I was exclusively attracted to seeing Chris Grace’s show ‘Sardines,’ by two important factors – 1) my deep affection for his long-suffering character Jerry on the criminally-underloved NBC sitcom ‘Superstore,’ and 2) a general intrigue of a US comedian coming to Bristol, given that they tend to mostly stay in London (occasionally braving Manchester.) But I’m so, so glad that I did, even if the initial reasons were very superficial.

Grace walks onstage clad in full white, down to his watch and ring, and gets started straight away. His background in improv is immediately clear as he performs comfortably without a mic or any props, beginning by introducing us to an (expertly space-worked) projector screen with a picture of his family on it, which he talks us through. His presence is understated and assured, and it becomes clear that while the central question of the show – whether we can enjoy life if we know how it ends – is rooted in a considerable and traumatic experience of death, both of many of his immediate family and his partner. He’s lowkey but powerful in his delivery, talking us through the emotional complexity of the experiences, and perfectly balancing it with humour in a way which is deceptively challenging to achieve; the audience are holding their breath in anticipation of a joke as often as they’re doing it because of devastatingly emotional moments. 

There are various running asides – his type, American healthcare, his age – and an extended bit on how his panic attacks were alleviated by the 2007 Rihanna song Please Don’t Stop The Music. He divides the audience into sections to sing it, which given the half-full theatre feels initially anxiety-inducing, but is surprisingly successful and wholesome. 

The show resolves as he talks about the hard-earned positive mindset he’s gained; a sole music cue is expertly used for the emotional peak. The cumulative effect of the picture he paints and his attempts to wring positivity from it all meant that I was on the brink of tears by the time he finished. It feels like a criticism to describe a show as understated, but it was distinctly unshowy and all the more powerful for it. Hundreds of comics this summer at the Fringe will attempt to replicate mixing comedy and visceral personal tragedy – with considerably less tragedy – in this way in their shows, but it takes true mastery to nail it in such a deceptively straightforward way while still undercutting with the perfect amount, pitch and pacing of jokes. 

I left with immense respect for Grace. The show was beautifully profound and touching, and I’m excited to see more of his work.

(I’ve actually ended up seeing his cabaret with This is Your Musical tomorrow, so this has come around considerably sooner than I planned. But other people in the crowd mentioned to Grace afterwards that they were also doubling up with both, so hopefully I won’t be alone.) 

I hope this isn’t the last we see of Sardines either (although he is braving Manchester on Friday.)