Poor Susan Calman. Her worst night in Edinburgh seems to have gone on for about a month.
She gave up a lucrative career in corporate law to become a comedian – which has eventually paid off, with regular Radio 4 New Quiz/Unbelievable Truth appearances and her own Radio Scotland chat show Funny Friends, not to mention a new show Constantly Seeking Susan. But the scars from that first Fringe remain.
She gave up a lucrative career in corporate law to become a comedian – which has eventually paid off, with regular Radio 4 New Quiz/Unbelievable Truth appearances and her own Radio Scotland chat show Funny Friends, not to mention a new show Constantly Seeking Susan. But the scars from that first Fringe remain.
My first Edinburgh is also my worst Edinburgh. I know that a lot of
people say that, but in my case it truly was a month of absolute hell.
Part of me is glad I got it out of the way early because I know that
nothing can ever be as bad ever again, but I also know I am scarred for
life.
In 2006, I had been doing open spots for about six months, juggling the excitement of gigging with an office job as a solicitor. Because I was young and foolish I decided, after the very short time, to give up my well-paid, reliable and respectable job to become a stand-up comic. One of the main reasons I made the decision was that a couple of comedian friends had secured a venue at the Edinburgh Festival and asked me to MC a late night comedy show at the Cafe Royal. The festival, a late-night comedy show, what could possibly go wrong I thought?! Answer: everything.
Some of the problems were admittedly my own fault. I had never been to the festival before and had no idea how it worked. My ignorance meant that I didn’t know that late-night comedy was already pretty much covered with Spank, Late and Live, Maxwell's Fullmooners and the Late Show at the Stand to name but a few. Trying to do a new late-night show at the Fringe was like trying to go through the festival without having a drink. Impossible and stupid.
I knew before I started that it was a risk to do the show. It cost me thousands of pounds and some people were sneering about taking on such a foolish endeavour. Fellow lawyers said the venture was bound to fail, and that I would some come crawling back to law, begging for my job back. That kind of talk was like a red rag to a bull and I was determined to prove my doubters wrong. It must be possible to be a success at the festival without an agent, PR or any reputation whatsoever! By the end of August I would be a household name with a sitcom, radio show and film in the works. bad credit loans
I know. I was a fool.
It became apparent early on that the numbers were bad. For bad, read almost non existent. We did one show to a front row of two irish men who spent the hour punching each other in the crotch. That front row was, in truth, the only row. We needed an audience. Desperately.
But how do you get an audience when there are 3 million other shows on? We tried everything that it was possible to do when you have a show with no money, no PR, no famous names and no track record. I blogged, Facebooked and begged journalists to cover us with absolutely no success. In the end it became clear that we would have to do it the old-fashioned way. By flyering. And this is where the festival of 2006, despite how bad it been before, became a living hell.
There is one indisputable fact during the Festival, and that is that the public don’t like people who flyer. And I know why. You try and walk anywhere in Edinburgh during August and a desperate looking person will shove a piece of paper into your face begging you to come and see a play about the life cycle of potatoes. But for most of the shows it is the only way to try and get people in. So I started flyering. And because it was a midnight show, I started at 9pm and carried on until 11.45pm when I would run to the venue.
I stood on the Royal Mile in the rain, hail and freezing cold for 20 nights. I even ended up making my own sandwich board out of a cardboard box I found at the back of a shop, and put all the details of the show on it so I didn’t need to speak to anyone. After a week of being sworn at, ignored and, once, punched by a child, I couldn’t take it any more.
But I had to keep going. And that is the one part of the experience that was positive. After the first week of that first festival I wanted to pack up and go home; call my former colleagues and tell them that they were right, that I was a failure and that I needed my job back. But my stubbornness wouldn’t let them win. So I carried on. I did the shows every night to the few people that did show up. I stood on the Royal Mile every night whilst drunks shouted at me. I accepted the pitying comments from my fellow comics who knew how badly it was going. But I carried on. unsecured loans
The show that year didn’t get any awards, good reviews or plaudits. But I survived. And to be honest that is what the festival is often about. Survival. I know that no festival since or in the future could ever be as bad. And I always take flyers from people on the Royal Mile. And so should you. You might rescue a young comic's dignity.
In 2006, I had been doing open spots for about six months, juggling the excitement of gigging with an office job as a solicitor. Because I was young and foolish I decided, after the very short time, to give up my well-paid, reliable and respectable job to become a stand-up comic. One of the main reasons I made the decision was that a couple of comedian friends had secured a venue at the Edinburgh Festival and asked me to MC a late night comedy show at the Cafe Royal. The festival, a late-night comedy show, what could possibly go wrong I thought?! Answer: everything.
Some of the problems were admittedly my own fault. I had never been to the festival before and had no idea how it worked. My ignorance meant that I didn’t know that late-night comedy was already pretty much covered with Spank, Late and Live, Maxwell's Fullmooners and the Late Show at the Stand to name but a few. Trying to do a new late-night show at the Fringe was like trying to go through the festival without having a drink. Impossible and stupid.
I knew before I started that it was a risk to do the show. It cost me thousands of pounds and some people were sneering about taking on such a foolish endeavour. Fellow lawyers said the venture was bound to fail, and that I would some come crawling back to law, begging for my job back. That kind of talk was like a red rag to a bull and I was determined to prove my doubters wrong. It must be possible to be a success at the festival without an agent, PR or any reputation whatsoever! By the end of August I would be a household name with a sitcom, radio show and film in the works. bad credit loans
I know. I was a fool.
It became apparent early on that the numbers were bad. For bad, read almost non existent. We did one show to a front row of two irish men who spent the hour punching each other in the crotch. That front row was, in truth, the only row. We needed an audience. Desperately.
But how do you get an audience when there are 3 million other shows on? We tried everything that it was possible to do when you have a show with no money, no PR, no famous names and no track record. I blogged, Facebooked and begged journalists to cover us with absolutely no success. In the end it became clear that we would have to do it the old-fashioned way. By flyering. And this is where the festival of 2006, despite how bad it been before, became a living hell.
There is one indisputable fact during the Festival, and that is that the public don’t like people who flyer. And I know why. You try and walk anywhere in Edinburgh during August and a desperate looking person will shove a piece of paper into your face begging you to come and see a play about the life cycle of potatoes. But for most of the shows it is the only way to try and get people in. So I started flyering. And because it was a midnight show, I started at 9pm and carried on until 11.45pm when I would run to the venue.
I stood on the Royal Mile in the rain, hail and freezing cold for 20 nights. I even ended up making my own sandwich board out of a cardboard box I found at the back of a shop, and put all the details of the show on it so I didn’t need to speak to anyone. After a week of being sworn at, ignored and, once, punched by a child, I couldn’t take it any more.
But I had to keep going. And that is the one part of the experience that was positive. After the first week of that first festival I wanted to pack up and go home; call my former colleagues and tell them that they were right, that I was a failure and that I needed my job back. But my stubbornness wouldn’t let them win. So I carried on. I did the shows every night to the few people that did show up. I stood on the Royal Mile every night whilst drunks shouted at me. I accepted the pitying comments from my fellow comics who knew how badly it was going. But I carried on. unsecured loans
The show that year didn’t get any awards, good reviews or plaudits. But I survived. And to be honest that is what the festival is often about. Survival. I know that no festival since or in the future could ever be as bad. And I always take flyers from people on the Royal Mile. And so should you. You might rescue a young comic's dignity.
No comments:
Post a Comment