Our columnist (22) just brought his first play to the Edinburgh Fringe Festival. This is what happened.
July 7th. First rehearsal for my play Up The Republic!, which I am also directing at the Edinburgh Fringe. It’s a farce set during a race riot in a Parisian suburb, so I intend to kick off with a read-through, followed by a game of pétanque. Alas, the weather forecast is poor and I am forced to relocate indoors. The read-through seems to go well and I leave feeling optimistic about starting the real work tomorrow.
July 8th I receive an email at 10.30am from one of the two actresses, saying she is quitting the production. She accuses me of being hopelessly disorganised for losing her telephone number prior to yesterday’s rehearsal. I consider fleeing to Tahiti but manage to replace her within four hours. In the afternoon, the production is awarded a large grant from Newstalk 106, which eliminates all remaining financial worries and means the actors will be paid. Yaaboo sucks to the flake!
July 23rd Notwithstanding Up The Republic!’s overtly anti-clerical content, we have been rehearsing in a church hall in West London. A passing parish worker overhears a profanity or two and threatens to evict us within ten minutes. I successfully smooth this over and order the offending cast member to write a grovelling letter of apology. Later, I learn that the set will not exactly be ready for our sole London preview. The essential element is a stylised window which bursts open to simulate the effect of an exploding petrol bomb; it transpires that cutting the required jagged edge through the plexiglass is rather tricky. I spend three days racing around glass-cutting shops, familiarising myself with jig-saws, saber-saws, and hot-wire cutters...in vain.
July 26th Preview at a fringe theatre in North London. A spiral staircase has already been installed stage left for their next production. We have 15 minutes to do our entire technical rehearsal. The window is not finished and a rotating portrait, which is another part of the set, falls off the wall during the first scene. Still, the theatre is almost full, the audience seems impressed, and, more importantly, laughs regularly. A senior diplomat commends my understanding of the chaotic inner-workings of the political process. The Irish World gives us a glowing review.
July 30th Arrive in Edinburgh and install the cast, crew, and myself in
spacious but damp flat. Turns out we’re lodged right beside the French
consulate. My French designer and I decide to invite the consul to the
opening night. Our get-in and technical rehearsal quickly descend into
bitter recrimination between production manager, lighting designer and
me – no time left for the dress rehearsal.
August 1st First preview in Edinburgh. Audience of 15 – most of them
known to me. Few laughs. The window fails to open because the actor
charged with pulling the string forgets.
August 3rd Opening night. The window opens but there are only a few
more people, and few more laughs. No sign of the French consul. Poison
self and lead actor with tequila afterwards.
August 4th My set designer phones the consul. Turns out she did come
along but was so appalled by the portrayal of President Nicolas Sarkozy
that she skipped our meeting in the bar after the show. Says the play
“insults” her boss...
August 6th The Scotsman features our “minor diplomatic incident” in its diary column. Minor dent in the number of empty seats.
August 9th My friend Christopher Hitchens arrives in town and comes to see the play, having already given me a plug for the poster: “Max McGuinness has cleverly caught the jittery context and atmosphere that encircle the City of Light and challenge the Enlightenment itself.”
August 10th Hitchens helpfully recommends the play in front of 1,200 people while debating the rather convoluted motion that ‘The New Europe should prefer the New Atheism.’ We come close to selling out this evening’s performance.
August 11th Bums on seats prove to be a mirage – a mere nine people show up tonight, four of them friends.
August 12th Terrible review in the Stage. “Tedious humour...shrill performances...laboured direction...smug self-satisfaction.” Faced with glum cast, I resort to Brendan Behan’s quip that “critics are like eunuchs in a harem”.
August 14th The Scotsman is more impressed, complimenting the “daft and totally unflattering portrayal” of Nicolas Sarkozy, which had so offended Madame la Consul.
August 19th After three weeks, audiences have plateaued at around 25 per night – somewhat above the Fringe average (there are over 2,000 productions) but depressing nonetheless. I’ve seen around two dozen other shows – few worth mentioning – and the whole town seems infused with bile, rain, and booze. On the bright side, after watching us perform an excerpt on the Royal Mile, a local junkie says we should be on TV.
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