Edinburgh Festival - 26th August 2013

26th August 2013  Pleasance Court Yard 

24th show in the run (last)

Length 55 minutes

Before Gig

Most people’s last show is on Sunday (yesterday). Many others finished on  Saturday (day before). I am going on until the bitter end. 

I cannot quite feel my face tonight. Feeling stops somewhere behind my eyes but it doesn’t quite make it all the way to the surface of my skin. There is a similar effect going on in my hands and feet. I can move my extreminities and feel that I am moving them but I do not quite get the quality feedback from my extremities back to the brain. Nevertheless I feel energetic and enthusiastic and looking forward to the last gig. In previous years I have found it hard to take the last gig seriously but tonight I feel that excitement that only comes from the lifting of pressure. I am probably a physical wreck, I am probably bent double like a geriatric but in my head I am in the first flush of youth. I do not think that I have ever completed the microphone check with such playful enthusiasm. I now realize that what was stressing me before each show wasn’t just the imminent show but all the subsequent shows that were coming down the line. The pressure of one show seems insignificant. 

During Gig

I receive a hesistant but enthusiastic welcome to the stage. Who are these people who come on the last day of the festival? The opening of the show is received well, it is a strong but not dazzling reception. I am slightly looser in the sets ups that usual. I am relaxed enough to talk out the sets ups rather than stick to a tightly scripted formula. But I am aware that the nuance may be going out of my performance and the energy may be flagging. It does feel like there is a percentage loss on each routine that a fresher Stephen Carlin, earlier in the festival, may have made slightly more of the material and squeezed more performance from the audience. At around “Mirapex” I feel I am losing ground to the audience due to depleted energy levels. I consciously pick up the energy and the audience response immediately lifts. 

There is one man in the middle of the front row. He has a beard. He has a scowl. He is not laughing. He is not smiling but he is concentrating hard. He appears to weigh each piece of material carefully before deciding that it isn’t satisfactory. His arms are folded. Sometimes he weighs a piece of material carefully and decides to unfold his arms. He seems to disapprove of this piece of material slightly less than the other bits. Maybe he will start enjoying it in a minute? Maybe he will start to smile? No he doesn’t. He goes back to folding his arms. He is off putting. Every time a piece of material receives a laugh I come back to his face and his solemnity undermines everything. He is sitting directly in front of the microphone. I could move but I don’t. I could reposition the microphone but I don’t. I haven’t come all this way through the Edinburgh Fringe, 24 shows, just to lose in a staring down competition with a member of the audience. This is my room, this is my stage and I am going no where and even though no one else can see him, I can see him. 

He appears to give every new bit of material a fighting chance in his head before deciding to be unimpressed by it. He never gives up on me, he gives every impression of remaining open minded to my abilities. There are people to either side of him and behind him who are visibly enjoying it but I don’t want them to enjoy it, I want him to enjoy it. I feel tonight I should put him out of his misery. Maybe he wants to leave? Maybe I should give him the opportunity to leave? What if he turns down the offer to leave? Won’t that be awkward? I am not sure if I should invite him to leave, I should play it by ear. But I do feel that I may have already taken that decision in some place in my mind. This guy may already be out of here. He still appears to be mulling over everything that I say. Eventually I get to “Dentist” and he smiles. A genuine warm smile and I think “now I got him” but I haven’t got him. He will not smile again. He will never laugh. Still his smile is enough. I dont think about asking him to leave again. 

I always ask my audience if they know of anyone who has been killed in a petrol station fire or explosion. This leads into the “Petrol Station” material. In every show so far in the run no one has responded in the affirmative. This is of course the point. No on ever does. But tonight the man with the beard says yes he does. He is clearly doing this to scupper me and all his contemplation has been directed towards finding an opportunity to throw a spanner in the works. 

Me: Who do you know who blew himself up in a petrol station?

Him: My friend blew himself up at a barbecue (He has an american accent) 

Me:  A barbecue? Its hardly a petrol station is it? You know what I mean by petrol station? A gas station. 

Him: It was butane wasn’t it?

Me: Blew himself up?

Him:  Burnt himself a bit.

Me:  Burnt himself a bit at a barbecue that is hardly blowing himself up in a petrol station.

Him: I was trying to help.

You know what? I think he is trying to help. There is a solemn earnestness about him that says he trying his best. But there is also an obtuseness about him that finally indicates exactly what I am working with here. He is on a completely different wavelength. God alone knows what he thinks has been happening for the last 50 minutes? I do admire his patience in trying to help 50 minutes into a show he patently doesn’t get. I do not dwell on this too much. I don’t think he deserves to be ridiculed and I think it could derail the end of the show. I move onto “Nate Silver”. British audiences have rarely heard of Nate Silver but American audience members always have. If I have identified an American in the audience I usually make a feature of how they will know who Nate Silver is. Tonight the bearded guy doesn’t know who Nate Silver is despite the fact that he is American. His obtuseness transcends national boundaries. 

After Show

The end. I don’t think too much about the show afterwards. I go off to have a curry.