“Hey, how did that come out? Here, let me have a look.”

Not many comedians stop the show so an audience member can get a second chance at a photograph. Tig Notaro does – and takes just as much of an interest in the audience as they do of her.

Much of the show is spent playing off the audience, from discussing the difference between self-defence and karate to educating herself about Jumanji, but when she does settle into her routine Notaro delivers her jokes without much awkwardness or effort.

Her set, drawn from the absurd and the annoying in daily life, is as casual and unassuming as Notaro herself. Sarah Silverman described her as having “the body of a tiny lumberjack”, and Notaro combines that with the face of a smaller Jim Carrey: most of her jokes are punctuated by mugging to the crowd, whether it’s a disgruntled glare or a disbelieving grin.

While she uses the audience easily, cajoling them into giving her material to work with, some of her ad libbed responses fall flat. She’s able to work comfortably with moods but seems off her footing when she doesn’t control the topic; in many cases she continues fishing for answers until something comes up that she can bounce off.

Her best material understandably comes from jokes that have been prepared earlier, complaining about genealogical cousins and repeated run-ins with late-80s celebrities. When she’s in her comfort zone, Tig Notaro is relaxed, smooth and brilliantly funny, and well worth waiting out the awkward silences.