Despite not being a performer, showing up at the Edinburgh Fringe every August was a very formative part of my young adulthood as I kept up with the latest work of some of my adolescent idols. My path through life would have forked unrecognisably without its influence.
The 2004 Fringe was my first solo excursion, a valuable taste of independence right before university. I popped up again briefly the next year, missed 2006 for financial reasons, then when I had to decide what the hell I was going to do with myself after graduating in the summer of 2007, pre-festival Edinburgh seemed as good a place as any to relocate to. No, it seemed like the best and only option.
After leaving the UK and travelling for almost a year, I felt particularly homesick in August 2011 knowing that I was missing it, but Reekie was a bit too extreme a pilgrimage from Indonesia. Every year since it's affected me less, and this year I forgot all about it until near the end of the month, probably because Richard Herring isn't banging on about it and neither he nor Stewart Lee are even there.
Since I haven't done this in one place before, here are my Fringe diaries, mostly processed through the filter of paid or free-ticket review sites that have all expired now and had to be dug up through the Internet Archive.
Fringe 2004
I headed up to Edinburgh for two days and nights in late August and crammed in as many non-overlapping shows as I could (still missing one and wasting the ticket due to imperfect time management, to start the tradition). With only enough money to stay in a hotel the first night, I spent the second night wandering around and sitting on benches waiting for my train in the morning.
As a fittingly immature record of that formative Fringe, I sellotaped my show tickets to a piece of A3 paper and scrawled some notes to self about what I thought at the time in juvenile high school patois, admittedly not intended for public broadcast. Here are the transcriptions.
Day 1 – 23rd August 2004
Odd; but I liked it. I think.
Deliberate front-row decision led to predictable involvement – I was a bit surprised that it was based on making cheese sandwiches for everyone. I didn’t have one though, they were shit.
Never seen their TV show, but I probably wouldn’t like it too much. [Not the best idea to make my first Fringe show such a subversive anti-show.]
Stickmen – Year One
Very fun, even if it was very student-rip-off. Comedy gold bit with phony audience member getting soaked and frozen, quite bad atmosphere for a few seconds. Some of it was wank.
Population: 3 – The Elephant Woman
Alright, definitely over-rated/anticipated. Could be a kid’s show if they took out the ‘fuck’s, ‘shit’s and ‘V’s. Good acting though, no interaction.
Absolutely ace, obviously a lot of interaction as I’m in it. [Details here.] He seemed happy about that, even if his mic did fall off, the idiot. “Suck on that, Warburton,” “neither did anyone else, apparently,” etc. Had drink and talk after, which was good. He is best.
Daniel Kitson
Funny, even though he lasted too long and hadn’t prepared/learnt much.
Nice explanations of routine and digs at himself (“classic Kitson – Kitson circa 2002, the big year.”)
Not too fond of Stand, it is small and has distracting backdrop.
Day 2 – 24th August 2004
Population: 3 – The Wicker Woman
Better than Elephant Woman, funnier. Not loads though, had [Obscured by sellotape] –vestite les up though.
We Lovett!
Oh dear. Norman was quite good, some weird bit about houses pooing in big bags was funny, but his daughters were crap. Kitty or whatever (12) was understandably poor, but other one (whatever) was so shite – Posh Spice impressions are post-modern at its bestest.
This was very good, helped by drum accompaniment and flashing coloured lights. [Easily impressed.] Mentioned Stewart Lee a lot, which got me excited. Lasted ages though.
I Can’t Believe It’s Not Better
I didn’t use this ticket. Best £7 I’ve spent since I bought cans for a few weeks at school and didn’t finish them. Munnery length + Underbelly location failure tardiness. Doesn’t matter, it was probably toss.
Exploding Head Comedy
Not that good, 3 men separately. The Scottish one clearly owned the much sought-after Fist of Fun book. Third was okay, and had a big kopf. ['The Scottish one' was Stephen Carlin. I saw a bit of his set in Lancaster a couple of years later, and again when he featured in Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle, and he still takes his jokes from the Fist of Fun book.]
Bloody amazing, funniest guy there is. Even the pauses were hilarious.
Front row involvement again – brief death metal discussion, he is very wise. Suggested colouring book.
So many good routine bits
– inflatable E.T./Diana death
– Ang Li (however it’s spelt)
– Chinnie
– Farts
Ace.
Rob Deering – The Movie
A bit shit. A bit embarrassed I saw it. Not that funny either.
Fringe 2005
I spent the summer in London town for reasons you can probably work out, but when I presumably moped about the impracticality of getting up to the Fringe, someone else booked us the trip as a "surprise." Which was nice, but also meant I didn't get to fit in more than the Lee and Herring essentials. Apart from a midnight bonus show of 'Just the Yoghurt' where Richard ultimately failed to stretch his yoghurt routine out to an hour for an audience of seven people.
Fringe 2007
Living locally now, I had the freedom to space my entertainments out over the month rather than having to pack them into two hectic, sleepless days. Unfortunately, unemployment and budget issues drove me to see pretty much everything in the first four days when tickets were half price.
Reviews salvaged from the now-dead dooyoo.co.uk. Writing each one earned me about £1–£2 back off the already-discounted ticket prices, ker-ching!
Trying is Good
****
Written on 03.08.07
Beginning my reviews of this year’s Edinburgh Fringe performances in the order I saw them (read each review to decide whether a recommendation from me is a good reason for you to see the show, or to avoid it at all costs) is the suitably cheery, feel-good comedy of Josie Long. Like the majority of shows in the first week of the festival, the tickets are half-price (excellent) and the show effectively billed as a ‘preview,’ giving all performers a license to be a bit less professional and to bend over occasionally to look at a script hidden in full view next to the mic stand. Still, there’s a tendency for the very first shows, no matter how chaotic and under-rehearsed, to go down well as an endearing work-in-progress before the inexplicable immediate downturn of the second show. Fortunately I saw Josie Long on the first day of the festival when the performances were fresh and nicely cheap at only five Scottish pounds.
Josie’s shows over the last couple of years have divided critical response, at least those of people who enjoy her whimsical anecdotes and those who feel comedy should be angry and political to be in any way worthwhile, but a rapid learning curve and surprising rise to prominence in the last couple of years, championed by such stand-up legends as Stewart Lee (himself officially the 41st Best Stand-Up Ever) among others, sees her most recent material finally getting into its stride. The show is, as usual, about ninety percent happy hippie whimsy about the general enjoyment to be found in everyday life, whether that means the mysterious beaming of a passing stranger or driving to a bread factory in Australia on a quest to meet the angry-looking man who graces its packaging, with attempts to glean valuable life lessons from it all. Josie’s set mostly consists of such anecdotes in the style of Daniel Kitson, told honestly as a document of life with only a couple of forced punchlines that Josie seems genuinely pleased to have written, claiming to be a ‘proper comedian’ at last, and even featuring some plot twists (what? In real life?) It’s clear from her comments here and elsewhere that she has some idea of the bigoted hostility held for her approach from some people on the internet, but this new show is such an irresistibly enjoyable hour that those message board trolls now just seem like really miserable folks.
Many of the shows at this Fringe (and perhaps all of the previous ones) concern some kind of life crisis, the depressing reality of which is expertly mined for laughs by all the performers committing to put on a show every night for a month that will most likely leave them in debt. At 25, Josie Long’s worries over her changing personality don’t quite have the same overtones of depression as Richard Herring’s mid-life regrets in his new show ‘Oh F**k I’m 40!’, and her constantly chirpy demeanour reveals that she’s still in a very happy place, especially when her primary concern is losing the integrity of her ‘indie girl image’ by visiting the gym and embracing the Weight Watchers diet, with more enthusiasm than is strictly necessary. The ‘real’ Josie Long thankfully overpowers any kind of false or exaggerated persona that would only serve to spoil things, as she thanks the arriving audience for coming to her first show with genuine delight and rewards audience members who show special enthusiasm or commitment by throwing them a satsuma. Self-appointed comedy ‘experts’ who hated the feel-good atmosphere of her previous shows would melt in Josie’s peaceable kingdom, accompanied by felt-tip drawings and audio recordings of her eleven-year-old brother making the kind of jokes an eleven-year-old would make, and she even provides everyone present with a photocopied, hand-drawn show programme of various thoughts and images, with Masonic secrets for returning audience members such as a way to get some free sweets.
As a Fringe show this is a fairly perfect hour, but there are a couple of jarring elements that keep it from being the best Josie could offer, namely the occasional out-of-character dissections of her material and forced pauses, but there’s no sense that this is an amateur at work. While Josie Long may be floating blissfully while other comedians are entrenched in despair, it would be fascinating and enjoyable, in a sort of morbid way, to see her handle a vicious heckle along the lines of ‘you’re rubbish, I can’t believe this is the future of comedy, you’re dangerous.’ Several minutes into the show, by which time Josie has effectively become your friend, such an insurgence would surely be put down immediately and the offender’s brains bashed in, though perhaps it’s a confrontation that the performer needs. It’s really surprising to hear in one part of the show how she hates performance poetry ‘with all the hatred I have in my soul,’ reminding us that Josie Long is another human being, capable of all the same failings, but whose demeanour is by default in an enviably positive place. She’s really good at Minesweeper too.
Can I Briefly Talk to You About the Point of Life?
*****
Written on 04.08.07
The hyperactive Bristol-born Welshman Mark Watson is one of the most impressive comedians at this year’s Edinburgh Fringe, and someone who really embraces the mentality of this mad month. Previous one-off shows, carried out in addition to his regular stand-up, have included an epic novel writing project with audience members and a gruelling twenty-four hour show, before last year topped it to thirty-six. This year sees Mark hosting the fourth mobile ‘24 Hour Jamboree to Save the Planet,’ beginning outside a Fringe ticket office and ending up who knows where from late on the 13th to the 14th of the month, tellingly the only day Mark’s regular stand-up show is not being performed (presumably due to sleeping). Those scarce tickets have already been snapped up by insane fans, but as I retain a comparative degree of normality I only attended the one-twenty-fourth-length version, compellingly titled ‘Can I Briefly Talk to You about the Point of Life?’
Mark’s (notice how I always use the comedian’s first name to pretend they’re my friend?) on-stage persona is as restless and energised as Lee Evans twelve years ago, and essentially a highly charged version of himself with all the same attitudes and world views but delivered in such a hasty manner that it seems like the ravings of a Welsh madman. This enthusiasm makes it impossible for an audience not to be drawn in to the incidents of his mundane life, mostly set on trains, and like Josie Long there is a celebration of human idiosyncrasies and failings, though Mark does explain the events that led to him developing a local nemesis. The ‘real’ Mark Watson is entirely visible behind the mania and doesn’t make any attempt to construct himself as any stupider or more immature than he really is, talking often about his wife and happy marriage and admitting that he’s as surprised as anyone that this ever happened, though making sure to reiterate that he ‘got her fair and square.’ He even takes delight in his relatively low celebrity status that has led to his last-minute appearances on comedy panel shows, and has some unique revelations from the perspective of a ‘Never Mind the Buzzcocks’ panellist.
Mark’s greatest concern is that his show will either amuse no-one, and thus be rubbish, or create enough laughs that he’ll become over-confident and destroy it himself, but there doesn’t seem to be any danger of that in this professional performance. Subverting the beginning of his show by standing in the middle of the audience and announcing the manner in which is to come on stage, before spending far longer than necessary worrying whether this has worked or just made things awkward, Mark is very attuned to structure, tellingly as his first novel came out on Thursday. Despite chastising himself over the amateurish nature of the preview show, which seems anything but, there are clear and amusingly desperate attempts to link the diverse monologues and ramblings of the show together in some kind of meaningful way to live up to the grandiose title, and the call-backs to earlier material are mostly relevant and insightful. And when they aren’t, the humour lies in Mark’s vocal disappointment at his own weak material.
Still, this show doesn’t fall into the anecdotal trap of some of his contemporaries, such as Daniel Kitson, where laughs are derived purely from the real-life whimsy, as the proceedings are filled with well thought-out ‘proper’ jokes, even some particularly gruesome ones about female anatomy that were attempted in the preview and may not make it into the definitive performance. There’s no trace of Ricky Gervais or Little Britain style bullying or prejudice in this irresistibly likeable set, as Mark instead targets inoffensive areas such as ‘I Can’t Believe it’s Not Butter’ (which he proposes renaming to ‘I am prepared to accept that this isn’t butter now, after twenty years’) and momentarily struggles to find the appropriate term for a non-electric toothbrush, having to settle on ‘acoustic’ (this was my favourite joke).
