Michael J Dolan: Nothing Will Ever Be Alright Again, Ever

A small crowd gathers to watch Michael J Dolan on what is supposedly “Black Wednesday,” the least attended day of the Fringe. Two out of the seven are an elderly couple clearly expecting an hour of happy-go-lucky humour and two others, me and the note-taking lady next to me, are obviously reviewers. This doesn’t seem to unnerve Dolan at first, who sets the mood by declaring his hatred for other Fringe performers, because they remind him of his own insignificance.

Dolan warns in his show’s description of its bleak nature and how no one will like it, but maybe I’m also dead inside, because his thoughts on such pleasant topics as awful relationships, our eventual madness, and suicide have me laughing in agreement. Somewhere between Dolan proclaiming how stupid we are and how we all deserve to die, the elderly couple decide they’ve “lost a backpack” and leave, leaving the performer a bit befuddled on stage.

He quickly lands back on his feet like a powerhouse of hilarious cynicism. Don’t come here if you’re expecting jokes about cupcakes and Italian dads, you will ruin it. A clever writer with a perfectly dark sense of humour, I’d love to see Dolan with a bit more confidence and a supportive audience; he’d kill it.