Final notes

The two last shows I saw in the fringe, I also saw last year. These are Sig Other's choices, but I have no complaint about them.

Fascinating Aida were on even more sparkling form than previously. Their new material, especially the bitingly accurate new agey proclivities of certain sections of the female population. I laughed while acknowledging my own forays into that wide field.

Their glorious vulgarity had me in tears several times and laughing to the point of breathlessness. Politically, they judged the sentiments of this Edinburgh audience well. There is something uplifting in seeing and hearing mature ladies rip Blair and his ilk to shreds with a few choice phrases.

Last year, I called for Fascinating Aida to get back on TV and reach a wider audience, but I realise that TV would probably mean a dilution of their political voice. I will be content with viewing them annually at the fringe.

Paul Sinha also gained approbation in last year's write up. He again delivered his personal and political material in fine form and added that he will be more on our TV screens in a quiz programme later this year. I might just look out for that. Oh - and he is in luuuurve. I really hope that works out for him.

Drought and Rain


I thought that was the end of the whole fest experience, but no! Friend M offered a free ticket to a festival show. Not one I'd heard of, but ever eager to see as much as possible I accepted, then looked at the programme. Vietnamese grannies choir said K, another pal who already had a ticket.  I'd agreed to go, even though L yet another friend dangled the tantalising idea of deckchairs and vodka near the Castle to listen in to the Brian Ferry concert that night.

You may appreciate my dilemma.

The Vietnamese grannies won. I'm glad in many ways, but will always wonder what I missed.
 


From the programme

French Vietnamese choreographer Ea Sola celebrates historical and cultural memory and meditates on the human cost of war and imperialism in Drought and Rain (re-creation 2011). Together with a group of elderly women from the north of Vietnam, whose singing had consoled soldiers on the front line, and an ensemble of virtuoso traditional musicians, Ea Sola has re-created this moving and beautiful work. First seen in 1995 it offers deep insights into the tumultuous history and sufferings of Vietnam.


Shifting between hypnotically slow, graceful movements and urgent, almost visceral reactions, the choreography creates a spare, powerful and bittersweet account of the human legacy of war with performers who lived through it.

Good enough description, but does not convey the intensity of emotion watching this group of women move towards the audience and back again while holding photographs of relatives(?) presumably killed in the war. I'm rarely intimidated by older women, but this shook me. Sadly, I have no way to describe this extraordinary show.

A quick look through the reviews, and they are very mixed. Some people got it while other reviewers were underwhelmed. I think that is fair. I can imagine if I was in a quite different mood, it would have left me untouched.

A fitting end to my fringing leaving me with much to think about.

Fringegestion

It's easy to overdo it at this time of year and trot frantically from venue to venue trying to fit it all in. This greed can produce what I call "Fringegestion", a condition resulting in an overstuffed brain no longer able to discern entertainment from dross.

Some fringers have great tolerance and can take in as many shows as possible in one day, while others need more time between events so as to digest what they've seen. Four shows in one day is my maximum, with one or two exhibitions in between. Over that limit and my cultural lobes crash. Normally takes a day or two for the desire to gamble time and energy on more fringely opportunities to revive. But sooner or later, I gambol off to well trodden venues or in search of new (and more comfortable) theatre spaces.

Gazing vacantly at enthusiastic young acts in the High Street helps regain a sense of perspective in the short term.

Anyone familiar with the concept of the fringe will be aware, or at least guess that it is used to set up fringes to some of the other festivals in Edinburgh. So, the Book Festival has a fringe. The one event I managed was Helen Zaltzman and Olly Mann reading from their book Answer Me This? A very popular event and sort of entertaining in it's way.

Then it was time for Jackie Kay at the Book Festival. This was one of the funniest events I've been to this month, if not this year.

Next up, Bumfluff and Brimstone. This is where the fringegestion kicks in, after the glorious wit of Jackie Kay to a woman in her first Fringe show having decided at 40 that she wanted to do stand up.  She tried, and some material was quite good, but, my perception of her was coloured by the previous event.

Following a short gap and time for a bit of a walk I finished the day with the reliably funny Kate Smurthwaite. After my last year's rant about her not getting enough TV, she is now making a welcome habit of appearing on comment pieces and discussion programmes and speaking up for rational feminism.

Next day brought a change of focus with the Festival of Politics at Holyrood. As with the Book Fringe, I could only fit in one event. Is the far north safe in Nordic hands? Chaired expertly by Lesley Riddoch with presentations from a Norwegian oil and gas exploration representative, and a woman from Murmansk asserting the ecological viewpoint, this did not disappoint.  I knew little of the arguments surrounding this discussion, so I was on a steep learning curve.  Pressure to find new oil, gas and fish stocks will mean that the nations surrounding the Arctic are looking at ways to exploit the resources, developing new technologies to do so and generally panicking those who don't trust nations or companies not to wreck the fragile environment in that area.

That had been all I'd planned to do as I'd had lots the day before and anticipated a heavy fringeathon the next day. But, little goes to plan and as I walked up the road, I was invited into a free Burn's show, free three course, Vegetarian Burn's Supper and free ten year old Tallisker whisky.
I'm not going to refuse that.  I'd not been in Monteith's restaurant before, but I'll be going again judging by the standard of the food. The vegetable terrine starter was sublime, the veggie haggis was ok and the raspberry Cranachan was scrummy. The show was really good fun, especially as this was the final one and they were more than a little demob happy.

Two good days on the fringe, demonstrating that if you wander about the city opportunities sometimes land in your lap.