While day-long travelling shows and writing classes keep Mark Watson firmly in the camp of obscure creativity and a cult fan base, his main stand-up has no limitations in its appeal, and it was easy to share in his delight when the theatre was packed on the first night. Possibly teetering on the edge of celebrity, though with no risk of selling out in the negative sense, Mark’s shows are already some of the hottest at the Fringe and will only continue to improve and expand to the point that he becomes too mainstream and renowned for this silly festival, so come and see him play in a stuffy, dark room while you can.
While day-long travelling shows and writing classes keep Mark Watson firmly in the camp of obscure creativity and a cult fan base, his main stand-up has no limitations in its appeal, and it was easy to share in his delight when the theatre was packed on the first night. Possibly teetering on the edge of celebrity, though with no risk of selling out in the negative sense, Mark’s shows are already some of the hottest at the Fringe and will only continue to improve and expand to the point that he becomes too mainstream and renowned for this silly festival, so come and see him play in a stuffy, dark room while you can.
BBC Stand Up Show Live! [Herring was on the bill, so I took a punt]
***
Written on 05.08.07
Despite its title, there are no cameras recording the comedians' performances nor the witty hecklings of audience members at this nightly show, I should get that out of the way at the start. Rather, the 'BBC Stand Up Show Live!' is a finely picked batch of comedians playing fifteen-minute sets interspersed with comments and edited material from the compere, who is usually their friend. The first night, and all Wednesdays this month, the show is hosted by Josie Long, who largely told material from her solo show that I'd already seen earlier that day, though the four major acts had the liberty of trying new material or relying on their own greatest hits for guaranteed laughs.
Headlining the first night was Richard Herring, one of my favourite comedians celebrating (or bemoaning) his twentieth anniversary of the Fringe, who opened with a taster of new material from his current show 'Oh F*ck I'm 40!' a day before the first performance, but fell back on what he felt was safe sexual material about genitals and "lezzing up," which admittedly forms a substantial part of all his stand-up shows (and even informed a book spin-off of his show 'Talking Cock,' a book entirely about cocks). I was especially pleased to see this material from his last hit Edinburgh show 'ménage à un,' which was based around his still-unsatiated desire to have a threesome and the sad reality of his lonely nights on tour, as I didn't see the show last year, though the great people at gofasterstripe.com will certainly be releasing the DVD any month now. Richard's material received a fairly lukewarm response from the young and admittedly laddish crowd, who may still have been feeling annoyed about the lack of cameras to record their faces drinking beer, but it's clear that his initial worries about returning to stand-up are long in the past now and he can confidently squeeze his own breast while licking his own hand on stage in an imitation of his naive idea of female coupling without the embarrassment it would cause a less confident performer.
The three preceding comics all had prior association with compere Josie Long, whether she had toured with them in foreign lands or just known them through the industry, and as such there developed a nice inclusive atmosphere as each new performer would comment on the themes of the previous one, at least serving to make this show a unique event. The subject of taking delight in other humans was the most prominent one to divide response from the cheery compere and some of the more miserable comedians, and there was the expected level of interaction with the audience keeping the performers on their toes and proving that they could handle improvisation. Still, there was nothing in the first three sets that I hadn't seen before from countless forgettable stand-ups on nights such as these, and repeated endlessly on the Paramount channel; evidently the BBC Stand Up Show is a mere gathering of average comedians and an out-of-place headline act designed purely to fill the late night gap in the market and get audiences worked up before the notorious 'Late N Live' show begins at the Gilded Balloon venue opposite, and the drunken heckles are out in full force.
It's not a show I'd see again unless there was a performer I was particularly interested in seeing, as was the case on Wednesday, though the preview price of £5 was excellent value for one and a half hours of professional comedy. As with all nights of effectively anonymous stand-up, there's a risk that the performers will either be terrible or merely not your personal 'thing,' but I feel I got quite lucky on this first night, led and perhaps even arranged by Josie Long to guarantee some degree of quality control. The show is hosted by a different comedian each night of the week, and the helpful daily newssheet produced by the Pleasance provides the necessary forewarning in the event that it's someone you hate (Thursday is Phil Nichol, Friday is Brendon Burns, Saturdays Rhod Gilbert, Sundays Stephen K Amos and Mondays Tony Law, the latter being recommended by Josie Long on this occasion). As the Fringe continues and more people attend in the later weeks, it's likely that the BBC Stand Up Show will be fully sold out in advance, making such preparations impossible, but personally I was glad to spot the show with enough time to spare before all the cheap tickets sold out.
The Fringe is a gathering of most of the best comedians and some of the weaker ones too, and events like this are an effective way to see several instantly forgettable faces at a time.
Touch
***
Written on 06.08.07
The first play by award-winning comedy producer Bill Dare (Spitting Image, Dead Ringers) was pitched to me in a queue by the writer himself as quite a sad story with a superb, soon-to-be-famous cast, liberally sprinkled with humour. Partly because I didn't have any plays on my list this year, partly because the afternoon time slot fit well into my schedule, and partly because I felt a bit sorry for Bill Dare having to do his own publicity one-to-one around the Pleasance courtyard - but mainly because it was preview week and the tickets were all half price - I took him up on his offer. It proved to be a worthwhile impulse buy.
'Touch' is a two-person play lasting just over an hour, the extra time perhaps coming in the couple of scene changes as the actors carry props in and out, and is based in a London flat and on a railway bridge. The action mostly takes place on a single night in the early hours of the morning. The show's tag-line, "be careful whose life you save," hung over the opening scenes in quite an annoying way as I waited for the inevitable to happen and the story to really begin, but there are enough well crafted plot twists and insinuations as the play moves on that it all proved very rewarding and entertaining, even for someone who usually feels uncomfortable watching people act four feet away from him. Bill Dare's writing is strong and his characters believable, and in fact the most significant problem I found was that the comedy, present as promised, sits quite uncomfortably alongside the more serious and emotional scenes and actually serves to weaken them. It's an unusual position for me to take, but I think it would be better if it was less funny. That said, there are several excellent and memorable moments of comedy that come along at exactly the right time so as not to be distracting.
The play is a duet between Emma, an absurdly chatty young woman who begins the story standing on the edge of a railway bridge contemplating suicide, and Vernon, a "quaintly" named, middle-aged neurotic whose life outside work is based through the lens of his telescope, which as a telescope enthusiast he does not simply call a telescope. Spending their night together in conversation inside Vernon's flat, the two characters learn about the tragedies in each other's lives, and generally do a fantastic job irritating and provoking each other. Emma is the more absurd character, at times a little too unbelievable in her persistent desire to change Vernon's life but played excellently by newcomer Lucinda Millward, who is really put through her paces from jabbering to crying to wearing a flimsy will-it-or-won't-it towel for about a quarter of the show (though it seemed like longer at the time). Vernon is to some extent the straight, grumpy old man to play opposite this, but veteran actor Rupert Holliday Evans really brings him to life and makes him the more memorable and fascinating of the two, without even wearing a towel at all. Many moments call for subtle facial and bodily movements without dialogue, and Evans excels at these.
Keeping down costs is a vital concern in staging a Fringe play, and one that can seriously become a problem with factors such as a large cast and special effects eating up the budget. The two-person cast at least keeps 'Touch' from losing out too much (though it would be nice for Bill Dare and the others involved if a larger audience would attend to help them out in this regard), but the unwise introduction of a third character who conducts his business entirely off-screen and between scenes only draws attention to the necessities of budget, as it would be hugely impractical and pointless to pay an actor for a walk-on every day of the festival.
The set itself is also impressive and simplistic, the stage divided into Vernon’s lounge area and a generic floor that functions as both the flat and the railway bridge when lit by a single halogen moon, and I found myself thinking of the stage-hands that must have to dismantle and reassemble the set every afternoon to make way for other performers in the same venue, such as Josie Long. The scene changes are kept to the bare minimum and are carried out very matter-of-factly by the actors removing or adding props as the lights are dimmed, and although this was far from the most entertaining hour of my personal Fringe experience it was at least a refreshingly different one, primarily because I don't usually see plays of any sort.
Slide Show
***
Written on 07.08.07
It's no sign of independence that Norman "Holly" Lovett even refers to his role in Red Dwarf within his solo show, the polar opposite of the "I have done other things" attitude so ineffectually taken by Leonard "I Am Mr. Spock And Nothing Else" Nimoy since the seventies. Norman had developed his miserable, dead-pan stand-up persona before being cast in Rob Grant and Doug Naylor's sit-com as the ship's irascible cockney computer, but he admits that most of his work since has consisted of travelling around the country to science fiction conventions to make some money off the back of this character, and meet his interesting and unusually dressed fans. That's not to say that Norman has no integrity or inherent value as a performer, and in fact only around 95% of each audience will be there simply because he was the best Holly, before going to see Hattie Hayridge's show at the Underbelly and telling her the same thing.
I saw Norman at my first Fringe in 2004 (because he was Holly, and I didn't know too many comedians), and he made me laugh quite a bit, though his material and approach were very strange; the only joke I can remember was him displaying a long plastic bag and saying something about houses using them to do poos in. This year's show, which has been performed before earlier in the year around England, is quite different, and is essentially and honestly billed as Norman Lovett going through some slides and talking about them. Fortunately for all, it's not simply his holiday snaps from Tenerife in which he is wearing a hat and then subsequently not wearing one, but photographs taken around the country, mostly over the previous year, of sights that have either entertained or seriously annoyed the comedian.
There are some attempts to draw parallels between the slides, and to craft overarching themes, but for the most part, as Norman admits at the beginning, it's "unpredictable." Aside from the presumably unintentional running themes of dogs and cars, simply because Norman's family have two dogs and he takes lots of photos of cars, there is a fairly weak running gag of paranoia concerning a suspected alien invasion, which sees Norman labelling everything from unusually dressed humans to canopies as evidence of an impending take-over. These jokes aren't necessarily bad, they're just a little too out-of-character compared to the rest of the performance, where Norman has more fun analysing innuendo in slides and making up stories, such as the cause of a "pregnant tree." It couldn't really be claimed that every slide is a work of genius, and it's clear that some lend themselves to bigger laughs while others are simply there to illustrate a 60-year-old man's annoyance at something, but on the whole this is a nice hour of laid-back entertainment presented by a real veteran.
Despite Norman's relative high profile, and the attendance of sci-fi fans with memorabilia for him to sign at the end, the preview show I attended on Thursday was quite poorly attended. Part of the reason was explained as an error in the main Fringe booklet which lists the show's starting time as 5.25 rather than the correct 5.00, which led to a few late arrivals, but it's also because there are many more interesting places to be at the Fringe than a room upstairs at the Pleasance being shown some slides of a man's dogs that are family in-jokes at best. I was disappointed that this show had already been performed a fair few times, expecting it to be a comedian's crazy Fringe experiment existing for one month only before vanishing, but instead it seems to be Norman's main show at the moment, some of which has even been posted to YouTube. It's a fairly lazy show, despite the relaxed atmosphere and the genuine friendliness of Norman towards his fans, but not a Fringe necessity by any means.
On the positive side, and the reason this gets a generous three stars rather than two, is the comparatively low price of this show even now that the Fringe has really kicked in, which gives it some allowance to be "good, not great" as Norman himself describes it. He claims "not to have reached greatness yet" which is quite amusing, but if he is any way serious then a more dedicated stand-up performance would be more the sort of thing I was interested in seeing. I hope Norman Lovett doesn't google himself and end up reading this, I feel mean now... but this show was a little too lazy for me, especially compared to the other great things happening elsewhere in the festival.
Oh F*ck, I'm 40!
*****
Written on 08.08.07
Richard Herring finally understands the meaning of the phrase "over the hill." As he explains in his new show, which fuses comedy with serious depression, people spend four decades running up the hill, eager to get to the top, only to see that the other side is a steep and treacherous icy wasteland leading to inevitable death. As he looks back towards all the young people and missed opportunities he was too busy to notice on his climb, he is manhandled into a toboggan and sent hurtling towards his grave, still clutching in his hand a browning clump of grass from his attempt to remain behind with people of his own imagined age.
For Richard, this handful of decaying grass has manifested itself in his recent desire to wear figure-hugging clothes and jeans like young people and the acquisition of a skateboard, which he genuinely attempts to ride and perform with during the show in the hope of a fluke victory. Comparing himself to all his middle-aged friends and the achievements of his own father at that age, Richard has become convinced that he has wasted his life in his stupid profession, talking about genitals and yoghurt when he should have been marrying and spawning little minnows (that was a sort of fish joke, because of his name). It can't have helped that his erstwhile double act partner Stewart Lee has secretly married and had a son since his last appearance at the festival, while Richard has spent the year exhaustively touring his last show in which he invites any girls in the audience to have a threesome with him afterwards. A whole year later and another need still unfulfilled.
