Elaine Malcolmson wants to feel ‘like a dinner, not a serving suggestion’. By this, she wants somehow to get the real her. It’s a curious turn of phrase, but very evocative. For her birthday, Malcolmson’s partner adopted a reindeer named Berlin on her behalf. It’s the kind of gift that suggests they see Elaine as the full three courses, with coffee and optional cheeseboard. Malcolmson loves reindeer, and has a particular affinity for the Sámi peoples of Northern Europe that herd the beasts. But there’s something bleaker beneath the surface.

The show has a strange false start that makes you wonder if Malcolmson been rejigging things on the fly. She suffered a major bereavement during lockdown, and she mentions it early doors she says, to avoid the now almost-requisite emotional punch that a Fringe show should have about the 40 minute mark. She leaves and comes back in again to pick up with Berlin the reindeer (young, handsome, and independent – not an ideal trait for an animal with a herd instinct), and some of the many words Sámi have for their animals – the show’s title being one.

This move almost derails the momentum before the show actually starts and despite her best efforts Malcolmson doesn’t really manage to haul things back. Her deadpan, laconic style and her fondness for wordplay and inference over broader, easier gags works against her. She’s never less than her usual droll self, which is a natural fit with her Northern Irish accent, but it makes little effect on a fairly small and generally blank crowd.

To her infinite credit, Malcolmson never seems fazed by the tepid audience response. This isn’t her first sleigh ride and she battles on; she’s a comic of many years standing, and is held in high regard by other colleagues for a reason. Many’s the occasion down the years that her tinder-dry wit has ignited to great effect in a club setting so she’s unlikely to be unduly stung. But given the rawness of the show – masked by her normal presentation – you’re willing the comedy gods for one zinger to strike so she can build a head of steam that never comes.

And it’s a nice little tale, made extra poignant by that very delivery. Malcolm’s storytelling reaches emotional resonance without recourse to any theatrical flourishes. You can see what she’s going for, finding something of her own situation in that of her adopted beast, and her love of the deadening, muffling effect that snow has on the world. She’s giving far more of herself here than it seems initially, but it’s awkwardly stitched together.

It’s a real shame Malcolmson can’t battle through to the point where the chilly atmosphere in the room ceases to impact the show. A more intense, high-energy performer might have been able to elicit something other than dry chuckles once momentum was lost, even if only through provocation. But that kind of belligerence isn’t in her arsenal. You don’t doubt for a second that ‘Joik’ is a deeply personal, meaningful show for her, but by the end the room feels as frigid as Berlin’s natural habitat. It’s not difficult to understand and appreciate the roiling pain and loss at the core of the show – many went through something similar – but when the sensation left by a show is sympathy, then something has gone awry.

‘Joik‘ is at Gilded Balloon Patter House – The Penny until Mon 26 Aug 2024 (except Mon 12) at 19:40