For the Daughters of Ishtar

Here's a difficult position to defend: the celebration that 'theatre with nudity is exempt from sex license law' is a depressing example of how people within the arts regard themselves as somehow above the law, but also how they flagrantly fail to apply their hope for 'freedom of expression' to anyone outside their sacred circle.

I've been following the 'air weapons and licensing bill' with increasing alarm for the past six months. My main complaint has been that a bill designed to control scrap metal and guns does not do justice to the complexity of licensing issues around 'venues designed for sexual entertainment'. It reads like a tacked-on clause, making this bill a general moral grand-standing rather than a serious attempt to consider the role and consequences of lap-dancing on society. 

This isn't a defence of lap-dancing clubs, nor is it a condemnation of a political body simultaneously expanding its power to define entertainment without taking moral responsibility (I'll get to that elsewhere). 

This is a short expression of irritation at the way that theatre has begged for special exemptions from a law, rather than considering the law's implications.

Jon Morgan, director of the Federation of Scottish Theatre, told the committee last month that this could affect performances at the Edinburgh Festival which contain nudity or explore issues such as pornography.

And The Scotsman's article goes on to describe how Mr Matheson recognised this danger and would include provisions to protect performances.

Interestingly, one of the examples Morgan gave was Sister, a well-received show which, among other issues, attempted to justify sex-work and present sex-workers (including lap-dancers) in a more positive light. It was described as a legitimate work of art (which it is) that might be censored by the legislation. 

However, Morgan's example reveals the problem. During the show, the sisters are naked and perform two lap dances on audience members, presumably of the same sort seen in 'sexual entertainment venues'. The work, which was designed to open up the conversation about how lap-dancers are regarded has become a totem for the defence of 'high-art' and an argument for a division between what happens in the club and the theatre. 

In other words, art that intended to defend lap-dancers has become a weapon to reduce them to a lower level in a moral hierarchy.

Over the past few years, there have been a rash of plays in the Edinburgh Fringe which take lap-dancing as their subject - some have been thoughtful reflections on the industry, others have had a voyeuristic delight in appropriating a community that justifies flashing some tits on stage. These, presumably, will not be bothered by the new bill: their framing as performance presumably gives them credibility and value. Equally, Nic Green's Fatherland, which has her doing a highland strip, will get a pass. 

Well, good for freedom of expression, but if that freedom comes with a price of 'aesthetic or moral value', it isn't freedom. As seems to be the refrain of activists for freedom of speech, it's no good allowing freedom just for things that you like, even though that pretty much seems to be as far as theatre community's pleasure at their exemption reaches. 

No Way To Read The Fringe

I am going to take some time out from the Giants in the Forest and my attempt to put together a Fringe timetable. Instead, I am going to whine about criticism, about the impossible task of putting together any survey of the Fringe that isn't either wilfully obscure (I've been seeking out the Live Art, again, and have a line-up that includes The Wau Wau Sisters starting off naked and then getting dressed)  or just repeats the same golden names that dominate every magazine's coverage (Traverse, Summerhall, the various rising Scottish writers).

This isn't going to be an attack on a perceived establishment of artists - although I do think one exists, and it seems important to avoid simply including them 'to make sure I have covered the basics.' For the record, I think that the names who are turning up in every magazine (Hurley, Bissett, Greig, Harrower) are talented and intriguing - to the extent that, if they do something I don't like, I am willing to wonder why and not storm off in a sulk.

This won't be much use as a guide for the Fringe punter, either. I'll mention stuff, give a few links, but there is more about criticism. File it under self-indulgence or frustrated artist: that gives a flavour of my mood.

The clue is in the title. It's supposed to be the Fringe - the margin, the bit outside, the playful, the adventurous. Having spent too much time reading queer theory lately, I'm worried that the Fringe is another word for Trade Fair or Alternative Establishment. There are a fair number of big names in the programme - the Assembly and Traverse have performers who are the closest thing that theatre gets to celebrities. To be blunt, the Traverse doesn't really run a Fringe season: its August bookings are effectively an undiluted series of the sorts of work the venue runs during the rest of the year.

Knowing that this is the sort of thing that I know can offend people, let me re-iterate: that's okay. The programme is good. There are real highlights in their list - inevitably Ontroerend Goed (Fight Night) and the new Harrower (Ciara) are at the top of my list. Between them, they'll give me rough, tough political debate and sensitive characterisation in a language both recognisable and poetic.

But I am trying to find out where the surprises are going to be. I am excited about Gecko's Missing, but I know that they are good: I saw them do The Overcoat a few years ago, and The Guardian gave them four stars. 

There are smaller venues that I trust. Zoo has always mixed up the idiosyncratic and the confident - a day at Greenside is always a treat. But having done 'venue of the month' for the past five years, I'm reluctant to lend more weight to the curatorial model of festival experience. 

I might go and read Mark Fisher's book for a few clues, but I am worrying about two things. First of all, do the critics create a vision of the Fringe that privileges artists who are either officially emerging (that is, funding bodies are interested in them) or are who already part of an establishment? There's great stuff going on at all levels - Mark Ravenhill is doing a cabaret style show, a bold move for the man who started off as one of those pesky neo-brutalists. But the madcap stuff at the bottom gets eased out.

Then I am concerned that smaller artists are getting lost in the mix. I'll be unpleasant and say that I am not that keen on seeing forty student productions this year. Again, it is not that I don't like them, it just feels as if they belong in another place. I'm pondering (outside of the Fringe) how youth theatre and community theatre can be critiques (and my answers are brilliant, revolutionary). Setting them toe-to-toe with the NTS or Gecko is a bit pointless. 

But there are professional companies who are working on a scale that means it might be difficult to spot them between the University companies - since the youth companies do take risks, there might be a profound difference between the two gender-blind versions of Hamlet. One might be by students, the other by the revolutionary director who is a celebrity in her homeland, but gets no reviews in Edinburgh because no-one knows her name. 

Next Blog: I find a way to blame comedy.

Finale note: all the artists mentioned in this piece are worth the price of admission. There is no suggestion that the Traverse is anything less than a major venue, and that all of their shows are quality. You might not like them, but that's taste...

Subcity on the Fringe, part 1

A brief downtime for the Vile Blog this week - two days of the Fringe, and not a word written. Apart from my role facilitating some coverage for the Skinny, I have been locked up in a studio, at the back of the charming Summerhall venue, making radio. The usual Vile nonsense has been mixed up and made cool by the presence of my co-hosts, Greg and Niall, and we can now reveal the results of our hard work.

Episode one is now rocking the airwaves, with a storming combination of the manic, yet sweet, Bob Slayer. Tune in to hear Bob take the Fringe to task, describe intimate acts that he has performed live on stage, reminisce about his days as a tour manager for the Bloodhound Gang and champion Phil Kay, master of the apparently neurotic comedy assault.

Faced with the challenge of following Bob, we invited the Balkan Elvis and Virginia Gay to perform live. Hear the birth of rock'n'roll filtered through an Eastern European childhood (via Australia), some mild flirting with Ms Gay (who reinvents, live in the studio, Disney kitsch as a call for LBGTQ marriage), and the desperate attempts of Vile to raise a smile.