Meeting the acts vying for 15 minutes of Fringe fame

Published on Sunday 9 August 2009 21:59

THE first time I saw Patrick "Dirty Pat" Bath was on a stage at Bristo Square, putting a sword up his nose. Now here he was in front of me, two days later, pitching his Fringe show The Dark Party to me.

"In order to put a sword up your nose, you use a very fine nasal passage that goes right back over the roof of your mouth, almost to the base of the brain," he explained.

"If I was to go a little too far with that sword, I could lobotomise myself." Right.

Dirty Pat's pitch to me was just part of a day when the Fringe staged its version of a TV talent show this weekend. In the Meet the Media event – the first of its kind – performers and producers from some 500 shows converged on the shiny new media centre at Edinburgh University.

They queued for hours to meet Festival journalists, to say in a few minutes why they deserved reviews and press attention, among some 2,000 shows on the Fringe.

The Scotsman's queue was the busiest of the lot, particularly for people anxious to secure a Fringe-first entry for a new theatre work.

Roger Cox, our deputy arts editor, saw 44 people in two hours and 15 minutes. I worked rather slower, covering 39 in three hours.

Aside from sword-swallowers, they ranged from a Latina lesbian comic, to a woman staging her life story as the daughter of a Las Vegas gambler. There was another – more grimly – describing a woman's life after menopause, including losing a mother and sister in a year.

I rapidly came to dread the sight of orange clown wigs in the queue – or any other silly costumes, for that matter. But what was striking, even after three gruelling hours, was how rarely the eyes glazed over. They were a remarkable cross-section of individual, highly-personal stories behind many of the shows, and the effort that had gone into getting to Edinburgh.

You either need a gimmick, and a good one, to pitch a Fringe show – "Dirty Pat" had them in spades – or proof that you're to be taken seriously. Talent will out, but it can need a helping hand.

Dave Thomas, a pianist-accordionist, had a good one. He pulled up YouTube on his mobile phone, and said his covers of tunes from the French film Amelie had got ten million hits between them. "It's a bit mad, isn't it?" he asked, looking around the room.

Kristin Fredericksson is in Edinburgh with Everything Must Go, a show she originally conceived with her father, Karl – an athlete and natural performer. He died in June, aged 78, and she brought the life-size, long-haired puppet in a wheelchair in his place, that she will use to tell his story. For a show about death, it looked promising.

Hopes and dreams still centre on the Fringe. Rachel Dawick, who moved from New Zealand to Scotland four years ago, is staging a one-night show at the Acoustic Music Centre in St Brides, with a full band, to launch her album.

"It's one night only. All I can afford, I had to pay for the band and everything," she said. "I've just handed in my notice in my job, so this is the beginning for me of a whole music career."

It's a perennial problem at the Fringe that among the comics or contortionists, it's hard for straight theatre, however good, to get its head above the parapet. The weakness of the Meet the Media event is performers ought to be judged on their shows, not on their personalities.

As time ran out, and interviews grew shorter, people left leaflets – and more. My daughter Eliza – acting as my able assistant – collected a tattoo, stickers, a giant pen, a mouse mat, a calendar, two CDs, a can of Red Bull and another of Diet Coke – but we're not sure from whom.

Of all the shows I saw presented, there was one – rightly or wrongly – that grabbed my attention. Alexandra Varenikova, a translator, and director Svetlana Kurbatova, tentatively came up to our desk. Their show, Inventing the Sky, was by a company operating in St Petersburg for ten years, they explained.

"They are working in a style, they call it a dancing soul," said Varenikova, in a strong Russian accent, clearly a little lost in the melee. "What they feel, they dance. We are the first time here, and we want Edinburgh to like us."

On a laptop, they played seconds of a DVD, of dancers working through frame doorways. It was an instant reminder of the former Aurora Nova venue, now sadly closed, and the Eastern European physical theatre shows it brought to Edinburgh. I'll be heading there tonight.

Another Russian, Igor Outkine, will also go on my list. Accordionist and singer, he memorably played with virtuoso guitarist Antonio Forcione, but appears this year with violinist Sarah Harrison.

"Peter and the Wolf," he said, spelling it out slowly. "Bon-go Club." He burst into song before he could be stopped, and joked: "One minute 35 seconds!" when his time was cut short.

What will all this achieve? The Fringe hosted the event in place of its opening party. "Performers believe face-to-face time with a journalist was a real boost," said a spokesman. Several people waited close to two hours to meet The Scotsman. "There were some delays but everyone got to see somebody," he said.

The 35th interview was Lisa Wells Turner, with her show The Opposite of Waiting, a piece she said mixes classical music, physical theatre, and new writing.

"It's been good. At least you can get in and talk to people. It's really helpful, to come and talk without feeling I'm wasting time."

Last in line was Glenn Barrack, who served 17 years on hunter-killer nuclear subs. He tried out his stand-up show based on his experiences, Eric's Tales of the Sea, and was back, after some good reviews in small publications. He grimly stuck in the queue despite several attempts to shoo him off, and told stories of reuniting with former crew members on the HMS Trafalgar through his act. "I've been waiting two hours for 30 seconds," he said. "I hope it was worth it."