God, war and fame. The Edinburgh fringe gallops into view like cultural horsemen of the Apocalypse, bearing Big Themes, casting aside the tired chaff of whimsical stand-up comics musing on their girlfriend’s PMT, or scatological plays about hen nights or football hooligans.
We live in an age when news bulletins about body counts or faith-inspired terrorist outrages jostle for air time with countless reality shows featuring Generation Y’s relentless quest for fame, however transitory. That the fringe should reflect this so thoroughly might seem surprising to those who have been unaware that Edinburgh in August has become the fertile crescent of British entertainment, a festival that every year throws up new green shoots of talent.
Skipping past the kitsch and desperate (The Goodies, Bernie Clifton and the Hamiltons appeal for our forgiveness this year), a flick through the programme finds God in the details, as theatre companies and comedians trip through the minefield of contemporary fanaticism and fundamentalism, exploring the intricacies of devout religious belief in ways that should provide plenty of that essential Fringe fuel: controversy.
“We don’t invite it, but by its very nature, the fringe will attract controversial productions,” says the fringe director, Paul Gudgin, the man who might have to field most of the flak should outrage erupt in August. Behind the reticence there is a satisfaction that the themes prove the fringe is confirming its contemporary relevance.
This year almost every page of the programme throws up a Biblical or Koranic reference, from a searing dissection of the Magdalene Laundries in a play called Breaking the Pope, through The Heretic, promising “an evangelical atheist’s takes on God and Mother Teresa”, to Jesus: The Guantanamo Years, in which the Messiah “doesn’t get past US immigration: he’s a bearded, Middle Eastern guy, prepared to die as a religious martyr”.
Edinburgh, once bedevilled by publicity-hungry councillors in league with douce Morningside ladies, is hard to shock these days. Not that the fringe organisers would ever attempt to warn performers off a topic — even religious fundamentalism. “That’s not our job,” insists Gudgin. “We can help them handle situations, but there is no way we would suggest material is unsuitable.”
Famously, the fringe preserves its appealing anarchy by remaining resolutely hands-off. The themes and trends occur organically rather than being imposed by an overseeing cultural authority. Gudgin believes that is the key to continued creative strength.
“The more we would seek to cajole and contain this festival, the more in danger it would be. We get pressurised regularly to make rules that would, for instance, disadvantage the top end of the comedy programme, but we resist them because that would amount to programming through the back door.”
The lack of strictures allows performers to continue to stir up cultural storms. “We don’t want controversy for the sake of it, and I don’t welcome it when flak is focused on the Fringe Society,” Gudgin adds. “But with attention comes opportunity, and that is a vital part of the fringe.”
Ah, opportunity, one of the fringe’s main motors now that artistic indulgence and potent expression have been shown to be unreliable at paying the rent. Current fringe performers are far more fiscally astute than their hippie forebears. A substantial proportion of them regard Edinburgh as a chance to pitch a product as much as express their artistic inclinations.
Performers are increasingly commercially aware,” Gudgin acknowledges, “perhaps because they have to be. There are far fewer companies coming to the fringe for the hell of it. They are looking for recognition and for commissions.”
Or just looking for the fame most young Britons regard as their birthright. Fringe theatre’s worthiness has been discarded because it fails to put bums on seats. There’s a cruel (because it’s accurate) Scenes You Seldom See cartoon in the current Private Eye featuring an excited fringe theatre box- office assistant yelling: “Someone’s booked who isn’t our friend.” The doctrinaire left-leaning theatre workshops are being exchanged for the get-notorious-quick avenue offered by reality television.
“Those kinds of TV programmes have encouraged that attitude,” says Gudgin. “There are far more performers now who want to make that immediate impression. But a more realistic side to it is that people know that Edinburgh can change their careers overnight.”
It’s not unreasonable or cynical to suggest that the fringe’s old ideal of free artistic expression has ceded ground to the new greed for celebrity status, or, as Gudgin puts it more politely, recognition.
Happily the fringe, in its ability to offer all things to all-comers, features an effective aversion therapy for those starry-eyed wannabes. They merely have to visit the Pleasance Grand to catch a play called Marlon Brando’s Corset. A tough black comedy about our infatuation with fame, its most delicious ingredient is its casting, featuring Les Dennis, a man who has turned celebrity pain and humiliation into a belated career choice.
They’ll be screaming for a safely obscure job in data processing before you can say “dahling”.
Ones to watch
Girl Blog from Iraq: Baghdad Burning, Pleasance Courtyard
Brutally intense topicality brings to life a modern Iraqi’s experience in an anarchic war zone
My Brother’s Keeper, C Central
A very Jewish black comedy set in Afghanistan. Gags about menorahs and meshugenehs abound, amid the slightly less rib-tickling antics of those crazy Taliban guys
Allegiance, Assembly @ George Street
Mel Smith plays Winston Churchill cracking open the whisky with Michael Collins, the IRA gunman. Either a satirical vignette about clashing ideologies and chiming machismo, or a wacky between-the-wars reworking of The Odd Couple
Black Watch, University of Edinburgh Drill Hall
The National Theatre of Scotland puts away its saltire and unskirls its pipes for a sobering piece of eye-witness reportage based on interviews with former soldiers who served in Iraq
Chanbara Yamato, Pleasance Courtyard
Japanese drums and swords with a hint of Tarantino flash from the people who provided the blade stunts in Kill Bill. Nervous viewers should avoid the front row
