Uber’s in-car stand-up show at the Edinburgh Fringe is the worst idea in the entire history of comedy

Andrew Maxwell entertains some Uber passengers. Image: Uber.

This morning, I was lucky enough to receive not one, not two, but three emails from the same PR company telling me about an exciting new show happening at this year’s Edinburgh Fringe. Likely knowing I’m such an enormous fan of the festival that made my life a living hell for five summers, I was more than happy to indulge them by reading the press release for what I soon discovered to be the worst idea for a Fringe show this year. This is not a feat that’s easily accomplished.

In partnership with Uber, the release said, otherwise absolutely fine comedian Andrew Maxwell will be performing twelve free 15-minute gigs in the back of an Uber. So, while you’re stuck in traffic in an over-congested city centre full of hundreds of thousands of tourists, you can listen to someone tell you topical jokes that were prepared solely to get money from this brand sponsorship.

This press release, as you may expect, is full of some precious gems and tactics that I’m shocked more PR companies aren’t attempting. Here are five of my favourites, which I’m sure will entice you into getting yourself a ticket to this capitalist charade.

There’s nowhere to hide from what will inevitably be a decidedly average bit of comedy

Let’s start with the actual concept of this show. It’s described as an “intimate” gig with Andrew Maxwell – a candidate for the last phrase I ever want used in relation to a comedy show, along with “four-hour” or “Jeff Dunham”.

That intimacy, it would also appear in the kindly attached photos, will be in the way of Maxwell, in some cases, sitting right next to you, without even the shield of the passenger seat to hide your dissatisfied, discomforted face.


The Regional Manager at Uber literally criticises his overworked, underpaid staff

As if Uber doesn’t shit on its employees enough, Alex Robertson, the company’s regional manager, was quoted in the press release as saying that “Lots of drivers who use our app like to think of themselves as comedians”. In other words, this is him saying, “I know you work hard for little money at a company that’s infamous for limiting its workers’ rights, but please, allow me to use you as the ass end of this joke, which is passive aggressively telling you to shut the fuck up.”

It’s worth noting too that he also refers to his staff as “drivers who use our app” rather than, say, “our drivers” or “the badly paid people who are, in fact, the only way this business can actually fucking run”.

The main press picture shows the Uber driver looking absolutely fucking miserable

Nothing screams, “We are kind to our staff, also please enjoy some hastily prepared jokes” like a photo of a man staring down the camera with a microphone labeled “COMEDY” and a gig-economy worker looking like he’d rather be sat in a literal pile of shit than be anywhere near this guy.

The show will be “cutting-edge observational comedy and acerbic social commentary, with the sights of the Scottish capital”

What better way to view Edinburgh Castle, the Scott Monument, and Greyfriars Bobby than with the backing track of someone screaming at you about Brexit and laughing at wailing bagpipes into an inexplicable microphone – you’re all in the back of the same fucking car – for a quarter of an hour.  

The one joke, the ONLY JOKE, they’ve included from Andrew Maxwell is pathetically shit

I hope you’re sitting down (as Andrew will be about to tell you!) for this bit of humour that’s meant to sell you on this already deeply uninviting, unsettling comedy set:

“Andrew Maxwell said: ‘The Uber Comedy Car gigs will be just like my stand-up, except, of course, I will be sat down.’”

TWO TIME EDINBURGH AWARD NOMINEE. LIVE AT THE APOLLO. HAVE I GOT NEWS FOR YOU.

Thank you, Andrew, and a bigger thank you, Andrew’s PR team who are presumably the dry, humourless people who decided to put the most shit bit known to man as the one joke to include in this press release. Thank you for this brilliant bit of comedy, the true nail in the coffin in the worst sell for a Fringe show I’ve seen this year.

So, if you’re in Edinburgh over the next three days, you can get yourself a free ticket (honestly, imagine the fucking cheek if they charged) to one of the twelve gigs via the Uber app. And if you go, do tell Andrew Maxwell to thank his PR people who spammed me all morning for bringing this superb bit of comedy to my attention.

