- "Absolutely Hilarious" (Three Weeks)

“I want to be on TV, I’m a whore.” So says Stephen K Amos at the start of his show. This helps explain his 100 Greatest Things concept – it closely mimics the of list shows on TV - on which Amos has appeared. Unlike these shows, it is genuine entertainment, and absolutely hilarious. Some items on the list are just funny because they have been thought of and get a mention (Raspberry Ripples and divas are in there) but most laughs come from Amos’ wonderful wit and audience interaction (which, coincidently, is on the list). A show that’s so sharp I left with less facial hair than I began with, it’s a hilarious trip through the mind of one very funny man.

"Highly Original, Brilliantly Funny Show" (The Stage)

It is a testament to Stephen K Amos’ skills as a performer that he makes what could be quite a tedious idea for a show into a well-crafted and wonderfully enjoyable hour’s entertainment. Desperate to get on to telly, Amos has in the last couple of years whored himself out as a talking head to those 100 Greatest… programmes. In glorious recognition of this, he has built his show around his own version of one of these programmes. Featuring 100 things that he thinks make life worth living, he shows clips of filmed interviews from fellow comics, including Simon Amstell and Stage columnist Arthur Smith. If any mark is needed of the quality of Amos’ abilities as a comic writer, then witness his ability to think up 100 things that not only resonate with the audience but that can also set up his witty and at times ascerbic stories. No one delivers an aside as well as Amos. Amos is one of the most under-rated and under-exploited comics on the circuit. While this is a highly original, brilliantly funny show, it still only touches on his abilities, not only as a writer and stand-up but as a character performer and actor.

- "Brilliant" (Metro)

'I think promiscuity tends to be more promise than 'scuity,' offers Carey Marx after dating more than 100 women for his show, Marry Me. 'That is, if there is such a word as 'scuity',' he adds. Despite using dating as a subject for comedy, it's obvious that Marx is a romantic at heart. Even if it involves murdering a bar full of innocent people or bringing a graveyard of zombies back to life, there's absolutely nothing he won't do for a girl. He casts his net as far as Russia, where beautiful women are queuing up for a meeting with him, dazzled by his offer of a bicycle; his criteria for a Soviet bride includes 'must enjoy queuing for bread'. He searches the Internet, enlists the help of his friends and does everything he can to make himself eligible. The result? Whether he found a match or not - and you'll have to see his show to find out if he did - Marx has ended up with a truly winning hour of entertainment. By treating the romantic process in such a mechanical fashion, Marx exposes plenty of the foibles of both sexes and is correct when he points out that the ultimate butt of his jokes is not the women he dated but himself. Marx's delivery is honest and unaffected, making heavy use of letters and e-mails that he reads in sometimes excruciating detail. And while he elicits plenty of relaxed laughs, Marx tops it with a brilliant comic set piece, a video recording of a date during which he managed to convince the object of his affections that she has casually committed genocide. It may not sound funny on paper but it's definitely one of the comic highlights of this year's Fringe. For better or worse, for richer or poorer, Marx is no comic bridesmaid - he's definitely the bride.

- Richard Pryor Award Nominee

- "Uplifting, Joyful " (Chortle)

It's been said before, but it bears repeating: there's no one who can work a room quite like Stephen K Amos. Using his immense charisma, this silver-tongued charmer will mock and cajole any audience into having a good time. He may deliver the odd cruel aside, but it's always obvious that it's a well-meaning tease rather than anything more malicious. He's a generous performer, too, letting witty punters have their moment in the spotlight ­ an admirable characteristic that can only comes from a well-placed confidence in his own ability. This year's Edinburgh hour provides plenty of opportunity to demonstrate those talents, thanks to the subtle structure that underlies these partly spontaneous proceedings. Topped and tailed with a neat theatrical conceit, Amos's loose theme is the lack of basic abilities many people possess, himself included, admitting that he couldn't even change a plug when his TV packed in.

