Dispatches from the Fringe

The Dubliner reports from the World's Biggest Arts Festival 

The Edinburgh Fringe is having its last hurrah this weekend. Over 2,000 shows were performed at this year's Festival (up 10% from last year). Bizarrely, in spite of its colossal size -- or perhaps because of it -- the Fringe seems a lot quieter this year. It's still a completely manic, frenetic hive of activity. But Fringe veterans have been commenting on how relatively subdued the whole thing seems. Audiences are thin on the ground, perhaps due in part to the weakness of the dollar. And there is an increasing sense of just how difficult it is for an individual show to stand out and make any kind of impact amongst so many competitors.

All of this is encapsulated at a free afternoon show in a lovely new venue. Che Guevara on the Fringe starts in the bar of The Green Room at 4 p.m. every day. It’s a patently ridiculous fusion of

the life of Che Guevara with narrative elements from Star Wars, The Communist Manifesto, Back to the Future and Evita. Knowing jokes about copyright infringement, amateur dramatics and a tiny special effects budget abound. You get what you pay for. But at the core of the show is the best analysis of the outrageous economics of the Edinburgh Fringe that you will hear anywhere at the Festival. The performers explain how the “means of production” are concentrated in a few hands. The sprawling Festival economy is essentially bankrolled by small, self-produced theatre companies, hoping to make the big time, but with very little realistic chance of getting an audience of more than 20. Meanwhile Rickey Gervais sweeps in to town for an evening and sells out the Edinburgh Castle at £37.50 a head (that's $75 American). The show concludes with a walking tour, where punters are enlisted in Che’s guerrilla army: every day a different wacky stunt is planned and executed with varying degrees of success. The show is a collaboration between Kieran Butler and Michelle Wilson from Whimsical Tricycle (Green Room) with Austin Low, star of Tales of an Urban Joker (Green Room).

Brendan Burns (Pleasance Dome) once said that if you want to understand the experience of performing at the Edinburgh Fringe, you should stay in your shower for a month, ripping up £10 notes. His show, So I suppose this is offensive now? dealt with more traditional stand-up comedy themes: racism, national differences and sexual politics. It is a testament to Burns’ comic genius that he can discuss these well worn topics, at the biggest comedy festival in the world, and still be original, thought-provoking and side-splittingly funny.

 

Unfortunately, it's not all so good. Skinner and Bell’s Where Are Dave and Dave? (Underbelly) was a disappointment. Their series of linked sketches were competent, but displayed little comic flair. They seemed blissfully unaware of the difference between improbable narrative and surreal comedy.

 

I was also disappointed with the Queef of Terence (Pleasance Dome) - not because it was a bad show - but because I was expecting more from the creators of last year's sensational The Bird Flu Diaries. This year, instead of a series of linked sketches, Olivia Poulet and Sarah Solemani have opted to play the same characters throughout. Their talent as comic writers is undeniable; their use of language is exquisite, but the framework simply doesn't allow the girls to showcase their full comedic range. The set pieces are too stilted, and the newest member of the group, while obviously talented, has to carry too much of the narrative action. When these performers find a vehicle which can truly do justice to their talents, they will have a very bright future in comedy.

 

Plenty of Irish good news stories this year. Jason Byrne (Assembly) continues to be the biggest selling performer to run for the entire festival, with a whopping 800 seat venue. Andrew Maxwell (Pleasance Courtyard) was nominated for the if.commedies (the new Perrier) and his late-night Full Mooner’s (Baby Belly) show had some truly exceptional line-ups. David O'Doherty (Assembly) is winning ever more followers to the charms of very low energy musical whimsy, while Jarlath Regan (Gilded Balloon) has been getting incredibly positive reviews, for an Edinburgh debut that is charming, clever and original. Dublin sketch group Diet of Worms (Sweet Grassmarket) push the envelope with an audacious show On (Melted) Ice: they perform all their sketches in a local swimming pool. Abie Philbin Bowman's Jesus: The Guantanamo Years (Baby Belly) returned for a limited run and sold out. And Irish chanteuse Camille O'Sullivan has been wowing Edinburgh’s notoriously hard-nosed critics and audiences alike with her gorgeous and sensual renditions from the back catalogues of Jacques Brel, Tom Waits and Nick Cave.

 

Something Blue (Underbelly) was an utterly beguiling series of sketches on the theme of looking for love.  By turns, it was funny, poignant, silly, obscene and touchingly intimate. Inevitably some of the sketches were better than others, but there was a very high hit rate, and the audience was amused and touched. An absolute gem. (Afterwards, I went straight to iTunes and bought a track from the show, Rufus Wainwright's My Phone’s on Vibrate for You. I've been listening to it ever since.)

 

The title of Luke Wright’s Poet and Man (Pleasance Courtyard) might put some people off. There's not much of a market for live poetry these days. But Wright is a funny and engaging performer, and his poetry is contemporary: accessible without compromising on intelligence. He's a clever crafter of words, and his sharp wit and urban themes bring to mind the best work of The Streets. The standout moment for me is a poem about a friend from childhood who fell by the wayside. It's probably a sign of the times that after the gig, Luke does not sell a book of poetry, but a CD.

 

Luke Wright reminded his audience that if you try to write a poem about the meaning of life, you'll probably end up staring at a brick wall. But if you try to write a poem about a brick wall, you may just say something about the meaning of life. This was illustrated by what was, for me, the find of the festival: Toby Hadoke's Moths Ate My Doctor Who Scarf (Underbelly). Before continuing, I think it's important to point out that I have never seen more than a few seconds of Doctor Who in my life. I tried watching an episode since I saw Hadoke's show and it was awful. But this hour of stand-up was pretty much perfect. It just goes to show, you can write comedy about anything (even a torture camp, apparently) provided you are passionate about your subject, and know where to mine for jokes. Armed with a likeable self-deprecating style, impeccable timing and an encyclopaedic knowledge of 'The Doctor', Hadoke's show is a masterpiece. In trying to say something about a Doctor Who scarf, he has ended up saying something about the meaning of life.