The Edmonton festival has announced the suspension of sales of tickets at individual venues.  We feel that this policy will be detrimental to the artists’ interests in several ways:  first, it will limit access to those who pass venues and spontaneously decide that they want to go to a given show.  Second, it will limit access by removing the cash basis of ticket sales.

We also understand that tickets purchased at the so-called “kiosks” will be subject to a surcharge payable to the festival.  This not only increases ticket costs to the audience, thus limiting access again, but also makes mockery of the festival’s stated policy of returning 100% of ticket revenues to the artists.

We understand that Fringe Theatre Adventures in Edmonton is trying to streamline the operation of ticket sales, and we sympathize with the organizational concerns about volunteer shortages; however, it is counter-intuitive to suppose that kiosks where tickets for many shows are available are going to run as efficiently as  booths for individual shows.

Our second concern is with the Vancouver Fringe’s newly-announced Encore Series, which the festival proposes to run within the cadre of the general festival.  Presumably, the Encore Series has a budget for promotion, production, and administration which is not independent of the rest of the festival.  One further assumes that the attention and energy of media sponsors and media representatives will be drawn to the Encore Series, and
it is self-evident that it is intended by the Festival as a kind of representation of elite excellence.

We find all of this not only unfair, arbitrary, and bizarre, but highly offensive.  No one who has extensive experience touring the various Fringes has any objection to the notion of competition; by engaging to produce theatre in this way, we undertake to compete for the approval, the attention and the money of the audience.  Nor do we in any sense deny the right of the Vancouver Festival to produce theatre outside the cadre of the festival.  We
do find it patently absurd and ill-advised for the Festival to produce what amounts to a Festival of chosen, juried work within the supposedly unjuried, unmediated forum celebrated by the mandate of the Canadian Association of Fringe Festivals.

We urgently and earnestly ask that these two policies in particular be reconsidered not only by the individual Fringes concerned, but be debated and –we hope—repudiated by CAFF itself.  Touring the Canadian fringe circuit is a difficult task, undertaken only by highly dedicated, and for the most part, highly skilled and experienced individuals.  Do not make the task any harder than it is.

Sincerely,

THEATrePUBLIC Theatre Society
The RibbitREPublic
Keira McDonald
Rob Gee
Mark Scott (Laugh Inc)
Dave Dawson, Black Sheep Theatre
Patrick Gauthier & Kris Joseph, Gruppo Rubato
Screwed & Clued Theatre Company
Alex Eddington and Alison Williams, Acky-Made Productions

The start of very Fringe is generally met with optimism: a new city, new reviews, new audiences. A chance to correct the (potential) mistakes from the previous city or build on the success of your last stop. The chance that this town might get your play in ways that no other town has, and that those people will flock to your show in large numbers – banging down the door, pushing grandmothers out of the way, selling their first born – to get tickets for the show.

A new fringe. A fresh start. A time for hope.

Not, however, in Saskatoon.

In Saskatoon, New Fringe Optimism is replaced by Saskatoon Pessimism: is anyone going to come to my show, will the technician be a high-school student, will I have a place to live. When the touring shows arrive at the festival in Saskatoon, the chatter is all about surviving. Surviving tech rehearsals in under-equipped and under-staffed venues and surviving much smaller audiences than Winnipeg, and surviving the heavy drinking and socializing that inevitably happen at the Performers-and-Hangers-On-Only Bar (where the beer is cheap, the food decent, and the doors stay open until the last person decides they want to go home).

Saskatoon Pessimism is, of course, quickly followed by Saskatoon Apathy. “It’s Saskatoon,” is the common response of the the defeated Fringe Artist when their technician fails to show up for a performance, or if your billet decides half-way through the festival that they no longer want to house you. “It’s Saskatoon,” you say. And you drink. Even if you don’t (especially if you don’t).

In spite of all this, I have a confession to make: I sort of like the Saskatoon Fringe. Sure, you can’t poster anywhere because the city has draconian bylaws, but the local stores and restaurants are more than willing to put posters in their windows.

Yes, it’s annoying that the beer tent is more geared toward corporate sponsors and street performers than the indoor shows, but the aforementioned performer-only Green Room has cheap beer, free internet, free pool, big TV’s, and it’s open very very late.

