Farewell to the Fringe

Monday marked the end of the Edinburgh International Festival’s alter ego, the Fringe. Several newspapers suggested that the festival is suffering some sort of identity crisis and will soon be overtaken by copycat festivals springing up across the U.K. In spite of all this journalistic doom-mongering, however, the BBC reported that this year’s events drew the biggest audiences so far, with 1.5 million tickets sold for the Fringe and International Festival ticket sales approaching £2.5 million (the EIF runs for an additional week).

Last weekend, Gareth’s friend Andy flew up from Wales and we spent most of it running from one end of Edinburgh to the other, managing to catch six comedy shows before he flew back on Sunday.

Although I was amazed by the amount of energy Charles Ross expended while acting out the entire Star Wars Trilogy in an hour, I think my favorite was the Dutch Elm Conservatoire in Prison. I guess it was the opening sequence, when two of the five guys stripped down to micro-pairs of denim shorts, that won me over. Not that the Village People-esque attire was particularly attractive on their less than ideal physiques, it was simply the unexpectedness of it that grabbed my attention, while the the show’s singing, dancing and comedic banter kept me entertained until the end. I suppose I should mention that it was about a group of prisoners who plot to keep a new warden from ruining their utopian prison existence.

Other acts that deserved a mention were Jeff Innocent: Eco Worrier, Ian Stone’s Embrace the Chaos and Brendan Dempsey: England Expects.

Jeff Innocent’s show was about his attempts to incorporate all things pro-environment into his life. As a fellow tree-hugger, I appreciated the message and could relate to his worries about the planet and the future. I guess the only reason his show wasn’t my favorite was because I felt the humor level ebbed and flowed a bit. Obviously, humor is subjective, and Gareth said he enjoyed Jeff’s show the most.

I think Ian Stone stood out because he pushed the boundaries more than the other comedians I’d seen (I was particularly impressed by the Princess Diana jokes). Unfortunately, I happened to be the only American in the room, so he aimed all the anti-American jokes in my direction. I think I was just tired of mentally shouting, “Look – it’s not my fault! I didn’t vote for him, okay?”

Brendan Dempsey’s show was polished and funny – I especially liked the bit about Scots and warm weather. I guess I just needed it to be a bit more off-the-wall and unique.

As an Edinburgh resident, I’m both sad and relieved to see the festival go. But come July, I’m certain I’ll be eagerly awaiting the arrival of the program tome in my mailbox.

Adam Hills: Characterful

Earlier this week, we joined more than 300 Fringe-goers at the Assembly to watch another Aussie comedian named Adam Hills. His show reminded me of Dara O’Briain in that he frequently interacted with the audience, asking them lots of questions and weaving their responses into the fabric of his routine. A prime example was when he singled out a young girl (10 yrs. old?) and her father and then chatted with her off and on throughout the show, which I’m sure made her night. I did wonder why someone would bring a child to an adult performance, but her father apparently felt she was mature enough to handle the swearing and mature themes.

Hills has a number of decent impressions up his sleeve as well, including a brilliant “George Bush being his normal moronic self” that I almost weed my pants over. But I think my favorite part was toward the end when he told a true story about one of his audience members collapsing after his show and being administered to by Nancy Cartwright, the woman who does the voice of Bart Simpson.

If you’re looking to add a standup show to your list, Characterful definitely deserves your consideration. Although, I have to say, it was the first time I’d ever seen a comedian work in his stocking feet.

Chanbara at The Fringe

We got to our seats in the Pleasance Courtyard's auditorium just before the lights dimmed. The 300+ seat venue was packed with people of all ages, eagerly awaiting the spectacle that includes Taiko drums, Samurai swords, fake trees, smoke machines and lots of young Japanese performers play-fighting across the stage.

The high-energy show brought back memories of the year I spent learning Kung Fu, especially the staff sequence (my favorite weapon). I really enjoyed it, though I could have done without one skit that was supposed to be funny (a teacher puts his students through their paces and they do silly things to him and each other) but was really just corny. Even so, Chanbara was well worth the money.

Alfred Williams Tells a Joke

Our next foray into The Fringe brought us to a small classroom at the Edinburgh College of Art and a comedic newbie named Alfred Williams.

His hour-long show consists of one joke: a shaggy-dog story involving a car break-down, a pink gorilla and a bell tower. Although the joke’s punch-line, following fifty-nine minutes-worth of ramblings, sub-jokes, and extraneous asides was actually good, getting there was a fight to keep from falling asleep. This was in small part because the room was warm and stuffy, but mostly due to Williams’s delivery, which was entirely too fast and acutely lacking in all the things that make good comedy, i.e., perfectly-timed pauses, voice impressions (or, at least, voice variation), humorous hand and body movements, etc. Williams entertained his audience (around ten of us) mostly by sitting on a stool and talking…and talking…and talking. One guy did seem to be enjoying himself – he laughed with unbridled enthusiasm throughout the show. It turns out that he was the show’s producer, which says a lot.

On the plus side, the few jokes I did happen to catch as his words flew past me were fairly high-brow and yes, funny. If he would just slow down a bit (cutting out some of the unfunny streams of consciousness to make room), his one-joke gimmick might work.

Although I can’t, with a clear conscience, recommend this show, providing open access for all performers is still The Fringe’s main directive – and what makes it so worthwhile.

Charlie Pickering at The Fringe

The Edinburgh Fringe Festival is now in full swing. For those of you who are unfamiliar with this event, according to Edinburgh – The Capital Guide:

“The Fringe…is officially the largest arts festival on the planet...and it breaks its own record every year with increasing participants and audiences.”

