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Anyone who has ever bought a new DVD in this country and been unable to skip the anti-piracy government warnings will be familiar with the Federation Against Copyright Theft (FACT); a government quango so wide open to satire it's incredible that there aren't 50 shows dedicated to tearing the whole organisation to pieces.

Victor Legit, the self-styled "most important man on the face of the earth," has been charged with the task of spreading FACT's message through the medium of infotainment. He brings his roadshow to the Fringe to teach us about the true costs of pirate DVDs and proliferate anti-Korean racism among the masses.

Legit's creator, Adam Riches, has on his hands, one of the finest satirical characters of the last few years. His maverick and demented copyright enforcer is almost perfectly realised - everything from the tone of his voice, to the brain-washed repetition of the party line and the ridiculous sense of condescending superiority are all hall-marks of the civilian law-enforcement type.

In any other hands, the joke has more than enough potential to get repetitive and tiresome. Conversely, as the routine gets more and more absurd and Legit more and more desperate, further layers of nuance and spectacularly original set-pieces force the set to greater heights, to such an extent that this could well be the most original and brilliantly written comedy show at the Fringe.

With superb audience interaction, the best satirical character since Garth Marenghi, bloody violence and the possibility of scoring a free Yakult yoghurt drink, Victor should have been one of the most talked about tickets this year. It is a great shame that, much like DVD pirates, Riches looks unlikely to get the justice he deserves.

Wednesday 22 August by Ben Judge

THE LIST                                             êêêê

Victor Legit is a zealot of the Federation Against Copyright Theft, steadfast in his mission to stem the tide of Korean-influenced DVD piracy. With a smart script and near-flawless delivery, the subtle details are embellished with some gory FX and a t wist or two in its tale. Worth getting your hands on a copy.

Brian Donaldson  16 August 2007

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ONE4REVIEW.COM                              êêêê 

Victor Legit plays the role of a surveillance officer working for F.A.C.T., the Federation Against Copyright Theft. His obsession is to rid the world of those guilty of DVD piracy. It is his whole life. His confidence in addressing us the audience, or seminar group, is totally sincere – and very funny.

Who are the piracy thieves? They could be anyone. He portrays himself as a kind of Superman figure as he attempts to root out and destroy DVD piracy wherever it lurks.

The final part of his routine develops into theatre – almost scary in its intensity and apparent reality. Be assured, it is completely scripted .This is a show that is original, with unexpected twists and turns. Does it work as comedy? Yes it does – very much so.

THE SCOTSMAN                                  êêê

PROOF that disproportionate violence can be funny, Victor Legit initially appears to be like many unwarranted character acts, just another pompous fool oblivious to his own failings.

Yet he emerges as something far more compelling. A ridiculously macho surveillance officer for the Federation Against Copyright Theft, Legit is the personification of those mildly hysterical piracy condemnations at the start of DVDs.

Playing Victor as "50 minutes of pent-up homosexual aggression", saturnine Colin Farrell-without-eyeballs, Adam Riches is a veritable monster, but one who partially turns you round to his uncompromising vision, even as his own guiding principals come under attack. If this was theatre, Legit might develop as a character and adjust his personality in the face of his limitations. But this is satisfying, low-blow comedy, and he snaps back and far further into angry type.

There are more subtle acts at the Fringe and Legit remains rather one-dimensional. Yet few comic creations are quite so well embodied. There's a great deal more potential in this gruff, Yakult-quaffing maverick, and hopefully he'll be back.

JAY RICHARDSON

Shit's getting close now people, real close, like you can feel it warming your cheeks.

To combat this, the Federation have booked me three "try-outs" at the New Wimbledon Studio Theatre on Thursday 12, 13 and 14 July. Starts 7.45, begins to grate around 8.05, ends 8.40...ish. All depends on who's left watching. If everyone leaves around about the 8.15 mark, I'll just motion the Technician to wind up the lights and I'll saunter off stage to get my 8.35 train. I'm not ready, I've got to be honest. They're pushing me and pushing me and at some point when you keep pushing me and pushing me something's got to give. What's all this 'line' crap? 'Lighting cues', 'sound f slash x'? And what the f*** is 'Blocking'? No-one said anything to me about this shit. I thought it was all going to be soundbites and photo opportunities. I didn't think I'd have to learn anything. I've got cartels to smash, rings to infiltrate, I can't be doing with highlighting my words and submitting drafts. It's ludicrous and I'm not enjoying myself.

