Meet Chastity Quirke (Leigh Douglas), a God-fearing young Republican, who has used all her guile and skills to manoeuvre her way from humble intern to the coveted role of receptionist at the White House – or, as her good friend president Drumpf likes to refer to her, ROTUS. If you want to meet Drumpf you have to get past Chastity first.
Loyal, determined and always ready to turn a blind eye to the underhand dealings she’s witness to on a daily basis, Chastity finds herself surrounded by ruthless congressmen, who count on her to act as their eyes and ears, ready to tip them off to anything they might use to their advantage. She’s ruthless – and has the requisite skills to make any innocent remark she makes sound like an indecent proposal.
Chastity believes that she has what it takes to stay at the top of her nefarious game. But is she a player? Or is she simply being played?
With the current smouldering powder keg that is US politics, ROTUS couldn’t be any more topical – and Douglas, who also wrote the whip-smart script, is an assured and confident performer. This is as bitingly funny as it is disturbing to witness, as we watch Chastity manipulating her way through the rampant misogyny and deceitfulness of the MAGA patriarchy. Director Fiona Kingwill keeps everything stripped back and allows Douglas to strut her stuff: the result keeps the audience hooked until the final moment. Little wonder the relatively compact Snug is selling out on a daily basis.
Those who fancy a slice of this delicious satire should book tickets at the earliest opportunity. As we take our seats, Storm Floris is raging outside but Douglas cooks up her own perfect storm on the little stage in front of us and we are spellbound. Don’t miss this one, it’s a keeper.
First up, a disclaimer. It’s not Michelle Brasier’s fault, but there’s something wrong with the sound in this room. I don’t know if it’s where we’re positioned – first row, far left, directly in front of a gigantic speaker – but the volume is so amplified that Brasier’s voice is distorted, and I find it hard to follow some of what she says. I leave the show with a headache.
It’s a loud, high-octane production anyway. But, if you can sit further back or in the middle, I’m sure that works in its favour. Aussie comic Brasier zips along at a frenetic pace. I feel breathless just sitting here, as if I’m one of those maximise-your-time people who listen to podcasts on double speed. Her stage persona (and maybe her real-life self, for all I know) is a diva-drama-queen, who warns us from the start that she has ‘main character energy’. This makes for a lively hour – with some deeper themes beneath the fun façade.
The conceit is simple. Visiting her local cinema, Brasier is handed an envelope with her name on it containing $10.50 in coins – but it’s not for her. She embarks on a quest to find this other Michelle Brasier and return the money. At first, I assume this means we’re setting off on a Dave Gorman-esque mission, but no – it’s very much an original tale and actually not really about any other Michelles at all. After all, this Brasier is the hero of her own story. She did tell is us that from the start. Even the most banal occurrences are exciting if they happen to her.
But not everything that happens is banal.
The threat of an early death laps at the edges of this musical comedy show, surfacing in the form of a refrain (“What if I die younger than I should?”), in the cyst she’s just had excised and in a terrifying plane journey. Brasier has a high risk of cancer and doesn’t want children. And so, as the title tells us, she’s concerned about her legacy. How will she be remembered? Will she be remembered at all?
I like her brash, bold approach to her story, and her amusing digressions along the way. She has some insightful things to say about the generational divide and the shock of realising that you’ve aged out of being cool. Her partner, Tim Lancaster, provides an interesting counterpoint, as well as guitar accompaniment and backing vocals. He’s quiet and, in comparison to Brasier, seems to move and speak at a glacial pace. This difference is cleverly mined for all its potential; he’s the perfect foil for her manic style.
This is well-crafted comedy with some catchy songs, and Brasier has the vocal skills to make it soar. Just be careful where you sit – and then prepare to be caught up in her infectious energy.
Síomha (it’s pronounced Shiva) is 35 years old and somehow, against all her expectations, she’s still ‘unexpectedly unfamous.’ She’s bewildered by this and, to be honest, I’m as mystified as she is. From the moment she prowls confidently into the room and launches into her first song, she has the crowd at the Patter Hoose in her tenacious grip. That opening pop song is terrific, wonderfully catchy and with lyrics that make you laugh out loud. It’s an impressive start.
