A City of Sad Clowns

Things have been quiet for me on the festival front the last few days, the day job has been occupying my time, so this was going to be an article about why sometimes I say 'festival' or 'festivals' and sometimes I say 'Fringe'. Those confused by that will have to wait, though, because over those days the news of actor and comedian Robin Williams' suicide came through to us.

The sad clown is a cliché for a reason, comedians are almost all haunted by the black dog as are a great deal of other performers and creative types. I've read articles which, in the case of comedians, puts this down to something which occurs in childhood. Personally I put it down to a flaw in the human brain - that a quick-fire mind has a way of burning to ash on a semi-regular basis.

Whereas my own adventures are mostly in theatre the Fringe's big thing is comedy; stand-up comics of varying levels of fame, ability and sanity are everywhere. To put so many of these bi-polar personalities in one place has a definite effect. Visitors (especially those only visiting for a short time) may only see the vibrancy - the endless things to see and do whatever their tastes, the dozens of places to buy overpriced alcohol until 5am, the costumed characters and local eccentrics enjoying having a larger audience.

As with the sad clown it is a very different story behind the curtain. The Fringe can make or break an individual or a company. Venues can be something other than expected, marketing can fail no matter how good, crucial cast members can fall sick and all this in a city where the population has doubled and chaos reigns supreme. Stress is no stranger even to the successful performers and as the unsuccessful performers begin to haemorrhage money a hungry look comes into their eyes.

The Fringe is your funny, manic friend. Grinning on the outside but look deep into its eyes and you will see roiling emotions and the precipice.