So if you fancy watching Government money being thrown away right before your very eyes, then pop along , buy a chair and stare at me until you drop off.

Legit Out.

Just got flagged at Head Office Blog Control...who knew there was such a department?...about the use of language in my most recent blog. Apparently writing what you want to swear whilst substituting several letters for asterisks is not acceptable. I said why? They said becuase only an idiot wouldn't know what letters you had removed and replaced and only another idiot would have trouble re-inserting those letters and so thus achieving maximum insult. I smiled wryly, wagged a warning finger at their berating of my verve, turned and kicked over a chair on the way out. (Not my best move as the department head in question is disabled. I'll get heat for that one) My rebuke is this. I'm not a swearer by nature, I'm more of a swearee. People tend to vent at me on a daily, sometime hourly basis, such is the powderkeg atmos of a F.A.C.T bust, but I do not shy away from the odd expletive deleted either, nor should you. I believe in copyright, not censorship people, so if any of you older folks get ruffled by my use of the occasional cuss, I need only remind you that if it wasn't for your generation using that word around us, toward us and indeed against us, we wouldn't have heard it or learnt it to use it in the first place! That outburst you witnessed was due to my passion for my job, not a flaw in my upbringing. It's not trendy to say this nowadays but I had a lovely childhood. Really nice. Happy, active, loving. The word family is very important to me. Since I joined F.A.C.T. we've become one giant, extended shift-rota'd unit. Yes we bicker, yes we fight, but we do so all within the confines of a thirty-nine hour scheduled week with twenty eights days paid holiday. In fact, if truth be told, I've become so close and so fond of my F.A.C.T. family, I've hardly had anytime to visit my real family at all. Can't remember the last time I saw my niece, or what her name is come to think of it. Kelly, Becky, Polly, that's it. Must write that down. Not that they mind...I'm guessing. They all have their jobs and their job-families too.
I love my job see, I would never compromise the integrity of it. I bet a lot of you out there think what we do is needless and pernickety. All that blah you hear about millions lost from the film industry being used to fund organised crime. I can just imagine some of you shaking your heads to that. 'How can that fiver I give to the Korean lad down the boozer seriously hurt my community? He's just gonna blow it on glue or something. The only people I see suffering are the superstars in their mansions not being able to buy that expensive grapefruit they fancy for brunch'. Not much you can say to that and I'm not one to talk. Back when I was a lad I used to tape stuff off the telly all the time. Christmas was the worst. I couldn't wait to get hold of the Radio times to pink highlight the films I wanted to record. I had no idea what I was doing was illegal, no care either. Not till I saw a consequence of my act, an effect of my ignorance did I truly understand the devastatingly destructive power of video piracy. When I was fifteen years old, I saw an entire family die. Now, before that hallowed hush descending upon the room threatens to overwhelm what I feel has been a fairly upbeat and supportive blog reaction, I feel I must qualify my statement. When I say 'die', I don't mean 'die' in the strictest sense of the word. Remember, I'm talking about an incident that occurred when I was a teenager so, as with most things that were life and death then, this may not seem to be that 'serious' to any of us now. I never actually saw a family die. That would be horrendous and something I could never be so blasé about with people I had only just detained stroke met. What I mean is I witnessed the gradual decline of a team of people I had grown to know and love and therefore identified as a 'family'. A group of people that brought such joy, such mirth, that when they were ultimately taken away from me, I felt as though my best friends in the entire world had been devoured by some rogue giant squid. I'm talking of course about the joint creative teams behind the 'Police Academy' films. For those not in the know, the Police Academy films were a series of high-profile, high-concept gag-fests spanning fifteen years of Hollywood history. The seven films followed a group of eclectic but loveable characters who chose, or had chosen for them, a career in the Police and traced their career trajectories all the way from recruitment to deployment. Showing the hitherto unseen tensions of Academy life in Episode One and climaxing with the brave, uncompromising swipe at the Cold War in Episode Seven, these films made you think as well as smile. Whether it be the knockabout physical comedy of a tall man throwing a small man over a fence, the sly, acoustic dexterity of a man pretending to be a helicopter or the straightforward innocence of a motorcycle cop ordering a shark to leave the bathing area at gunpoint, the Academy series had it all. That is, until piracy reared it's ugly head and fans decided to forgo the annual trip to the cinema for a bung to the bloke down the pub to get a pirate copy to watch with their mates back home. The drop-off in audience was gradual but noticeable and I distinctly remember asking my Father the two questions that were met by the same answer. 'Daddy, why is this one only sixty-two minutes long?' and 'Daddy, where's Mahoney?' The answer? 'Money son. They ran out of money'. How does that song go? 'Video killed the radio star'? Well pirate video killed the Academy. Dead. Tore it down, brick by brick. I remember being so devastated when they announced there would be no number eight, I sent the producers all my savings and a covering letter that read, 'Get Mahoney back. Please.' It came back three months later, returned to sender, the money, mysteriously absent. The point of this particular tirade? You can bleep me, asterisk me, or blur out my face...the message and the passion will always bleed through. F.A.C.T. will win the struggle because F.A.C.T. are the struggle! Fighting, dying, swearing, all the time to the twin trumpet blare of the Academy anthem. Live free or die hard? I'll take both, now!

