Inside the vortex
Back home after 10 days inside the vortex of the Edinburgh Festival Fringe.
I was principally there to support Brussels's fledging 121 Theatre (performing the UK premiere [in English] of Eric-Emmanuel Schmitt's wonderful play, The Visitor, a piece I have now seen seven times, and whose luminous text shines even brighter with every viewing).
Though only written in 1993, The Visitor has already become part of the Francophone theatrical canon and, if there is any justice in the world, will become similarly feted among English-speaking theatre-goers over the next few years.
In total I took in more than 20 shows in total at this year's Fringe, seen as follows:
August 19 - Art
August 20 - Puppet Up; Spank! (You love it!)
August 21 - True West; Abigail's Party; Wil Anderson
August 22 - The Pearl; Did you used to be RD Laing?; Rich Hall
August 23 - The resistible rise of Arturo Ui; Reginald D. Hunter
August 24 - The Dumb Waiter
August 25 - Monsieur Ibrahim and the flowers of the Qu'ran; Get Carter
August 26 - Raith Rovers vs. Cowdenbeath; Killing Time; Late Night Live
August 27 - Charlotte the Destroyer; The Deluge; Knots
August 28 - Midnight Cowboy; Harry Benson: Fifty years of photojournalism.
Aside from The Visitor, two great pieces of physical theatre - Knots and The Pearl - stood out from the crowd. Making up the numbers: The final scene of True West (where did they find that mother?) and all but the opening of The resistible rise of Arturo Ui.
Comedy highlights were many and various: Puppet Up (adult improv antics from Jim Henson's sons and co.); a short but deliciously sweet guest set from Tim Minchin at Spank!; the tireless and hilarious Wil Anderson; seeing a legless Phil Nichol perform onstage at Late Night Live at the Underbelly just hours after winning the if.commedies award (the new name for the Perrier).
Other highs: The Jazz Bar; Haggis pakoras - and lows: the weather; seeing the hard work and good work of many performers rewarded with mediocre audiences.
Walking to the train station this morning, the flyerers and street performers had melted away, leaving only memories and newspaper cuttings as proof that the whole thing (which, when you are inside the vortex, feels like the only thing) had ever happened.
I was principally there to support Brussels's fledging 121 Theatre (performing the UK premiere [in English] of Eric-Emmanuel Schmitt's wonderful play, The Visitor, a piece I have now seen seven times, and whose luminous text shines even brighter with every viewing).
Though only written in 1993, The Visitor has already become part of the Francophone theatrical canon and, if there is any justice in the world, will become similarly feted among English-speaking theatre-goers over the next few years.
In total I took in more than 20 shows in total at this year's Fringe, seen as follows:
August 19 - Art
August 20 - Puppet Up; Spank! (You love it!)
August 21 - True West; Abigail's Party; Wil Anderson
August 22 - The Pearl; Did you used to be RD Laing?; Rich Hall
August 23 - The resistible rise of Arturo Ui; Reginald D. Hunter
August 24 - The Dumb Waiter
August 25 - Monsieur Ibrahim and the flowers of the Qu'ran; Get Carter
August 26 - Raith Rovers vs. Cowdenbeath; Killing Time; Late Night Live
August 27 - Charlotte the Destroyer; The Deluge; Knots
August 28 - Midnight Cowboy; Harry Benson: Fifty years of photojournalism.
Aside from The Visitor, two great pieces of physical theatre - Knots and The Pearl - stood out from the crowd. Making up the numbers: The final scene of True West (where did they find that mother?) and all but the opening of The resistible rise of Arturo Ui.
Comedy highlights were many and various: Puppet Up (adult improv antics from Jim Henson's sons and co.); a short but deliciously sweet guest set from Tim Minchin at Spank!; the tireless and hilarious Wil Anderson; seeing a legless Phil Nichol perform onstage at Late Night Live at the Underbelly just hours after winning the if.commedies award (the new name for the Perrier).
Other highs: The Jazz Bar; Haggis pakoras - and lows: the weather; seeing the hard work and good work of many performers rewarded with mediocre audiences.
Walking to the train station this morning, the flyerers and street performers had melted away, leaving only memories and newspaper cuttings as proof that the whole thing (which, when you are inside the vortex, feels like the only thing) had ever happened.
posted by Justin Toland at 8:15 pm
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