More, but not of the same

Orlando
Of the few shows I planned to see during the Fringe, Virginia Woolf's witty biography Orlando was low on the list. Until I noticed it was promoted in Jenner's department store window and that it had been awarded five stars. I don't often go on reviewers recommendations, but this time I did and it paid off handsomely.

Orlando was played by Glasgow based Judith Williams in bright crisp tones, easy to engage with throughout the performance. The sparse set design brought to life with lighting, projections and original sound track were all admirable and enjoyable. The costume design was almost the best aspect with an inventive changeover from male to female attire achieved with convincing effect. Conveying the main adventures in Orlando's long life in an hour was managed without diluting the impact of the charm and romance of the book.

Any performance in Edinburgh is up against the vast competition across the city and even five stars did not guarantee capacity audiences for this one, but at least on the day I went it was fairly full and very well received.

1001 Nights
Swept up in enthusiasm I agreed to accompany Sig Other to six hours of Alf Layla wa-Layla at the Lyceum. The Festival programme says of this production:

Erotic, brutal, witty and poetic. One Thousand and One Nights are the never-ending stories told by the young Shahrazad under sentence of death to King Shahrayar ... is told in two compelling parts each of which can be seen and enjoyed on its own; or see both in the same day and fully immerse yourself in these remarkable tales for a truly intoxicating Festival experience.

It was indeed an experience and one that's left conflicting thoughts. The first half was more brutal while the second was more witty; the poetry ran throughout this Arabic, French and English performance.

This is a wonderfully international production with cast, musicians and creative team from many Arabic and some European countries. It was written by Hanan Al-Shaykh who adapted the tales and emphasised their feminist message about misogynist men being made aware of their cruelty to women.

Certainly the first half amply demonstrated this cruelty, but the second half brought realisation and understanding to the Caliph and the other men in the tales. They resolved to change. 

Much was made of the tale of the five sisters who lived together, and their choice to continue so after marriage went wrong for all of them. Frequently, they were referred to as 'living alone' as if five people in a household were alone if there was not a man amongst them. This is similar to the old feminist saw of two women in a bar being approached by smoothy male with the opener "What are you ladies doing on your own?"  Apparently women in whatever quantity are alone if there is no male there.

Part of my conflicting thoughts are that I'd only narrowly agreed to see both parts and I wonder what I'd have been left with had I only seen part one. Overall, it was the correct decision to spend the day in this way, but I'm not sure I'll be persuaded by the enticement of a theatrical 'experience' again.

I was rather relieved that the comfort of the seats in the Lyceum meant I was not cramped and stiff by the end.

Brief reviews

At the half way mark in the festival I begin to long for a normal life again and just start to run out of steam. This is especially true when certain conditions are prevalent, like the depressing rain or if too many shows/exhibitions/events are bad. Fortunately, or simply through experience I've been to few disappointing shows this year, and have avoided the gloomy venues which bring my enthusiasm to a halt.  I'm just getting tired of hopping on and off buses, braving the crowds and running around between the other parts of my life. They need some attention after all, and when coming home to neglected housework and a foodless fridge is due to fringing, it's time to calm down a bit. So I went to very few shows at this fringely midpoint.

I've not had time or inclination to update the blog on what I have seen and this is reflected in what is a miserly piece on three really good shows that should have more said about them.

Mary Mary Quite Contrary stand up from Mary Bourke, at the free fringe.
Please just take it as read that I have raved on about her. I will spare the repeat from last year where I labour the point that there are some very good women doing stand up in Edinburgh, but the big venues fail to promote them. And I despair of seeing the likes of Mary Bourke on my TV on a Saturday night anytime soon. Rather, it will be the usual continuation of shouty, marchy up and downy blokes all winter when we should be seeing comedy that appeals to a much more intelligent demographic, like feminists!!

Didn't quite avoid repetition of my point about more funny women who do not offend easily offended feminists.


Bosom Buddies with Jack Klaff
A complete change of mood from the above, but enthralling theatre. Thankfully, the audience is given a handout of the characters played in this one hander as there were one or two historical people I'd never heard of.  I came home to google Ottoline Morrell, Margarete Buber-Nueman and Sabina Spielrein. I'd heard of all the male characters, as history is meticulous about recording them and making us search for the women portrayed by Jack Klaff.

I'd need to see it at least twice more before I could really convey how this piece of conversations between the characters, spanning major events in the 20th Century ebbed and flowed around and about the Cuban Missile Crisis, psychoanalysis, relativity, African, Indian, Russian history and probably more that eluded me.

Next time this is performed I'll get another ticket.

Booking Dance Festival: Split Bill
This American company brings dance troupes to the Fringe to showcase excerpts from their shows and assists those in the industry to book the acts. They also have tickets for the public.

I'm afraid I have to rave again, this time about three utterly distinct dance performances in one afternoon, starting with Rhythmic Circus. Described as 'Live Music and Rapid Fire Hard Hitting Tap' this was energy squared backed up by a very good seven piece live band. The ultimate in pretty people entertained a moderate sized crowd in Edinburgh's International Conference Centre. I just clapped my little hands off while they tap danced through hip-hop, funk, blues, and soul music.

Next Damagedance performed their world premier of Glimpses. This powerful performance explored psychological disorders, demonstrating that everyone suffers from something to some extent. We try to hide it.

I was initially cautious about this, but after a few minutes I was completely won over by this amazing group of young dancers.

Finally, Labyrinth Dance Theatre performed Noor.  I liked this, and the complete change of pace contrasted with the previous two dances. However, it did not move me as much as I expected for a story of the tragic heroism of Noor-un-nisa Inayat Khan. But I was very happy to be reminded of one of the women who played an important part in WW2 and who was awarded the George Cross.

