Show name: A Kate in the Hand is Worth Two in the Butch
Performer: Kate Butch
Venue: King Dome at Pleasance Dome
Date and time: Wednesday 12th August, 8pm
Ticket price: £18.50
Rating: ★★★★★ 5/5
Reviewer: Sarah Turnbull
Old-school drag polish meets gleefully modern mischief in an hour that’s sharp, silly and gloriously petty. The stage is a tongue-in-cheek shrubbery shrine that reads “KATE”: a minimalist setup for a maximalist performer. Once Kate steps out, you don’t look anywhere else.
From the off, Kate is in complete control, planting setups, tightening the screws and holding the beat until titters bubble as the room waits with bated breath for the punchline. Early doors comes a mischievous confession to having “rawdogged” the eclipse and lived to tell the tale, followed by a mock trigger warning about strong language, adult themes and the possibility they’re not properly tucked. It sets the tone for an hour where the laughs barely let up, near-nonstop giggles and gasp-laughs punctuated by properly seismic payoffs.
There’s a jaunty celebration of English northernness (and a brisk ranking of the UK’s regions, with Scotland rightly on top). Kate claims to have fully embraced Scottish culture, up to and including learning the national anthem: You Cannae Shove Yer Granny Aff a Bus. A loose thread of proverbs ties the hour together.
Puns are razor-edged, crowd work is generous, and the timing is immaculate. A Buxton back-and-forth blossoms into a neat running gag; audience-finished idioms are teased to the brink; and one perfectly aimed look does the work of a paragraph.
Kate nods to Drag Race UK with a light touch, riffs on that Celebrity Mastermind win (Shrek, naturally), and delivers a surgical takedown of a Facebook loudmouth with precision roasts. A faux-earnest tilt at “Best Joke of the Fringe” lets Kate both mock and chase the laurel.
What gives the hour heft is the personal writing. Coming out at a grandfather’s funeral is handled with exquisite care: darkly funny, never cheap. “Vintage homophobia” on the street (“batty boy”) is reclaimed with zinging retorts. An anxiety spiral during a driving theory test becomes disarmingly relatable, and a brief lemons-to-lemonade reflection lands a lump in the throat before Kate flicks it into a huge laugh.
The petty streak is a joy: long-game revenge plans, precise social media clapbacks and a deadpan admission of sticking to stereotypes, chiefly being gloriously, meticulously petty.
Ageing gets a tart spin (“a leopard can’t change its spots, but mine have got worse”); seasons are rebranded “Brat Girl Summer” and “Seasonal Depression Winter”.
Sharp, silly and fabulously petty, with near-nonstop laughter and a slick masterclass from a comic who knows exactly how to work a crowd and when to let a single glance do the killing.
★★★★★
