A week has gone by since we returned from the Fringe, but I wanted to write up the rest for the sake of completeness, and because we saw some of the best shows. The bar was set high first thing with a chirrupy taxi driver telling us how much he enjoyed his city, even during the festival season when roads close and the population triples. He dropped us off early for our first show, Daniel Kitson, where there was already a long queue of people speaking of him in reverential tones. The show, a theatrical monologue was at turns moving and humorous, beautifully crafted with a set comprising a number of light bulbs suspended over the stage with a set of wooden steps and a chair for Kitson to reach them. I’d heard a lot about the man and his work, but never seen him. It was certainly possible to spot the way he has influenced a generation of comedians (I’ll never see Dave Gorman in the same light again), and his work is such that makes me think of giving up writing, and even speaking because he can be emulated but not matched by a mere mortal. I wept at the end. On reflection, it’s rich stuff and whilst completely enjoyable, I wouldn’t like to consume too much of it.
We had a long break afterwards, wondering about the streets and buying souvenirs, then sitting in a café of Bistro Square eating falafel and teasing each other over the crosswords. We had a peep at the Lewis Chessmen in the Museum of Scotland too, and I fell for the little guy biting his shield in terror or fierceness? I’m yet to decide.
We found the GRV in a pungent alleyway, the tiny foyer opening out into a spacious bar and performance space. In the bar, hunched alone over his paper was Richard Herring, but I averted my gaze and didn’t approach. Too shy and too aware of former foolishness around people I admire. Nick laughed at me, as he should. The Collings and Herrin podcast was fun enough for even Nick to enjoy, so I didn’t feel too bad about putting him through it, or sitting him in the third row.
We sat in the Pleasance Courtyard watching the crowds on their phones, drinking cider and reflecting a bit sadly that it was nearly over. The queue for Gareth Richards show was embarrassingly thin. Glancing back, I saw Frank Skinner’s familiar face. A slight figure in late middle age, he had the look of one wishing for anonymity. It wasn’t to be but he had his photo taken cheerfully enough. His presence altered the show even though he sat at the back, the ten or so audience members seeming to listen out for his laugh. Frank laughed loud and often, as the show deserved. It was evidently a tough gig though, and I’ve seen Gareth do better material. He has toned down the geekiness since I last saw him, aiming, I daresay for the mainstream. I’m not sure he’s playing to his strengths, but the show subsequently got him a Best Newcomer nomination, so what do I know?
Nina Conti’s sell out show was Nick’s only choice, and he wasn’t disappointed. She is beautiful and accomplished, with an army of menopausal mum fans. It was entertaining, but I like a bit more depth, and there was an irritating section in the middle where she interviewed (via her Granny puppet) a guest comedian. This felt a bit like she was touting for TV work, which might be fair enough, she would go down well after 9pm on ITV. I wished I could remember the name of the guest comedian who was a children’s TV presenter doing an Edinburgh show about his hobby - visiting bondage clubs, oh how the bescarfed ladies squirmed.
At my request, we bought last minute tickets to see Grainne Maguire. I had heard of her and she had been out promoting herself. I was interested to see what a comedy based around 18th century romantic novels might be. As it turned out, it was one of the most interesting shows we saw, and I’d like to see it again because even a week on, I don’t know what to make of it. She has a subtle stage presence and the show, even though it needed editing in places, grew in momentum towards a personal life event described suddenly and with brutal frankness so that further laughter seemed impossible and yet wasn’t. Like Kitson’s work at the start of the day (on the theme life is made up of small incidents), Maguire had a simple point to make, life isn’t like a romantic novel, but perhaps simple concepts make the best comedy.
Overall, and much to my surprise, Nick and I had a brilliant time away. Maybe at last, we've found our shared interest. We're still talking about it a week later, with the bonus of also talking about our seaside relocation being in the North. On the way home, we visited my baby brother in his new home on the coast outside of Newcastle. In footnotes to the week, two of the acts that we saw (Josie Long and Gareth Richards) were subsequently nominated for awards. I son't know what it means for our taste, but neither won. The laundry is done and the house intact. I failed to send my Mum's postcard. Life's back to normal. Good memories though.
Showing posts with label Edinburgh Fringe. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Edinburgh Fringe. Show all posts
Saturday, 28 August 2010
Sunday, 22 August 2010
Edinburgh Fringe 1: Four Screws Loose & Stewart Lee's Silver Stewbilee
Nick and I faced a choice this year: week in a caravan with kids and dogs or three day just the two of us trip to the Edinburgh Fringe. We took a stand against middle age and with the kids almost grown up (Nina leaves for Uni in a month and H’s GCSE results are out next week) we decided to test our relationship. I had a fantastic time there with my baby brother last year, and took advantage of Nick’s good natured fringe virginity to go with him in spite of our longstanding observation that we have nothing in common. What could go wrong?
We made it to the fringe box office by mid afternoon. I had intended to collect tickets but had left my card back at base. Luckily, in spite of my cursing, we knew we would be OK until the following day, so we got hold of the magical map of venues and headed for one of the free fringe pubs, a flyer for an act about to start and a flurry of rain were enticement enough for our first act: Four Screws Loose. I held my breath; if Nick hated them, he would probably turn against the entire holiday. Even as the intro music played I reflected that I should have arranged to start with a mainstream act from off of the TV. We were grey, fat people sitting in an audience of mainly students. As it turned out, we loved Four Screws Loose. They were a fetchingly puerile foursome, with well rehearsed, short sketches many of which were excellent. They achieved the unachievable: nob gags that were both original and funny. I was less sure of the Newman and Baddiel style young mocking the old thread, but it was forgivable nonsense. Nick was laughing along and in my relief, I put paper money in the collections bucket, which the young performer seemed overwhelmed about. Perhaps he thought that us oldies wouldn’t go for the talking testis material. Ah, the folly of youth.