Sarah Manavis is digital culture writer at the New Statesman.

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In South Africa's cities, evictions are happening despite a national ban

An aerial view shows a destroyed house in Lawley, south of Johannesburg, on April 20, 2020. The city has been demolishing informal structures on vacant land despite a moratorium on evictions. (Marco Longari/AFP via Getty Images)

On the morning of 15 July, a South African High Court judge ruled that the city of Cape Town’s Anti-Land Invasion Unit had illegally evicted a man when it destroyed the shack where he was living.

That afternoon, the Anti-Land Invasion Unit was out again, removing shacks in another informal settlement.

Evictions were banned in South Africa for nine weeks, after the national government placed the country under a strict Covid-19 lockdown in late March. At present, eviction orders are automatically suspended until the country moves to a lower “alert level” and can only be carried out with a special order from a judge.

Yet major cities including Cape Town, Johannesburg and eThekwini (created through the merger of Durban with several surrounding communities), have continued to use municipal law enforcement agencies and private security companies to remove people from informal housing. In many cases those operations have been conducted without a court order – something required under regular South African law.

Around 900 people were evicted from three informal settlements in eThekwini during the eviction ban, according to the Church Land Programme, a local NGO. Its director, Graham Philpott, says it’s also aware of evictions in other informal settlements.

While evictions aren’t a “new experience” in these communities, the NGO released a report on lockdown evictions because they were “so explicitly illegal”. “There was a moratorium in place,” Philpott says, “and the local municipality acted quite flagrantly against it. There’s no confusion, there’s no doubt whatsoever, it is illegal. But it is part of a trend where the eThekwini municipality has acted illegally in evicting the poor from informal settlements.”

Evictions also took place in Cape Town and Johannesburg during so-called “hard lockdown” according to local activists. In eThekwini and other municipalities, the evictions have continued despite restrictions. In Cape Town, authorities pulled a naked man, Bulelani Qholani, from his shack. That incident, which was captured on video, drew condemnation from the national government and four members of the Anti-Land Invasion unit were suspended. 


The cities say they’re fighting “land invasions” – illegal occupations without permission from the land owner.

“Land invasions derail housing and service projects, lead to the pollution of waterways, severely prejudice deserving housing beneficiaries and cause property owners to lose their investments over night,” Cape Town’s executive mayor, Dan Plato said in a statement. (Plato has also claimed that Qholani did not live in the shack he was pulled from and that he disrobed when municipal authorities arrived.)

South African municipalities often claim that the shacks they destroy are unoccupied. 

If they were occupied, says Msawakhe Mayisela, a spokesman for the eThekwini municipality, the city would get a court order before conducting an eviction. “Everything we’re doing is within the ambit of the law,” Mayisela says. But “rogue elements” are taking advantage of Covid-19, he added.

“We fully understand that people are desperately in need of land, but the number of people that are flocking to the cities is too much, the city won’t be able to provide housing or accommodation for everyone overnight,” he says. 

While eThekwini claims to be a caring city, local activists say the evictions show otherwise.

In one case, 29 women were evicted from shacks during the hard lockdown. With nowhere to go, they slept in an open field and were arrested by the South African Police Service for violating the lockdown, Philpott says.

“These evictions are dehumanizing people whose dignity is already compromised in many ways,” says S’bu Zikode, the president of Abahlali baseMjondolo, a community organization whose Zulu name translates to “the people of the shacks”. 

“It has reminded us that we are the people that do not count in our society.”

Municipal law enforcement and private security contractors hired by cities regularly fire rubber bullets, or even live ammunition, at residents during evictions. Some 18 Abahlali baseMjondolo activists have been killed since the organization was founded in 2005, Zikode says, most by the eThekwini Land Invasion Unit and Metro Police.

(Mayisela says that if city employees have broken the law, Abahlali baseMjondolo can file a complaint with the police. “There is no conclusive evidence to the effect that our members have killed them,”  he says.)

