Some things are definitely better the second time around. I first saw Amy Gledhill's Make Me Look Fit On The Poster at the Edinburgh Fringe last summer. It was certainly enjoyable, but I was still surprised when she won the Edinburgh Comedy Award for Best Show. After revisiting I can see why it bagged that accolade. It deserves every plaudit it receives.
Gledhill's barnstorming set is a veritable comedy Trojan Horse. The versatile performer – who is also half of sketch duo The Delightful Sausage, though that Sausage might have to go on the back burner given her solo success – delivers a heartfelt exploration of self-perception cloaked in a series of stand-out belly laugh routines.
After coming on and asking the audience to lob underwear at her – don't panic, you don't have to donate your own pants – Gledhill explains that the show is basically about embarrassing incidents that keep her up at night. The opening anecdote is a hilarious knockabout account of having to be rescued from a "tree-dangling" adventure park after finding herself hanging like a "ginger bauble".
This story splinters off into a thousand chatty tangents which cue up some deftly crafted callbacks later. Is it true? And if so how much is it embellished? Does veracity matter when it is this jaw-achingly comical?
Elsewhere she sings the praises of living alone and being able to do everything naked, even though it makes frying resemble Russian Roulette. Her energetic act outs add extra helpings of laughs. Another farcical face-palm tale involves mistaking a Hollywood A lister and giving him tips on ordering in a Toby Carvery.
But along the way another theme emerges. The script slips gradually into a discussion about the divide in Gledhill's personality. How, she asks, can she be so confident yet also have low self esteem? Sometimes the past haunts us more than we realise. A heartstoppingly hurtful note penned by a college boyfriend has caused more lasting damage than it had a right to.
While this serious strand is skilfully woven into the gig, building to powerful conclusion, Gledhill always foregrounds the humour, whether it is describing her clunky love-making techniques, dealing with negative comments on her YouTube clips or charting the erotic charge of massage chairs.
In Edinburgh this show felt a little rushed, trying to squeeze a lot into the scheduled hour. Here with less time pressures it has room to breathe. Last night's performance overran by 15 minutes but never felt overlong. Her charisma and exuberance carries you along. I could have happily watched Gledhill for another hour. And judging by the cheers at the end so could everybody else.
Until February 8. Tickets and information here: sohotheatre.com
