It is a rainy August day in Edinburgh, and
the Fringe is on. If you should happen
to find yourself in the UK during summer - and if you can brave the Scottish
weather, the crowds and the pamphleteers- then saunter down the Royal Mile and
witness the assorted strangeness, wit and charm of the world’s largest arts
festival.
This is no understatement; with over three
thousand shows, a good number of them free, and the population of the city
doubling during the month of August, this festival is a monster. It hosts
comedians, musicians, actors, dancers, writers, street performers and whoever
else decides to come. The Edinburgh
Fringe, the bastard child of the more respectable and far smaller Edinburgh
Festival, has been going since 1947. Alumni of it form a “Who’s Who?” of the
British comedic and arts scene; figures such as Stephen Fry, Hugh Laurie and
Tom Stoppard had their first big breaks here.
Every summer the streets fill with performers wanting to follow in their
footsteps, and audiences eager to see the next big thing. Some shows are good,
some are great, some are downright awful but seeing all that is on offer is
truly in the spirit of the Fringe. Every theatre, church, pub, town hall or
flat seems to be hosting some performer, and you never quite know what to
expect.
This year for instance I have seen some truly
excellent improvised comedy, courtesy of the Oxford Imps the only paid show I
have seen this year, stand-up from myriad comedians; some veterans, some
first-timers, all free. There have been stories from a policeman turned
comedian followed by a drama about a women’s intellectual society in 18th
century Edinburgh. A man in a tight animal-themed onesie dancing energetically
to Michael Jackson songs on the busiest street in the city, next to him was a
BBC talk-show discussing Ukraine. The streets of the city become filled with
people in assorted strange costumes promoting their shows. One can stumble
accidently upon a South African choir giving an impromptu performance of
spell-binding beauty. Posters adorn every wall and reviews mark every page of
the newspapers.
Fringe fatigue easily sets in, too many shows
in too short a time. While some have managed ten hours of shows every day for
twenty seven days, lesser mortals such as myself will probably find themselves
needing a rest after their third or fourth. Regular attendees develop a special talent for
avoiding the promoters and pamphleteers, while newcomers are easily
distinguished by the wad of promotional material they’ve accumulated. The worst
faux pas is to actually take the Fringe guide with you around the city, at over
four hundred pages its only practical use outside is to savagely beat slow
walkers and mime artists or to use as a shelter from the changeable weather.
Despite the weather and questionable quality
of some of the shows the Fringe is an experience which is not to be missed.
Half the enjoyment of it exists merely in the sheer variety of it. To my mind
there are few places in the world where you can enjoy such a vast buffet of
live entertainment. Edinburgh in August presents an opportunity not only to see
a wonderful city during a brief period of decent weather, but to sample as much
as possible from the entertainment world.
Graham Bush