Fringing on a Saturday Night

It's not that usual for me to go see events in the official festival, so this year should hold a few treats as Sig Other has chosen one or two he fancies. He seemed surprised I would so readily see Philip Glass and his ensemble not knowing I've liked PG since first hearing his music when I was fairly young. I find it appealing, but being so musically untutored I would not be able to explain why.

Koyaanisqatsi (1983) Hopi for 'life out of balance' is the first in the Qatsi Trilogy. Sig Other reassuringly noted it is not about something without specific meaning or value. This averted much speculation on my part that would otherwise have completely distracted me from the experience of the film and music.

Definitely the best image from the film.

The Ensemble was a treat to listen to, in particular the vocals of Lisa Bielawa. Powaqqatsi and Naqoyaqatsi the other two films in the trilogy were on subsequent evenings, however, I don't think I would have fully appreciated the immersion in Philip Glass. Maybe I'll see them another time.

Because there is so much on at the fringe, instead of leaving Koyaanisqatsi and spending time reflecting on the impact this had on my, I wandered into another show.

Kiss of the Red Menace, a Tribute to Kander and Ebb was by no means a bad choice. Melody La Rouge and her four piece backing group put on a cheery performance of show songs from Chicago and Cabaret and some others which I'd not come across.  And if we hadn't gone then, we'd have missed it as this was her final show for this fringe.

Indeed the fringe throws up opportunities for strange juxtapositions. It's what makes it an exciting month. And exhausting!

Wherein your correspondent gets pissed off

Fringing is not for the lackadaisical, laid back, devil may care types. It takes dedication, patience and a natural toleration of crap that few are gifted with. Certainly not me. Neither am I in the former set of categories. I'm a grumpy Edinburgh wummin coping with the annual influx of stop and start, pavement blocking nae idea how to use a bus tourists thronging most of city, or at least the centre of it. There are of course areas where there is no evidence of the cultural infestation of the inner metropolis*, areas which see no apparent economic benefit from the doubling of the population and spending spree for flat owners and bars.

When I worked in outer city areas of deprivation, it was easy to relate to the cultural disenfranchisement and occasional irritation of local folks at how the city was taken over for August each year. And their keen perception that there was nothing in it for them. Not least because even the fringe has become too expensive for many people.

There's been changes in recent years, with the Free Fringe taking up space in slightly further flung areas and now, even Leith has its own Fringe on offer. But the sense of, particularly the BBC types decamping north and mingling only with their own species persists.

The BBC are setting up camp in the heart of the main fringe area this year. If you look carefully, you'll notice as my sharp-eyed daughter did, that they've installed the bar, while still erecting other parts of the site.

I'm used to all this, though, so what is pissing me off is going to really badly described shows. There's only a few lines allowed to promote the show, but in the days of 140 character twitter, more effort could be put into concise accuracy. It's wasteful of my time to mislead potential audience about your show. The show below was so misleading! "Three sharp females" Huh.

Daughter arrived yesterday and insisted on going out in the rain to see something. I checked what was on offer in the limited time she had. It was always going to be challenging to find something we could agree on and it seemed that Vinegar Knickers present Sketchy beast could be it.

Nah.

I really want to support women breaking out the mold, women being funny, women learning their craft, women getting out there and onto a stage. I really want to say that these three young women are going to mature into great comedians, dancers, singers, actors. I can't.

Some of the material could have been good, delivered by comics possessed of a modicum of talent. Mostly, the material was as poor as the comics. Daughter agreed.

What really tipped me over the edge, was the use of music from a long discredited 70's glam rock popstar jailed for his abuse of girls abroad. And the disgraceful paedophile jokes. What is missing in the commonsense make up of so many comics that they consider jokes about domestic abuse, rape, child abuse, funny and even necessary to their act?

I'm not linking to this bunch. They do not deserve it.

*not sure Edinburgh can be designated a metropolis as it's so small.

Another go at fringing

Ticked another box with this fringing effort. The Festival of Spirituality and Peace offered a Japanese Tea Ceremony and this has long been a desire I wanted to fulfill.  The ceremony began with a young Japanese piper in a very fetching blue plaid kilt playing traditional Japanese tunes he'd arranged for the pipes. Different, but in a good way.

Then the beautiful gracious ladies began the tea ceremony. Sadly it was all too disturbed by tourists wandering in and photographing it and other comings and goings to be the relaxing event it is designed to be.

The audience all tasted the tea - not bad and sampled some other Japanese teas - very good, but we weren't told what they were.

I treated myself to Persian thick soup in a temporary Persian Tea house set up for the Festival. It smelt of unspeakable things, but they were so proud of their homemade food, it would have been heartless to leave it untouched. I bravely tried a spoonful. It was awful; not as bad as it smelt, but deeply unpleasant. I forced another mouthful and it got better. I ended up finishing it, but I will avoid it in future. I think it was the whey drizzled on top that was so bad.

Scuttled up the High Street and met a solid block of tourists. It took some doing, but I reached the Hub, to pick up tickets as instructed by Sig Other. More of this another day.

Time then to meet Y and her posse who were sensibly relaxing in the only empty cocktail establishment in town.  I was making up a fourth for the sets of two-for-oners purchased in anticipation of company by the posse.

The first show turned out to be less palatable than the vomit scented soup. Even the hardened fringe-going posse found Cul-De-Sac nasty and not a fit subject for comedy. Posse J thought it was akin to 1984 done in an hour. I was perturbed by the explicit bullying of one adult male by another about his experience of childhood sexual abuse. I have no problem with lines being crossed but this needed a trigger warning for any survivors in the audience who would have struggled with it.