Richard Herring's stand-up continues to improve all the time, since his return to solo performances several years ago. Despite his claims to the contrary, the immature, virginal character he portrayed in his Lee and Herring days has been left far behind, replaced with an angry and bitter middle-aged man whose sexual exploits provide more embarrassment than pride, particularly in one revealing confession within the new show. As usual, many of Richard's routines have their genesis in his daily weblog 'Warming Up' at RichardHerring.com, an extensive bank of creative observations on events that happened each day that are just waiting to be mined for stand-up material. One of the most memorable events in the comedian's recent life was his involvement in a pathetic brawl with a Maths lecturer in Liverpool, which may not become a firm staple of the constantly evolving performance but was even more entertaining to hear on stage than it was to read in the first place. Fortunately for dedicated fans, there's a large amount of original material as was the case with his last show, and as the show develops each day from the experimental previews to the proper full-price tickets starting this week, routines are dropped or added on a daily basis.
This new show moves far beyond the random, pointless targets of Richard's first solely stand-up show 'Someone Likes Yoghurt,' which dealt with those issues of Rudyard Kipling, the Magpie theme tune and yoghurt that were popular in 2005 but now seem largely irrelevant in our 2007 climate, instead expanding on the too-much-information honesty of last year's extensively toured 'menáge à un' to the point that the on-stage Richard Herring, increasingly indistinguishable from the real-life Richard Herring, has become a tragic figure. It's an interesting direction to take with stand-up, the balance between depression and humour, and whatever the ultimate moral may be, developing with each performance as Richard learns it himself.
Firmly entrenched in a mid-life crisis, Richard's weblog provides a characteristically honest account of his embarrassing activities and ideologies, the more entertaining and relevant of which will inevitably find their way into the show during the Fringe and on the national tour. As a veteran comedian who knows more about comedy than you do, Richard also takes time to explore current issues of racism and terrorism from his apparently trademarked "slightly unusual angle," and undertakes some enjoyable birthday party theatrics in the show's introduction that may be dropped from the show if he runs out of balloons.
Firmly entrenched in a mid-life crisis, Richard's weblog provides a characteristically honest account of his embarrassing activities and ideologies, the more entertaining and relevant of which will inevitably find their way into the show during the Fringe and on the national tour. As a veteran comedian who knows more about comedy than you do, Richard also takes time to explore current issues of racism and terrorism from his apparently trademarked "slightly unusual angle," and undertakes some enjoyable birthday party theatrics in the show's introduction that may be dropped from the show if he runs out of balloons.
41st Best Stand-Up Ever!
****
Written on 09.08.07
The advantage of any live performance, from theatre and music to stand-up comedy, is that each event is somehow an individual and unique experience (unless we count the comedy of Peter Kay), the nuances of which will become lost in time but the memories of which can stay with you forever. Now officially proclaimed the '41st Best Stand-Up Ever' in a meaningless Channel 4 poll that the comedian prefers to embrace as fact, particularly as many of his friends were placed further down the list, Stewart Lee's entire career remains haunted by his mother's relentless repetition of a witty observation made by 1980s gameshow host Tom O'Connor on a cruise in the early 1990s, which provides the bitter foundation for Stewart's new show.
There is a lot of maverick anger here, directed towards "the general public" with their wrong opinions as well as Channel 4, the sponsors of the huge inflatable cow carcass in which this performance takes place this month, largely moving away from the religious topics with which the 41st best comedian and director of 'Jerry Springer the Opera' is more associated. Clearly annoyed by the factual poll that ignores the more obscure comedy of his contemporaries, Stewart's new show seems designed to provoke and annoy any mainstream comedy fans who may be approaching his work for the first time, taking his penchant for endless, irritating repetition and running it further into the ground than ever before. The success of such routines is based on a Fast Show/Little Britain-style anticipation of the coming remark, dissected as far back as the memorable 'Boy Who Cried Wolf' sketch on Lee and Herring's 'Fist of Fun' that refused to embellish the fable's events to comic effect in order to produce a comic effect, but unlike some of Stewart's more recent shows the result tends more towards tedium than humour in the end, the accounts of Tom O'Connor and Del Boy's descent through the bar not standing up to repeated retellings ("it was brilliant Stew, he thought there was a bar there, he fell through the bar. He was only acting, there was a crash-mat, but it was brilliant").
Of course, irritation of an audience that doesn't "get it" is precisely the comic's intention, perhaps motivated by the benefit gig he organised earlier in the year for the King of relentless tedium Ted Chippington, but I found it hard to join in with the laughter as the audience members who felt proud to be in on the joke managed to stretch their anticipation beyond all limits to prove they were keeping up. Despite proving disappointing when compared to Stewart's last two shows since his return to stand-up, this is still an enjoyable fifty-five expensive minutes of comedy from one of the world's leading experts in the field, even if ideas are re-used and improvisation is limited; Stewart has always admitted an admiration for performers like Billy Connolly (and of course, the brilliant observational wit of Tom O'Connor) who can ad-lib a different set each night, but he is more comfortable sticking to a rigid structure. The recycling of old ideas continues in this show, which builds on material from as far back as the original 'Fist of Fun' radio show with the story of Robert the Bruce and the spider, but as usual the old joke is given new life and meaning, as well as a new punchline, in the newer environment.
There is a nice degree of honesty in this show, as much as its predecessor which detailed a literally intrusive endoscopy procedure and spiritual revelation, and it's nice to see Stewart's new wife and baby son being included in the material, while admitting that his mother is the basis of the show. His explanation for his appearances on panel shows to earn some money are also revealing, embracing the medium less enthusiastically than Mark Watson in his show, and as always it's enjoyable to see the self-proclaimed expert on all forms of good entertainment beating Marvel comic fans in the audience by having far too much knowledge of its characters. But primarily, this is Stewart Lee's self-confessed downward spiral from fame, designed to provoke and annoy as much as entertain in order to move the performer off the bottom of Channel 4's list and to the top of a non-existent list of artistic integrity and genius compiled by, and known only to Stewart and some of his friends.
You want to be popular, and subversive? You want to be admired more for your recent, obscure endeavours than for your more "popular" television work? You want to replace old, tired catch-phrases with new ones that are exhausted even before the show has ended? You want the moooooooooon on a stick.
Setlist
****
Written on 10.08.07
Free-thinking Canadian comic Tom Stade exposes the bare bones of his profession in this latest stand-up show, which makes him seem subversive and post-modern while also effectively allowing him to use a script as part of the show. Clever! Based in the second, smaller venue of the Stand in central Edinburgh, 'Setlist' features a microphone, a table of beers, a white board of written phrases as "tags" and a red marker pen, and sees Tom move through a broad range of contestable topics from drugs to the Third World, attempting to craft links between the individual pieces of material as he goes, with the help of the audience, and to develop each one into a better joke based on their responses.
I'm easily won over by a comedian being deconstructive, and I enjoyed the concept of the board throughout, even though, by its very nature, much of the material was abrupt and went nowhere past a simple punchline. It's interesting to see all comedy shows developing at the Fringe, particularly in the first couple of weeks before most of the visitors arrive at the end, and it's clear that Tom is having fun with this idea rather than using it to hide a lack of preparation, as the many jokes have already been ingrained into his head in their most basic form. The tiny audience acts as a perfect sounding board for his rants and ideas, occasionally offering an alternative punchline if they're sharp enough, or suggesting a link that Tom marks in red pen for later consideration, and the late night, alcohol-drenched venue grants the comedian a license to be more offensive than the bigger name acts in grander places.
This was the most shocking thing from my perspective, becoming so used to the whimsical real-life monologues and silly rants of the Pleasance and the Underbelly that it was something of a departure to hear a man joking about selling his child afflicted with Down's Syndrome. Even his excessive use of the F-word was jarring at the onset, becoming less noticeable as the show continued and it either became less prevalent or faded into white noise through over-use. Tom claims to be a man of "free speech," merely speaking his mind without regard for political correctness, and although this will cost him some credibility with some, the majority of the material is fairly straightforward. It's also amusing to see the performer become more clearly inebriated as the show carries on, all the time managing to stick to the rigid concept of the board, but allowing for deviation around the tags when requested, some of which are accompanied by his guitar.
Offensive material aside, Tom Stade is little different from the more underground American and Canadian comics that dominate stand-up sets on channels such as Paramount Comedy performing ten minutes of easy material, but this hour-long solo show proves that he has a lot of ability as well as a wealth of material, and seems to genuinely enjoy his work and crowd. It's a show perfectly suited to the drunken late night audience of the Stand, and the sort of show that the Fringe festival is necessary for bringing over in such a capacity.
Look At Me, Anybody!
****
Written on 11.08.07
Some see Adam Bloom as the Josie Long of the late 90s, his material being based primarily around the re-telling of amusing events from his recent life and when criticised for not being a proper comedian, attracting the defence of fans who claim he is "so nice in real life." Winning a couple of prestigious awards in 1998, and being nominated for, but ultimately failing to win the coveted Stella Artois award in 1999, Adam has remained a firm presence in the comedy world, producing a forgettable radio show 'The Problem with Adam Bloom' for a few series and having a single stand-up routine about Fanta repeated endlessly on the Paramount Comedy channels to the point of irritating overfamiliarity. His new Fringe show 'Look at Me, Anybody!' is explained as an attempt by the comedian to write more proper jokes, a concern of many comedians this year it seems, while also making sure to include a couple of instances of the word "poo" for long-time fans.
An underlying theme of Adam's show is his attempt at anger management, which it soon becomes obvious he hasn't succeeded in partly due to the incompetence of his short-tempered anger management consultant, whose angry response was legally recorded on Adam's answer phone and now echoes around the room in the Pleasance Dome each night to the laughter of his guests. Adam's anger problem is a genuine one, and even manifested itself entirely accidentally in the performance I attended, which saw him having to apologise towards the end for getting a bit annoyed when some of his jokes didn't get the response he had hoped. Nevertheless, as the old defence goes, he does seem like a genuinely nice guy, interacting with the audience on a personal level that excludes mockery and is more concerned, as usual, with flirting with women he fancies (which he explains is all women ever). This year's show is a marked improvement on some shows past, bringing the divide between the loose banter and the firmly structured routines a little closer.
To prove he is a proper comedian after all, Adam makes sure to include some "edgy" jokes about terrorism and the Quran, although this defiance is diluted a little by his insistence that a joke about Muslims inflating a bouncy Mosque is in no way offensive and in fact represents a beautiful, harmonised world. Fortunately, he saves his integrity by ending on a proper, well-deserved punchline about the positive effects of blowing up a building. A routine that works less well is Adam's attempt at technical wizardry with the accompaniment of a mobile phone recording as a sort of ventiloquist's dummy, but for the most part these are all enjoyable and memorable stories of anger, love and David Jason (an oddly popular reference at Fringe shows this year, almost as much as exclamation marks in show titles). There's no doubt that the audience is watching a performer in popular decline, his venue shrinking slightly each year, but it seems that Adam Bloom is finally starting to live up to his own hype, even if people with digital TV will have heard some of these jokes before.
It's the Fireworks Talking
*****
Written on 12.08.07
Daniel Kitson is at the forefront of modern stand-up comedy. Winning the coveted Perrier Award in 2002 for his Edinburgh show and completely failing to cash in on his new fame and television offers (apart from a prominent role in 'Phoenix Nights' prior to the award), the Huddersfield-born self-styled anti-cool maverick continues to restlessly tour the comedy festivals of the world and perfect his craft. His new show at the Edinburgh festival, 'It's the Fireworks Talking' follows his customary style of rambling on about the minutiae of life, specifically his own life with his own personal pits and troughs, and hitting on unexpectedly profound life lessons along the way.
I'm usually not too fond of comedians whose material is based around pointless observations, such as Peter Kay's reminders of chocolate bars that we never forgot in the first place and that bring no punchlines, but Daniel Kitson has always been different. His story of staying up all night, and the feeling of unique individuality that brings, was so intimate and understandable to me that it felt as if we connected through the experience, which is ironic and a bit sad as the absence of unique individual experiences is what he was trying to illustrate all along. Whatever your religion or ideology, Daniel's amiably delivered bombshells should leave you heading home after the show with a new sense of futility and worthlessness that is wholly invigorating. This is a deeply personal show, as with all his previous work, and it's a great ride along Daniel's world view from annoyance with f**kwits and his need for love to the simple pleasures to be found from paddling (as seen in his show's impressive poster) and, of course, fireworks. When I first saw the comedian several years ago, I don't think I had lived enough life to properly understand and "get" his act, but this year it all made perfect sense.
