From disappointing theatre to jumpy, scary theatre. Ernest and the Pale Moon is a tale of murder and obsession worthy of the likes of Edgar Allan Poe and Alfred Hitchcock. This horror story is told by just four actors in a stylised way, the likes of which I haven’t seen executed so brilliantly. I’ve seen glints of it in the odd piece but never as smoothly and effortlessly as the company of Les Enfants Terribles and, Pins and Needles. I’ve never jumped so much at a show since The Woman in Black. The design is like nothing I’ve seen on the Fringe but that might be because this company is in its 13th year. Wonderfully gothic storytelling, it was a brilliant high note to finish our theatre leg of the Fringe on.
Finally, it was my turn to recommend a comedian. It was hard to persuade Thom to see him as my selling line was “I saw him at Latitude, he systematically insulted the audience, and it was brilliant.” But time and location were in my favour and I got Thom to see John-Luke Roberts. Note, we’re heading back home tonight on that glorious Mega Bus and there wasn’t an opportunity to change so I’m in a comfortable dress and my wellies as they didn’t fit in my suitcase. Roberts was playing the Voodoo Rooms which turned out to be a very swanky cocktail bar. I felt extremely underdressed. The room Roberts played had black and gold décor, its own bar and a chandelier. Thankfully, the stage was scattered with props and John-Luke Robert immediately brought the tone down.
There were things that man did that no one has ever done, and for good reasons. Many good reasons. For example, he wetted his face, then covered it in flour. He sang songs with tiny dinosaurs. He ate lemons. It was just crazy. You are right to call it ‘absurdist’ Fringe programme. He drew humour from so many different places; he has a tiny board with drawings, he works puns and does sad angry lonely man. Thankfully, Thom really enjoyed it! I managed to redeem myself after all that shit theatre I’d picked.
Our final event was a friend; he formed a comedy trio called Men With Nectar Points. As one of them was a friend, I shan’t talk too critically about him. Not that I have anything bad to say! But he was definitely the best out of the three. Then that was it, time for our last supper and off to the bus station. We dined on the finest Scotland had to offer, doner meat, chips and cheese. Edinburgh, you are fucking generous with your portions. I ate half and I was starving. This time round, we got a double bed type thing in the bus, despite its slight partition; Thom got more than his fair share of the bed. We watched an episode of Orange is the New Black and fell asleep, once again being rocked by our giant mechanical mother. My own bed has never felt so good.