It's that time of year again when I prove that I'm
as hopeless a theatre critic as I am a book reviewer.
Edinburgh transforms itself into an Olympian
multi-ringed artistic circus for August and it would
almost be rude not to turn up..admittedly the
productions can vary greatly in quality, but that's
the whole point of the experience, in my doubtless
addled view. First up this year was an adaptation
of One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, which displayed
much of the power of the book and film. Mackenzie Crook produced a fine bit of gibbering acting, and Christian Slater almost made me forget about Jack Nicholson for ...oooh, minutes. The Guardian loved
Slaves of Starbucks, a series of monolouges by Peter Aterman, full of weltschmertz and rage at the pervasiveness of American McCulture. Some of the sketches were a little too obscure for me, but there were Pythonesque moments as Gustav Husak, former president of Czechoslovakia interviewed a morally bankrupt icedancer on his own US TV show. Then there was a sketch where a Vatican tour guide had to explain to his American group that no, they couldn't visit the Eiffel Tower after lunch, and that "the Italian for pizza is PIZZA". An easy target, perhaps, but well executed.
This reviewer didn't altogether take to Paul Tonkinson's War Stories, but we enjoyed it- accounts of a comic's tour of British bases in Afghanistan and Iraq together with four dancers made for some entertaining reportage. It ain't half hot mum it ain't- Tonkinson was alternately appalled and impressed by, and almost protective of of his audiences, although the best news is that the British Army can't stand Jim Davidson and boo him off the stage.
My second day started with something earnest and worthy in the shape of The
Laramie Project. Produced by Playground Productions (pictured on the right,
the young cast included the improbably named Basher and Rupert Savage), this
is a curious third-hand part-documentary retelling of the murder of Matthew
Shepherd, a gay teenager in Laramie, Wyoming, based on the original interviews
with members of the community of Laramie conducted by the theatre company
which originally devised the play. Did you follow that? I'm not sure that the documentary-as-play genre really works for me, but the performances, even if they occasionally dirifted into mummy-and-daddy-sent-me to-stageschool-and -look -how-good-I-am territory were fine. I'm probably being unkind. I normally am.
After that, I needed a little splenetic comedy. This was amply provided by Julie Burchill is away, a one-woman account of the life of the jounalistic diva herself, set in her living room in Brighton. Julie can''t write her column as the "I" key on her computer has jammed, and she's debating her defection form the Guardian to the Times, after the former offer to buy her a new sofa in lieu of a pay rise. To be honest, I haven't actually read any of La Burchill's invective since a few furtive, guilt-laden peeks in the Mail on Sunday fifteen or so years ago, but I couldn't help having a sneeking admiration for her, and Jackie Clune's portrayal was brilliantly acerbic. There were some great one-liners, and I even laughed at "why should I get married? I 'll just find someone I don't like and buy them a house.". I'm told it's a very old joke, but then I've never married, have I? |