As a natural professional in his field, Daniel is able to break away from the heavily structured show to deal with crowd disturbances (or farts in the case of the first night's performance I attended) and to address his own fading career, the frequent allusions to past greatness being made with a smile that reveals how happy he is to have avoided soul-destroying fame. The intimate venue of the Stand, Edinburgh's only comedy club that operates all year round, is a favourite for comedians who wish to avoid the glitzy corporate whoredom of the larger venues, and the closely gathered crowd is perfectly suited to Daniel's bedtime-story-esque stand-up, even if his popularity and ticket sales lead to a large amount of the audience being forced to stand (as he notes, having paid the same as those sitting down). This is a warming, honest and naturally funny show that puts the other comedy of the Fringe into perspective, and the perfect end to my reduced price festival. Until someone gives me free tickets.
Best of the Fest(ival): Daniel Kitson, Richard Herring and Mark Watson.
Also saw: An Amnesty benefit (Lee, Amstell, Ince, others) and a couple of free things.
Fringe 2008
In less dire financial straits, having people to go with now and saying yes to free press tickets for things that weren't really my thing, I saw a lot more at this year's festival.
Press ticket reviews are green to highlight their sell-out nature. Take a star off most of those for authenticity. Others written for dooyoo for 50p, some of which amusingly/embarrassingly show up in the press sections of comedians' websites as if they're professional or have impact.
Scrambled Egg
****
Written on 31.07.08
Stewart Lee’s new Edinburgh show is a literal egg box of laughs. Having spent much of the year in his hard-pressed job as a stand-up comedian (the hardest job in the world apparently) writing new routines and plagiarising his own substantial back catalogue for next year’s BBC series ‘Stewart Lee’s Comedy Vehicle,’ the squashed Albert Finney conjured up the conceit of using a box of numbered eggs to randomly determine each night’s set-list. Unless you’re attending the half-price preview before the Fringe has really begun, in which the comedian confesses he hasn’t learned all of the routines yet, and an audience member is offered the more limited selection of choosing any three eggs from the front row of three. It spoils the sense of adventure somewhat, but the tickets were only £5 so there’s no reason to complain. You want the moon on a stick.
Despite being advertised as ‘a mix of new material, and material that’s so old it seems new’ (unless you approached the show on the malfunctioning EdFringe website where it was bizarrely billed as a tragic comedy about a frustrated obituary writer befriending a very old woman), much of the material is taken directly from the comedian’s previous three stand-up tours, that fans might like to imagine qualify as a trilogy insofar as there were three of them in relatively close proximity. As of yet, there’s none of the cocky absurdity of Lee’s nineties work, which is a shame, but the material is still some of the strongest on the Fringe, and works as something of a greatest hits collection of 21st century Stewart Lee. It’s just a shame that long-time fans will have heard much of this before, as will anyone who purchased his DVDs.
Consciously avoiding the story and crescendo elements of his usual hour-long shows, the three routines (whatever they may be) are self-contained entities bridged by Lee checking a piece of scrap paper and announcing ‘now I’ll talk about political correctness,’ but his twenty years of experience in professional stand-up still allow him to refer back to previous material when it becomes relevant again, creating some sense of progression and structure. Lee’s on-stage persona is self-assured without being arrogant, self-deprecating without seeking pity and, most of all, intimidatingly smart, and the issues he explores in detail in these twenty-minute routines are mature and thought-provoking.
From personal issues with the low standards of the general public to his justified fears of being misinterpreted, Lee paints a detailed picture of the life of a stand-up comedian and the responsibilities that come with the job, all inspired by a second-hand LP of Franklyn Ajaye that he admits he’s never felt the need to actually listen to. Religion is inevitably discussed again, Lee being no stranger to reprisals after co-writing and directing ‘Jerry Springer: The Opera’ and suffering from the partially successful protests of right-wing Christian fundamentalists, and political correctness is discussed in a more reasoned manner than you’d expect from the Stand, illustrated with experiences from Lee’s own life now he’s reached the ancient milestone of forty.
For fans, ‘Scrambled Egg’ promises to be an exciting show that invites a return visit, but is disappointing for being based largely in material that’s not yet so old that it seems new. While the material is essentially as scattered and arbitrary as Lee’s previous shows, the self-contained pieces don’t permit the grand finales that proved so rewarding in the comedian’s 2004 and 2005 shows, but depending on the material selected, there’s still a chance to see the performer’s trademark mental breakdown set-piece. For non-fans, this is a great opportunity to see one of the best comedians in the country ploughing through finely honed routines without any weak links, a show that informs as much as it amuses. At the very least, you might leave knowing more about jazz than you did before.
Elizabeth and Raleigh: Late But Live
****
Written on 03.08.08
The sequel to last year's 'Johnson and Boswell: Late But Live' retreats further back in pseudohistory to the distinctly less Scottish plains of Queen Elizabeth's sixteenth-century court, once again starring comedians Miles 'Balamory' Jupp and Simon Munnery respectively, the latter affecting an aloof persona that will be familiar to fans of his earlier character The League Against Tedium, only somewhat more xenophobic in true Elizabethan spirit.
Raleigh introduces himself to the audience, which he has gathered in the University of Edinburgh's Reid Concert Hall (tastefully renamed the Cow Barn for one month of the year) to witness what he presumes will be the frigid Queen's overdue proposal of marriage. He spends the first Act or so generally celebrating his own greatness, aided by a slide projector which, along with a smoke machine and three distinct instruments played elsewhere in the show, elevate this performance above the typical low-budget Fringe standard. By the time the Queen arrives, she does so in fittingly grand style that has to be seen to be appreciated.
This is an accessible, yet still distinctly odd play from one of the writers of 'Jerry Springer: The Opera,' and I suppose the first notable thing about it is that it almost entirely avoids comparison to Blackadder II. Anyone who came expecting drama will likely be disappointed that the plot events are essentially there to supply a loose structure for the historical double act's exciting, musical and blindly racist routines, and while there are still accessible jokes about contemporary topics such as John Gaunt (and at least two gags about pants), writer Stewart Lee ensures it's grounded in its historical context with corporate appearances by Willy Kempe and celebrations of the novel potato. I wouldn't go so far as to say it's educational, but it's likely you'll come out knowing more about the rubbish Devonshire town Budleigh Salterton than you did before, or necessarily wanted to.
In the style of Lee and Munnery's previous collaborations such as 'Pea Green Boat,' effective use is made of live music, and the show features some highly memorable set-pieces as the drama unfolds in Queen Elizabeth's court and the recesses of Raleigh's imagination. It's to its credit that the show feels rather short as a standard festival hour, and would benefit from an extension for its inevitable tour following the festival. It's also impressive that it manages to exert such mainstream appeal, being created by a group of artistically conscious comedians who can be frustratingly obscure when they want to be.
Elizabeth and Raleigh are probably the best sixteenth-century double-act at this year's Fringe. Spaniards need not attend.
War of the Worlds
**
Written on 06.08.08
Marking the thirtieth anniversary of Jeff Wayne's enduringly popular album, thespian Pip Utton has hired a cavern in the centre of Edinburgh for one month to perform an unprecedented one-man adaptation of Wayne's masterpiece. Sadly, this doesn't involve any frantic, one-man band hi-jinks, as he merely speaks and sings over the quiet CD soundtrack. Even more sadly, the performance feels lacking in enthusiasm and spectacle.
As a spoken word musical composition with doses of singing, the lyrics of Wayne's album aimed to spark the listener's imagination and conjure the events in their mind's eye, and this effect is lost when watching an unimposing actor treading around on a stage with only intermittent red lighting for special effects. This doesn't mean I was expecting model fighting machines (though maybe I was a little bit), but the lack of spectacle, extending to the lack of musicians, weakens this as a live performance, and would be more suited to radio. But then of course, you might as well listen to the original.
Utton does impress with his portrayal of the narrative's three characters (the first-person narrator, the artilleryman and the parson), affecting reasonable cockney and Welsh accents to distinguish them, but I found it distracting that for the majority of the hour he sounds distinctly unlike Richard Burton, not even attempting to mimic the imitable style. As a traditional thesp, Utton emotes when necessary and becomes more invested in select scenes, but most of the time it's just a straightforward recital over an annoyingly quiet backing soundtrack. Even the singing leaves a little to be desired, mainly as Utton has a frequent tendency to miss out the opening lines and look a little awkward before getting back on track, though to be fair I did attend in the preview week when Fringe shows and performers are traditionally some distance short of a perfected piece, and this will likely improve later in the run.
This hour-long show could easily appeal to Jeff Wayne fans and newcomers alike, as Utton's use of the original, unabridged script makes it different enough from the album to be of interest to experienced listeners, though this does restrict the excellent music to a significantly secondary position where it hardly seems to matter most of the time. It's not a show I would feel comfortable recommending, as for those who aren't into it, it could make for an incredibly dull hour, but the bonus of seeing it at Edinburgh before its inevitable arts theatre run means that you get to experience the incredible atmosphere of the caves at the bottom of Niddry Street.
If, like me, you attended the show in anticipation of an over-enthusiastic, lively, manic, exhausting performance, you'll be disappointed. Go to Pappy's Fun Club for that.
The X-Files Improv
*****
Written on 07.08.08
Dean Haglund is a name that won't be familiar even to the majority of fans of 'The X-Files,' but once they're shown a side-by-side comparison of Haglund's current visage and his character Langley who appeared intermittently across the show's nine long years, the hazy memories will return. Though it's equally likely that they'll just be thinking of Garth from 'Wayne's World.'
Now free of the constraints of television, it seems Haglund earns most of his income off the back of that character, with convention appearances and annual tours of this improvised X-Files based comedy hour. I'm always sceptical about has-been performers trying to make money from their prior fame, such as Leonard Nimoy's embarrassing Mr. Spock albums or that Les bloke from Vic Reeves' Big Night Out, but fortunately Haglund possesses real enthusiasm about the show that rivals that of the (inevitably) somewhat nerdy audience. His self-deprecating remarks that imply his career is spiralling downwards are balanced out by his achievements outside of the mainstream, and it's clear that stand-up is his true calling.
Like the new X-Files feature film, this show doesn't require in-depth knowledge of the series to enjoy it, though unlike the film it won't bore the majority of the audience (plus Billy Connolly isn't in it). Haglund's breakdown of an archetypical X-Files episode into its component sections is fairly accurate and general enough to avoid alienation, and with this loose agenda of structured events set in place, the actions are left entirely to the whims of the audience and Haglund's quick responses. Not every suggestion is going to be comedy gold, and not every audience participant as amusing as the last, but Haglund remains firmly in control to ensure the laughs, his instantaneous reactions being particularly impressive and avoiding repetition.
The set moves through different mediums of improvised comedy, all of which smack distinctly of 'Whose Line Is It Anyway?' as selected audience members supply sound effects, limb manipulation and non-sequitur punchlines pulled from the pile of suggestions written by the audience at the start, making this a varied hour that's constantly in motion. It's clear that Haglund has performed this show to perfection in previous years, and it would be interesting to return and see just how different it manages to be with a new crowd of creative idiots on the other side of the microphone.
The Headmaster's Son
*****
Written on 07.08.08
Richard Herring's latest Fringe show is a mostly serious reflection back on his Somerset upbringing, examining the choices and environmental factors that led to his life turning out so ridiculously. At forty-one years of age, the nationally-known comedian has never married or had children like many of his friends have achieved, and he earns a living driving around the nation discussing cocks and arguing the social benefits of masturbating a paedophile. Where did it all go wrong? Is this really the future the sixteen-year-old schoolboy from Cheddar envisaged for himself - and if not, can the blame all be conveniently offloaded on the fact that his dad was the school's headmaster?
While last year's 'Oh F*ck I'm 40' fused uproarious comedy and genuine depression, 'The Headmaster's Son' is overall a more thoughtful affair, excusably self-indulgent as Herring recites from his old diaries as an arrogant, naive virgin with as much clue about the world as any sixteen-year-old. This is a very honest and personal show, a departure from the petty, angry persona that has characterised Herring's shows since his return to straight stand-up, but long-time fans will still be pleased as he continues to push the boundaries of taste a little too far, and still includes token material on Jesus and cocks. The latter even extends to a revival of Herring's first live performance, the short ditty 'My Penis Can Sing,' which is almost as embarrassing to watch as it must be to perform.
