Yes! It's the Fringe!

I am tired already. I am trying to work out my route through the Fringe (that means avoiding The Royal Mile and anything that has the word 'zany' in the press release), and have spent the last two hours cleaning out my inbox. I am hoping that the joylessness of my blog posts will discourage the more timid companies from emailing me, but it is more likely to encourage the hoards of student companies who describe their devised piece about flat-sharing as absurdist.

Of course, the first theme I am going to examine this year is Scottishness. I am delighted to report that there is only one Macbeth in the Fringe brochure this year. Last year, there were about fifteen. I think it was something to do with this being the only example of a play based in Scotland that international companies knew (and by international, I am including the home counties and London). It's worrying that a nation about to have a referendum on independence is best known, theatrically, for the tragedy of a feudal monarch.

The fancy dress nights will be a favourite around the world

There are, however, a few usual suspects. In Your Face Theatre aims to undermine all those stereotypes about Glasgow with a version of The Hard Man performed in a bar. Since this is the true story of Jimmy Boyle, his early criminal career and his dehumanisation in prison, I'm not sure why I'd want to be drinking with the cast as they perform, as the press release promises.

Although I have reservations about the content of The Hard Man - it falls into this odd Glaswegian pride in brutality - it is a gripping tale that has a handy moral: if you think you are a bit tasty with your fists, wait until the state gets hold of you.

Whacking it into a bar is a good idea, theatrically speaking - I reckon it will break down the usual fourth wall around about the second pint. That said, there is a reason why 'Glasgow Themed Bars' don't have the same cachet as Spanish themed tapas restaurants.

Feeling lazy, I'll check out Scottish Opera's offering - if a national company doesn't give me some idea of the national character, I'm stuck. Turns out they are restaging their version of The Seven Deadly Sins. I was hoping they'd have a MacMillan, so I could blather about the Catholic West Coast and the continuity of Caledonia religious feeling...

I'm not sure which critical angle to take. Directed by Kally Lloyd-Jones, who is better known as a choreographer, Weill's opera was actually a "sung ballet" when first produced, and Balanchine was involved. It is pretty standard in its moral compass - the sins are really virtues in disguise, and the heroine does bad when she tries to do good. But does this leave me with a Scotland that is decadent and depraved, or one that is moral and presbyterian?

It could go either way - but here's an early conclusion. If nothing else, Scottish theatre is eclectic: from two shows, I've got immersive, site-responsive, dance theatre, opera, scripted drama and a morality play. That's without thinking too hard.

Going for the burn now, and I am sure I have a press release from Made In Scotland. This is a showcase of Scottish talent, shows already made but worthy of financial support to get a Fringe presence. Luckily, one of my art-crushes is on the list: Robbie Thomson. He's setting up his rave in a cave electricity special, Ecstatic Arc. It's loud, it's eloquent, it stars a massive tesla coil sparking off like an ancient god delivering immutable laws.

Of course, it says nothing about national identity. It isn't even about human identity. If it weren't for Thomson's charming modesty, I'd say it was the theatrical equivalent of good heavy metal: terse, passion and all about the power. There's a reverence for the electrical and the found object in this symphony of shocks without becoming some hymn to the Power Companies. And since the coil has to stay in its cage, there's a slight hint that this could be read as a parable about danger and safety. 

Although I read somewhere that the British Council is full of spies, I thought they might be supporting some Scottish work, too (at this point, the thought of going back to the Fringe programme is giving me a headache). I am really pleased to see that they are supporting Ménage à Trois, which is by Claire Cunningham and Gail Sneddon, and supported by the NTS. If accepting the state's espionage is the cost of seeing this witty, melancholic and sensual dance theatre at the Fringe, I'll pay it. 

Ménage à Trois isn't all that Scottish, I suppose. It is more about the universal problem of finding love, and the specific story of Cunningham's relationship with her crutches. I mean, it's made by Scottish artists, so it's bound to represent something about being Scottish, but I don't think this is helping my quest to understand what it means to live in Glasgow instead of Bristol.

Ah, who am I kidding? I just wanted a vague hook to hang a few thoughts on. I don't even believe in national identity, except as a porous construct determined by politicians to make political points. I think the nation state is a sad reminder of nineteenth century romanticism and the problem isn't national boundaries' precise delineation but the boundaries between genuine human intimacy and understanding.