At the sharp end of conversations about the Edinburgh Fringe becoming an exclusive playground for the rich, Alfie Dundas can stake a solid claim to being posher even than Jack Whitehall and Ivo Graham.
So there was a weird vibe in the room on the night I caught him with a front row challenging his social superiority. A large work night out for a client, full of moneyed assertiveness, gilets and Barbour jackets, so blatant he couldn’t help but remark upon it. Which should have been fine. But he let it destabilise him and the show never fully recovered.
Part of the problem is that he’s attempting a tricky balance of advocating his progressive values with self-deprecating admissions of his privilege – with a literal monument to his slave-owning heritage in Edinburgh – alongside opening up about his family’s grief. That’s a lot for any stand-up to negotiate, not least someone doing their first full-length show. And though he scrambled to a positive outcome, Dundas probably allowed his discomfort to excessively infect the gig, needlessly going a little aggressively on what were, at the end of the day, paying punters. That was a pity because he’s perceptive about his rarefied upbringing and a writer of considerable wit, while his brother’s story retains ridiculousness through the tragedy.
Alfie Dundas: First Class Panic, Pleasance Courtyard, until 30 Aug, 7.15pm