By concentrating on these overarching themes of adolescence and ambition, the show holds together more naturally than Herring's previous stand-up hours that leapt between five or six arbitrary topics, and the debate reaches a crescendo as the forty-one-year-old Richard Herring conceives an encounter with his sixteen-year-old self, in more disturbing detail than when Rob Newman did it. This show doesn't aim to be instantly gratifying in the manner of the comedian's shorter stand-up sets, but this also means that its appeal reaches beyond the standard comedy club crowd, especially as it approaches an emotional finale that forsakes punchlines in favour of thought-provoking moral lessons. Even my mum liked it, which is really saying something.
Strange Bedfellows
****
Written on 11.08.08
Stuart Spencer's new play takes the notion of politics making strange bedfellows at face value, by presenting an intriguing, thoughtful and frequently cheeky version of United States history from the eighteenth century to the present day, dominated by a star-spangled bed in the centre of the stage.
For fans of American history, names such as Emily Dickinson, Frederick Douglass, Lizzie Borden and J. P. Morgan will require no introduction, but the rest of us philistines are provided with a handy programme that fills in the historical background without the performance itself having to waste time with a history lesson.
The five scenes move chronologically through significant historical events, albeit in alternative, potential or wildly exaggerated forms that see George Washington playing love slave to a randy King George III; black rights pioneer Frederick Douglass inspiring Emily Dickinson's verse; mad axewoman Lizzie Borden being pushed over the edge by her miserly ex-husband; Lee Harvey Oswald deciding to take revenge when his girlfriend Marilyn reveals that she prefers Presidents, and figure skater Tonya Harding receiving inspiring and confusing visions to lead her to her final victory. But you can't libel the dead. And is it even possible to libel Tonya Harding any more?
The first four scenes are essentially unconnected, though share recurring themes of civil rights and the pursuit of the American dream, and the five performers impress with a mix of light-hearted comedy and serious drama, before the whole thing collapses into a delightful crescendo.
These implied relationships are a mixture of urban legend, creative fantasy and downright lies, but each scene stands strong and independent from the rest, shifting the balance from humour to thoughtful debate where appropriate, but ensuring that the proceedings don't become too heavy-going for an afternoon audience by then having Wilbur Wright buzz around the stage pretending to be a fly.
The American accents occasionally wander, which is forgivable and presumably even deliberate by the time of the finale as everything breaks down, but this is a recommended event for an hour of your afternoon at the Edinburgh festival, regardless of your education in American history and pop culture (though you'll get more out of it if you take a quick glance at the programme beforehand). The central bed set-piece is incorporated into all but one scene, and the finale makes well-choreographed use of its design.
Plus, you get to see some people in just their pants.
Funergy
****
Written on 13.08.08
Returning for their second successful year at the Edinburgh Fringe, the energetic whippersnappers of Pappy's Fun Club have cobbled together a new show of zany antics and quick-fire turnarounds, loosely held together by what they imagine to be an epic plot.
If there's one show I'd recommend at the Edinburgh festival to appeal to audiences of various ages, tastes, creeds and orientations, it would be Pappy's Fun Club. Even if you hate it, you get a free badge at the end to decorate your jacket. This is the kind of performance I love to see at the Fringe, as the four performers dash around in an almost literal revolving door of characters, situations and abstract concepts personified, extremely well choreographed and so full of fun and energy that the team have been forced to coin a new phrase: 'Funergy.'
The overarching plot involves the Fun Club's attempt to power their show with some kind of funergy machine, and there's something about a whale, but it isn't necessary to get bogged down in the details. The recurring characters help to create the illusion of coherence and avoid this being a mere string of unconnected sketches that can be dipped in an out of like the stand-up of Tim Vine. It's also amusing to observe the seemingly genuine animosity between certain Fun Club members, as scenes are improvised or changed merely to irritate. [Update: Chap with the antlers would decide it wasn't for him and leave before long!]
Although this is technically an adult show, I would have loved it just as much as a kid, and indeed the enthusiasm of the performers is oddly reminiscent of children's television presenters. And what other show at the festival features an enormous pirate blue whale, the anthropomorphising of the internet and the City of Nottingham?
****
Written on 13.08.08
The Underbelly's late night comedy extravaganza is a veritable smorgasbord of laughs and styles, provided you have the patience or the drunkenness to sit through the inevitably awful acts that intersect the funny ones. Lasting for approximately four hours in theory (though not always in practice), the show is headlined by a prominent Fringe act that changes each night, supported by six or seven acts of varying degrees of inventiveness and rubbishness, all hoping to draw one or two of the more sober audience members to their own hour-long shows at a later date.
If this show was held outside of the festival, the audience and acts would be noticeably different, presumably something more accessible to the standard Jongleurs comedy club crowd. But as it's the Fringe, and most people come in anticipation of something a little different, the acts at Spank are a satisfying mix of cheap laughs and innovative comedy, though it's understandable that some of the more avant-garde acts won't want to burden audiences with their heavy-going routines at 3am. Unless that's what gets them off, of course.
The event is strictly over-18s, and part of the reason may be the inevitable full-frontal nudity involved, as any fellow performers in attendance are free to promote their own show on stage to the gathered throng, provided they're prepared to strip for it. Once again, the spirit of the Fringe means that girls are safe to do this without fear of being groped (this isn't the demographic of Jim Davidson's audience for example).
'Spank!' is good value for money, tickets costing a mere £10 on a school night and understandably escalating at the weekends, and the venue even hosts a reasonable bar with a dwindling supply of bottles that seems practically generous considering the extortionate prices of other festival venues. Supplied with a hand stamp, audience members needing to drink, smoke or micturate are permitted to wander in and out to the Underbelly itself during the intervals, or just during the terrible acts if they don't mind being rude and making a sort of snobbish statement.
Off Her Trolley
***
Written on 13.08.08
Eleanor Bennet's debut play invites the audience on an intimate exploration of the frequently overlooked world occupied by the elderly and those around them. 'Off Her Trolley' has been nominated for Amnesty's Freedom of Expression award for its insightful take on a difficult subject, and it's commendable just how frankly Bennet tackles the issue of Alzheimer's and its effects on the inflicted, their families and their carers, through the use of three very different personas.
The most prominent character is a somewhat eccentric woman with a preoccupation for various items lost in the seemingly infinite, TARDIS-esque recesses of her shopping trolley, who speaks about her work in a care home with the detached honesty and flippancy of experience. Her second character, a young carer, is more exclusively present for comic relief to avoid the performance becoming too heavy-going, but even this light-hearted juvenile, reminiscent of something from Catherine Tate's show, is tinged with satirical stabs at the low pay and hard work involved in such a job.
The third character acts as the straight woman of the piece, confessing at arbitrary intervals the difficulties of looking after an elderly relative while balancing family commitments and a full-time job, before the context dawns on the audience as the play draws to its conclusion. Bennet uses mannerisms and minimal visual aids to differentiate between the characters, keeping their respective ages intriguingly ambiguous.
When not instructing, Bennet's monologues find plenty of time to entertain, crossing over into stand-up comedy with a little audience participation thrown in, and the central musical number about the duties of a carer will doubtless remain in your head for the rest of the day, whether you like it or not. There's plenty of humour throughout, from cheap laughs to somewhat macabre and vivid descriptions of death, and this prevents the script from becoming too bogged down in its own morality.
Eleanor Bennet's play won't stop Alzheimer's, but it does a fine job of communicating its effects to an intimate gathering in one of the Edinburgh Fringe's more delightfully obscure venues.
Dinner
****
Written on 13.08.08
The Edinburgh Fringe preview of Moira Buffini's dark comedy 'Dinner' is performed by an elite cast of the Cambridge University Players, braving the traditional class hatred of Auld Reekie to act the part of the rich, famous and tragic, serving a tongue-in-cheek stab at the middle class alongside serious drama.
Presided over by a silent and dutiful waiter, this gathering is hosted by Paige in celebration of her husband's best-seller, a book she confesses to not having read with just a little too much pride. The courses and party games Paige has prepared show no mercy in exposing each guest's personal tragedies, and as the night escalates, each cast member is required to skilfully display a range of feelings, from whimsical nostalgia to frenzy.
Buffini's characters make the most of their stereotypical natures, from ditzy hippie artist Wynne to emotionally repressed scientist Hal and working class Mike, who was unfortunate enough to be stranded in the area after his van broke down. Paige wastes no time in bestowing Mike the role of spokesperson for the lower classes, and although he feels like he belongs in a 1970s Michael Caine film, Mike's proud defence of his background serves to both expose the arrogance of the upper class, and to reveal that they ultimately suffer from the same problems. The only real difference is that a rich heiress with time on her hands can afford to take care of her problems through more inventive means.
The obligatory twist in the final scene is a little abrupt, but by this point the performers have been so convincing that it's hard to remain detached. The natural scripting and fine acting make this an involving show, enhanced by the late-night performance and bizarre gimmick of live lobsters in the main course, and this is one show that would doubtless make for a more disturbing experience from the front row.
The Fat Toad Theatre Company
Just Trust Me...
***
Written on 16.08.08
The Fat Toad Theatre Company's Edinburgh debut is a surprisingly authentic period play set in a formerly wealthy household facing the threat of bankruptcy over an eventful twenty-four hours in 1912. A morality play of sorts with a singular message, 'Just Trust Me' is performed by a sizeable cast of talented thespians of various ages who really look the part, avoiding the suspension of disbelief frequently required for student Fringe performers playing roles thirty years their senior.
Despite a couple of successful tongue-in-cheek pop culture references, this is primarily a historical play that explores the last lingering remnants of Victorian culture prior to the Great War. If the performance invites comparison to the audience's contemporary culture almost a century later, we arguably come out on top, as Laurence Bennett's trusting, patriarchal attitude is exposed as unable to cope with the reforms threatened by those such as the Suffragette movement, enveloping ever more of his female family members, and the younger generation of merciless capitalists represented by his ambitious assistant Albert.
This is a balanced hour that makes time for comedy and intense drama at regular intervals, the former being largely provided by comic relief characters whose inebriated states keep them on the convincing side of ridiculous. The ending is predictably dark but handled in an unexpected manner, and the dramatic irony present throughout as Florence Bennett learns of the conspiracy against her husband's estate draws further attention to the need for female empowerment, as Laurence refuses to let her speak her mind and she obediently, tragically complies.
'Just Trust Me' is a charming lunchtime show at an idyllic, tactfully hidden venue that achieves commendable originality in an oversaturated genre. Perhaps a little dark for children, this otherwise lacks a specific target audience, as the trials and tribulations of its lifelike characters will doubtless hold some appeal, regardless of your usual tolerance for period drama.
Alexander Part 2: New Worlds and Nightfall
***
Written on 16.08.08
An intriguing modern take on classical verse play, Margaret Pritchard's two-part interpretation of the life of Alexander the Great makes no concessions in its enthusiastic Shakespearean pomp, foundations in the Ancient Greek theatrical style and abundance of homoeroticism.
The two distinct plays - 'Macedon's Heir' and 'New Worlds and Nightfall' - are performed on alternating days at St. Augustine's on Edinburgh's George IV Bridge, but the audience is at liberty to enjoy each as a separate entity rather than as two essential parts of a whole. The former chronicles Alexander's upbringing as a prince in Macedon until his father is assassinated, and the second details his legendary achievements as king, recklessly spreading his dominion across two thirds of the known world before his empire just as swiftly collapses.
For fans of classical theatre, Pritchard's verse should be a real treat, as young actors in skimpy attire bellow to their heart's content. The performers are all perfectly suited to this dramatic style, each being granted substantial monologues at regular intervals, and if there were to be a new Renaissance in performance poetry, this would be a hot contender to lead the way. Of course, it's equally likely that the audience won't be into that sort of thing, perhaps having seen the Hollywood adaptation of Alexander's life and expected something similar, but as far as I could tell, only one old man fell asleep during the performance I attended.
Rooted in the classical theatre style, no use is made of special effects beyond the use of lighting, and the cast does a fine job of convincing the audience that they are fighting armies of several thousand. A potentially contentious issue, at least in the opinion of the somewhat apologetic press release, is the frequency of men kissing other men, which the playwright informs us was considered a natural pastime in the Olden Days, just in case we didn't know that or were somehow shocked. This concentration on realism and authenticity makes the performance even more appealing, and it's to its credit that this play could just as easily have been written two hundred years ago as today.
The Secrets Inside
****
Written on 21.08.08
The debut play of the young and enthusiastic Sell a Door Theatre Company is an intriguing mix of dance, melodrama, soap opera and harsh political commentary, with enough symbolism and masked dance routines to both repel those with less theatrical tastes, and appeal to others who find such things a source of guilty pleasure.
