Best of the Edinburgh Blogs - Week Two
Improvising like mad, Christopher Dingli is learning to keep calm and carry on whilst Tom Ross Williams has only narrowly escaped concussion. Perhaps he should take heed of Morgan and West's advice on how to avoid Edinburgh Frinjuries. Elsewhere, Keith Paterson has also developed a malady: particapaphobia, self-diagnosis revealed. Amelia Bird may also unwittingly be ailing. Conceding that critics might be human too, has she lost her senses?
"Yesterday I forgot my lines. I stood there on stage desperately searching for something to say. It happened during a monologue, so there was anyone else on stage to help me. I racked my brains to try and remember a line, any line, from the script. Then suddenly, one popped into my head. It wasn't the correct one, but at that point, it was good enough. It all ended well enough and the audience were none the wiser about my predicament. I ended up saying all the lines in the monologue. Just not in the correct order... All it took was a sudden lack of focus that was triggered by something else. Ironically, that something else in this case was the audience itself. My monologue is actually a telephone conversation. I spend most of it looking out at the audience. It's usually not a problem, but today I noticed something strange. Not a single person in the first few rows (as far as I can see before darkness swallows the rest of the rows) was looking at me. Not one! They were all looking at the music corner where someone sat at a piano, not playing! The sudden "What the...?" thought that jumped into my mind was my downfall."
"Right, do you remember my moaning about the inadequacy of a table to stand in for a yew tree in rehearsal? Well I was right. Tables definitely do not have branches and so I definitely wasn’t able to factor in avoiding them when running at top speed. The result: one massive bump (I’m not even being histrionic, I thought I was going to sprout a horn), a near concussion, and quite a tough-looking bloodied wound above my right eyebrow. Now the cast of Threshold assures me that not only is it in keeping with my character (who thinks he’s a pretty hard but is actually quite a klutz) but it has also endowed me with that sort of Harry Potter quality. I’m not really sure what that means as I’m almost certain I don’t have the ability to apparate nor am I going to find an invisibility cloak any time soon and if you take that away from HP you’re pretty much left with a four-eyed boy with a scar and a bowl haircut."
"We're half way through the Fringe and it's taking it's toll. It's not all laughs and glowing reviews in Edinburgh, successfully promoting a show requires a lot of hard graft, and that has it's cost. So, for those of you just turning up for the second half of the festival, we present a list of Edinburgh afflictions and Frinjuries to look forward to... Remember sleeping? Nope, neither do we. The Edinburgh Fringe is actually a huge psychological experiment to see if thousands of people can survive for a month on 4 hours sleep a night... Remember vegetables? Nope, neither do we. The Edinburgh Fringe is also a huge nutritional experiment to see if thousands of people can survive for a month on nothing but angus burgers and takeaway pizza."
"I am particapaphobic. There I said it. I made that word up though there is probably a real one but I couldn't be bothered googling as sometimes I become googalaphobic too. Definition of particapaphobia? - an intense,and quite rational, dislike of being forced against one's will to take part in a performance, play or spectacle, for which you did not sign up or are being financially renumerated. SOP. Sudden Onset Particapaphobia happens a lot at the Fringe (and beyond)...You'd think I would have learned the lesson by now. Do not sit in the front row, do not make eye contact when performer starts showing signs of inviting audience participation, do not make any sudden movement when the house lights go up."
"Not only do I think that reviewers are humans, I think a lot of them may actually be nice humans. I'm not attempting to make any friends here, in fact I am more likely to lose them amongst my theatre-making brethren. I believe my official, artistic opinion is supposed to be that reviewers are talentless, spiteful vultures who delight in ripping the hearts from creative innocents and devouring them on a tablecloth of newsprint. Sorry critics, but that's the word on the street.I've had the unusual pleasure of meeting quite a few critics this Fringe. I certainly wasn't going out of my way to make this happen, it just sort of did. I have to say that they were all pretty normal, they didn't attempt to drink my blood, or eat my soul, they didn't even poke me with acid-soaked pens. I also had a really interesting conversation with one about the sleep she loses when she has to give a bad review."
- Helena Rampley
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