This year, the festival runs from August 6 through 28. I’m thrilled because, since I now live here, it will be much easier to see the shows and exhibitions without first driving in from St. Andrews on a Saturday, finding parking (nearly impossible during The Fringe), sprinting from one show to the next with the goal of attending as many as possible, and then driving back home again. Since I’ll undoubtedly see twenty or more shows this month, I’ve decided to share my thoughts on them to give fellow Fringe-goers a few ideas if they’re struggling with their own itineraries.

The first show on our list was Charlie Pickering – Auto. We chose the Aussie comedian because he had been nominated for the Perrier Best Newcomer 2005 Award and we thought that sounded promising.

Pickering’s monologue begins as he attempts to write his autobiography. “My autobiography,” he types on his laptop, “by Charlie Pickering.” The words offer promise, but throughout the show, Pickering finds that writing is much more difficult than it at first seems (tell me about it). So between tales of his childhood that are both hilarious and poignant, he searches for inspiration from B.B. King’s borderline-embarrassing autobiography, from which he reads an occasional excerpt.

I thoroughly enjoyed his performance: it was a great start to The Fringe.

Everything for Every Body

Since our move to Edinburgh, we created a To-Do list that includes, somewhere near the top after all the address changes, “Decide on a health club.” So last week, we began the selection process by putting together a list of clubs that were within five miles of our house and setting aside a couple of afternoons to visit them, with the expectation of joining the one that met our minimum requirements and offered the best value for money.

On the first afternoon, we set out to tour the Next Generation Club, conveniently located just down the street from us, Virgin Active and Bannatyne in the City Center. Next Gen and Virgin went way beyond my expectations, offering an onsite spa and beauty salon, as well as a restaurant, bar, children’s workout facilities and tennis courts, none of which I’d ever seen in a health club before. Next Generation’s amenities also included a heated outdoor swimming pool with a view of the ocean, while Virgin gave members access to computer work stations with free internet. I can’t say much about Bannatyne, however, because on our arrival, we were told that there was no designated parking, which was one of our minimum requirements, so we left without a tour.

Of course, all these resort-style facilities come with hefty price tags. Next Gen charges £52.50 per month EACH for a standard membership (racquet sports not included). I did my best to keep a straight face during the pricing portion of the tour, wondering how the average Scot could justify paying that kind of money for exercise. Virgin’s off peak membership was a little more reasonable at £43 per month (though still much more than we had expected), but it was just inside our travel radius and we decided the 20-minute drive back and forth would quickly get old.

We arrived home in a state of sticker shock, having paid a measly $53 per month couples membership at L.A. Fitness, a club in Ventura that, by U.S. standards, is considered at the upper end of clubs that cater to the general public.

We left the flat for our second round of health club-hunting with less enthusiasm. We started with a club called Holmes Place, which was even more luxurious and expensive than the first two. The next three clubs on our list had gone out of business. Then we visited two Leisure Centres* in the hopes that they would be less expensive. They were, but only marginally so, and the basic workout facilities were rundown and depressing. That left the University of Edinburgh’s Centre for Sport and Exercise. Minus the nonessentials, the Centre had everything we could possibly want in a health club, and at a very reasonable £19 per month (annual rate). Now for the deal breaker – paid street parking only except after 5 pm, and we both work out in the mornings. Acknowledging defeat, we reluctantly signed up with Next Gen – and all those luxury amenities we’ll never use.

It’ll be interesting to see how the health club scene evolves here in the next few years. Unless Brits have far more disposable income than I think they do, the market that is willing/able to pay £50 a month or more is only a fraction of potential gym-goers. There is definitely a place for the U.S. health club model: focus on fitness at an affordable price.

*Similar to YMCAs. Instead of being run by a nonprofit organization, Leisure Centres are government-subsidized.

Another Texan Talkin' Crap

A few days ago, Gareth and I were driving through the country and we decided to stop for dinner at a gastro-pub called The Inn at Lathones. When we entered the reception area, bringing to mind a living room in a cozy French cottage, we were met with what looked like a homeless man, strewn across one of the comfortable-looking sofas and snoring like a freight train. We stopped in our tracks and looked uncertainly at one another until a flustered waiter guided us to seating around the corner and took our before-dinner drink orders. Then he scurried away and we heard him explaining to the homeless man that, although he was a guest of the inn and it went without saying that they appreciated his patronage, he couldn’t just take a nap in the middle of the four-star restaurant’s reception room. The man chuckled and gave a half-hearted apology and I immediately recognized the Texas accent.

As I finished off my Screaming Orgasm (a surprising cocktail offering for a country pub) I wondered if, at this very moment, American tourists all over the U.K. were doing things that confirmed Brits’ negative perceptions of us. The waiter would certainly enjoy telling his family and friends that apparently all Texans are socially inept buffoons, not just the U.S. president.

A few minutes later the waiter returned, apologized profusely for the napping Texan’s behavior, and took us to our table. Midway through my scallop ceviche, voices permeated a softly playing French ballad: the napper had returned to the reception area with a dinner companion.

First he told his friend about his little incident, to which the man replied, “Nah, really? Right there on the couch?” followed by a hearty laugh. Then he scrutinized the menu and announced in an even louder voice that although the roasted chestnut and herb stuffed quail looked interesting, he was astonished that the restaurant was only offering one quail and not two, since one couldn't possibly satisfy his big Texas appetite. His friend tried to console him: “You can have some o’ mine if ya want.”

The part of this exchange that intrigued me most, however was the napper’s declaration that “if a man eats one quail egg a day for thirty days, he’ll die of iodine poisonin’.” That evening, I spent a fair amount of time searching the web for evidence of his claim. Although quail eggs do contain iodine, so do chicken eggs, and apparently in similar amounts. No mention of anyone dying from a quail egg overdose.

Sounds like just another Texan talkin’ crap to me.