Comedian calls for Fringe to go back to its roots

But I truly believe the Fringe used to be like a playground. I remember sitting in a circle listening to Bob Slayer, owner of Heroes of the Fringe and the Blunda Bus, regale such allegories to me and fellow wide-eyed alternative comedians of the future.

We listened to stories of comedians’ mishaps and adventures at the Fringe — tales so wild I can’t share them here, mostly because the attitude wouldn’t print. Just take my word for it: the Fringe used to be more punk rock, more of a playground, more truly fringe. Comedians would sneak into shows, sometimes showing up unannounced to perform in each other’s sets, unbeknownst to the audience. There were tales of comedians running naked across Edinburgh and getting into all sorts of trouble just for the fun of it.

Now, things have changed. I understand when a comedian sinks £8,000 just for the privilege of standing on stage, they need to justify that cost by transmuting it into some 3½-star review from a student reviewer — one hand on some review website, the other unintentionally wrapped around the performer’s mental health for the month.

The Fringe today isn’t just about mucking about with your mates; it’s about awards, recognition, and careful social manoeuvring. People wear masks to fit in, feeling like they’re silently competing, when really we’re all on the same team. The introduction of awards only made it feel more competitive, but I’m not doing any of that. I’ve set things up so I can actually enjoy it.

I’m very lucky to have met someone who can provide me with free accommodation and to be at a point in my career where I get decently paid gigs as a comic. But I’m aware the Fringe should be a place for artists who are super new and taking their first plunge into the industry. It shouldn’t be about pricing them out of the experience — yet too often, that’s exactly what happens.

Last year, all my props got destroyed. I asked the venue if they had a bag for my props, and they gave me a bin bag. I put everything inside and stored it in the container. Unfortunately, others at the venue thought it was a bin and chucked in rubbish — including coconut milk and half-eaten sandwiches — which ruined all my gear. So, I had to improvise a new show, which people really enjoyed, and I sold out my half-run, extending it to the full Fringe due to popular demand.

This year, I’m going with no props, just fun with the audience. It’s just me, the audience, my trusty loop station, and whatever juicy bits I’ve thought about bringing that evening.

I’ve got two shows this Fringe:

• Dru Cripps Juicy Bits, Wee Container, Hoots @ Potterrow, 9 pm, 1st to 25th £8 (or PWYC)
• A&E Comedy at 2:45 pm in Assembly.

As well as these gigs, I’m doing plenty of other spots to keep myself fed with haggis and mosque kitchen curries.

I hope that one day the Fringe can return to that legendary playground it once was — a place where comics can be loose, have fun, and truly play. If the Fringe became more affordable, especially tackling sky-high accommodation costs, maybe performers could feel more relaxed, less caught up in competition, and more able to enjoy the experience. Until then, I’m doing my best to keep that spirit alive, with a few other idiots.