of golf" was leading to new courses spoiling the coastline. It also said that Monet had played golf himself. Was his anger at the sport an aesthetic one or merely an irritation that he had not coped with it as well as he would have liked? So here is a piece of research for art historians: what was Monet's handicap?

d.lister@independent.co.uk