Rob Gilroy: Do You Like My Fringe?

Like that deep fried macaroni cheese we knew would repeat on us, or the inevitability of another Spider-Man reboot, the month of August returns bringing with it the world’s biggest arts festival-cum-meat raffle.

I’m not going up to Edinburgh this year, not in protest against Scottish Independence – if they want to go their own way then I’m fine with that – it worked for Blazin’ Squad, it can work for the Scots, so long as they don’t increase the duty on Tunnock’s Teacakes, I won’t kick off.

I’m not going up to Edinburgh for one reason – I don’t want to.

I have a funny sort of relationship with Edinburgh. In many ways it’s the ultimate love/hate relationship – well, maybe not the ultimate one; that place is saved for Tony Blair/Gordon Brown, or Sonny/Cher. The truth is; I can’t quite place how I feel about the Fringe, sometimes.

It’s not an easy thing to escape from. Having performed there before, I’m still inundated with countless emails offering to print my flyers or promote my show. There is no show, and the only flyers I have are the ones you get in the doorways of service stations that I immediately regret picking up once I’m back in the car, yet won’t throw away just in case I ever need to know the best day out in Lutterworth. Instead these emails and Tweets are a constantly reminder that I am not at the festival; I’m at home. Happier, but stagnating.

That’s the main reason I love the festival though – it really is an excuse to experiment, to develop your comedic voice, and to desperately convince yourself that you write better when faced with a deadline.

I’ve participated at Edinburgh for three years and in all of those instances I performed shows that hadn’t been written at the time of paying for my place in the programme.

While I realise this is common practice, it’s an incredible gamble. Rather like taking a profile out with eHaromony while on your honeymoon. It’s entering the unknown, or pissing down a rabbit’s warren. You don’t know what the result will be, but you can guarantee someone will be disappointed.

Yet for all that risk, I love it. I love working to a longer time frame; I think it’s why sketch and character comedy appeals so much. As understandable as the circuit’s progression policy is, it can sometimes feel like you don’t quite have the time to do everything you want. At the Fringe you can.

Granted this can lead to questions about quality control, but if you have the right work ethic then the festival is not only a chance to try new stuff, but to hone your skills too.

I love it because Edinburgh is a bubble – a creative vacuum you can thrive in.

If I’m being honest though, I’m in no rush to do it again soon. It’s expensive, it’s a whole month of your life devoted to one thing and it seldom leads anywhere.

Now before you go calling me a Career Whore or a Five Year Plan Ponce, I’m not criticising the lack of opportunities for exposure, I’m criticising the incredibly pressure the festival puts on you to exposure yourself in the first place.

You may go up with the sole intention of doing it for the love of performing, but after a few days of intense flyering, review hunting and word of mouth spreading, you suddenly become aware of how successful your show is – or isn’t, more to the point.

The last time I did Edinburgh I got brilliant audiences – averaging between 20 and 30 people a day which, on the Free Festival, I realise is an incredible number. I’m very happy with that, mainly because I worked damned hard to get those numbers in.

I didn’t have a flyer squad – I had me and my saint-like girlfriend accosting tourists and the customers of Frankie and Benny’s every day for a month.

Yet, as good as the audiences were, there was still a nagging feeling that more should be done – reviewers should be sought out, social media should be trending, rallies should be held. When you’re spending that amount of money – you start to feel like you need bigger results.

I’m not great at self promotion; in fact I generally shy away from it, much to my stupidity and lack of professional gain. But the Fringe forces you to engage with it, and the all crippling doubts and worries that entails.

I hate it because Edinburgh is a bubble, a frustrating vacuum in which you go mad.

I wish the best of luck to everyone up at the Edinburgh Festival, I hope you enjoy it, learn a lot and make the most of everything that comes your way.

Remember: Edinburgh is a bubble. It appears very quickly, but leaves just as fast.