First published Inpress, Melbourne on 10 September 2008
NB: Each column has a name, but these do not appear in print; printed versions may differ slightly to those displayed hereFor three weeks every August, Edinburgh visibly groans as patrons of the various festivals add to the already considerable weight of the tourist horde. Even though The Fringe had one of its worst years ever for ticket sales (leading to the resignation of its director Jon Morgan), rooms remained hard to find and expensive. On the Royal Mile, there’s fierce competition from leafleters to street performers for your attention and patronage.
Most striking was the way the city was tagged EVERYWHERE, with stickers, specially printed t-shirts, postcards and beer mats proclaiming This Belongs To Lionel Richie. Such inventiveness led me to see the flagship of their five show assault This Sketch Show Belongs To Lionel Richie. This seven strong team kept things brief, rattling through 25-odd sketches in an hour, meaning little overstayed its welcome. It also didn’t rely on the constant repetition of characters which seems to be the current industry standard, and it had almost TV-like speed in its switches between scenes. Special mention must go the sketch featuring the misguided attempts of using Radiohead’s Thom Yorke to advertise mini chicken kievs (Pay whatever you like, or nothing at all, or get them in a deluxe boxset for £40…No Thom! Cut!!)
There was a strong Australian presence at the Fringe as well, from small free events to Circus Oz’s 30th anniversary show. Brendan Burns, the winner of last years IF award (formerly the Perrier) was a hot ticket, as was Tim Minchin, particularly after a feature of the BBC2’s special Edinburgh edition of The Culture Show. Also featured on the same programme was The Scottish Falsetto Sock Puppet Theatre, which was my personal highlight of my time there. It’s a one man two-hander (three if you count the invisible Emo sock), featuring a playful reworking of Johnny Cash’s Walk The Line with a guitar-playing sock, a five minute King Lear, a dissection of Abbott & Costello’s Who’s On First routine, and a improv song from cut-outs of Kraftwerk in a cameo appearance. Of course it’s a little naff, but knowingly so, and so good natured you can’t help but love it. And on top of that all, it’s extremely funny, even (especially?) when things go a little wrong. I hope that someone from the Melbourne Comedy Festival sees sense and brings this show out next year.
Over in The Spiegeltent, My Friend the Chocolate Cake returned for their first UK shows in over a decade. With no London shows booked, their appearance was the deciding factor making the trip north. With a short 70’ set, perhaps they didn’t pick the best material to showcase themselves, and some sound issues early on didn’t help. But then it all came together, and was over much too soon. Theirs was a relatively small crowd the night I went, and it made me a little sad to see the queue around the Spiegelgarden for the late show, La Clique, which through word-of-mouth became the must see show of the Festival.
In the Balcony Room of the Gilded Balloon, the subject of Damian Callinan’s show mmm… they’re small proved a bit much for some audience members, who walked out once it became clear that it was gonna be an hour of balls, or at least about them. Perhaps it was an error in judgement for the flyers not to explain that the show is his journey of self-discovery about infertility and relationships, both interpersonal and with his testicles. There were many ways this could have gone, and for me the mix of high and low humour, pathos, education, knob jokes, Catholic references and role playing just didn’t hang together. It felt more like a work in progress, lacking both laughs and a deeper emotional level. While Callinan remains an extremely likeable performer, this didn’t really show his best side.
Then again, it is the contrasts that make the festival so interesting. Simon Kempston and Friends, a trio of guitar, cello and bodhran, stitched through with his unique otherworldly voice, provided a lunchtime moment in St Giles Cathedral. On the street outside, David McSavage’s routine consisted of harranging passers by with very funny short musical ditties (although one day someone will twat him, as some of these were a little on the sharp side). On South Bridge Street there’s a queue outside an unassuming café called The Elephant House. Inside are more people sitting alone with their laptops than you’d think possible. For it was here that a certain Joanne Rowling sat each day to write the first Harry Potter novel, so other aspiring writers pilgrimage here hoping that a little, ahem, magic will rub off on them.
But perhaps the most surreal moment of the whole Festival occurs late on a Sunday night as I walked across The Meadows after catching some free Finnish stand-up (don’t ask). For coming from the nearby marquees was the distinctive sound of ex-Fringe favourites The Doug Anthony All Stars. Yep, The World’s Best Kisser graced the Fringe once again, this time courtesy of The Ladyboys Of Bangkok. Oh yes, I hope to be back again next year.
NB: This column does NOT belong to Lionel Richie!
© James McGalliard 2008