This is a pity as the actors were fine, sets, props and direction good.

There was a quick turnaround and into Isy Suttie: Pearl and Dave. Pleasant Pleasance comedy. Soothing after our feathers were so collectively ruffled.

Fringing on a Sunday

I had plans for the day; they didn't work out, however it all ended up fine.  Began by missing the Sunday lunch music in the National Museum of Scotland. But I did get to the Art Festival event I had a ticket for.

No Show: A Screening of Artists' Films on Collections and Museums
Three short films chosen by Melvin Moti that are related to art and museums. Also his own film No Show.

Flash in the Metropolitan - Roaslind Nashashibi, Lucy Skaer
At only 3 minutes long, I didn't get time to absorb this and would need to see it many times to take in the short flashes of artefacts from the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York.

Dylaby - Ed Van der Elsken
This really appealed to me. From 1962, black and white film of the exhibition at Stedeliijk museum in Amsterdam. The group of artists who made the exhibition included Niki de Saint-Phalle, who is one of my favourite artists. The film had some of her shooting paintings, but interactive, set up so visitors could shoot paint. If I knew how to link within this blog, I'd link to the post I did of her exhibition at Tate Liverpool a couple of years ago.

But there was much much more in this film. Certainly the best of the four I saw.

No Show - Melvin Moti
1944, the Hermitage, recently emptied by Russian soldiers. They are taken on a tour explaining what had been on the walls. Interesting, but didn't hold my attention fully.

Spiral Jetty - Robert Smithson
This left me wondering what the hell it was about. But when I explained it to Sig Other he knew all about it. He's a bit scunnersome at times, but mostly useful informationwise.
Follow the link if you are really interested.

The films went on longer than expected, so I missed the show I'd planned to see and decided to spend some time in the newly reopened museum. It's so much better than I'd thought it might be. I could rave about it.

 The dangly monsters hall is a hoot.

  

Tasteful temporary exhibition of glass. I want, I want!

Sooner rather than later, I exited the museum as the howling level of too many weans got to me. Time to go to a show.

This was a jolly show. Energetic young women in tweeds and hiking boots

mourning their lost friend Bertha. They came across a mountain man who fell in love with Hilda but had to call himself Mr Darcy before he could win her love. Much angst and wriggling around in their sleeping bags ensued. I wanted a time machine so I could go back, collect my daughter at an impressionable age, and show her this group of worthy role models. Even now, I think she'd enjoy it.

Getting through the backlog

My original plan was to write up the shows I'd seen, the day after, but this timetable has already slipped. Multiple postings will help catch up.

Friday, and a complete departure from my usual fringing. The Usherhall was the venue for Qing Cheng a delightful Chinese musical. I can sum it up with one statement. Eat your heart out Loyd-Webber.

Magical costumes, by the designer from the film Crouching Tiger something or other Dragon.  The folks dressed as bamboo really tickled me, but the flowers were so graceful and delicate.

An ancient love story spanning across centuries, brought to life as a spectacular musical featuring lavish designs and special effects. Qing Cheng is a beautiful story originated from Dujiangyan, a UNESCO World Heritage site, and also home to giant panda. The first major musical representation of Taoist philosophy, Qing Cheng combines traditional Chinese melodies with fresh compositions, martial arts with modern dance, and an ancient story told against a stunning backdrop of multimedia projections

I'd estimate about a quarter to a third of the audience was Chinese and it was a pleasure to sit amongst giggling enthusiastic, even star struck young Chinese women. Almost compensated for the dour German chappie next to me who didn't clap at the end.

I'd tell people to go, but it's finished today, so you've missed it.

It begins ...

I've found that it's a good idea to go to the preview shows at the Fringe. There's the chance of seeing shows go a bit wrong, which can relieve the boredom of a dire offering, and make you feel for the good stuff struggling against rubbish venues and bad tech.

But most of all, there aren't very many folk around, and most of them are well behaved Edinburgh pensioners. They are the ones with the time and interest to start before the mobs arrive.

I've now convinced D and M to take a day with me annually to be spontaneous, go with the flow, chill out and so on.  D, for example is amazed that we got off the bus in George Square, where it all seems to be happening this year, and immediately people handed me free tickets.  We accepted.

Show one
Bette and Joan The Final Curtain
Suffered greatly from being held in a run down lecture theatre. A very iffy start that went on far too long. Boiled down to projections of Louela Parsons and Hedda Hopper muttering that Bette Davis was taking too long to die. Solution? Send Joan Crawford's ghost to help her on her way. Enter ghost of Crawford and the action really began.

Sharp lines, well delivered and the pace increased until the last 20 minutes which were snappy and brought it to a satisfying ending. Bette and Joan suddenly wondered why, since they had so much in common (four husbands, ungrateful daughters) they had not been friends in real life. Bette agreed to die.

‘You should only say good of the dead. Joan Crawford is dead. Good’ (Bette Davis). ‘She's slept with every male star at MGM except Lassie’ (Bette Davis), ‘Take away those pop eyes, the cigarette and those funny clipped words and what have you got?’ (Joan Crawford)

A promising start to my fringing for the next month.

Left that building and more tickets immediately thrust into my hands.

Show Two
Penny Dreaful's Etherdome
19th Century America, 3 dentists vie to invent anaesthesia for dentistry and surgery.  Much slapstick comedy, singing and audience harassment, er, participation. This show started really well, but lost its way towards the end. The staging and props were great.

We escaped the George Square mayhem (nothing compared to what it is now) and had lunch at the Mosque Kitchen. Cheap, fast, nutritious and tasty.