The ensuing patter is just as perfectly crafted: canny observations about growing up in Ireland, her disastrous relationships, the minefield of social media and some outrageously outspoken views about sexuality. A ‘folk’ song from the POV of her contraceptive coil is wonderfully surreal. Presented in the style of Luke Kelly of The Dubliners, it’s an absolute hoot, the premise being that – at 200 euros – the device isn’t earning back its investment.
And then, just when you think you’ve got the measure of Hennessy’s schtick, she delivers a soulful ballad about Instagram, which shows off her soaring vocal range to the full.
The hour positively flies by until a final song – which has the entire room happily singing along with the chorus – brings the show to its conclusion. We missed Hennessy at last year’s Fringe but I’m glad we caught her act this time. She’s definitely one to watch and, on this evidence, she won’t remain ‘unfamous’ for very much longer.
American actor/ musician Joanna Parson relates the story of the years she spent working for “Transcribers’ Express” (not their real name) in New York City, typing up news reports and magazine bulletins previously recorded on tape. It takes a special skill set to do the job effectively but Parson, armed with her ergonomic keyboard, quickly discovers she has a knack for it. At first it’s just a temporary solution, a way of earning easy money in between auditions for shows that never seem to come off. It’s also a way to finance her grocery and bar bills.
But the short term fix soon develops into long years of service, the day job ousting the dream. Parson chronicles the ups and downs of her tenure in a series of short songs, accompanying herself on acoustic guitar. She’s a confident performer with a likeable line of patter and the songs range from an upbeat celebration off the joys of whisky to a plaintive, thoughtful meditation on 9/11. She rounds it all off with a jolly singalong, supplying the lyrics on a back projection, and the crowd happily complies.
This is enjoyable though I’m not always convinced that there’s quite enough material here to justify the length of the set and, in some cases – the 9/11 section in particular – Parson is skating over the surface rather than digging deeper into the material. All freelancers will be familiar with the unpredictability of their work and the need for a back-up plan. The revelation that Parson has now set up her own business offering transcribers a friendlier working environment seems to illustrate the old adage ‘if you can’t beat ’em, join ’em.’ Surprisingly, the idea that AI could soon supersede such operatives isn’t touched on.
Anybody with an hour to spare at lunchtime should make their way to the Patter Hoose. Ergonomic keyboards are optional.
The frenzy of the Fringe is over. It’s been beyond wonderful to see our city so vibrant again, after two quiet years. We’ve seen a startling range of exciting shows, covering many genres. We’re exhausted – but it’s not quite over yet. It’s time to award our virtual bouquets to the best performances we saw. The standard seemed higher than ever this time: has the break given writers and performers more time to sharpen their acts, or were we just lucky with the productions we chose? Either way, there were lots of contenders in each category, but we’ve narrowed them down to our favourite five.
So, without further ado, we present our choice of the best shows we saw at Edfest 2022.
THEATRE
An Audience with Stuart Bagcliffe (ZOO Playground)
An Audience with Stuart Bagcliffe is the sort of play which exemplifies the Fringe at its best. Written by Benny Ainsworth and directed by Sally Paffett (Triptytch Theatre), this ingeniously constructed monologue features Michael Parker as the titular Stuart, delivering Ainsworth’s script with consummate skill.
A Very Old Man With Enormous Wings (Summerhall)
Based on a short story by Gabriel García Márquez and adapted for the stage by Dan Colley, Manus Halligan and Genevieve Hulme Beaman, this is the tale of Elisenda and Palayo, two impoverished people who live in a rickety shack on the edge of a small town. Their tale is related by Elisenda (Karen McCartney) in a deliciously sinister style. She’s aided by Palayo (Manus Halligan), who barely utters a word, but moves humbly around the stage, using a curious mixture of handicrafts and high-tech devices to illustrate the story – a series of simplistic figurines, illuminated by tiny cameras and lights, take us into their miniature world.
Sap (Roundabout @ Summerhall)
Rafaella Marcus has scripted a deliciously labyrinthine tale about sexual identity (specifically bi-invisibility), one that cleverly assimilates a Greek myth into its core. The maze-like structure is beautifully captured by Jessica Clark and Rebecca Banatvala’s hyper-physical performances, directed by Jessica Lazar and Jennifer Fletcher.