Opening with a frighteningly choreographed dance scene, the hour-long performance strives to present a fair and uninhibited perspective of the difficulties faced within a modern Scottish prison, for inmates on both sides of the bars whose secrets reveal much about their personalities. The confrontations and relationships forced upon prisoners and prison workers alike are explored in a very personal manner through the four characters, and the play is often uncomfortable without being gratuitous.
This emphasis on realism makes it easier to sympathise with the characters' plights, however reliable David Hutchinson's script may be as someone viewing the situation from an outside perspective, and as a narrative spread over numerous months of the protagonist's incarceration, it's permissible that the highlighted events play out something like a soap opera. A few unlikely events shatter the realism somewhat, but the frequent use of heavy-handed metaphors, both verbal and visual, emphasise that this play is concerned with its message over its demonstrative plot.
'The Secrets Inside' is playing for one week only at the Edinburgh Fringe, and despite its destiny as another undiscovered gem struggling to attract an audience at the increasingly commercial festival, its ambitious scope has been recognised through nomination for Amnesty's Freedom of Expression award.
Friedrich Schiller/Mike Poulton
Don Carlos
***
Written on 21.08.08
Rebecca Smith's directorial adaptation of Freidrich Schiller's 'Don Carlos' is unusual for a Fringe play in lasting well over an hour, though the performance has still been heavily edited by Mike Poulton by a remarkable two-thirds. The performance feels inhibited by this time pressure, as scenes overlap for a quick turnaround to waste as little time as possible, but this keeps the drama intense.
Smith's production is effectively minimalist, performed by a cast in basic formal attire with only basic lighting and sound effects to supplement the fine acting. Well-chosen from Sedos' players, each cast member really looks the part, from the young and effeminate Don Carlos himself to the King's creepy aides, and each puts in a heartfelt performance, unperturbed by the fact that the audience surrounding them is hardly larger than the cast itself.
Despite its classical foundation, this is an accessible modern play that avoids deterring casual theatregoers through pompous language, but at the same time its themes of conspiracy, near-incestuous love and honour are timeless. The heavy editing means that marginal activities are kept to a minimum, the ending being particularly abrupt, but this is still a high quality performance if you can catch it in its limited run.
Also saw: Free stuff and the inaugural live Collings and Herrin Podcast. Why didn't I write about that?
Fringe 2009
As long as I saw my guys and could drag folks along, I was happy to go along with other people's recommendations / wild stabs in the Fringe programme.
The mediocre press freebies were getting to be a drag, but it's not like I would have seen more paid shows without them, and they got me out of the flat. Other reviews written for dooyoo or for my own blog, under less pressure to be professional or coherent.
Martha & Arthur
A Lot of Nerve
**
Written on 11.08.09
The first show I saw at this year's Edinburgh Fringe kicked the arts festival off in suitably weird style.
'A Lot of Nerve' is a fusion of cabaret, dance and what is perhaps erroneously billed as 'comedy,' performed by Martha & Arthur, two nimble performers who are clearly unknown veterans of the stage, however much the performers and their characters are intended to overlap.
The show was inventive, artistic, a little rubbish, slightly embarrassing and almost certainly condemned to perform incredibly poorly and make a debilitating financial loss.
It perfectly encapsulates the spirit of the Fringe.
Perhaps most confusing of all is the relatively high-budget venue chosen to host the performance, the Pleasance Dome on George Square. Whenever I've been invited to review an unknown theatrical oddity like this in festivals past, it's invariably been staged in a tellingly ramshackle venue, one of the previously non-existent cellars and caves that spontaneously appear in August when Edinburgh shifts to an extradimensional plane for one month of the year. A cavern hewn out of the Old Town with some lighting and sound equipment visibly rigged up in a manner that complies with health and safety regulations in only the most perfunctory manner possible. Not a comfortable, functional theatre with adequate toilet facilities.
Fortunately, no one had asked me to review the show this time, so I'm free to say what the hell I like.
It's a little shameful that my main preoccupation throughout the show was, "how are they going to afford this?" With an audience of only seven people (on a half-price preview night of all nights), Martha & Arthur would have been playing to a crowd of three if me and my friends hadn't impulse bought tickets, in a show that requires both the dissection of a dress and a fresh place of donuts each night, not to mention the cost of hiring the venue and dry-cleaning Arthur's star-spangled pants. This is clearly a show being performed for the sheer love of theatre rather than for financial gain, and for this reason I respect it quite a lot. I just wish I could do it the service of a glowing review, but nobody's paying me to do that. And it's not like anyone's reading this anyway.
To their credit, the performers never broke character or toned down the performance for the minimal audience. Even as they entered backwards onto the stage and slowly revolved to face the almost-empty room, their eyes betrayed no flicker of despair - and believe me, I was looking.
The show is a mix of cabaret and minimal acting, with several instances of live, low-key singing and more in the way of exhaustive dance interpretations of old cabaret chestnuts, all well choreographed and varied enough to maintain interest throughout the hour-long performance.
There's a fairly oblique story charting the rise and fall of the characters in the theatrical world as well, or something, but don't worry too much about that, and shenanigans involving Arthur jumping around in just his pants that could be raunchy, if you're a bit strange.
More importantly, there were no slip-ups with the prerecorded track, which is always a danger with shows like these, and impacted several others I saw shortly after. This is clearly a show that's been honed and choreographed to perfection, even if that perfection is some significant distance away from artistic genius. I liked it, but it was an odd one.
Hitler Moustache
*****
Written on 11.08.09
Richard Herring never believed them when they said you get more right-wing as you get older, but as the forty-two-year-old Fringe veteran takes to the familiar stage in the sweaty Underbelly for his eighteenth Edinburgh festival, wearing a severe suit and sporting a genuine Hitler moustache, the audience is forced to question whether he's finally lost it.
Having survived an embarrassing mid-life crisis in 'Oh F*ck, I'm 40!' and exposed his tragically untroubled youth in last year's sell-out show 'The Headmaster's Son,' Herring's new show takes a hard look at Britain's racist attitudes in the summer that saw the British National Party gain two seats in the European parliament. Herring has appropriated Hitler's famous philtrum fungus as a basis for a thoughtful and accurate appraisal of a twenty-first century Britain that would allow such dangerous humiliations to happen.
Herring defends his facial topiary as no adolescent desire to shock, but as a sincere attempt to fight fascism with ridicule, much as the moustache's originator Charlie Chaplin sought to do in the 1930s, before the bristles became inextricably associated with the arguably more influential Führer of Germany. Herring ponders whether comedy and fascism are really all that different, and this 2009 Fringe show certainly demonstrates the inherent humour to be found in such pieces of fascist propaganda as the recent BNP leaflet.
Herring's risky opening gambit is to propose that maybe racists have a point, creating a prickly atmosphere amongst the left-wing, middle-class theatregoers before the self-confessed "woolly liberal" comedian follows the statement through to its illogical conclusion with a brilliant deconstruction of racist attitudes, making for what must be one of the more enlightened shows of this year's Fringe.
It's quite staggering to watch the show and recall that only a couple of weeks ago, Herring's routines were misappropriated by Guardian critic Brian Logan, along with those of other comedians, in an article that robbed them of any meaningful context and used them to illustrate an argument that comedy was becoming increasingly designed to offend audiences. Herring and the other performers involved were given the opportunity to set the record straight, but as audiences will learn from watching the show, it is easy for statements to be appropriated at face value to suit any argument, however far-fetched. Is this the same fate that has befallen the toothbrush moustache, now associated squarely with the Nazis in the same way they spoiled the Hindu symbol of peace by turning it into their corporate branding of the swastika?
Or does the moustache possess some inherent quality of evil?
Herring's thought-provoking arguments are illustrated with enjoyable anecdotes of his experiences in the months since he decided to grow the moustache, but on the whole this is a lot more serious and less overtly jocular than last year's 'Headmaster's Son.' Long-time fans can still expect Herring to joke about paedophiles and to indulge in some revealing schizophrenia, particularly in a section where he examines his own attitudes with critical self-awareness, but for possessing such a strong through-line, this is a much more satisfying experience than the scattered stand-up routines cobbled together to form some of Herring's previous Edinburgh shows.
Out of Chaos
***
Written on 12.08.09
Temple Theatre's award-winning show 'Out of Chaos' comes to the Edinburgh Fringe for 2009, and presents a deliberately confusing, often perplexing smorgasbord of multicultural delights that all comes together in the end...
Actually, that's a lie, and would sort of ruin the point.
Six performers of mixed cultural and ethnic heritage take turns supporting, interrupting and fighting each other to narrate a mixture of classical myths and personal tribulations in a show that explores the inherent misunderstandings of communication in all walks of life, explored through lengthy, passionate monologues in Spanish and Japanese, and relationship breakdowns. The show examines how stories can be misconstrued when passed on, or misinterpreted by both parties. Perhaps there can never be a universal truth.
The show begins with a monologue explaining the Ancient Greek origin of the universe, an attempt to create order from chaos, a theme that hangs over this diverse and exciting show. One moment an unsettling angry tirade, the next a spontaneous, energetic dance erupts from nowhere, followed by a soothing musical number.
Despite this self-conscious obliqueness, or more likely because of it, 'Out of Chaos' is an enjoyable and accessible show. Multi-lingual narratives are illustrated with revealing mimes, ensuring that the audience is never left too much in the dark - except when it is more effective to do so - while frequent medleys reprise much of the action thus far in a manner that almost, almost begins to make some sort of cohesive sense.
Chomp: A Zombie Musical
***
Written on 13.08.09
You should know what you're getting yourself into when you attend a zombie musical, and I can confidently state that Fusion's performance of Andy Evans' 'Chomp' at the Edinburgh Fringe did not let me down. After all, my expectations were safely on the extreme side of low.
I'll get it out of the way and state that Andrew Lloyd Webber and whoever else is involved in producing terrible yet inexplicably popular West End and Broadway musicals have nothing to worry about. Although the writing is competent and campy in all the right places, and Jack Pudsey's music is tolerable at best (and only mildly irritating at worst), we don't have a cult hit on our hands.
The young performers sing over a backing track that's subject to the usual technical difficulties expected of a ramshackle festival show (the CD cut out at one point and the singers admirably continued, creating an enjoyably weird atmosphere), but there's not a great deal here to satisfy die-hard fans of either the zombie or musical genres. It's more of a bland meeting ground between the two, though it's enjoyable enough for being so.
As a zombie story, the play satisfies many B-movie gimmicks, from the nerdy professor to the over-confident hero, his tragic love interest and his nemesis, but although there are clearly moments of deliberate over-the-top camp acting, I fear that irony cannot take full credit for the quality of the performance as a whole. They do alright, but the lead guy is about two feet shorter and ten stone lighter than his feature film equivalent would be, and it's hard to take any leading lady seriously when she's wearing braces.
There were a couple of very nice touches to elevate this above a mere school production, most entertainingly the zombies entering from the back of the theatre and shuffling along the aisles at an early point, but there was really nothing to top this in the remainder of the show, and very little in the way of gore beyond blood capsules. Would a couple of limb props really have put them out?
But this is just my personal grievance/fetish, and to be honest I wouldn't have been truly satisfied unless one of the performers had torn off an unsuspecting child dancer's arm and drenched the crowd in blood, like that bit in 'the Addams Family' that traumatised me when I was five.
If You Prefer a Milder Comedian, Please Ask For One
*****
Written on 14.08.09
Stewart Lee continues to demonstrate why he's one of the greatest living stand-ups. Voted the 41st Best Stand Up Ever a couple of years ago in a meaningless poll that the performer amusingly took to heart, Lee's rise from quite-good nineties comedian to stand-up virtuoso has come with an inverse desire for less attention and less showy venues. This year's Edinburgh Fringe show sees him return to the traditional comedy club environment of the Stand, publicised by a minimal campaign using only the most negative publicity accrued over the years.
Even without his recent TV series, Stewart Lee's name carries a lot of weight in the comedy world, and he could sell out the Stand no matter what. Something that's now been proven, as the leading critical quote on his poster courtesy of the Birmingham Sunday Mercury, states:
"His whole tone is one of complete, smug condescension."
You might hate it, but if you do, you're stupid. This isn't some kind of 'Emperor's New Clothes' thing.
Since his triumphal return to stand-up in 2004 following the Jerry Springer: The Opera debacle, Stewart Lee has consistently pushed the boundaries of the stand-up form. Each year's show of brand new material manages to live up to the last with comforting accuracy, and all contain surprises even for the obsessive devote. 2007's show was remarkably pleasant after the anger of its predecessor, 2008 had some eggs in it, and Lee's new show, titled If You Prefer a Milder Comedian, Please Ask for One, is the most surprising yet. But if I told you why, it wouldn't be a surprise.