Show Three
Midnight Your Time
Nothing like a world premier to keep you going through the late afternoon slump in the fringe energy levels.  Diana Quick was magnificent as the controlling mother whose daughter took up a post in Palestine and neglected to keep in touch.

Every Thursday at 3am, Judy talks to her daughter via webcam. Judy calls from Islington, her daughter, Palestine. A retired lawyer, Judy is looking for ways to occupy herself: with a women's peace league, with Mr and Mrs Prabhakar, with her daughter's life

Although I often enjoy most of what I see at the Fringe, sometimes there is a gem and this was it. I'm now worrying that my fringe experience has peaked too early and all else will be a disappointment.

Show Four
Anil Desai
The man himself handed out tickets to his impressionist show. He kept a fairly consistent level of comedy and pretty good impressions throughout the hour on stage. I've been recommending him to friends. Abiding image of him with orange wig, pink PVC mini dress and white thong.

I retired to fringe another day.

Last few fringings

I still had many boxes to tick, many types of show to see and assorted art exhibitions to fit in before it all evaporated into where ever fringe things go between September and July each year.  I didn't get much further as I began to feel a disconnect between my aspirations of a month ago and the reality of traipsing about the city in attempted holistic culture mode.

The final Fringe Saturday D, with whom it had all begun on the first Friday, joined me again for a bit of a yomp round and about. This time we wandered rather unfocussedly amongst the craft stalls here and there. Then sat in in a chilly coffee garden at Surgeon's Hall.  Then she left to join other pals while I went to see A Bit of Irish hoping the advertised singalong would live up to the hype. Well it was ok, but quite brief at only 40 minutes. I had a free ticket, otherwise I'd have felt a bit miffed.

I really didn't want this to be my last experience of Fringe 2010, so I made time on the Tuesday lunchtime to see another recital at St Mary's Cathedral. I'm so glad I did this because once again I was privileged to see a wonderful musical treat.

Jennifer Rust, soprano and Anna Yang, pianist entertained splendidly with a varied programme from Schumman to Gershwin.  Best of all was Pleurez, Pleurez mes yeux, from Le Cid. I had never heard this before and was simply delighted to be introduced to this piece in such style.

All together a much more positive end to my Fringe.

A few days off from fringe-binge then back to the fray

Week three and steam is running out, enthusiasm is waning and general jadedness sets in. Four days of Fringe avoidance, real life - oh, and work which funds all this, took priority. Then I stepped out again for a couple of events linked only by their proximity in the old town.

The Caves under North Bridge is my least favourite venue. Edinburgh, for the past few years has hosted fringe shows in too many damp, dungeon-like (in an entirely non-kinky way), dark and every other D you can come up with spaces, that must cause staff the most ghastly health problems. Every time I go, I come out feeling ill and I'm only in there for an hour. It would be so much better to spread the venues out again and have more wee church halls in far-flung bits of the city taking the strain instead of it all being, admittedly conveniently, squeezed into the city centre.

Anyway, I went to only my second show this year in the Caves having deliberately avoided even those shows I quite fancied. But I returned to see Caroline Mabey Eat Your Friends. It seemed to have positive reviews, so, in order to boost the number of female comics I've seen this year, I went.

The audience was on the sparse side, but were supportive of her act. I'd put up with numerous comments from the stage this year at different shows, because I kept forgetting my glasses meaning I had to sit at the front thus rendering myself a vulnerable target, but I'd never, until now, had to get up on the stage.

I have no spontaneity, I am not an entertainer, I am a bit deaf and really rather slow to catch on and have a life-long inability to understand or follow instructions. I am not a good choice to shove on stage. But I already knew that. However, I'm not unduly shy and so I agreed, since there were only another 8 or so folk watching. I managed not to do anything right, but I repeat, there were only another 8 or so folk there to witness it. So, next year, no front seats, no making eye contact with the act and no getting up on stage - ever.

Good, that's that out of my system.

I had a few minutes to walk the few yards up the next cobbled lane to yet another awful venue. Banshee Labyrinth was hosting the Skeptics on the Fringe shows. I'd wanted to go to several of those, but they all clashed with me having to be somewhere else. Finally I made it to Dr Caroline Watt's talk on the Parapsychology unit at Edinburgh University.

Wonderfully interesting and far too short, except from the point of view that this was such an uncomfortable seat my relief at standing up possibly won over the feeling that I wanted to hear much much more from this speaker.
Before the talk I'd completely forgotten that long ago I'd taken a psychology module. Dormant knowledge was helpfully activated and retrieved and I followed most of the talk.  I was also reminded why I didn't go on to take more psychology studies, far preferring psychodynamic theory to psych-experiments in the name of an ology. All long before we apparently all became hardwired evol psych bots with no free-will.

Um, was that a bit hard on the evol psychs? Nah!

Where I manage to tick more boxes

The overall aim of this fringe-athon (yes, compared to real fringe addicts I'm a mere dilettante) is to get to as many different types of event and varieties of fringes/festivals as I can.  There are far too many to choose from sensibly unless one is willing to spend more time carefully plotting and planning a way through all the bumph than I'd ever have the patience to do. Haphazard, random, swayed by hunger, thirst, sair feet and whether I've got change for the bus seem to have dictated my choices the last three weeks. And when I'm with friends I decided it is easier to let them choose because I might see something I'd otherwise avoid.

The Saturday I spent with K fell into a few of these categories and we began at the parliament in what was almost the final event in the Festival of Politics.

Women at the Top: Where next for Women in Politics? Attempted to frame a discussion about women's representation in local councils and parliaments both national and at Westminster. (Yes, I know Wales has an assembly not a parliament).

