Laughs, tears and punch-ups
Renata Rubnikowicz finds some rich pickings on this year's Edinburgh Fringe It's become a tradition to moan about big-name comics taking over the Fringe and treating it like a trade fair. This year was no different. In addition, the restric- tions on street performers dampened the atmosphere while drawing larger and more impenetrable crowds for the few who were allowed to eat fire and unicycle along the Royal Mile. Yet Edinburgh continues to shine with small gems of theatre — and not all the laughs are provoked by the comedians.
Krishnan's Dairy at the Traverse is one such jewel. Written and charmingly per- formed by Jacob Rajan with the help of a series of quick-change masks, it's the sim- ple and affecting tale of Gobi, the Indian owner of a corner shop in New Zealand, and his wife Zina. Woven through their story is that of Sha Jahan, builder of the Taj Mahal. We all know an Asian corner shop owner; the strength of this piece is to give us a window on the different culture and attitudes of the face behind the counter while reminding us of our common humanity — all in a deceptively light con- fection nicely judged for length and emotion.
I wish I could say the same of Theatre Archipelago's Werewolves also at the Tra- verse. The director, Helena Kaut-Howson, serves up one of those peasant stews freighted with indigestible gobbets of metaphor — this time apparently about the war in Kosovo. The original play, by Teresa Lubkiewicz, was inspired by a wake ina Belorussian village where the open coffin was set in the middle of the kitchen table. Perhaps uniquely among British reviewers, I have visited Belorussia several times and stayed in just such a village, miles even from the nearest station. I too grew up with stories of the wolves who would eat you if you strayed in the woods. But this play communicated nothing to me, and merely faced its Edinburgh audience with a pack- age of wilful obscurities, although some fine performances by the members of the company (formerly known as Communica- do) went some way to holding our interest. Also from Eastern Europe, and with ref- erence to Kosovo, Teatr Biuro Podrozy brought Drink Vinegar Gentlemen to The- atre Workshop. Inspired by the work of Daniil Kharms (perhaps best known to British audiences though Theatre de Corn- plicite's Out of a House Walked a Man), this Piece, full of absurdist slapstick and odd non sequiturs, could not be more different from the Polish company's previously acclaimed Carmen Funebre. Where that piece communicated simply and directly, this was more opaque and, though expertly performed in English, required more work from the audience.
The artistic policing of the Royal Mile has not managed to eliminate all the mimes and human statues that decorate its length at this time of year and, of course, many mime artists are to be found putting on longer, frequently tedious, shows. Initially, Gentlemen Volunteers, with its programme acknowledgement to Jacques Lecoq, threatened to be one such. However, such was the pace and energy of this promenade performance by Pig Iron Theatre Company in the Gilded Balloon's La Belle Angele cellar space that I was won over. Using a few hanging lightbulbs, some evocative singing and a great deal of imagination, they effectively involved us in the story of two couples working in America's volun- teer ambulance force during the first world war.
For more promenade performances, I tried the Botanic Gardens, usually a reli- able venue with its wonderful views of the city. But Toby Gough's offering this year. the much-hyped Journey to Macbeth star- ring Dannii Minogue, is woefully miscon- ceived. The diminutive Miss Minoguc makes a surprisingly good stab at the text though I was distracted by the supposedly cocaine-fuelled twitching of her Lady Mac- beth, but as a whole the production is risi- ble: a Macbeth transposed to the world of Miami Vice with dance routines based on Michael Jackson Thriller-style. This was a comedy, not a tragedy — and treated as such by a good few in the audience. A better view of the city, and one not obscured by irritating performances, is pro- vided by Evelyn Barbour's set — complete with miniature train drawing into Waverley — for 7:84's Caledonia Dreaming, at the Pleasance. Written by David Greig and first performed in 1997 when Scotland voted for devolution, its six characters look forward to what Edinburgh and its people can make of themselves and the strong cast sweetens the cynical message of this thought-provoking fantasy with a light touch.
Also at the Pleasance is a superb exam- ple of the one-man show that exemplifies Edinburgh: Collin Johnson's The Tree House. As writer and performer of this understated piece in which a dying father tape-records messages for his young son to hear as he grows up, Johnson wrings the heart so effectively that by the end every- one in the audience, men and women alike, was wiping away tears.
