Barking at the Fringe midway (a diary)

Tuesday:  We said we’d cover every show within the first weekend, so that takes some organizing.  I’m drawing up the Fringe review assignment schedule. 70 shows, 13 reviewers with different schedules, and Excel is my favourite toy today.

I asked the reviewers for their top 10 preferences of shows to review. Many of them just want to take the luck of the draw.  But some of them did send in preferences and there is oddly very little overlap among them. Perceived wisdom about the Fringe is that it attracts a much broader and more varied audience than the regular season of performing arts in the Vancouver. Something for everyone. Maybe it’s true?

 

Wednesday: For some reason I’m feeling crabby and conflicted about attending the Fringe, which I haven't done for years. My free time is so limited. Can I really risk it on an unjuried Festival where I could see three shows and they could all be crap? On the other hand, is it really a Fringe when it seems like every single show comes with a long list of positive reviews from cities around the world? What’s to discover here? Saskatoon saw it first, and Toronto already said it was good. I’m not an explorer in new territory after all. Lots of people have already stomped all over the place and mined for gold.

Then there are all those comedy shows about sex. Do we have nothing else to talk about? I know the Fringe is essentially a popularity contest, but everyone’s working to the lowest common denominator. And hey, the lowest common denominator is 1. Nothing much interesting to say about that.

 

Thursday: I’m getting excited!  Sitting at my control tower looking at the list of review assignments, and the first Plank reviewer will be in the house in two hours! Miranda is off to Yoga Cannibal. Then our pack of baying review dogs will be unleashed in a mad rush.  Ok, maybe we’re more like those small, fluffy lap dogs. Imagine 13 of them, yapping at the gate and we’re just about to open it. Stand back!

 

Friday: My first review and inexplicably I see Lenin onstage.  I resolve to somehow work Lenin into every review I write this weekend.  It’s an inane assignment, but as random as the Fringe can be.

   

Saturday: Two more shows down and I’ve given up on the Lenin thing already. I’m feeling old. Don’t want to talk about my sex life with Daniel Packard (what’s in it for me?) and the guy on stage at Die Roten Punkte points me out to the crowd as he’s leading some fist-pumping rock and roll gestures and says I’m a little behind. It’s true; I can’t quite get it right.  My thumb keeps sticking out when it’s not supposed to. My husband agrees with me when I say I shouldn’t be reviewing Fringe shows. I think he means I’m just not going to be amused by this stuff anyway, so I should spare them my attention. Several hours later I find out what he really meant: I’m interested in writing reviews because I want to use the theatrical work I’ve just seen as a starting point for a conversation about theatre, politics, life-the-universe-and-everything. He thinks some of the shows won’t give me the starting point I want. For the ones that do, I won’t have time to write the kind of reviews I have in mind. But it's all good practice of a kind.

I’m beginning to figure out what this Fringe thing is about, though, and why we’re stuck with everything Toronto and Saskatoon have already seen and judged. The actors keep working the lineups outside the venues, passing over postcards to advertise their show, and promising us sex and laughs.  I suppose it was obvious to everyone but me, but I suddenly realize people make their living doing this, going from city to city all summer, trying to draw in the crowd. It’s actually more like the circus than it is a theatre festival. I wonder if we should have a midway and each show could have their own little stand and amid the noise of games of skill, and the smell of popcorn and cotton candy, they could stand there and shout out alluring descriptions of the shows that will take place in the big tent later.  Aren’t the people who do that called barkers? So the reviewers (see Thursday, above) and the actors have quite a bit in common.

 

Sunday:  It’s only12:30 and I’ve been at the computer for hours.  It’s gorgeous outside. Something is wrong with this picture. 

I’m off to Sputnik today. I have high hopes for Sputnik.  Appropriate, really; so did the Soviets. Maybe I’ll be able to work Lenin into this review after all.