Basing his premise on Frankie Boyle's recent observation that there are no funny comedians over the age of forty, forty-one-year-old Lee sets out to prove that old men can still get angry about things, even if that anger tends to be more directed towards high street coffee chains, city people moving to the country and Mark Watson's pear cider advertisement. A routine about Top Gear presenters goes so far beyond decency that it couldn't even be considered libellous, and the unexpected finale seeks to break down the last taboo of stand-up in remarkable style.
Watching Stewart Lee perform is like watching a chess grandmaster, as jokes and routines are played far in advance, only to resolve in spectacularly unexpected fashion at a later stage. Not that there's always a need for a punchline when a well-timed silence does just as well. But this isn't to say that Lee is averse to relying on tried-and-tested formulas, as amidst the new directions, fans can still expect the comedian to deconstruct his own material from the onset; to suffer a mental breakdown; to repeat a phrase until it loses all meaning, and to go on for far too long with one idea.
Three Women, the First Revival
***
Written on 15.08.09
This was a tricky one. A stage performance of a profound and lyrically beautiful poem from a beloved dead woman, revived by a trio of sincere, TV-quality actresses with a view to authenticity, this is a far cry from a rubbish zombie musical performed by some kids.
But I was a lot more comfortable slagging off 'Chomp!' than attempting to get my head around Sylvia Plath's bleak poetic verse.
While I'm the first to admit that I'm a bit of an idiot when it comes to pretty much any field of knowledge worth knowing, I've always been pretty good with literary language before. Paradise Lost is my favourite book for its depth and intricacy, a fact that I enjoy telling educated people to pretend I'm in their league (my second favourite is Alan Moore's disgusting comic From Hell, so this doesn't last long), but whether it was a fault of the performers, the fact that it was unreasonably early on a Sunday lunchtime or the fact that I was late getting in and missed any helpful introduction that might have cleared things up, I was frequently pretty lost by this narrative, except to know that it was something to do with motherhood and that all three women were slightly different.
No one's paying me to write about this. It isn't going to go anywhere else except this blog, as a sentimental record of what I did at the 2009 Edinburgh Fringe when I look back in the future, so it only remains to say that it was quite good. Always expose your weaknesses, that's my motto.
****
Written on 16.08.09
Returning to Edinburgh’s Bongo Club for another Fringe workshop in flamenco music, the likeable men and woman of a Compas Flamenco put on a relaxed hour-long show that’s sort of a mix between gig, interactive tutorial and lesson in musical history.
Impressive flamenco jams are interspersed with lengthy explanations of instrument and dancing technique that will bore flamenco veterans, but for the majority of the international crowd provides an interesting insight into an exotic culture.
They’re all great performers, and patient and relaxed with the audience – too relaxed if anything, which will disappoint anyone who paid with the intention of witnessing nought but an unbridled Latin musical extravaganza, but these folk should remember that they only paid £4.
Anyone who didn’t spend the rest of the evening tapping away as they walked along, pretending they had one of those ace sit-on drum things, isn’t human.
Jerry Springer: The Opera (unauthorised production)
*****
Written on 17.08.09
It's about time I got round to seeing Jerry Springer - The Opera, the controversial musical written by Richard Thomas and Stewart Lee, who previously worked together on the equally blasphemous, almost entirely forgotten Sunday lunchtime TV series This Morning With Richard Not Judy.
Despite being naturally wary of musicals (surely the most despicable theatrical genre after mime) I've only heard good things about the show... oh, apart from some negative response from fundamentalist fascist group Christian Voice, whose hostility evidently hasn't been tempered one jot in the aftermath of their failed blasphemy lawsuit, as they still bothered to send one old man to hand out protest flyers and receive bewildered looks from the queue.
We may all be going to Hell, but that's where all the good music is anyway.
Jerry Springer is as good as I expected, and expectations were high. A relatively modest production in George Square lecture theatre, the casting was still excellent, full of talented singers who lived up the high quality of the script. You probably know what it's about already: a musical pastiche of the group of assorted freaks and screwballs who whore themselves for fifteen minutes of shame on the popular American talk show, with a second Act exploring more existential themes to really question the value and justification of such shameful filth. There's also a guy who likes to defecate himself and a Christ who is a bit gay.
It's funny, smart, goddamn impressive and shocking in a very satisfying way. However much the show has been pulled apart and over-hyped by the blasphemy trial, it's still genuinely chilling to see a parade of Ku Klux Klan members march onto the stage before being brilliantly deflated, and even the most liberal atheist will find themselves slightly shaken by the accusation that the Virgin Mary was the victim of a divine rape. If you haven't seen this already, you'll have plenty of chances. A cultural phenomenon that, for once, deserves the accolade.
The Rex Roman Pink Floyd Show
***
Written on 18.08.09
Among the thousands of performances being staged around the clock in various venues of the Edinburgh Fringe, one of the higher profile shows that's harder to miss, whether you're accosted by advertisements on a Fringe site or by a man in a bright yellow chicken suit in the street, is the Rex Roman Pink Floyd Show.
This is a condensed, 80-minute version of the full two hour performance that has gradually come together in the years since Pink Floyd's historic 2005 reunion for Live8, an event that caused drummer Simon Ash to embark on a theatrical, musical and literary journey... by way of a Pink Floyd tribute band.
Allegedly based on Ash's book 'Chapters in the Life of Rex Roman,' which seems infinitely less appealing due to the absence of music, this show presents assorted moments in the fictitious life of budding and subsequently successful actor and casual Floyd fan Rex Roman, played by the suitably annoying Stephen Yeo. Rex's rise to fame is charted with passing interest alongside the actions of Pink Floyd during the same period, from their release of the seminal album Dark Side of the Moon in 1973 through to their 1979 opus The Wall, ignoring the rubbish that came after.
This mirroring of life and art is only superficial though, and after an enjoyable synergy in the early scenes, this very soon departs from being much about Pink Floyd at all. Rather, the house band continues to perform impressive, edited renditions of Floyd highlights that are applied to similar situations in Rex's own life.
This is perhaps the show's main failing, as much of Floyd's music is so intrinsically tied to a concept in the first place, it seems inappropriate to separate and re-apply it in this clumsy manner to a similar, yet less well though-out context. More effective are the performances that don't purport to be anything more than a simple Floyd tribute, complete with visuals and singing and dancing women to recreate some of the atmosphere of the classic Floyd live show, in a consciously restricted fashion.
Pink Floyd's catalogue is dipped into in tasteful chronological order, from a great opening with 'Echoes' (perhaps their finest song) through others such as 'Time,' 'Money' and 'Pigs on the Wing,' concluding with energetic performances of cuts from the Wall. Some fans in attendance will doubtless be irked by these edited performances, but it's a necessity of the theatrical show, especially with the stringent rules of the Fringe, and the show is all the better for it. It's also refreshing to hear alternative takes on several songs, as the performers take it upon themselves to handle vocal duties when their stories overlap with the lyrics.
While this isn't exactly Mama Mia, it does at least have something to offer for Pink Floyd fans and newcomers, though by meeting in the middle like this, neither group is going to be greatly satisfied. Still, it's an opportunity to hear some loud Floyd favourites, just watch out for the flying pig.
By Order of Ignorance
***
Written on 19.08.09
Robert Gilbert's new production for this year's Edinburgh Fringe explores ideas of guilt and the justification of killing, set against the backdrop of political turmoil in an unnamed Middle Eastern state.
With its cumulative themes of racism and homophobia, 'By Order of Ignorance' runs the risk of being too sincere and preachy, but after two rather extraneous exposition scenes that seem more intent on clearing up any potential accusations of homophobia than anything else, the tense and uncomfortable play begins in earnest.
Performed in real-time by three talented men of Sell a Door Theatre Company, this forty-minute performance takes full advantage of the claustrophobic set in presenting the dilemma of two allegedly innocent Westerners held at gunpoint by a disturbed suicide bomber.
John Edon plays TV personality Jeff with convincing presence and insecurity, and his unlikely partnership with Carl Vorwerk's homophobic US infantryman Davey expands this beyond a mere us and them scenario, particularly as David Hutchinson's initially comedic suicide bomber Mo reveals increasingly dark shades of his own past and present.
Hutchinson (writer and star of last year's 'The Secrets Inside') excels as a troubled young man dragged into something he doesn't understand and driven by a desire to prove himself, and the interaction between the three makes the action unfold with satisfying and exciting tension.
The makeshift theatre of the Space venue is so compact and intimate as to really involve the audience in the drama, though whether you're brave enough to risk a front row seat and be engulfed is up to you.
We Are Gathered Here
****
Written on 20.08.09
Daniel Kitson is one of the most respected and beloved names on the stand up circuit, despite being entirely unknown in the mainstream sphere dominated by a tedious elite of TV funnymen interrupting women on Mock the Week. Winning the coveted Perrier award in 2002, Kitson could have been up there, and for a very brief time was, until his conscience and self-confessed pretentious morality triumphed over the need for mainstream success, and he opted to play low-profile comedy clubs on Sunday to Thursday nights exclusively, distrusting a weekend audience that might not 'get' his inimitable style of condescending arrogance and inspirational melancholy.
Still in his early thirties, Kitson has the aura of a sage far beyond his years, and it's not just because of that unruly beard. While he denies himself mainstream opulence, Kitson need not worry about breaking even: his name carries enough weight to sell out the Stand Comedy Club for twenty nights far in advance of the Edinburgh Fringe even beginning... which is sort of the problem.
I'd seen Daniel Kitson twice before, in a ramshackle 2004 show that disappointed me after all the hype, and in 2007 in one of the most awe-inspiring performances I'd ever witnessed, destroying any arguments against the validity of stand-up as an art form. I'd put down my initial disappointment to a lack of life experience, visiting the Fringe as a naive, pre-University eighteen-year-old, but this most recent outing cleared up the confusion: Kitson can write an incredibly tight and inspirational show, but is quite frequently underprepared and - to almost certainly be entirely unfair to the hard-working performer (who is also staging a theatrical show elsewhere) - even a little lazy.
The theme of this year's show is death, both our attitudes towards it and our experiences of it, but in these early performances a larger theme is the incomplete shoddiness of the show itself. Kitson is apologetic and admittedly very, very funny about the ramshackle state of his script, fully on display on a nearby stool, but as the night drags on past the promised 90 minutes, even the most sincere and apologetic self-deprecating remark audibly loses some of the support from a loving audience whose patience is formidable, but not infinite. It's a real shame that it affects the overall experience so much, as a really tight performance of this well thought-out, borderline profound show could rival his 2007 masterpiece, It's the Fireworks Talking. But it's some way off yet.
The bits of actual 'show' between the significant pauses are really pretty excellent though, and still unlike anything else you'll see at the Fringe, however much the younger breed of 'gentle' comedians try to measure up to their hero. From revealing insights into gluttony and living alone to inadvisable late-night flirty texts and self-important yet ineffectual stands against the pollution of pop culture, it's a story that most members of the audience will find themselves relating to in varying degrees, dipping in and out at select moments. While the overall focus on a poignant, sombre theme means this show lacks some of the beautiful tranquillity of Kitson's last Fringe outing two years ago, it's still a show that will stay with the audience for some considerable time, and will eventually win out over any mild irritation caused by its excessive, meandering length.
This'll be great when it's finished.
Murder for Profit and Pleasure
****
Written on 21.08.09
One of many performers staging low-profile, non-profit shows as part of the amazing Free Fringe initiative organised by Alex Petty, Jane Hill’s daily half-hour in the crypt of popular-with-weirdoes pub Jekyll & Hyde has all the able confidence of a professional Fringe comedy show, but at infinitely less the cost. Simply donate a couple of pounds into the glass on the way out if you enjoyed it, or alternatively refuse to support live comedy because you’re a bastard: it really is your choice.
Standing in a dark corner and addressing an impressively packed cellar from 4.30 to 5-ish, Jane Hill’s show Murder for Profit and Pleasure explores the crime fiction industry, which is as naturally fascinating as any, but is more concerned with Hill’s own midlife crisis experiences. But there’s no need to worry about this being some kind of twee, overly sentimental performance aimed at menopausal housewives, as each routine unfailingly heads down a self-consciously dark alley towards the end, with grisly punchlines becoming increasingly shocking and commendable as the performer/audience relationship develops.