We had a stroll about, (Nick had an appropriately Scotch Pie), watched some street performing breakdancers and a cigarette magician, then we wondered up to the Festival Theatre to see Stewart Lee Silver Stewbilee. It was celebratory variety show that lived up to the fan generated hype, offering the looked for key players in Stewart Lee’s career plus Frank Chickens and Franz Ferdinand. As I revealed to a frankly appalled Lee and Herring fan the following day, I like the work of Stewart Lee (as does Nick), but I love Richard Herring (Nick does not). In the light of that, and although I acknowledge Stewart Lee’s artistry, I can’t say the gig set me alight.
Kevin Eldon in character as a poet was confusingly close to reality. I laughed, but Nick didn’t in the same way that Nick laughs at The Office, and I don‘t. Paul Putner did some strange character comedy as a Robin-Williams-alike comic using obscure American references. I’d like to say I got it, but it was over my head. Nick got restless. Simon Munnery brought back the Urban Warrior routine for the occasion which, being rooted in the 80’s has improved with age. Richard Herring came on from his place in the audience shouting and tearing up Stewart Lee’s book. It seemed evident to me that this had been planned, although the dialogue was unscripted and I laughed a lot, but in the interval, and especially as the acts were applauded (or in Herring’s case not applauded) at the end it became clear to me that many people thought that Lee had not been aware that it would happen and were upset on his behalf. Chorlte thought so too, but Richard Herring has since said that it was all planned you be the judge. The ‘in’ jokes of three of the four old friends lent a feeling of divide between those who got the evening and those who didn’t. And strange patterns in the 1500 strong audience of bellowing laughter and embarrassed shuffles were the result. I daresay Stewart Lee may well have intended and enjoyed the effect. Trouble is, I paid for the tickets and to paraphrase the words of Frank Skinner, I like my comedy funny.
We took a taxi back to the Tania B&B which looks nicer on the website than it does in reality but which was still far too good for us even if you count the ‘small double’ bed and the shared bathroom. As it turns out, you can have a lot of fun there.
We made it to the fringe box office by mid afternoon. I had intended to collect tickets but had left my card back at base. Luckily, in spite of my cursing, we knew we would be OK until the following day, so we got hold of the magical map of venues and headed for one of the free fringe pubs, a flyer for an act about to start and a flurry of rain were enticement enough for our first act: Four Screws Loose. I held my breath; if Nick hated them, he would probably turn against the entire holiday. Even as the intro music played I reflected that I should have arranged to start with a mainstream act from off of the TV. We were grey, fat people sitting in an audience of mainly students. As it turned out, we loved Four Screws Loose. They were a fetchingly puerile foursome, with well rehearsed, short sketches many of which were excellent. They achieved the unachievable: nob gags that were both original and funny. I was less sure of the Newman and Baddiel style young mocking the old thread, but it was forgivable nonsense. Nick was laughing along and in my relief, I put paper money in the collections bucket, which the young performer seemed overwhelmed about. Perhaps he thought that us oldies wouldn’t go for the talking testis material. Ah, the folly of youth.
We had a stroll about, (Nick had an appropriately Scotch Pie), watched some street performing breakdancers and a cigarette magician, then we wondered up to the Festival Theatre to see Stewart Lee Silver Stewbilee. It was celebratory variety show that lived up to the fan generated hype, offering the looked for key players in Stewart Lee’s career plus Frank Chickens and Franz Ferdinand. As I revealed to a frankly appalled Lee and Herring fan the following day, I like the work of Stewart Lee (as does Nick), but I love Richard Herring (Nick does not). In the light of that, and although I acknowledge Stewart Lee’s artistry, I can’t say the gig set me alight.
Kevin Eldon in character as a poet was confusingly close to reality. I laughed, but Nick didn’t in the same way that Nick laughs at The Office, and I don‘t. Paul Putner did some strange character comedy as a Robin-Williams-alike comic using obscure American references. I’d like to say I got it, but it was over my head. Nick got restless. Simon Munnery brought back the Urban Warrior routine for the occasion which, being rooted in the 80’s has improved with age. Richard Herring came on from his place in the audience shouting and tearing up Stewart Lee’s book. It seemed evident to me that this had been planned, although the dialogue was unscripted and I laughed a lot, but in the interval, and especially as the acts were applauded (or in Herring’s case not applauded) at the end it became clear to me that many people thought that Lee had not been aware that it would happen and were upset on his behalf. Chorlte thought so too, but Richard Herring has since said that it was all planned you be the judge. The ‘in’ jokes of three of the four old friends lent a feeling of divide between those who got the evening and those who didn’t. And strange patterns in the 1500 strong audience of bellowing laughter and embarrassed shuffles were the result. I daresay Stewart Lee may well have intended and enjoyed the effect. Trouble is, I paid for the tickets and to paraphrase the words of Frank Skinner, I like my comedy funny.
We took a taxi back to the Tania B&B which looks nicer on the website than it does in reality but which was still far too good for us even if you count the ‘small double’ bed and the shared bathroom. As it turns out, you can have a lot of fun there.
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