No superior Anglophone stand-up is known to me. Jeselnik's insouciant, self-aggrandizing deportment is impeccably calculated, his misdirecting exposition and depraved one-liners exceptionally crafted. A scarcity of living comics proffer a fresh approach to perversity, so he's among a select few. Those humorless, hackneyed hallmarks of contemporary comedy belabored in maladroit mimicry of Carlin and Hicks -- self-denigration, sociopolitical demagoguery, audience solicitation, impotent diatribes -- are absent here as a springtime eve is fresco. Jeselnik's is a polarizing presence: one is either engaged by his self-adoration and debauched punchlines or isn't.
Not recommended for enthusiasts of Dane Cook, Kate Rigg, David Cross, Carlos Mencia, Bill Burr, et al.
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About the reviewer
Robert Buchanan (rbuchanan)
I'm a bibliophile, ailurophile, inveterate aggregator, dedicated middlebrow and anastrophizing syntax addict. My personality type is that of superlative INTJ.
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