Continuing the mostly chilled weekend vibe, we spent lunchtime in Portobello on the promenade, and a pleasant few hours in a bar with
neice64, before pottering off in search of free amusement. There comes a point, you see, when your credit card spontaneously combusting is a sign you've probably overdone it on the Fringe ticket front, and this is precisely where the Free Fringe comes in. Up and running for a few years now, it does what it says on the tin, providing everything from music through comedy to children's shows and theatre for free (but donations are appreciated). As we found out when we first started this bit of the Fringe, the quality is highly variable; and for the most part, last night's acts at the
Counting House left us pleasantly surprised.
Since it happened to be on when we turned up, we went for
Lewis Schaffer: Free Until Famous. As we came in, a girl was singing a variety of 60's and 70's songs while Lewis stood and greeted his audience individually. Sadly, this was the best part of the show. Billed as a bit controversial, and apparently likened to Woody Allen and Jackie Mason, it could have gone either way. And alas, it went the way of the train wreck, very quickly. Instead of getting his audience on side, he immediately set out to anger and alienate them, calling the Scots 'Scenglish', declaring us all the same anyway, then picking on an Italian guy at the back and a Pakistani boy who 'for the purpose of this show can be black'. You can kind of get the vibe of this show already, I feel. His heavy-handed attempts to shock reflected, by his own admission, the single one star review where he's described as 'mildly racist'. Maybe it's just me, but describing black men as violent with big cocks, or saying racism isn't a problem because Oprah Winfrey is 'rich', then rambling about OJ Simpson, and when the audience went cold, lecturing us on racism, was not comedy, it was deranged Daily Mail-ism. I mean, obviously, the 'red Indians were racist, settling in the USA taking our jobs' (he incidentally keeps referring to the US as the best country in the world. Well, not if it includes him frankly), and why not throw in something about the Gaza strip, then for a refreshing change of tack, do some necrophilia jokes?
In fact, the best jokes in this show were from the audience members. He picked on Denise and me, and failed to realise we give as good as we get. Subsequently then, I was labelled as 'Angry Lady', and he attempted to make some crappy quips about Pete being English and how it was like Bannockburn in bed every night. Then he did another of his 'trademarks'- he invaded personal space. I don't like this from Average Joe in the street, let alone an unfunny schmuck on stage. When he talked about how we needed to cultivate a 'love affair'- after fondling and kissing a poor bald guy in the front row- I replied 'The love affair is cooling', and he backed off, declaring Pete to be 'dangerous'. But, my, was this man's meltdown a fascinating piece of psychological observation. Asking the back row if they were enjoying him, one man said 'No. But I'm enjoying watching this unravelling.' Similarly, a girl texting on her phone was got on side by him shouting 'She must be checking her STD test results'. More stony silence. Finally, one woman walked.
Now, usually, comedians deal with walkers either by simply carrying on, or possibly with a wry remark. Lewis, however, decided to storm off stage, open the door and hurl abuse at her, claiming she 'ruined the show for everyone', quite missing the point that it was when he opened his mouth. Even the single hysterically bawling man at the front- who frankly looked off his face on some substance or other- cooled when Lewis managed to spill his pint in the middle of a pitiful rant about his divorce and how he has two kids to look after. Oh yes, and he then pissed off a young kid at the front by prying about his parents' divorce- and getting it wrong by assuming the mother left. More awkward silence.
Apparently, he has a cult following. I can only assume that the writers of
these reviews were double-lobotomised, drooling Londonites who would guffaw at a crippled man trying to dance if punched in the face enough. And that, ladies and gents, is why I throw a cellar of salt in the direction of enthusiastic London luvvie reviews of truthfully shite acts.
Lastly, to give a measure of the giant-like intellect of Lewis, he's been in the Fringe
weeklies for mistakenly booking his room for 17:30, thinking it was 7:30pm, resulting in a bunch of people turning up to an empty room every day. When that room understandably was snapped up by another act, he threatened to perform his show on the street if no other room was free. Pity he didn't, really; I'd like to see the locals react to the Scots and English being called 'thick'. Thick, Lewis, was perhaps being served with a lawsuit a few years back for shelling out £99 in a publicity
stunt to claim the Perrier Awards were being renamed the 'Lewies', but still doing a free show in a pub backroom. What's up with that, then Lewie?
Mercifully, the next standup was rather good.
You've Been Stooched and Dunn was a pair of refreshingly unpretentious, banter-filled guys who passed a pleasant hour in the Ballroom with some solid laughs. The first chap, working by day in the Fudge Kitchen, got us on side at once by passing round a tray of free samples (YOU SEE LEWIS THIS IS HOW YOU DO IT), then followed this with a few amusing anecdotes, but mostly some great audience interaction, dealing masterfully with the drunk students in the front row and the It girl in front of us. The second chap was definitely closer to the 'straight' comedy style; dry delivery, slightly edgy but funny material, and a delivery that's been (rightly) likened to Frankie Boyle. I think this pair will go far in the future, so keep an eye on them.
Finally, we got flyered by the star of
Beacon of Health and Fitness, the amusingly-named
Abigoliah Schamaun, who does standup based around her career as a yoga instructor. As it transpires, she doesn't dwell on the yoga for long, shooting through topics as diverse as her eating disorder, her chaotic sex life, her parents, some more sex, and food and dieting. Amusingly, the night we went the audience was 80% women, and as I silently predicted, they nodded sagely in understanding at dieting tales, and screwed their faces up in disapproval at the rape joke- a joke which, incidentally, I found uproariously funny. In fact, Abigoliah went to some similar line-crossing places as the first terrible act and then some, talking intimately about blowjobs, her crazy Jewish family, body image and race. But she carried it off with that sharp New York Jew attitude, her quirky style reminiscent of Kristen Schaal of Flight of the Conchords fame, only a good deal dirtier. She's got the balls to go places, and I really hope she does. So if you're stuck for late-night amusement, see past the yoga on the flyer and go see Abigoliah.
Fringe Refreshments of the Day- disappointing part-cooked chicken burger amid the
modern art in Portobello, expensive but refreshing beer and mojito at the
Rutland, cheap and very cheerful all you can eat Chinese at
Jimmy Chungs (with chocolate fountain for dessert!), a swift pint at the Counting House.