Hungry (Roundabout @ Summerhall)
Chris Bush’s sharply written two-hander examines the relationship between Lori (Eleanor Sutton), a chef from a relatively privileged background, and Bex (Melissa Lowe), a waitress from the local estate. Hungry is a class act, so assured that, even amidst the host of treasures on offer at this year’s Roundabout, it dazzles like a precious gem.
The Tragedy of Macbeth (Assembly Roxy)
Let’s face it, we’ve all seen Macbeth in its various shapes and guises – but I think it’s fairly safe to say we’ve never seen it quite like this. Flabbergast Theatre’s eight-strong cast reel around the stage, plastered in mud and raving and flailing around like demented beings. This is a play about the madness brought on by the seductive power of hubris, so it feels entirely appropriate. It explodes, it capers, it struts its fretful stuff upon the stage and signifies plenty…
COMEDY
Feeling Afraid as if Something Terrible is Going to Happen (Roundabout @ Summerhall)
Both Samuel Barnett and Marcelo Dos Santos deserve huge praise for what is undoubtedly one of the best collaborations between writer and performer that I’ve ever witnessed. The narrator is working me like a master magician, mesmerising me, misdirecting me, even scattering a trail of clues which I somehow manage to overlook. The result? When the piece reaches its conclusion, I feel as though I’ve been punched in the solar plexus.
Kylie Brakeman: Linda Hollywood’s Guide to Hollywood (Gilded Balloon Patterhoose)
Making her Edinburgh Fringe debut, Kylie Brakeman delivers her cleverly scripted lines with consummate skill, and the whip-smart, snarky one-liners flow like honey laced with vinegar. It’s more than just a series of laughs. It also nails the cynicism and hypocrisy of the movie industry with deadly precision. I leave convinced that Brakeman (already a major name online, with over sixty million views) is destined to play much bigger venues than this one.
Emily Wilson: Fixed (Pleasance Courtyard)
Emily Wilson’s Fixed is part musical, part stand-up and part catharsis. She appeared on The X Factor USA back in 2011, as one half of the earnestly named duo, Ausem. “Because my best friend’s called Austin, and my name’s Emily, so together we’re Ausem!” She was 15 and thought she was destined to become a star. But then she hit a snag. The judges decided they liked Austin, but not Emily… What emerges is a thoughtful commentary on fame, ambition and exploitation, and it’s riveting.
Christopher Bliss: Captain Wordseye (Pleasance Courtyard)
Christopher Bliss (Rob Carter) is a new name to me and I can only regret that it’s taken me this long to encounter him. He’s that rarest of things, a brilliant character comedian… and a literary genius to boot. I can’t wait for his words of advice on poetry, which I have long considered my Achilles heel…
The Anniversary (Pleasance Dome)
Jim (Daniel Tobias) and Barb (Clare Bartholomew) are eagerly preparing for their 50th wedding anniversary but they’re not always in control of things and some of the items in the finger buffet might better be avoided. This handsomely mounted helping of slapstick from Australian company, Salvador Dinosaur, features no real dialogue, just gibberish and the occasional mention of each other’s names – but the soundtrack is far from silent. It’s essentially a piece about the indignities of ageing, replete with references to forgetfulness, dodgy bowels and the ill-advised over-application of both prescription drugs and prunes. It ought to be tragic but it’s somehow horribly funny.
SPECIAL MENTIONS
Fills Monkey: We Will Drum You (Pleasance Courtyard)
Sebastian Rambaud and Yann Coste are two brilliant percussionists, the kind of people you imagine could go through an entire day without ever breaking beat. They begin with conventional sets of drums, hammering out thrilling polyrhythms as the audience claps along. But they have an air of competitiveness about them and the stakes keep rising. It really helps that the two percussionists are also accomplished clowns. Working under the direction of Daniél Briere, they’ve devised a show that switches back and forth through a whole series of scenarios, never lingering too long in one place to ever feel repetitive.
Manic Street Creature (Roundabout @ Summerhall)
Manic Street Creature, written and performed by Maimuna Memon, is an assured slice of gig theatre that focuses on the subject of mental health from a slightly different perspective – that of the carer. Memon tells the story through a sequence of songs being recorded in a studio session. She’s a confident, assured performer, with a thrilling vocal range, accompanying herself on acoustic and electric guitars, keyboards and shruti box. When everything’s in full flow, the story takes flight and I feel myself propelled along by its urgent, rhythmic pulse.