Legit Out.

Just come out of a meeting at Head Office where yet again I was made to feel like Charlton Heston on the Planet of the Apes. Granted, the fact that I chose to attend said meeting in a loincloth made out of torn spacesuit didn't help much, but still, why is it that a fantastically sculptured man like me has to endure such petty complaints from whoever? Over a photo-shoot no less! Apparently I offended the Federations leading snapper who has vowed never to handle any of our stills campaigns anymore. I say good, They say apologise. Once again, the man in the polo neck is asking how high of the men in suits. My axe? Take a quick glance at one of the many pictures on my gallery here. Don't thumbnail, do yourself the favour of a doubleclick to get the full-on, on-screen delight. Now take a look in my eyes. Don't get lost in them, I appreciate I am what many a teenage girl would label a 'dreamboat'. Just look, blink, minimise and then answer this simple question. Do I or do I not look like the type of bloke that knows what the f*** he is doing? Uh? I do don't I? Board room, bed room, locker room or lock-up, I personally feel that all a man or woman would ever need from a partner is trapped in those deep, piercing, uncompromising retinas. Of course, your answer may well depend on which picture you have chosen to enlarge. To be perfectly honest there's only a few I would choose to print out and frame for the flat. The one with my arms folded, (my idea) or the one where I've just kicked that door a new keyhole. (Again, my idea but not my door) I have to admit, the shoot wasn't a harmonious one. The set was unhappy. Aside from my apparent 'unprofessionalism' and 'scant appreciation of the fundamentals involved in stills photography', the real thorn in the lion's paw was the photographer herself. She was what we in the surveillance trade call a Four Eleven. Couple of guys on my shift have just read that over my shoulder and are nodding sagely to themselves as they throw me a 'we know, we know' style nod. I'll meet you in the Pitcher and Piano boys! (Obviously I'll say that to them as well as type it, else they may leave without going two-seys on the quiz machine.) Members of the general public would probably translate our Four Eleven into 'bitch'. Good call members of the general public. First off, she didn't wear a tie, something I found highly insulting given the portentous occasion we were gathered there to document_ Second, she had her MP3 player on shuffle all through the day meaning I couldn't get a straight answer to my 'how's my relaxed neck muscle looking?' question that I and many others believe led directly to that shot where it does appear like I have a double-chin. F*** me, you stupid bloody Four Eleven! Third and probably most upsetting, was that not once did she ever even attempt to get inside the mind of Victor Legit. Why? How was she supposed to trap the myriadic multi-dimensional conundrum called me in a glossy two-dimensional print? She was like an Elder of Krypton lowering that circle that became a square onto General Zod. He'll bust out, just like I will, intergalactic shock wave or no. Whilst on the subject of Zod, those that know me will know that I gave up referrring to myself in the third person about eight months ago. I won't go into details, suffice to say it involved a Korean, a child and a slightly mottled golden retriever. Sufficer to say, it was tangled enough for me to say Vic, no more. From now won you are an 'I', not a 'He'. Anyway, this crazy f***ing Four Eleven had Kodak gold on her hands and instead of trying to shake it out of the pan from amongst the mud, rock and sand, she just pointed and press-ed. Result? No Treasure of the Sierra Madre, but beaucoup Treasure of the Sierra Badre! She unearthed a glimpse at the brio lodged deep in the mind of one of this countries premier adult males, but not a studied one. End result? A wasted opportunity. Ok poster designs and publicity shots for the Edinburgh offensive instead of water coooler images burned directly into the festival-goers souls. Let's hope my contacts at Dart, a leading Merseyside design company specialising in making fit guys look fitter, can pull my pout out of the bag. Why would I pull such a face if you aren't going to investigate it and parade it? Mother f***ing Four Eleven! To you, the ones out there waiting for such a window, I apologise. Come see me in person, on stage, perhaps there I will sate your curiosity. To her, the lady with the Boots disc camera, 'Go back to shooting gowned graduates holding a scroll you hack! Leave the true capturing of danger to the professionals. Me and my boys holed up in the Pitcher coining it up at Millionaire. Hit Tarrant for me one time boys, my pound coin is on the side!