Other Abahlali baseMjondolo activists have been killed by what Zikode calls “izinkabi,” hitmen hired by politicians. Two eThekwini city councillors were sentenced to life in prison 2016 after they organized the killing of Thuli Ndlovu, an Abahlali baseMjondolo organizer. A member of the Land Invasion Unit who is currently facing a charge of attempted murder after severely injuring a person during an eviction remains on the job, Zikode says.

South Africa’s 1996 constitution is intended to protect the public from arbitrary state violence and guarantees a right to housing, as well as due process in evictions. But for Zikode, the South African constitution is a “beautiful document on a shelf”.

“For the working class and the poor, it’s still difficult to have access to court. You’ve got to have money to get to court,” he says. 

The actions by municipal law enforcement are breaking down social trust, says Buhle Booi, a member of the Khayelitsha Community Action Network, a community group in the largest township in Cape Town.

“There’s a lack of police resources and those very few police resources that they have, they use to destroy people’s homes, to destroy people’s peace, rather than fighting crime, real criminal elements that we see in our society,” Booi says.

For him, it’s a continuation of the practices of the colonial and apartheid governments, pushing poor people, most of whom are Black, to the periphery of cities.

Around one-fifth of South Africa’s urban population live in shacks or informal dwellings, according to a 2018 report by SERI. Many more live in substandard housing. City governments maintain that the shacks destroyed during anti-land invasion operations are unfinished and unoccupied. But Edward Molopi, a research and advocacy officer at SERI, says that this claim is an attempt to escape their legal obligations to get a court order and to find alternative accommodation for affected people. 

The roots of the current eviction crisis go back to apartheid, which barred non-white people from living in cities. Between the 1940s and 1970s, tens of thousands of people were forcibly relocated from neighbourhoods like Johannesburg’s Sophiatown and Cape Town’s District Six to remote townships.

In the 26 years following the end of apartheid, deepening economic inequality and rampant unemployment have limited access to formal housing for millions of South Africans. Government housing programs have mostly focused on building small stand-alone homes, often on the peripheries of cities far from jobs and amenities.

While these well-intentioned projects have built millions of homes, they’ve failed to keep up with demand, says Marie Huchzermeyer, a professor at the Centre for Urbanism & Built Environment Studies at the University of the Witwatersrand in Johannesburg. Government-funded housing projects “will never on it’s own be enough,” she says. “It has to be accompanied by land release.”

Government policies call for the “upgrading” of informal settlements and the formalization of residents’ occupation. But “there are still very, very, very few projects” of that nature in South Africa, Huchzermeyer says. “Even if it’s an informal settlement that’s been around for 20 years, there still seems to be a political wish to punish people for having done that.” The government wants people to go through the formal process of being given a house, she says – and for them to be thankful to the government for providing it.

At the municipal level, change will require “real leadership around informal settlement upgrading and around ensuring that land is available for people to occupy,” she says. 

Despite the end of enforced racial segregation, spacial apartheid remains a factor in South Africa. There are few mixed-income neighbourhoods. Those who can afford to often live behind walls in sprawling low-density suburbs, while the poor live in overcrowded slums and apartment buildings.

The creation of the apartheid city “didn't happen by chance,” says Amira Osman, a professor of architecture at the Tshwane University of Technology. “It was a deliberate, structured approach to the design of the city. We need a deliberate, structured approach that will undo that.”

Since last fall, Johannesburg’s Inclusionary Housing Policy has required developments of 20 or more units to set aside 30% of those units for low-income housing.

The policy, which faced significant opposition from private developers, won’t lead to dramatic change, says Sarah Charlton, a professor at the Centre for Urbanism and Built Environment Studies, but it is “an important and significant step.”

Zikode isn’t optimistic that change will come for shack dwellers, however.

“People in the high positions of authority pretend that everything is normal,” he says. “They pretend that everyone is treated justly, they pretend that everyone has homes with running water, that everyone has a piece of land – and hide the truth and the lies of our democracy.”

Jacob Serebrin is a freelance journalist currently based in Johannesburg. Follow him on Twitter.