Ignoring the fact that Dexter seriously overrates his singing ability by attempting to serenade the audience with a jazz cover, he starts of brilliantly. Confident and witty, his routine begins with some great observations and anecdotes, and warning the audience that you should never inform your girlfriend what celebrity you fancy, or it will get back at you. These moments are genuinely funny and painfully familiar to every male member in the audience.
Thrown into the mix there is some more serious subjects such as musings on the mind of Muslim terrorists: the absurdness that each terrorist will be promised 72 virgins in heaven, that death will be rewarded by sex… His brilliant ramblings are a funny and fresh perspective on a subject that has been discussed in the comedy circuits for years.
But by about the half way mark, the cracks in Dexter’s routine start to show, his topics of discussion are painfully familiar to most Festival comedians: a black president, the Olympics, a new London Mayor (take note, maybe funny for Londoners, but no one in Edinburgh really cares) and he just doesn’t have the skill to wring out nearly as many laughs from these subjects as you would like him too. The show takes an audible dip as the laughs begin to dry up and are only saved by an amusing though not hilarious final five minutes.
Dexter offers a strangely mundane comedy experience that is peppered with not nearly enough special moments.
2/5 
Martin Miller