Hello. My name is Victor Legit and I work as a surveillance officer for the Federation Against Copyright Theft, F.A.C.T. I also have a tremendously sculptured upper torso, but more on that later.
I have just received news from my Head office that this summer we are going on what is commonly known in public relations terms as a 'charm offensive'. We are doing this to boost the image and therefore the message of one of this planet's most important organisations, F.A.C.T. That 'offensive' will be led by me. Don't worry, I know what I'm doing. I'm a born leader with over fifteen years viewing of 'Zulu' under my belt. You will listen to me because I osmote a palpable sense of intrigue whenever I speak..or type...which grants me a certain degree of authority. For the minority out there that are unable or unwilling to respond to intrigue, I have also at my disposal a very loud voice which I am not afraid to use. It's deep rather than volumous, which I have found yields a higher response at a faster rate, but it's still bloody booming when I let rip.
Over the next few weeks, teams of experts, physicists and work experience will come together in a giant melting pot of ideas, to devise and construct the perfect show. Even as I dictate this now, over my right shoulder, I can hear words like 'compelling', 'polemic' and 'uncompromising' being bandied around, whilst over my left whirrs the photocopier with it's recently explained collating function. It's a very exciting time here at F.A.C.T. H.Q. not just because of the high number of acronyms we're going through on a daily basis.
Join me as I tear down piracy ring after piracy ring pulling wry smile after wry smile via the medium of comedic bon mots that are all guaranteed to go down faster and funnier than a catamaran-load of region ones circling the Needles. Welcome to the moral high ground members of the general public. Happy viewing. Happy...legal viewing.

Regards,

Victor (no kiss)

Another week, another disciplinary hearing. I should explain. After the 'come on, lets do this' tuesday vibe that was shared amongst all that punched in the day we set the idea for a show in motion had transmogrified into the 'well, what now?' wednesday air that hit all and indeed sundry like a me in a china shop, the F.A.C.T. ship badly needed a rudder. Step forward yours truly. I've heard that other people when they have visited psychiatric behavioural scientists for an informal 'one on one', have come away from the scrutiny with the notion that all their problems stem from being a dominant historical figure in a past life. Napoleon. Genghis Khan. Lewis Collins. Not me. All my problems stem from me being a rudder in my past life. Literally. My body once took the form of a carved length of solid oak used to steer naval or commercial (never pirate) vessels. And what's wrong with that? I don't buy the notion that everyone was once a person. Some of us had to have been objects. I'm happy to have been a rudder.
Anyway, at a point when the whole euphoria of 'Idea' Tuesday looked like vanishing faster than a shrink-wrapped two-disc 'Casino Royale' next to a plate of chow mein, Victor 'The Rudder' weighed in. I said 'if we're gonna do a show', (then I squinted), 'if we're gonna do a show', (executed a fake laugh and shake of the head before saying much louder), 'if we're gonna do a show, we're gonna need material. I need to get out there, in the comedy clubs, throw down some F.A.C.T. one-liners, see if my shit flies'. So I did and it did. High and far. I performed what is known in the comedy world as an 'open spot' and I did what is known in the undercover surveillance world as 'closed it'. However, the evening was not all belly-laugh and sage 'he's so right' style nods. Midway through my 'set', a street youth ran in and attempted to heckle me. Had I been more experienced in the art of 'audience control' I would probably have selected a choice bon-mot and a wry look to puncture his confidence and sever his verve. Instead I gambled on a choice knife and a wry gut-punch to puncture his lungs and sever his entire right arm. Yes, I over-reacted, I can see that now. But it's easy to see what you 'would' have done in the cold light of day or indeed the tungsten light of an interrogation room. So, one slapped wrist and a firmly worded warning from Head Office later, I could have been right in thinking the shine had been taken off what was universally hailed by the members of the audience that 'chose' not to say what they saw, as a 'compelling, sideways look at the world of copyright law'. I could be right in thinking that. However, I could also be right in thinking we may just have gone and gotten ourselves a quote for our poster.

Victor - Compelling.

Ship steered. Job done. Chalk one up for the good guys.

Legit out.