Edinburgh: Week Two
The Edinburgh Fringe continues apace: the pace in question being that of an emphysemic snail. Lots of performers are talking about having 鈥榟it the wall鈥: the combination of fatigue, drink and low-level viral infection have taken their toll. But there鈥檚 nothing to be done other than necking vitamin C, quaffing Lemsip, strapping a costume to your wheezing chest and bloody getting on stage and doing it, darling.
In the middle of the week, I saw two shows within a fourteen-hour period which seemed to encapsulate the polarity of Fringe experience. The first was . Billed as musical theatre, this is a sort of revue show that takes bits of various PSB numbers and sticks them together with the intention of forming dramatic scenes 鈥 closer to Closer Than Ever than, say, Mamma Mia. However, there鈥檚 often little apparent logic to the juxtaposition of material, and the fragmentary approach to the original lyrical structure often robs it of any real meaning: chucking a verse of I Want A Dog into the middle of To Speak Is A Sin adds nothing to either piece. However, the cast stride nobly forward into this void of meaningfulness, imbuing every phrase with great, wet, steaming gobbets of meaning. All of the wit, irony, subtlety and charm of the original songs is bulldozed by the smug, precious, overblown delivery. The are sometimes accused that all their songs sound the same: this show, which commits every vacuous clich茅 of musical theatre, seems intent on proving that myth. I鈥檇 have been more willing to forgive the almost wilful misunderstanding of the band鈥檚 work, had they not had such extensive professional experience, but their impressive CVs and high production values instead led me to ask what the Pet Shop Boys had done to deserve this.
At the other end of the budgetary scale, is a charming, funny discussion of childhood and adulthood being presented as part of Peter Buckley Hill鈥檚 Free Fringe. Tickets are by (emphatically non-compulsory) donation, and the show takes place in the grotty, windowless back room of a pub on the Canongate. Audience participation has never been less threatening, as Tom gets one punter to toast crumpets, and lets another do some painting. To describe the humour as 鈥榞entle鈥 doesn鈥檛 do justice to how funny it is, but this is a genuinely feel-good show with more than enough humanity and wit to make up for the lack of it the previous day.
Comments
I came across your review via the PSB website forum and wanted to respond. I know this is your blog and you're entitled to your opinion. I just think it's a little harsh. I've seen the show myself as well, and I thought it was fantastic. Being in the entertainment industry myself I was personally in awe of the five singers on stage and of their individual performances. Your review seemed to contradict itself regarding their performances? In one line you state 鈥溾he cast stride nobly forward into this void of meaningfulness鈥︹ but then you go on later to say, 鈥溾鈥檇 have been more willing to forgive the almost wilful misunderstanding of the band鈥檚 work, had they not had such extensive professional experience鈥︹ Your review of the actors is very general and quite honestly, very wishy-washy, with no particular critique of one or all performers as such. Which leads me to believe that your gripe with the show seems to be with the content and the arrangements of the material, and therefore I'm wondering whether your critique should be focused at the director(s) and creators of the piece for their apparent "...wilful misunderstanding of the band's work..." rather than the performers. And as for the Pet Shop Boys, I believe they personally endorsed the show last year and attended a performance this week (https://edinburghnews.scotsman.com/edinburgh.cfm?id=1326602007) Reading that article, one must ask oneself, how can you expect to be taken seriously?