The Ofsted Massacre (The Space @ Surgeon’s Hall)
Phil Porter’s script feels like it’s been torn from the inside of a stressed-out teacher’s head: a revenge fantasy, born of despair. It’s also a very funny play, drawing on Shakespeare, while lampooning staffroom stereotypes and exposing every cliché. This production, by Kingston Grammar School’s sixth form drama students, is a triumph. The young cast embrace their roles, eliciting gales of laughter from the audience with their well-timed punchlines and impressive slapstick.
Making a Murderer: The Musical (Underbelly Bristo Square)
Like millions of others across the UK, I was transfixed by the Netflix documentary, Making A Murderer – so when I spot a poster on the Royal Mile with the words ‘The Musical‘ tacked onto the end, I’m intrigued – and simultaneously doubtful. Isn’t that going to be… disrespectful? But, in the capable hands of writer Phil Mealey, MAMTM offers a compelling version of the familiar events, a fresh perspective on the story that never feels like a cheap shot. The songs are terrific throughout, ranging from spirited rockers to plaintive ballads. What’s more, the production supports (and is supported by) The Innocence Project.
The Tiger Lillies: One Penny Opera (Underbelly Bristo Square)
Describing an act as ‘unique’ is often considered a cop-out, and yet I can’t think of a more appropriate word to describe The Tiger Lillies, three remarkable musicians currently strutting their inimitable stuff at The Cow Barn on Bristo Square. Originally formed way back in 1989, they’ve been through a number of personnel changes over the years, though the macabre compositions of singer-songwriter Martyn Jacques have remained a constant. They describe themselves as “Brechtian Punk Cabaret”, and who am I to argue with them?
Louisa Fitzhardinge is an engaging performer, her nerdy enthusiasm both infectious and entertaining. This is a show about language and pedantry, and about learning to embrace who you really are. Fitzhardinge opens with some grammar gripes, then sings us her autobiography, explaining how an early love of reading led to a modern languages degree.
I relate to Comma Sutra well. I too completed a BA in German, and – like Fitzhardinge – went on to study Theatre. I’m a stickler for proper punctuation, and a fan of the Oxford comma. Her subject matter appeals to me.
In places, Comma Sutra is very good; there’s a lot of sprightly wordplay, and the final multi-lingual number is particularly impressive. Fitzhardinge has a lovely voice, and the songs are witty and fun. Sometimes it feels a little superficial though, those gags about apostrophes and misplaced commas perhaps too easy and unchallenging. I don’t mind the dad jokes and the terrible puns – but they’re not exactly demanding, and I find this section drags somewhat. I think I’d just like her to dig a bit deeper, to explore less charted territory.
Overall, though, I enjoy myself. It’s a pleasure to spend an hour in the company of this charming pedant, and I leave with a smile on my face as I think about ‘oak croissants’.
Gilded Balloon Patter House (Doonstairs), Edinburgh
We last encountered Rebecca Perry back in 2015, when we saw her Confessions of a Redheaded Coffeeshop Girl. We enjoyed that show, but this latest offering – a celebration of four Old Hollywood greats – is an altogether grander and more ambitious affair.
The greats in question are Bette Davies, Judy Garland, Betty Hutton and Lucille Ball. Perry clearly idolises her chosen subjects and, through anecdote and song, reminds us why they still matter. It’s a compelling performance: her voice is powerful and her depictions engaging. She doesn’t exactly give us impersonations; instead, we get a flavour of each character, with a dash of old-style glamour thrown in. Perry’s admiration for the women shines through each and every song.
The venue is ideally suited to the piece, the architecture and décor both evoking the feel of an old cinema. The acoustics are good too, which matters a lot in a piece like this, where one showstopper after another is belted out across the auditorium.
If I have a criticism, it’s a very minor one. Because Perry introduces the women chronologically, the climactic emotional moment (her stunning rendition of Over the Rainbow) occurs somewhere around the mid-point of the show. I understand why she’s chosen to present the stories this way, but it does seem a shame not to end on that poignant note.
No matter, From Judy to Bette is a mighty fine show, and well worth going to see.
Bouquets & Brickbats 