Imogen O'Sullivan takes a closer look at the phenomenon that is the Edinburgh Fringe
Three ways to tell you’re at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival. 1 - It’s August. 2 - You’re in Edinburgh. 3 – In the last 24 hours, you’ve been accosted by an ork, watched a balloon puppet-show in an upside-down cow, and heard a giant anus singing in French. In the midst of all this madness, you might be forgiven for wondering: what exactly does the giant anus have to say about anything? Well, as it turns out, it has rather a lot.
in this age of tweeting and blogging, where anyone with a Smartphone can publicly voice their opinion, does the Fringe still have a place as a social and political tool for expression
In my consideration of this question, the giant anus featured in ‘The Seer’ becomes a metaphor for the famously bizarre cultural overdose that is the Fringe Festival. Birthed as a reactionary alternative to the Edinburgh International Festival in 1947, the Fringe has been showcasing the world’s most talented performers ever since, with the lack of a general selection committee offering an unparalleled creative freedom to perform anything and everything you can trick an audience into watching. The Fringe is famed for being a jumping-off point for many notable performers, including the Monty Python squad and Fry and Laurie. It’s also shaped theatrical and comic history, staging premieres of works such as Tom Stoppard’s ‘Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead’ in 1966, and heralding in the now ubiquitous British tradition of political satire. But in this age of tweeting and blogging, where anyone with a Smartphone can publicly voice their opinion, does the Fringe still have a place as a social and political tool for expression? In short: Yes.
I saw upwards of 60 shows over the course of the festival and was taken aback by the disproportionate number of these that dealt with the social debates surrounding pornography
Not just an international meeting place to tweet about coffee and swap notes on postmodernism, the Fringe is a forum like no other for publicly exploring relevant social and cultural issues. Public preoccupations are pointed to and discussed in a variety of different formats, which manage to highlight different sides to contentious issues whilst provoking debate and encouraging compromise. I saw upwards of 60 shows over the course of the festival and was taken aback by the disproportionate number of these that dealt with the social debates surrounding pornography. Even if it just inspired a cursory mention, the topic of porn could be spotted in shows ranging from Liam Williams’ stand-up, to the Royal Court writer Keely Winstone’s ‘Sex Lives of Others’, to Phoebe Waller-Bridge’s outstanding ‘Fleabag’, and even a Free Fringe show above a pub that hinged on the recurring punchline: “Well, that wouldn’t fit on the side of a teacup”. Whilst, chronologically, the prevalence of this subject matter cannot be entirely linked to Cameron’s suggested pornography legislation, or the campaign against Page 3, it seems clear that these issues currently occupy a crucial place in the nation’s shared consciousness. People want to talk about them, and argue about them, and the Edinburgh Fringe offers a unique platform upon which views can be aired and discussed. There’s something wonderful about the idea that the closest the government may get to a public referendum on social policies lies alongside a giant anus singing in French.
Closely aligned, but not indistinguishable, from the topic of porn at the Fringe, is the topic of feminism. There’s always a lot written about female performers at the Fringe, especially if, *shock horror*, they manage to win something. Unfortunately, just because a couple of women out of the millions of us were deservedly awarded for their brilliance, does not herald the ultimate feminist Fringe. Alongside pieces of shocking emotional intensity, such as Gemma Whelan’s disturbing portrayal of sexual abuse in Phillip Ridley’s ‘Dark Vanilla Jungle’ (a performance so powerful I hid behind a car crying for 45 minutes afterwards), and the real life testimonies of violence against women that made up ‘Nirbhaya’, jokes about rape and domestic violence in a number of mainstream sketch shows still seemed permissible, and even popular. One example of many is the sketch duo ‘Guilt and Shame’, who I thought performed some genuinely ground-breaking material on homosexuality, but elsewhere resorted to a graphic and uncomfortable simulated rape of a swan, exhibiting all the feminine clichés in the book, including asking her rapist to stay for breakfast.
Closely aligned, but not indistinguishable, from the topic of porn at the Fringe, is the topic of feminism. There’s always a lot written about female performers at the Fringe, especially if, *shock horror*, they manage to win something. Unfortunately, just because a couple of women out of the millions of us were deservedly awarded for their brilliance, does not herald the ultimate feminist Fringe. Alongside pieces of shocking emotional intensity, such as Gemma Whelan’s disturbing portrayal of sexual abuse in Phillip Ridley’s ‘Dark Vanilla Jungle’ (a performance so powerful I hid behind a car crying for 45 minutes afterwards), and the real life testimonies of violence against women that made up ‘Nirbhaya’, jokes about rape and domestic violence in a number of mainstream sketch shows still seemed permissible, and even popular. One example of many is the sketch duo ‘Guilt and Shame’, who I thought performed some genuinely ground-breaking material on homosexuality, but elsewhere resorted to a graphic and uncomfortable simulated rape of a swan, exhibiting all the feminine clichés in the book, including asking her rapist to stay for breakfast.
There is definitely a sense of the tide turning against anti-female comedy
There is an interesting comparison to be made between jokes about violence against women, and the topic of race in comedy. Once the common domain of shock tactic comedy, many people would now feel uncomfortable publicly laughing at race-based jokes and few comedians deem it acceptable, whilst jokes directed against women seem to have filled this gap of consciously controversial but still permissible. Thankfully, there is definitely a sense of the tide turning against anti-female comedy, and the success of a number of outwardly feminist shows at the Fringe supports the idea that people are becoming less accepting about women being reduced to the butts of jokes (see: the Twitter furore over Colin Murray’s Jessica Ennis jibe). Whilst ‘Women’s Issues’ sounds like an excuse to get out of swimming, the prevalence of topics concerning women across all genres at the Fringe indicates that these ‘issues’ are not restricted to women, they are controversial contemporary debates that it is right for society, and for theatre, to be discussing.
As well as offering its audiences an exploration of current hot topics, the Fringe also serves as a crucial marker of performance trends. Over the last few years, spoken work poetry has been undergoing a noticeable revival in popularity, entering into the mainstream via festivals like Latitude. Formally the stomping ground of stoned Beatniks, Ginsburg has been replaced by the Guardian, and berets by Barber, and spoken word is being embraced by young and old alike, evidenced by the packed house that welcomed Kate Tempest onto the stage for her final performance of the astounding ‘Brand New Ancients’. The Edinburgh Fringe Festival began as a way of engaging all walks of life with contemporary issues by affording its performers a previously unimaginable creative freedom. It’s still fulfilling that role today, highlighting the genres and forms - as well as the social debates - which are currently capturing the collective imaginations of the country and the world.
As well as offering its audiences an exploration of current hot topics, the Fringe also serves as a crucial marker of performance trends. Over the last few years, spoken work poetry has been undergoing a noticeable revival in popularity, entering into the mainstream via festivals like Latitude. Formally the stomping ground of stoned Beatniks, Ginsburg has been replaced by the Guardian, and berets by Barber, and spoken word is being embraced by young and old alike, evidenced by the packed house that welcomed Kate Tempest onto the stage for her final performance of the astounding ‘Brand New Ancients’. The Edinburgh Fringe Festival began as a way of engaging all walks of life with contemporary issues by affording its performers a previously unimaginable creative freedom. It’s still fulfilling that role today, highlighting the genres and forms - as well as the social debates - which are currently capturing the collective imaginations of the country and the world.