It is the time of year, when people suddenly remember what a wonderful person I am.

Not all people, obviously. Just comics, promoters, and PR companies heading to the Edinburgh Fringe.

Sadly, the erstwhile enchanting Brigadoon of the Arts turned industry meatmarket is all but unrecogniseable to any of us who have spent more than half a dozen years here.

The Edinburgh Festival Fringe 2023 programme has been launched - but the arts event is now more akin to an enchanting Brigadoon of the Arts, turned industry meatmarket, writes Kate Copstick. PIC: Jane Barlow/PA Wire

It is no more Fringe than I am a fresh-faced, young innocent.

At least our Director had the decency to accept, in her speech at the recent 2023 brochure launch, that the Fringe has become a “renowned brand”. She seemed more than happy with that.

So I shall refer to it as The RB.

This year we have the Fringe's new supersized HQ, its cruise ship ($490 a day for BnB with some RB shows) docked in Leith and we no longer get to balk at paying upwards of 25 quid for tickets. Were it not for the tax breaks associated with being a charity, I have every confidence that we would be fully, openly corporate by now.

But that, albeit enraging, is not important right now.

As I look through the above mentioned brochure, I am struck, more than ever before, by a predominant self-obsession in the comedy section. And not in the egotistical way for which comics have something of a reputation. We know that much comedy comes from what you know, but it has always been more than that.

The comedy section of the brochure is by far the biggest, year on year. The comedy industry is huge, comedy stars rise meteorically, comedy audiences fill vast arenas, comedy and comics are always in big demand to shore up up any and every new but shaky TV format that hits the

schedules. Social media gives everyone’s 50 minutes of fame a global reach and the comics are bigger than ever. But, to paraphrase Gloria Swanson, it is the comedy that has got small.

Once upon a time the Edinburgh Fringe offered up searingly brilliant political satire and sketch, observations that were fresh and changed the way we looked at things, opened up brave new comedy frontiers, broke down taboos and establishment doors.

There was creativity and risk taking and craziness. Because it was The Fringe.

Laughter was an entity in and of itself and, as a comedian, your task was to generate it and do exciting things with the sparks.

The number of comics selling their souls to take their shows to people, half of whom only came in to the venue to get out the cold were fewer, the audiences were smaller, and the media coverage considerably less, but the ideas were big. Huge, exciting, ‘out there' Fringe.

This year, a cursory glance through the all important collections of carefully, painstakingly put together 40 words that £393 (including VAT, for a full run) buys you in the official listings had me checking that I had actually been turning pages and not just reading the same one over and over again.

Comedy always has trends and styles, some longer lived than others. This year's go to themes seems to be a) always feeling you didn't fit in / just weren't like everyone else plus b) suffering but trying (with examples) plus c) finally getting a diagnosis of (fill in popular acronymic version of neurological diversity) / coming to terms with your realised (add sexual orientation and/or gender self- identification), followed by a warm, affirming but (optional) lip-trembly embrace of how life changing it has been.

Now you are proud of who you are/ have a Ritalin prescription, which is wonderful. Genuinely. I am happy for you. However, doing fifty minutes in Edinburgh about it, pressing us to come along and pay to sit in the dark to hear you talk about your 'journey' does not sound like the anything the Perrier popped its cork for. Unless you are a truly terrific comic and can make it very, very funny.

Perhaps that is the thing. That too many comics are taking an hour to Edinburgh when they do not have an hour of solid funny. And the current go-to bubble wrap for their material is a fashionable struggle with a happy ending. I'd rather have that good old-fashioned Dead Dad Show that used to be so

popular.

One of the Fringe's most experienced and successful PR agents says she gets the feeling that UK comics genuinely fear the professional repercussions of doing a more 'opinionated' show. A more political show.

All of her 'dangerous' laughter comes from outside Britain, she says. She is worried they might be in for a shock.

I confess, I had not considered that. But the comedy climate here – and Edinburgh in August is the ultimate comedy centrifuge – is not at its most open-minded at the moment. The thought police patrol the venues, umbilically linked to social media, lest someone's funny crosses their line. Autobiographical narrative with a good sprinkling of personal sadness and a happy ending might be the only safe thing to talk about for fifty minutes without upsetting the front of house staff. If it is true that comics have become too scared of repercussions to do decent stuff, then I curse all those who do the cancelling.

Kate Copstick is an actress, writer and founder of women's charity Mama Biashara

The Fringe: The new obsession with self-obsession is no ticket for great comedy - Kate Copstick

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