Abby Denton has enraptured audiences with her unique brand of off-kilter comedy all over the world, from the dreary dive bars of Los Angeles to the dreary dive bars of Yorkshire, trying to understand how to live in the age of the personal brand. What is authenticity in a world where we assert our identity in a 140-character bio? What is a family but an accumulation of stories? These are themes and questions no audience has been sober enough to grapple with – until Fringe.
Abby would like very much to be cancelled, in the way that tends to result in million-dollar book deals and lucrative TV contracts complaining about being silenced. Unfortunately, all of Abby’s strongest opinions are about Digimon, and it is difficult to be cancelled for calling the green monkey its TRUE name Koemon, rather than its English dub name Monmon. It just can’t be done, and press releases she has issued on the matter seem to attract mere scorn rather than profitable controversy.
But she will do her best, soldiering girlishy on, to change the way you think about life, politics, family, and love, with a one-woman show borne of acclaimed stand-up comedy material honed to a knife’s edge before the sourest, most drunken audiences you ever saw. The average conversation contains over three lies per minute (LPM). This statistic is largely skewed by Abby Denton, although she prefers to call them jokes.
No one will be seated during the riveting story about Abby’s father trying to pretend her brother was a car.
