On the off-chance you are an indolent lesbian approaching midlife whose appetite for excitement is outdone by a love for snacks, then you will certainly find much that is to like about Jen Brister. Then again, if you’re someone who enjoys a quality penis gag, you will be similarly engaged. Which is to say, this little-known UK comic offers something to everyone; allowing, of course, for the likelihood that everyone loves stories about diminishing passion.
Like the very good Lawrence Mooney, Brister walks with greedy pleasure on fluffy slippers to the sins of middle-age. Hers is not so much an account of lost ambition as it is an affectionate shuffle toward the adult realisation that we are all fairly unimportant.
Any artist who can talk about their own impotence with confidence is okay by me. Brister rails with some erudition against her own government and pokes a little informed fun at ours but does so with the awareness that her capacity to change anything is limited not only by the world but by her love of bacon.
It is not resignation here so much as it is an acknowledgement that we are all shouting into an abyss. It is the good kind of pessimism and the best sort of robust self-loathing that gives us an hour of funny frustration.