To combat that, he's promised to learn a new skill every day of the festival, the order of the challenges chosen at random from the previous night's audience. Today's task was tap-dancing, under the tutelage of the effusive, perpetually laughing, Movin Melvin Brown, and Amos proved more than up to the occasion. Before that, we had an episode that played up to the skills Amos doesn't need to learn - audience interaction ­ with a silly game show that perfectly suits his friendly, unthreatening persona. Are you watching, TV people?

There's all the usual banter surrounding all this, gently mocking people for being too young, too posh, or too Australian, but it all goes towards creating an uplifting, joyful atmosphere that lingers long after you've left the venue.

STEPHEN K AMOS is not kidding about. He strides regally into the Teviot Gilded Balloon Nightclub and, in the cultured tones of a Nigerian prince, sets about "making connections" with his audience. This he does by asking us to turn to someone we do not know and exchange a pleasant greeting with them. He then sets about saving our souls which, for one unfortunate fellow, means a slap in the face from a girl in the front row. Amos admits this is the first time this has ever happened and, sweating profusely, slips out of character.

With his funny faces, upbeat demeanour, wistful reminiscences of the 1970s and fledgling Afro hairstyle, Amos is the heir apparent to Lenny Henry’s comedy crown. Like Henry in his pomp, he subtly subverts racial stereotypes, while acutely aware that anything too radical is liable to make his audience uneasy. He tells how, when performing in front of a group of middle-aged Jewish women, he quipped that all his mates would be out taking the opportunity to burgle their houses. When one lady protested that this gag was racist, Amos quipped: "Why? All my friends are white."

Gently subversive his material may be in places, but elsewhere Amos treads a more familiar comedic path, singling out members of the audience and engaging in intimate banter with each. Unlike some stand-ups, Amos’s ribbing is not overly vicious and the genuine affection he feels for his audience is amply demonstrated in his musical finale, in which he has us all on our feet clapping and dancing to Gareth Gates’s cheesy rendition of Light My Fire.But the icing on the cake has to be his deliciously camp revival of Five Star’s 1980s pop-soul chart-buster, Can’t Wait Another Minute, dedicated saucily to a guy called Craig in the third row. If, like the rest of the audience, you’d forgotten all about Five Star, then prepare to be reacquainted.

At one point in the show, Amos recalls a recent meeting with BBC bosses to discuss a possible TV show. Already an experienced warm-up man for programmes such as Have I Got News For You? and V Graham Norton, Amos’s easygoing style would be ideally suited to television stand-up - so, the BBC’s failure to find a vehicle for him is baffling to say the least. Don’t wait for short-sighted A&R men to spot what’s right in front of their noses - check out Amos’s Five Star performance for yourself.

- Perrier Award Nominee

- "Pure Entertainment " (The Scotsman)

PHIL NICHOL has had a terrible year - he has been arrested and his girlfriend has broken up with him. As vividly illustrated by the photos hung up on the wall, his nose was broken by a stranger on the London Underground.

Understandably Nichol was feeling particularly low. His friend suggested he make a list of things he likes. That list forms the basis of the show and it turns out to be a great celebration. Ranging from the song My Darling Clementine to John Travolta’s legs, Nichol’s list is a random collection of objects and ideas, which he uses to springboard himself on to topics and stories. Out of the blue, he breaks into song, the most striking of which is the one he has written for a friend of his who suffers from depression. This documents everything that is horrible in the world - written, apparently, with the intention to drive his friend over the edge.

Bringing the audience down to such a low point is a dangerous thing to do, but Nichol pulls it off terrifically - he seems to add it in to the show just for the challenge. Another thing Nichol likes is surprises, and so he has flown his friend Shannon over from Canada, and every night of the run Shannon is responsible for organising a surprise ending for the show that Nichol has no prior knowledge of. So far, this has involved him being chased by a giant chicken, and being tackled to the floor by a naked man. This time Shannon decided to bring the punchline of one of his jokes to life, and the audience got to pelt him with peanuts - the delight of the crowd was echoed in Nichol’s reaction, as he looked absolutely elated by the end of the show.

With the Fringe becoming increasingly more like a month-long audition for television executives, it is wonderful to find a show performed with such enthusiasm and dedication to the art of pure entertainment.