Zoë Coombs Marr on the best and worst of the festival

Australian comic Zoë Coombs Marr is at the Edinburgh Fringe performing her show Every Single Thing in My Whole Entire Life at Monkey Barrel  at 5pm.  Here she shares what she can't get enough of at the festival, her most embarrassing Edinburgh experience and the worst thing about the Fringe. Apart from the cost of accommodation, obviously…

Edinburgh binge

Edinburgh is home to world-class galleries, international arts festivals and, of course, the Fringe, which means, come August, the place is literally overflowing with arts and culture. 

There is nary an art form you won’t find represented here, from sculpture to film to theatre and comedy. But one fine art I simply can’t get enough of is also one that’s often overlooked: the noble art of people falling over on cobblestones. 

On abundant display during Fringe, once you notice it, you can’t look away. On every wonky street corner, half drunk teams of uni students teeter and totter their way from Cowgate to Royal Mile, like herds of newborn calves in stilettos.

Tune your eye in and you will be overcome. For here, in Edinburgh, is the best the world has to offer, from the international glitterati, who flock here to wobble and tumble and somehow still hold on to their drinks, in breathtaking feats of elite stacking it. 

You’ll see high-powered producers take a tumble at Pleasance, agents rolling ankles at Assembly, and if you’re lucky, catch a glimpse of a white whale: someone falling over on stage. I once saw a comedian absolutely kill a set and then turn and, waving at the crowd, step off the side of a thrust stage, disappearing into the darkness. Perfection. Tens across the board. It brought tears to my eyes. Pride truly does come before a fall.

As the month wears on a proliferation of moon boots and crutches begin to spread across the city like trophies. I find myself silently saluting these decorated soldiers, whose crutches and scooters serve as reminders of valiant nights and battles lost with slippery asphalt. 

These battle scars are the true reviews of the month. Sure five stars from Chortle is nice, but take home a fractured tibia, and you’ve really done the Fringe. And sure, we’re all looking at the stars, but some of us are lying in the gutter… having fallen there. Damn cobblestones.

Edinburgh whinge 

On the opposite end of my delight-disgust spectrum are those who are perhaps too upright. You’ve probably seen them, showing off in the meadows, balancing on a slack line or each other’s shoulders, rubbing their defiance of gravity in all our faces like an annoying fringe Elphaba. We get it, you’re strong! You’re fit! Please take it somewhere else. 

Now look, I understand some of you may need to practise your one-man acrobatic magic show with a bit of space or do a group warm up before they let you into your venue, but how warm do you really need to be? 

I once lived in a flat directly below an improv troupe whose loud Space Jumping and ‘zip zap boing-ing’ went for the entire morning. By the time they left, with a final group ‘energy… e-nery-gy! ENERGYYY! WOOO!!!’ they must have been warmed up to the point of overcooked. I would often imagine their audience trying to get a refund: ‘Excuse me waiter, I ordered the fresh zingy improv… this is burnt to a crisp.’

If you simply must bring your ‘practise' into the public, at least have some SHAME about it, please! Don’t kid yourself that you’re giving a non-consenting Meadows audience a free show. No one wants to see it. Everyone’s just trying to soak up some sunshine while warming meat over a too small foil ‘barbecue’ (honestly UK what the hell are those things?) before their next flyering shift. And frankly, we’re all hung over. We don’t need you gleefully capoeira-ing about the place as a reminder that we have lost all joy in performance and feeling in our bodies.

If you’re going to put us all through the pain of watching you stand on each other's shoulders, please, do us a favour and have a little tumble. It’s only fair. 

Edinburgh cringe

I get it. You have to work a full hour a day. The accommodation is expensive. That reviewer doesn’t get you. Your venue is hot. Your publicist has gone quiet, your agent is USELESS, your producer is mad at you and I repeat, you are working a full hour every day. 

But at the end of the (backbreaking, hour-long) day, honestly… who cares?! 

We all love a good bitch and whine, but there is nothing worse than someone who’s taken it to heart and thinks that there is anything actually important about their Fringe show. 

And by someone, I mean me.

 I’ve done shows with record level walk-outs, embarrassed myself in front of celebrities, and excused myself from stage to vomit in the wings. All of these, arguably, very cringey. But the worst of all, the ones I still think about and shudder, were the moments when I’ve forgotten myself, and taken the Fringe… or anything about it, too seriously. 

So, a reminder. To me, and you. Make the gossip good or the bitching funny, otherwise, save it for your therapist. Chill out, take a breath, and go watch some people slip on the wet steps at the Abattoir bar. 

Just, remember to have fun, dorks. Now that kitten heels are back in fashion, I reckon this is going to be a good year. 

Published: 26 Jul 2024