Meanwhile at the Gilded Balloon a young cast race through Lovepuke, a uni- versal fable of coupling written by New Zealander Duncan Sarkie, without putting a foot wrong. Tightly directed by one of the six performers, Rachale Davies, they squeezed every laugh of recognition possi- ble out of the almost schematic text.
Equally typical of the Fringe, but a very different experience, is the National Youth Theatre's 2:18 Underground. With its huge, 20-plus cast, this piece, devised by the com- pany with Laurie Sansom, gives each mem- ber a turn at centre-stage. But these snapshots of people on a Tube train are inevitably shallow and no one really gets a chance to explore their character, though the singing was good and the cast's energy and enthusiasm made for an enjoyable hour.
Another great strength of the Fringe is to give a space to new forms: just when you think you've seen it all before along comes something like The Gogmagogs's Gob- bledygook. The Gogmagogs made their name by adding movement to their playing (of violins, cellos, viola and double bass). Now they are including words, too, and have commissioned work from Patrick Bar- low, Caryl Churchill, Neil Innes and Djan- go Bates, among others. Just now I feel they need more work to bring their vocal delivery up to the compellingly high stan- dard of their musical performance. But it's excellent fun and one of the most interest- ing things on the Fringe.
As for the prize of most shocking experi- ence, it's a draw between two plays, both for once good. At the Traverse, Drummers, a tale of dishonour among Brixton's thieves tautly directed by Max Stafford-Clark, cul- minates in the anal rape of one brother by another (when moments before we were giggling at a line by the writer Simon Ben- nett); while at the Assembly, Lee Hall's Cooking with Elvis had me crying with laughter at the Geordie paraplegic former Elvis impersonator, whose life, wife, daugh- ter and tortoise are all deranged by a sexu- ally invasive lodger (that's about as politely as I can put it). Still with the deviants, Car, at the Pleasance, achieved the unlikely feat of making me feel sympathy for the thieves. Writer Chris O'Connell subtly layers the complexities of the roles of victim and criminal in a fast and violent piece, with a cast as adept at the physical theatre of vio- lence as the quieter, more naturalistic scenes.
More punch-ups ensue in Howie the Rookie by Mark O'Rowe at the Assembly. Actors Aidan Kelly and Karl Shiels hypnot- ically narrate the waste of their young lives in an Irish slang not as far gone as the Cork patois of Disco Pigs but still a long way off standard English and all the richer for that. After all that shouting and bare bottoms, it was relaxing to join Maggie Fox and Sue Ryding of Lip Service for their rendition of King Arthur and the Knights of the Occasion- al Table, featuring a swivel-headed owl on Merlin's shoulder, a fluffy bunny and a much more gentle humour. Engaging too is Omid Djalili at the Pleasance, a London- born Iranian stand-up presenting his 'Mid- dle Eastern Ceilidh', punctuated with music by Kamal Mazoumi on the santoor and crazy dancing. He's about as multicul- tural as the Fringe gets and a world away from the observational quotidian stuff that is standard comic fare up here. Of the big name guys, the audience found Phil Jupitus well up to scratch, leaving his famed Star Wars impersonations behind once and for all in favour of riffs about family life and pornography on the Internet, but to me he seems to have lost his distinctive voice. Irish stand-up Jason Byrne has even less script than last year and even more anar- chic interplay with the audience, two of whom he managed to shove up a chimney in his crumbling Pleasance venue, so he's scarcely moved on, but then if he did so his planet would no longer be in our galaxy.
Owen O'Neil who previously broke new comedy ground at Edinburgh with Off My Face, his stand-up drama about alcoholism, has joined forces with Sean Hughes to pre- sent two linked playlets at the Assembly, Dehydrated and Travellin' Light. They have all the hallmarks of sketches drawn on the back of a cigarette packet, claiming to be surreal but succeeding only in being lazy.
Whereas Cookin', at the Assembly, a Korean blend of drumming and circus set in a restaurant kitchen, is anything but. With great good humour, four chefs and a maitre d' beat chopping blocks, knives, graters and whatever else comes to hand with huge energy to build up hypnotic rhythms that hold the audience rapt.
More drumming and a magical atmo- sphere pervade Continental Shifts at St Bride's where Theatre Talipot from the island of Reunion have returned with last year's dance hit The Water Carriers and added a new work, Passage. Its, story is irrelevant, and perhaps the words suffer from being too exactly translated from the French; what counts is the glorious music and sinuous movement which join to make an exceptional artistic event.
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