It’s that time of year again, when people from London and the Home Counties head north to the Edinburgh Cringe, to remind themselves how lucky they are that only the best of the performing arts ever make it to where they live. In an artistic equivalent of slumming it, they will experience the untreated sewage of the nation’s theatre, comedy and performance poetry before it’s filtered down to the 1% that’s actually any good.
Highlights of this year's Cringe include:
1) A self-described “anarcho-syndicalist theatrical collective” consisting of students on the drama degree at De Montfort University, formerly Leicester Poly. Their piece is untitled and unconstrained by “traditional oppressive theatrical structures” such as a script or rehearsals, but basically makes the point that Donald Trump is a twat.
2) Edgy comedian Steve Basingstoke brings his unique postmodern, surrealist perspective and satirical eye to current events, concluding that Donald Trump is a twat.
3) Angry lesbian poet Jocasta Clunge recites Flow, her epic poem about how her menstrual blood could wash away the patriarchy. Oh, and Donald Trump is a twat.
These performances will take place in a variety of venues, many of which are used as store cupboards for the rest of the year but now have been given punning names in the hope visitors will confuse them with real venues.
We managed to catch up with Simon and Emilia Lexus at Waverley Station as they headed back to Bath after an exhausting week of trying to see as much as possible.
”You always hope you’re going to see the next Fleabag before it becomes famous, a fact you can then bring up for the rest of your life whenever anyone mentions Fleabag,” said Simon grimly. “But no, just complete shit again.”
image by pixabay
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Families hoping to see Paddington at London’s Savoy Theatre this Christmas are having to pay upwards of one million pounds for a ticket– and that’s for seats with a restricted view.
The best seats in the stalls are priced at £1000 each, while the seats at the front of the Dress Circle are selling for £2.4bn each, leading front-of-house staff to dub it Oligarchs’ Row. The much sort after boxes are priced like small countries. Fifteen trillion pounds gets you an unimpeded view, plus Veuve Clicquot champagne and caviar, or, if you’d rather, a small country such as Paddington’s beloved Peru, gift-wrapped and sent to the Kremlin.
The pricing of West End shows has long been a subject of debate, with many observers saying the rot set in with Cabaret. But that show’s top price tickets of £600 seems insignificant next to Paddington
A spokesman for Chunky Cut Orange Marmalade, Paddington’s producers, said: “We accept that it is a lot of money for families, particularly during a cost-of-living crisis. But what you have to remember is that you are seeing quality theatre delivered by a cast, a whole team comprising musicians and lighting specialists, all working at the top of their game. And don’t forget, our two-legged, sometimes four-legged hero, gets through a lot of marmalade.”
Ah yes, Paddington himself. SPOILER ALERT. Now some people are under the illusion that the bear is a cleverly designed costume-cum-puppet operated by an actor. But this is nonsense! Paddington is a real bear! His finest moment comes after the curtain calls when he climbs to the roof of the theatre to find a handful of avid theatre fans gathered around the air-conditioning vents through which they can just about hear snatches of the songs. Their seats are not restricted view; they are no view at all.
To their disbelief and delight, Paddington introduces himself with his customary politeness and then says: “Here, I saved these for you”, and hands them each a marmalade sandwich. The experience will stay with them their whole lives, while the oligarchs are already invading another country.
Author: Jamie Dodger
Image: aitoff - Pixabay