Unhappy Birthday
Any Lame
The Edinburgh Festival Fringe is many things to many
different people. And a lot of people head to Scotland for some, if not all, of
the three weeks in August. Just short of two million at the latest
estimate. That is what I call “a lot”. Is it an enlightened
perspective on the current state of the world of performing and visual
arts? Or is it merely a poncy indulgence for arty-farty types at the
taxpayer’s expense? Whatever.
Since 1947 many an aspiring thespian has set up shop to
showcase their varying degree of talents. High art, low art, mediocre
art. It’s all there. Many will go on to achieve greatness. Others
will pack up at the end of their shift and go back to the day job. Much
like a music festival really.
2012’s Fringe was not a lot different to any other. The
usual glut of students who think they are desperately funny, but who
should really just stick to the swotting. A decent play here, a lively
Beethoven concert there. Much of a muchness really. So there I was, resigned
to heading back down south thinking Ho Hum, Another Fringe. But then, on
my last night there, I happened upon Unhappy
Birthday.
It was The Smiths connection that initially caught my
eye. I was looking forward to a decent soundtrack if nothing else.
The blurb looked interesting. “Amy is having a birthday party.
Morrissey is invited, and so are you.” That kind of thing. Even The
Guardian had been impressed: “popping the bubble of pretentiousness around
performance art.” And they tend to know what they are talking about with
stuff like this! Who was I to question their wisdom? So off I went.
You walk in and immediately you are given a hat and a party
popper. This is, after all, interactive theatre. There’s no point
turning up if you just want to sit quietly at the back. You would only
get picked out if you tried that trick. And I was right about the
soundtrack. It was all Smiths, Smiths, Smiths. Well, nearly
all. There was a smattering of their vocalist’s solo material also thrown
into the pot. You are taken through the story of Amy’s life with these
songs as the backdrop. You play pass the parcel. You
come close to getting a slice of birthday cake, but it’s Amy’s party after all
and she is perfectly entitled to scoff the lot. There is a karaoke
(surprise, surprise it was a Smiths hit – an honourable rendition of Sheila Take A Bow). We finish off
with a community prayer (“A Moz Blessing”) where you make your proclamations
and then sing along to that well known hymn This
Charming Man.
After the show I felt obliged to hang around and tell Amy
that it was the best show I had seen in over a dozen visits to The
Fringe. A genuinely heartwarming show, it is now the yardstick by which
other stuff will be judged. Whenever I go to see a play in the future, I
will somehow want more than just talking heads on a stage. This is a piece
of work that is alive. It is in your face, in the literal sense. I
would like to think it is going on a tour of the provinces. I would not
expect to see it at the Theatre Royal, it just wouldn’t work in such a sizeable
arena. But I could envisage it in the intimacy of the upstairs room at The
Hop, for example. That space is very similar to the one used in Edinburgh .
The best plan is to keep an eye on www.unhappybirthday.net if
your tastebuds are aroused by the music and the medium of live
theatre. And, Amy, if you see this article, please bring the show
to Wakefield
some time. I’ll be there. I have, after all, vowed to “proclaim by
word and example the Good News of Morrissey, despite the shame this might
cause.” That’s what I’m doing right now.
Roger Green
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