Hill seems fully aware of the potential risks involved in delivering dead baby jokes for an afternoon audience, but they’re practically guaranteed to be up for it. And if they don’t like it, sod them. They didn’t pay to get in.
A self-confessed work-in-progress that uses the opportunity of a free audience to aid its gradual development, Hill’s half-hour has some way to go before being viable for staging at the Pleasance or the Underbelly, but only in terms of length. The material and delivery are strong enough that Hill could fit easily into any comedy ensemble, the darkest secret being that she isn’t even a professional comedian.
The Jekyll & Hyde is one of fourteen venues across the breadth of Edinburgh city centre staging Free Fringe shows throughout the day. Pop along if you’re bored and fancy sitting in the dark and having your pickle tickled. Some of the free shows are guaranteed to be utterly terrible, but it’s in the spirit of the festival to dig through the overflowing toilet basin to find the comedy heroin. I’ve helped you out a little already.
Falsettoland
****
Written on 22.08.09
The team behind this year’s new Fringe musical Six Ways has also staged a new production of James Lapine and William Finn’s acclaimed musical, Falsettoland. A distinctly Broadway-style musical, the broad US singing style takes a little while to get used to in the close quarters of the orange trailer filling in as stage two of George Square Musical Theatre, but the intimate environment makes for a much more compelling and personal experience of the deceptively small-scale drama than would be achieved in grander surroundings.
In its original context, Falsettoland was the third instalment of a trilogy, but the audience is provided with adequate exposition of friendships and relationships early on, allowing this to stand strong as an independent entity. With the backstory of relationship breakdowns and homosexual awakenings firmly in place, the drama is given reign to explore further consequences of contemporary family life and the external factors that can intrude on happiness.
Set against the historical backdrop of the AIDS epidemic, the performance is necessarily tragic as it plays out, but never loses its humour and energy. Narrated entirely in the form of song with dynamic, overlapping arrangements requiring impressive effort from the cast, David Hutchinson’s direction doesn’t waste a second of the tight Fringe schedule as performers enthusiastically bound around the minimal set.
Live accompaniment of keyboard and clarinet makes for a much fuller experience than would be achieved with a backing CD, and it’s impressive enough to see the performers handling their complex, overlapping lyrics before even considering that they’re also required to perform in another show. Musical fans who haven’t seen Falsettoland should already consider it a core text of the canon, and will be impressed by this energetic, lo-fi revival.
****
Written on 26.08.09
I finally had the pleasure of seeing my old associate (not friend) Dan 3 singing his rap songs for the pleasure of those gathered in the dingy vault of Cabaret Voltaire’s Speakeasy for a night of hip hop hits penned by the delightful Dialektiks duo.
So while it might be painfully obvious that this was my first rap gig, it was a fairly ace experience all round.
Dialektiks, that being MC Newspeak (Dan 3) and DJ Decksterous (Rich), recruited a rhythm guitarist, a nicely sparse trumpet and a female singer to enhance their throwback style of early 90s... whatever it is they play. I don’t know do I? I’m out of my depth here.
The musical ensemble worked a treat when you could actually hear the performers. In the spirit of the festival, sound problems ran rife, silencing the singer and guitarist at various times and at one point even daring to cut off Newspeak himself. It’s an irony that the one time in his life that people actually wanted to listen to him they were prevented from doing so, though it was such an intimate gig in a suitably claustrophobic venue that he was pretty audible anyway. And the ad-libbing is always a treat.
Newspeak’s banter was reliably amusing and borderline egomaniacal, and it was clear that he felt like he was on top of the world and the centre of the universe – even more so than usual. The set was a mix of old classix from the Intelligent Design mixtape including ‘Mambo,’ ‘Call Me’ and ‘Intelligent Design’ (yeah, I was paying attention) along with new cuts from the forthcoming D-Day album and other assorted projects. One song was so new, Dan had to read from a piece of paper. That was the best part.
I don’t know when I became Dialektiks’ publicity officer, but judging by the enthusiastic drunken mob, it seems the task has become unnecessary. I was proud of Dan 3 that day. Like a parent watching their child perform in a school play, except that he wasn’t actually shit. He was quite good. But don’t tell him that.
Dead Man in a Box
Who Killed Dead Man in a Box?
****
Written on 27.08.09
This year's small-scale Fringe offering from improv troupe Dead Man in a Box, Who Killed Dead Man in a Box? is an entirely improvised murder mystery that involves the audience and tests the performers' mettle and reaction time in making sure the hour-long performance is actually any good.
With the exception of tried and tested performers, improvised comedy always brings an exciting element of risk, but from the opening scene it's clear that the team are experienced and adept at thinking on their feet while creating characters pretty much from scratch, even if the guy who takes on the lead role of detective is clearly head and shoulders above the others, whose backgrounds seem to be based more in acting than comedy.
This doesn't present a problem, as the detective is more than capable of extracting laughs from any scene, and when his cohorts are in the zone and able to bounce off each other, it makes for a highly entertaining show that's all the better for providing each audience with a unique theatrical experience.
That's not to say the team doesn't fall back on a couple of safety guidelines, just to make sure this isn't a complete shambles. The play follows a loose structure beginning with interactions between the suspects in the aftermath of the pivotal murder, followed by the detective's individual questioning of each. These scenes are intercut with flashbacks before the final denouement. And while it may be obvious that the escalating nature of the plot means that the final, most likely suspect is going to be the who what dunnit, it's fascinating, tense and even a little exhausting seeing the decision making process occurring in the later scenes between performers who are aware they have to bring the chaotic events to some kind of coherent resolution.
The action is decided at the onset by asking the audience for three basic criteria of location, the profession of the deceased, and the cause of death. After this, the performers are on their own. Without a script, this is naturally a hit or miss show with some scenes that just don't really work, but occasional smatterings of comedy gold are guaranteed, and made all the more satisfying for their off the cuff nature. The low ticket price of £6 helps too, and makes any criticisms all the more redundant.
If this wasn't your kind of thing, it might be the next day. However generically similar each performance may prove to be, this is one Fringe show that would certainly merit a second outing, if only they hadn't left so early.
***
Written on 28.08.09
Amanda Palmer’s current popularity means that her live shows attract the expected crowd of overly loyal, idol worshipping teenagers [Did you enjoy Lee and Herring's shows again this year, Dave?], but fortunately her actual talent means genuine fans are in attendance too. The singer-songwriter performed the higher quality cuts from her solo album Who Killed Amanda Palmer? in addition to a few older favourites from her time in the Dresden Dolls, and a couple of very well received new works.
The show was relaxed to the point of extreme length, but even in the quieter moments the audience was either enraptured or patient. Palmer started out accompanied by a full brass ensemble to perform a few of her louder songs, before moving to a more contemplative stage involving nothing but her distinctive voice, a keyboard and a rapidly depleting bottle of wine.
In an odd but interesting diversion (if not unanimously well received), the middle of the show saw Palmer reading from her recently released book co-written with boyfriend Neil Gaiman, who happened to be in attendance due to the festival, and the couple indulged in some over-familiarity to the braying delight of the front rows. Fortunately, we were then compensated with a nicely overcrowded finale of Palmer’s bigger hits that involved the support of members of irritating support band the Indelicates.
The set took its time and went in some strange directions, but nobody seemed in a rush to get away. It was a nice gig.
The Collings and Herrin Podcast Live
****
Written on 28.08.09
The Collings and Herrin Podcasts are a popular series of weekly discussions between broadcaster Andrew Collins and comedian Richard Herring, which have been entertaining a growing cult fan base in varying degrees of quality since January 2008.
Last summer saw their first live podcast experiment at the Edinburgh Fringe, when the podcast had reached the then-unimaginable count of 25. A year later, with several more live appearances under their collective belt, Collins and Herring booked a sweaty room in the cavernous Underbelly at the ungodly breakfast hour of 12.20pm for five consecutive days, charging a meagre ticket price for dedicated fans eager to see the magic unfold in the flesh.
Rather than just downloading the shows for no money at all, which would all be uploaded within hours of recording as usual.
A core tenet of this podcast embraced by its creators has always been its unscripted, unedited nature, which has traditionally seen a lousy podcast one week followed by dynamite the next, or most commonly an average show with peaks and troughs. It was interesting to catch up with the podcast on the final day of its residence, when the dedicated pair were thankfully still on top form and showing few signs of tiredness outside of general Fringe exhaustion - particularly Herring, whose stand-up show Hitler Moustache has been running concurrently every evening.
But the relaxed nature of these one hour six minutes and thirty-six second chats (based on the arbitrary cut-off point decided by Collins' sound recording software) means that the podcast can't feel too much like work, especially when Collins and Herring are staging the event for very little in the way of personal gain.
But there was still no laziness with the content or opportunities to recycle successful routines from the previous days, as each recording has been released into the public domain for the thousands of listeners who couldn't be in attendance. This means that anyone who fancied coming along to more than one recording, including the few ridiculously loyal buffoons who confessed to having attended all five shows, will find it a slightly different experience each time.
There was a great atmosphere at the recording. Despite the off-putting early hour, the low ticket price and suitable publicity meant that at least a few people had come along without really knowing what to expect, but the feeling was still one of community, if a particularly nerdy and internet-loving community. The audience was treated as a collection of regular listeners, but it's not as if there's a great deal of backstory that needs exposition, and tales of the week's events were nostalgically recounted to ensure everyone was filled in.
The professional comedian of the pair, Richard Herring is naturally the more entertaining, and has great confidence with audience interaction. As a freeform example of his style, the live podcast makes a great companion to his tightly structured solo show, but he and Collins now seem completely at ease presenting their ramblings in front of a live crowd, with none of the tentative feeling of last year's "experiment."
If you weren't in the audience, you missed out on five minutes of fairly uneventful afterglow after the recording reached its end point, and the opportunity to receive a free Stinger chew bar courtesy of the well-meaning fans who continue to present the double-act with misguided gifts. All five live podcasts are available to download from the British Comedy Guide, in addition to the whole archive, and more live podcasts are on the cards in the future. For fans, it's a great opportunity to see behind the scenes and be reminded that these men have actual faces and stuff.
Not a Lot of Sex, Lies and Videotape
***
Written on 31.08.09
A suitably low-key, poorly-attended climax to this year's Fringe came when I was hanging around with my friend Anne in the Pleasance Courtyard and she managed to wangle free tickets to Ross Lee's Not a Lot of Sex, Lies and Videotape. It wasn't a groundbreaking Fringe show, but it was a full-price performance being offered for free, and thus automatically worthwhile. And I didn't even have to write a fucking tedious review in exchange for the ticket this time, which was a relief.
Oh.
Ross Lee's show is so shamelessly, worthlessly self-indulgent that it somehow transcends the boundaries of tedium and becomes quite enjoyable. Based entirely on anecdotes from the non-star's lack of success in his beloved realm of show business, most of which are illustrated by authentically deteriorating VHS samples, it at least has the self-awareness that the whole thing is rather shallow, though there's a strong sense that the performer feels genuinely cheated out of fame despite his lack of any evident ability or niche appeal beyond his impressively high embarrassment threshold.
Lee's desire for fame saw him spend much of the 1990s courting the camera by any means possible, usually through amusing deception that saw him appear on The Time the Place pretending to be in a relationship with his aged lesbian aunt and managing to convince Sky News reporters that he was intent on rollerskating around the world in spite of the clear impossibility of the task and his even clearer inability to rollerskate.
The lack of material from the past ten years is noticeable, as Lee presumably took Richard O'Brien's sage advice and found something less entertaining to do with his life, but his hiring out of a high-profile Fringe venue that he spectacularly fails to fill demonstrates a fresh campaign in Ross Lee's war against anonymity. You'll probably never hear his name again, but it's certainly worth at least one hour of your attention.
Plus it was free and stuff.
Also saw: Lots of free stuff including Andrew Collins' 'Secret Dancing.' Why no review, didn't I want to be mean?
Fringe 2010
I managed to enjoy my final Fringe without monetising my experiences or selling out. Admittedly, I was a bit preoccupied with balancing a day job and freelance work and getting ready to leave the country forever next month.
Best of the Fest(ival) (probably): Stewart Lee's Silver Stewbilee 25th anniversary show / book launch, Richard Herring's Christ on a Bike: The Second Coming and Kevin Eldon's stand-up debut. However much I tried to expand myself in the intervening years, it all came back to TMWRNJ in the end.
Also enjoyed: Stewart's 'Vegetable Stew' TV try-outs, Richard's As It Occurs to Me and Collings and Herring podcasts, Robin Ince talking really fast, Simon Munnery's restaurant thing, a Daniel Kitson monologue with light bulbs and some free stuff.