There is concern that next May the numbers of women MSPs and AMs will drop after the elections in Wales and Scotland. The discussion ranged from why women are not coming forward to stand, why they are not chosen when they do and the frustrating issue of a confrontational style in parliaments and parties.

It was noted that at times women had tried to form alliances or to be supportive of other elected members across party lines. This had worked for a while in Holyrood, but, according to K who is up on all things Labour, there was no trust between the women from rival parties. Anyone with the slightest awareness of the ludicrous interactions between the 2 largest parties will not be surprised to hear that.

A newly elected (to Westminster) Lib-Dem MP shared her dismal experiences of being barracked during her first speech in the Commons. She was quite clear that this did not happen with the same sexist intensity to male MPs. I could have listened to her for ages as she had such interesting views on women's representation. I didn't manage to catch her name, which was a pity as she came across as very competent. However, by the end of this hour, I was left feeling despondent about the prospects for equal representation in any council or parliament anytime in my lifetime.

A change of scene was called for to raise our spirits. The  Forest Fringe Programme was running its last couple of events. We spent some time in both of these.

Firstly, the day-long project to map where people had come from to get to the fringe. We couldn't help as ideally, they wanted tickets to place on string weaving criss cross around the room or stories about our journey. "I got on a bus and got off again" wasn't exotic enough I felt and K couldn't give up her train ticket since that was needed to get home.  But a great creative idea that it would have been good to spend more time looking at.

But the other event was more exciting. Over 12 hours, Third Angel & mala voadora ran What I Heard About the World (Research Map), an event attempting to map the world and collect a story for each country in it. They were going through the names of countries in alphabetical order to collect stories of fakery and pretense. Audience members came and went sharing stories of places they'd lived or visited and these were recorded in two word summations.

It was one of the most impressive and creative events I've ever seen and 12 hours was not long enough to complete this.

Emerging again into mid-festival Saturday evening crowds we ambled along to the National Library where we had good luck in getting tickets for Alan Bissett's final fringe performance of the Moira Monologues.

I'd read great reviews of this show, but hadn't any high expectations of it. I was so wrong.  Once I recovered from the shock of the appalling language, I joined the rest of the audience in roaring with laughter at the antics of Moira, a well drawn example of her kind - Falkirk Woman with Attitude.

From the first sketch; Moira insisting her hard-man neighbour make his rottweiler apologise to her 'wee Pepe' for eating his food and frightening him, to the final biting observation, that we can always rely on the English football team not to let us down, this was brilliant entertainment.

The language although strong, was rhythmic and authentic to the way large parts of central Scotland speaks, but sadly I suppose it will prevent this show reaching the TV audience it deserves. I hope someone takes the risk of broadcasting it, because it didn't offend K or me who are the most easily offended women anywhere, which is high praise indeed.

The evening ended with a drenching in the downpour as we went on our way home... I'm getting a bit fed up with what passes for summer this year, but I'm sure I'm not alone in that.

Thursday and Friday at the Fringe

The Book Festival now has its own fringe just like its big sister the International Festival spawned the fringe way back at the beginning of it all.

Question: What do you do when you get to 65 and still want to do politics, but differently?

Answer: You take to the boards and try your hand at a bit of comedy.

Making a Holy Show of Myself: an Abortion Monologue with Anne Rossiter was an entertaining hour. Ms Rossiter wholly showed that this crucial part of women's lives, whether as folks who've had one or hoped never to have one or supported friends and family through one, can also be a source of stand up at the fringe. It also gets more awareness raised about the inequality for N. Irish women who are excluded from the rest of the UK legislation.

However, I also discovered that it is not possible for a woman living in Scotland to get a legal abortion over 20 weeks, she has to go to London for this.  This is shrinking our rights by stealth and really needs to be campaigned on. Quite frankly, if you do not have a womb this is not your business. Obviously I am not including those who no longer have a womb - duh!

Friday, and a change of pace; I discovered the dance festival and immediately scooted along to the one show I could get to. Not What I Had in Mind by Robin Dingemans was marvellous.  I loved it and was getting really into the intense atmospheric mood created by this dancer and the percussionist, when it was very nearly ruined.

The type of parent who brings out in me all the stereotypes I try not to buy into such as earth mother, pushy parent, finger-painting, always putting the child first, mumsnet, piss off everyone else who can only do their best etc etc, brought her pre-verbal toddler into the show. The child, a sweet little creature happily and loudly gurgled and burbled away and jumped up and down, without any signs from aforementioned pain of a parent taking responsibility to shush the kid. Imagine how the atmosphere was wrecked and I cannot praise the dancer highly enough in the way he managed to maintain focus through the ensuing fuss that went on.

Eventually the parent and child removed themselves. Naturally, she had the brass neck to demand her money back and complain that she'd checked that it would be ok to take the child into the performance. It was Friday evening, the child should have been in bed. I know Edinburgh is not a child-friendly city and I'd happily support measures to change that, but there is a time and a place for kids and this was not it.

Most of the rest of the audience were incandescent, I was merely furious. There is no way to go back and see this again and I feel aggrieved at this lost opportunity to experience an emotional and exciting modern dance as perfectly as it was intended.

There seems to be a pattern emerging this festival - I keep going to shows where some annoying audience member disturbs the flow of the act in some way or other. Or am I just being intolerant?

Musical Monday

I was supposed to be back to work yesterday and I did get down to clearing the backlog - after a fashion.  But I merged a trip to the bank with an opportunistic detour into a lunchtime concert.

