Comedy: where's the beef?

If art really is a mirror of the society we inhabit then why has no one ever bothered to launch a terrorist assault on the Fringe? Perhaps it's because once you've seen through the half-hearted hip hop and the endless succession of gags about President Bush there's so little political debate that it's not worth bothering with.

Even accepting the truism that young people are often naive, self-absorbed and uninformed (not that I'm generalising) the lack of political comment here is more noticeable than ever. This year's sharpest such gag is the work of a self-proclaimed misanthropist, Australian Brendon Burns, who points out that although at least 50 per cent of Americans are concerned, thoughtful people "the problem is that unlike ours, their morons are politically motivated".

Not thatBurns makes any claims for himself as a polemicist. "Because every now and then I stumble into an astute comment people mistake me for a satirist," he protests. As for the Bush syndrome he states baldly "The comedy is writing itself. Quote Bush and you'll get a laugh."

That's effectively saying that it's a lazy way out for the uncommitted, though the routine which starts Rich Hall's Pretzel Logic is anything but, the American turns on the mindless patriotism ruling his homeland. Tina C's much misunderstood 9/11, 24/7 similarly skewers entertainers making commercial capital out of tragedy. At the more splenetic end of things Jerry Sadowitz and Doug Stanhope are still fearlessly prepared to offend.

But reaction to events is one thing. Consistent political material is something entirely different. Comedian Andy Zaltzman seems to have a distaste for politics, while conceding its fascination. Asked if he feels the subject holds little appeal for young people, he says "That's probably true in terms of Westminster politics. The most important issues now are outside traditional battlegrounds, such as anti-globalisation and anti-corporate movements."

Perhaps most people at Edinburgh, whether comics and punters, just aren't interested any more. Last year the anti-globalist yokels Cyderdelic actuallyappeared (in character) on Question Time querying the heavy-handed policing of the London Mayday protests. This year we had a man calling himself "Dylan" who rattled through a monologue about badger-baiting and Wicker Man-esque frolics in his "village", won a prize and reached the finals of the BBC New Comedy Awards. The walls of the temple did not quake.

Even the oldies are losing their edge. The veteran American Will Durst has shown himself starstruck by the power wielded by the American presidents he's performed before. Sadly the more practical Michael Moore, the author ofStupid White Men, cancelled his planned run after a family bereavement. Specific issues are no longer fashionable it seems. Vague, unquantifiable complaints are easier sources of applause. Moore is best known as an expert in media manipulation, generally in the service of specific causes. But the public are apparently so disenchanted with their sources of information that the biggest cheers at some shows come when comics berate the very form they're actually working in. Anglo-Iranian Omid Djalili falls into the trap of mistaking the media's fascination with the easily quotable as somehow symptomatic of a deeper malaise.

During his otherwise fine set, he complains that Western television treated Bin Laden supporters as generally representative of mainstream Islam, and suggests a counterpoint: that its Eastern counterparts might as well present the Grand Wizard of the Ku Klux Klan as Christianity's spokes-man. Yet it was a group of extremists who attacked New York, just as the racist KKK attacked Arab-Americans. Nutcases, especially dangerous ones, make good TV.

Zaltzman is similarly suspicious of the media, though he admits "It can be an easy shot. But politics are reactive so the media has a huge influence." But, aside from making rich men richer what should its function actually be? "One of them is to present big issues for public debate," he offers hopefully. Zaltzman and friends John Oliver and Chris Addison are putting together a pilot for BBC radio which hopes to address "broad political and social topics". And what target is broader than the media itself?

At the Book Festival less consensual views are expressed. Iain Banks, whose new novel Dead Air features the events of last September, announced with brutal sarcasm, "As a lefty pinko liberal it gives me the chance to rub the stupid faces of the right in their own crap now their bombastic capitalist rhetoric has been proven wrong." Which is not exactly sitting on the fence.

His fellow Scot Christopher Brookmyre, whose satirical thrillers are hugely popular, has his own ideas on why writers are prepared to go further. "You have more to play with," he says, "And don't have to worry about the audience's reaction in the same way." As for tame stand-ups he says, "Without being flippant, a lot of comedians do want to be loved. They want to sell a personality. It's maybe a sign of a culture content to the point of complacency."

Perhaps the situation's just cyclical. "Someone says [political comedy] is dead every year," says Burns. "There was a backlash, then we had surrealism by numbers. But if you're good at anything, it'll come across." He's probably right, but with this year's BBC newcomers contest (presented by Tarby – not Liza, but Jimmy) won by a pretty lady ventriloquist, a revival can't come soon enough.