Goodness, is it really that time already?
It seems like only last week that we stumbled out of trains, vans and buses, blearily hungover/still achingly drunk. And it was only yesterday that we stopped talking (to anyone who would listen) about the wonderful and terrible things we had seen. We’ve only just worked out how to watch television again for god's sake.
It seems like only last week that we stumbled out of trains, vans and buses, blearily hungover/still achingly drunk. And it was only yesterday that we stopped talking (to anyone who would listen) about the wonderful and terrible things we had seen. We’ve only just worked out how to watch television again for god's sake.
And yet here we are again...
The time for London previews, bare-knuckle rehearsal and last-minute callouts (‘DSM needed – must work for free!’). For crowded open mic nights, and for other nights spent sleepless under the shadow of crowd-funding targets. For .jpegs and vector .pdfs, and .pngs and .tiffs and the eye-wateringly extortionate last-minute trains. It is the best of times, it is the worst of times.
The time for London previews, bare-knuckle rehearsal and last-minute callouts (‘DSM needed – must work for free!’). For crowded open mic nights, and for other nights spent sleepless under the shadow of crowd-funding targets. For .jpegs and vector .pdfs, and .pngs and .tiffs and the eye-wateringly extortionate last-minute trains. It is the best of times, it is the worst of times.
Here at Fringebiscuit, we spend most of July looking forwards, imagining the treats that await us in that rainy old city with the winding streets and the big castle and the air that smells like toast. We fidget with excitement at the return of a favourite comic and buzz at the promise of a well-crafted blurb. We also do a lot of hoping.
(And tweeting. Obviously.)
We hope for comedy that pushes boundaries, that provokes thought as well as laughter. We hope for theatre that comes from a different point of view, that challenges assumptions, that treats the audience with respect and care. We hope for some shows to exceed expectation, and others to at least give it a bloody good shot.
But above all (and this really is above all), we hope that everyone coming up this year has pride in their work. It is a blow to the gut when we see glum and sagging figures handing out their flimsy publicity with all the joy and verve of a metronome, and it is a slap in the face when we ask for more information and are answered with: ‘It’s Faustus. From Cambridge.’ We want the details! We want to know why it’s amazing!
The Edinburgh Fringe offers an environment that is, in our experience, totally unique. For three whole weeks, performers, promoters, and audiences live amongst each other, pass each other every day, and have the chance (and the time) to get to know each other. Everybody not already flyering on the Royal Mile is there to be flyered! People travel from miles away just to walk those cobblestones and see or hear something, anything new. It is the Fringe Experience, and we want you to take advantage of it, so get out there and chat your little faces off.
After all, if you don’t believe that your show is utterly brilliant, then why on earth did you bother coming?