Awfully glad that I did, as this was one of the highlights so far this fringe. Yes, I know I'm waxing enthusiastic about lots of things, but bare with me this time. 

St Mary's Cathedral in Palmerston Place is holding a series of lunchtime recitals during the festival, as well as tours of the famous song school murals.  Yesterday the recital was provided by Miyuki Kato who studied piano at the Royal Welsh College of Music and Drama.

The programme included Tchaikovsky, Chopin, and Liszt.  I found her performance of Cantique d'amour by Liszt both moving and stirring. In fact her whole performance was a delight and I made the right decision in my diversion into the cathedral instead of rushing back to my desk.

Early evening, I went to Hildegard of Bingen and the Living Light at the new to me venue in Surgeon's Hall.  Written and performed by mezzo soprano Linn Maxwell, this is the story of the famous 12th century German Abbess.  Hildegard lived to her 80's becoming skilled in herbalism, composing, and sending letters to the 4 men who were pope during her lifespan.

Neglected for centuries, Hildegard has been rediscovered and her books translated, her songs recorded and finally her extraordinary work celebrated in the 21st century.

Linn Maxwell gave a competent performance of this story, but her it was her singing that stood out most for me.

More stuff at the fringe

Enticed by the appearance of sun and my usual nosiness, we walked along Princes St Gardens to get to the Festival in the Sky at the far west end. I only had my iphone and the pics I took are not great, so to make the most of the view we sat in the enclosure beside the contraption. It went up and down a couple of times assisted by Sybil, Basil and Manuel who escorted the sky diners to their seats Fawlty-style.

This further encouraged us to stay a while and indulge in rather good Pimms Cups. I can highly recommend this form of entertainment for a Friday afternoon. However, I'm not on the whole tempted to eat at 100 feet dangling opposite the Castle Rock.

Much trotting about the city then ensued while we hopped on and off buses and forced our way up the High St through all the flyerers, acts, human statues and promenading visitors.  Then back down into the new town to get to the Assembly Rooms in time to join the restive queue of audience of a certain age wielding tickets for Fascinating Aida.

Joined by friends (Y and her queue-busting henchpersons I and J) we achieved good seats in the packed theatre and were entertained in splendid fashion.

These women should be on TV all the time, or at least as much as they want to be. Of course, some of their material would have to be way beyond the 9pm watershed and carry a health warning about the danger of laughing fit to burst. Some of the terms (not repeated here in case of attracting the wrong type of reader) needed to be made clear to older or less worldly members of the audience. Indeed the posse of archetypal primary teachers in the row behind were gratifyingly scandalised by one song. They thankfully resisted more than a token effort of pretence that they didn't understand the terminology describing intimate activities in small vehicles leading to steamed up windows.

It all set us up nicely to eat copious amounts of Mexican food. Y and I ordered more Sangria than sensible but otherwise we all behaved.

Y, I and J went to whatever late night show they had planned and Sig Other and I went to Paul Sinha.

I'd seen him last Fringe and the most I could say was that I wasn't offended. Actually, that is high praise for a Fringe show. He was much more assured and quite staggeringly right on in this year's act. Not all comic representatives of minorities/diversity strands/former doctors and so forth manage to demonstrate a competent understanding of intersectionality, but he did. And it was funny.

Wednesday & Thursday at the Fringe

I only went to one show on Wednesday as ordinary life intervened to prevent me earlier in the day.

It was sort of worth it to queue up for Keen and Khan Starstruck at the Voodoo Rooms, but only sort of.  Helen Keen once again was a natural funny woman while Sofia Khan gave a talk on ten things you didn't know about NASA.

Dr Khan worked very hard to make a case for her interestingness, but really overdid the it trying to convince her audience that she was a serious and respected scientist. Why? I don't know, because no one was in any way going to accuse her of being a fraud. We are perfectly capable of believing that a young woman can have brains and academic success without having it hammered home for an hour. 

It all started off very amusing, but got tired very quickly. More Helen Keen and more science, but perhaps Sofia Khan needs to go with her admission that she is not an entertainer and stick to building her (deservedly, I'm sure) glittering career in astrophysics.

On Thursday as if in compensation for the weather, I struck lucky with all three shows I went to.

Susan Murray, the Glottal Stops Here provided an excellent hour's drying off from the thunderous rain. Her theme was accents and her ability shone whether in Glaswegian, Cockney or her native Black Country. 

If you've never had a Kipper Tie with two sugars then you've never had a cup of tea in the Black Country. Susan was raised in the West Midlands by her Scottish family. She has the Glaswegian attitude, which doesn't match her Brummie drawl. This Brumwegian (or Glummie) has been badly dubbed all her life! Think Frankie Boyle meets Julie Walters.

The quote above is pretty accurate for once.

Next, an absolute highlight of my fringe experience so far was Rainer Hersch's Victor Borge. I can only dimly recall Victor Borge he being more of my Grandmother's generation than even my parent's, but I remember enough to know that he was a great entertainer.  So I didn't recognise the famous set pieces such as the punctuation sketch, but clearly this audience of a certain age were familiar with it all and wallowed gloriously in nostalgia.  I merely enjoyed the act and the audience's enjoyment of it; all very happy.

The evening ended with the hideously underused, under-recognised and generally talented Kate Smurthwaite with her News at Kate in the Voodoo Rooms. 

What I cannot understand is why with comics of the calibre of Kate Smurthwaite and Susan Murray and Helen Keen and all the other funny women around, we are continually subjected to banal, sexist, unoriginal and frequently offensive male comics dominating TV programmes all week long. And without going into the full "I pay my licence fee too" rigmarole, it's undeniable, I and my demographic are completely failed by programme producers who play it safe with the same old faces on every panel game and sketch show.

