The last thing I saw at the Edinburgh Festival was an exhibition of Spanish paintings. The highlight was Picasso’s Weeping Woman. This vision of uncontrollable grief is believed to have been painted after he went to see two highly anticipated but ultimately disastrous comedians at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival.

And the runner-up for worst show ever in the category of never getting that hour back is: Janeane Garofolo, ‘kooky’ star of The West Wing, The Larry Sanders Show and 24. She bounded down through the audience from the back of The Gilded Balloon, and then somehow managed to not raise a titter in sixty minutes of excruciating stand-up.
But the winner is: Rhys Darby, better known as Murray from Flight Of The Conchords. His one-man show sold out the massive Udderbelly venue in no time. And the sense of anticipation was palpable. The front rows were lined by fans who gave him ever-decreasing volumes of adoration as he stumbled through a set written on a wet tissue while drunk. This was atrocious stuff. This was someone not just resting on his laurels but parking a caravan, hanging out the washing and fly-tipping piles of shit on them. This was someone reasonably famous – the whole run is sold out for a month – presuming that all they had to do was turn up and hilarity would ensue. It didn’t. We left early in search of jokes.
We found them with Carey Marx. Favourite lines: “I’m not a misogynist, there’s just no word for finding women tedious” and “Elizabeth Fritzl writes a book – it’s a best cellar.” Silly stuff but fun. He also does an extended gag on crucifixion, that’s just bold. Catch him next time he hits Ireland.
Simon Donald was one of the original founders of Viz, the smutty, anarchic and brilliant comic from the 90’s. Donald came to the mike dressed in a high-visibility jacket purporting to survey the audience reaction to questions devised by Newcastle teenagers such as “Your mother is a prossie, would you agree or disagree with the statement on a scale of one to five, with one being – yes she loves it up her and five being, she’ll do anal for Wrigley’s.” The survey got progressively filthier as the laughter got louder and louder. This was the kind of gem you just happen upon in Edinburgh. With 10,000 performers handing out acres of publicity for obscure acts in offbeat locations, it’s occasionally pays to gamble.
Flyering has developed into a fine art. Jarlath Regan, who has sold out 30 nights at the Gilded Balloon, is gifted at it — but he himself says that Tommy Tiernan was the King of Flyers. He was a legend for his ability to charm and cajole legions of people into following him, Pied Piper-like, to his shows. The personal touch goes a long way. At his own show, Jarlath surveyed the audience and 90% of them had met him beforehand. He also stood at the door, vicar-like, at the end, to thank everyone and offer money back to anyone who wasn’t grinning. In four years, he’s never returned a penny.
Money is a huge issue with performers. Only the bigger names will go on record about it. This is down to the overwhelming power of the venues and promoters. Stewart Lee, writer of Jerry Springer: The Opera, says he lost money the first seventeen years he played the festival. He’s in a smaller room now, an established venue called The Stand, and he says they treat him right. “If you make money, they give it to you, if you lose they share the costs.” This is very rare. Some of the marquee names like Jason Byrne make great cash, but the small guys are getting absolutely ridden.
It’s a tough gig, but many Irish acts are thriving. Keith Farnan and Eleanor Tiernan are on the way to becoming festival favourites, but the first years in Edinburgh are a financial drain. Banding together helps. Rising Irish stars Fred Cooke and Neil Hickey have joined Andrew Stanley at his Mish Mash to great acclaim. They also share a flat, which Fred describes as like the inside of the caravan in Father Ted. Cooke, recently seen rearranging cornflakes in a Spar ad, describes the festival as “The Gaeltacht for comedians. We’re all kicked off for a month, but we don’t get sent home for speaking the wrong language.” He says he got the audition for the Spar ad because they reckoned he looks like he’s never done a day’s work in his life. It’s not true. Edinburgh is the toughest job in the world — and only the strong (and often the sober) survive. Fred’s advice for young comics? “Whatever you do, don’t go on the piss for the month. The gigs are often late at night and you’ll suffer. My show isn’t on until 11.30pm so I have to