You know when you're traveling with someone, and you've spent so much time together that you get on each others nerves? Imagine it's suppertime and you both want to eat, but maybe communication breaks down, so you end up choosing the Mexican place called Mariachi by the Royal Mile, for no good reason other than one of you wants a Negro Modelo, and the small nachos you order for your dinner, should have been labeled microscopic nachos because there are only five chips and a teaspoon of guacamole, so you glare at your travel companion and blame them for the long walk to the loo that's in the basement even though you're wearing a wedding gown, but you have to trudge down there anyway because you've been flyering on the Royal Mile for a long time, and your bladder might burst if you don't.
Yep. That kind of sucks. It's not Edinburgh's fault, or the Fringe's fault, it's just human nature to sometimes go off on the person you love the most, just because you're pretty sure they'll still be there after you've crabbed at them, for things that might be (probably) out of their control.
It's no surprise that we're halfway through our run, so there's also a panic that sets in, the feeling that there's a bunch of things you're missing forever, because you can't possibly see everything you want to see. The first week, if you missed a performance of a show that you were hoping to catch, it's no big deal. It's early, there'll be another chance. But more and more each day seems spoken for. This workshop, that show, the walk up Arthur's Seat, sticky toffee pudding at the Abbey Pub. It all takes time, and time is finite.
We saw The Bastard Queen in the Grand Theatre at the Space at Surgeon's Hall. It's set in a post apocalyptic world, and there are only a handful of survivors left, who scavenge for canned goods and odds and ends they decorate their makeshift home with. The play was like Lord of the Flies meets A Boy And His Dog. I thought it was interesting that the musical interludes within the play were mostly songs of the 1960s. I guess good music lasts, even through an apocalypse.
Today we saw Buckle Up at the Triplex Big Theatre. There were many inventive elements to the production, but they had arranged the seats in the audience to resemble the aisles of an airplane. The audience were passengers on a Budge It Airline flight. I sat in the front and much of the action took place directly behind me. So, either I turn around to look behind me a lot, or do what some people did and just face straight ahead and listen. I probably should have just listened because I have a stitch in my side and a crick in my neck.
Glenn took a nap,and I followed that show with a (free) class at Fringe Central. It was a Butoh Movement workshop. Butoh is a contemporary dance form from Japan. It was fascinating. There were meditation elements, some very physical strenuous movement and ritual that really connected you to a partner and to the group. Yokko taught the class, and she is also doing a show here which I would like to see, called Butoh Medea. It's at the Paradise at the Vault (venue 29).
Our final show for the night was Dr. Marigold's Perscriptions. It's performed in the same space that Macaroni on a Hotdog uses (The Space at Surgeon's Hall) The story is one that Charles Dicken's wrote for himself, to perform in public, and Ian Pearce has adapted it into a very moving one-man show. If you are fond of Dicken's, you'd enjoy this show. Ian Pearce really holds your attention as he weaves a poignant tale filled with scoundrels and endangered waifs. It was fun to be introduced to some new (to me) Dicken's characters.
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