It didn't help that I'd once again forgotten my specs ...

Yesterday I took in two more fringe shows both chosen by Sig Other. I'd said that since he often missed the fringe he should choose at least some of the shows we saw together. So far this has mostly worked ok, except for the first one yesterday.

Sequel to Fringe Report Award-winning 'The Science Of Sex'; Funny Women finalist Rosie Wilby delves further into the science of attraction and sexual chemistry. What makes us gay or straight? What turns us on? What are pheromones? Why do we have a type? What happens in the brain when we fall in love? What's the scientific origin of kissing? Rosie has appeared on Radio 4, Radio 5, LBC and BBC London. 'Wonderful' (Time Out); 'Had her audience in stitches.' (Diva); 'Packed with witty, conversational and at times controversial humour' **** (ThreeWeeks).

FS of S is not my cup of tea.  And I add the quote above to show that I perhaps am in a minority. Strangely enough (for anywhere except the fringe) the females from the small audience all decamped to the Ladies afterwards where consensus was it was all a bit disappointing.  There's an obvious comment re intimate human relations of the heterosexual kind there which I will resist adding.

Anyway, Rosie Wilby is probably capable of much better than this, and maybe in another venue with another audience she is.

The Trojan Women on the other hand was a complete delight from start to finish.  A cast of around 18 enviously talented young women from the theatre group Working Girls delivered an extraordinary interpretation of Euripides's tragedy.

The chorus was worthy of the highest praise and each individual performance set a standard few fringe acts achieve. If I see this company advertised anywhere else I'll make every effort to go.

Everything would have been just a little bit easier to see had I not left my glasses behind for the second day running. This evening I might have to put them on a string round my neck before wading into the fray again.

It didn't help that it was pouring ...

Another day at the Fringe and another four shows sat through and variously enjoyed or endured.

First up was Helen Keen's It is Rocket Science. Utterly entertaining mix of science and the history of rocket science assisted by inventive props and audience participation in an abbreviated version of the cold war.  I got to be on the Russian side which definitely won over the US side in enthusiasm and participation.

Out into the rain and across to the Zoo venue for a show in the vaults. Dusk on the River Nile, oh what can I say? I wish I could praise this if only because the young cast worked hard and screechingly to convince the audience of their passion for the words and actions. It simply didn't work for me, or for the several members of the audience who removed themselves early from the pain of carrying on till the end.

More rain and some shelter in the Pleasance Courtyard before squeezing into a packed room for Gyles Brandreth's One-to-One story telling. Gratuitous name-dropping and all round general raconteurship by the master of anecdotal wit.

A gap for drinks then the Underbelly for Toby Hadoke Now I Know my BBC.  I'd seen his Moths Ate My Dr Who Scarf and remembered it only for its unremarkableness a few years ago, but gave his new show a try.  He's still unremarkable, moderately inoffensive and by and large makes his case for keeping the BBC.  His emphasis and pedantry regarding the correct usage of the apostrophe is what will stay with me and I suppose I better scour this post for ill-usage of said grammatical device.

Where the audience is more noteworthy than the act

There's a curious phenomenon in Edinburgh Fringe venues, where some people come along not to see the act, but to grab centre stage themselves.  Some are hecklers who can help the act on, while others are there to destroy. Some are merely off their faces on something or other.

D. and I spent time and shoe leather tramping wet streets on Friday and ended up in a free show of which only politeness ensures I even mention the name. But Matt Tiller's Awkward Situation lived down to its aspirational name. As did the audience on this occasion.

For reasons known only to the venue organisers, they allowed in several batches of latecomers, thus assisting in an awkward beginning for this act. Some 7 or so young women (plus their tame bhoy) arrived after the first song had been sung.  Chatting, loudly and louder, they carried on their own conversation, not all about the act, but when looked at they assured the young chap attempting to entertain us, that they all fancied him. A novel way to get the act on-side and a credit to heckling. However, they carried on, and on and on. He did his best, but this lot were immune to hints broad and subtle.

Idly, I wondered if their behaviour was because they had finally been released for the summer from some boarding school for the daughters of the rich enough to farm them off somewhere out of sight. Sadly these aga-saga writers of the future will not remember devastating this lad's act at the beginning of his first(?) Fringe, due to their overindulgence in substances. And I wish I could advise him to forget them and carry on, but his act is rubbish and I see little hope of him developing into a mature entertainer.

Despite numerous proddings, D refused to walk out, so politeness (again) bade me sit and endure both act and wanna-be's for an interminable hour.  
This was the low point in a day filled with the scope of the Fringe from best to worst.

2b theatre company are staging Invisible Atom in Hill St Theatre.  As near to epic as you can get in one hour of intellectual blending of economics and science with eventual tragedy. I was left trying to analyse the meaning of this play for the remainder of the day.

Underneath the Lintel suffered from coming after Invisible Atom and would otherwise have had a better reception from me, but it was well acted and mildly amusing. I agree with the Irish Times that it was 'provocative [and] mournful' but would not have given it the 5 stars they did. We bumped into the actor afterwards and murmured appropriately encouraging noises, while he remarked on what a superb audience it had been. Interesting, but not sure why he thought that, I'd thought it an average audience, but what would I know and the perspective from the front must be quite different from the darkened seats.

We kept the best till last. What would Helen Mirren do? was a delight. So funny and so well acted with great comic timing by Anita Parry. There's something uplifting and comforting being in the presence of competent middle-aged womanhood that in entertainment terms cannot be surpassed. 

The odd thing is that there is more to write about when I dislike the show than when I do!?!