Of course it sucks that you’re here for what seems like months and you perform what seems like twice, but I like being high at 2:00 pm four days a week.

Plus, it’s not all Saskatoon’s fault. The festival is in the unenviable position of taking place between Winnipeg and Edmonton. The two biggest festivals on the circuit. It doesn’t matter how good or bad the festival is, anything will seem disappointing after Winnipeg and feel like wasting time before Edmonton.

So this year, I am decidedly PRO Saskatoon Fringe. I am filled with optimism. Our houses will be large, our technicians confident and competent, and our days (and days) off will be productive.

I have been drinking since 2:00 pm. It’s Saskatoon!

For some reason (lack of anything to do for the first few days of the festival since we didn’t open until Saturday night; desire for an excuse to take recreational drugs; maybe it’ll help me meet girls), I entered the 24 Hour Playwriting Contest at this year’s Toronto Fringe.

The premise was simple: at 7:00 pm on July 4th, 60 playwrights were given four “objects” (the term being used loosely, as the objects could be people, places, things – any nouns, really – or bits of dialogue, maybe a metaphysical riddle) that must be incorporated into a script. Twenty-four hours later (7:00 pm on July 5), a hard copy of a play no longer than 45 minutes long must be delivered to the Fringe.

The winner gets $500, plus a staged reading of their play on the closing night of the festival. Second place is $300, and third place – besides having a hairy chest – gets $150.

What I didn’t take into account was that I wouldn’t be able to start until about 10:00 pm (since we had flyering to do for our show, plus dinner to eat, and subways to ride back here). Also, I had completely forgotten that our tech rehearsal was from 2:30-5:30 on the Juky 5, cutting out three more hours from my time. So really it was going to be more like the 18 Hour Playwriting contest. Unless, of course, I decided to take a nap.

So I thought blogging about my progress would be a good way to procrastinate (as well as stay awake). That way, any one that was bored at 3:00 am could see how poorly my play was coming along.

The following takes place between 7:00 pm on July 4, and 7:00 pm on July 5, 2007:

7:01 pm
Just got the 4 items: the discovery of a long-lost relative; Route 66; a reflection (physical or metaphorical); and, “ambitious to the point of delusion.”

9:40 pm
I just got home from flyering, etc., and am about to begin. I doubt I’ll be up all night (we have to tech tomorrow at 2:30. This, I forgot about when I signed up), but likely until 6 or 7 in the morning I’d say. And in order to procrastinate, I will likely be posting updates throughout the night….

10:53 pm
Finished my first page! Granted, it’s mostly scene setting and stage directions, but a page is a page. It’s a psychological hurdle, I guess.

FATHER
It sticks.

MOTHER
What?

FATHER
The front door key. It sticks. The front door key sticks. I have to change the lock.

MOTHER
Right now?

FATHER
Of course.

MOTHER
Right now. You have to change the lock right now. You have to change the lock
right now?

FATHER
If I leave it, it’s only going to get worse. You don’t want someone breaking in here tonight, do you?

This probably means nothing without a) the stage directions; and b) the 4 objects. But, I have to save something for 4:00 am, don’t I?

12:38 am
Just back from a short break which included Kraft Dinner and a trip to the washroom. I have just begun work on page 4.

2:01 am
I just smoked my first joint of the night. Held out pretty long, I think.

2:07 am
I am way too high to be writing right now. Fuck.

4:08 am
I am so tired.

7:41 am
Just woke up from my two-and-a-half-hour “nap.” I want to go back to bed.

On to page 8.

9:24 am
Two scenes done. Three-quarters of the way down page 11. Nine and a half hours to go.

Time for breakfast.

10:54 am
I want to go back to bed.

12:06 pm
Just finished the third of what is looking like a four-scene play. About 1/3 of the way down page 18, which, at this point, likely put the play in the 30 minute range. I’m hoping to hit 25-30 pages, but we’ll see.

If I could, I’d like to get the final scene written before 1:00, so I have time to shower and maybe eat a bit of lunch before our tech (which is at 2:30). Since I lose 3 hours for the rehearsal, plus the transit time, the 24 Hour Playwriting Contest is more like the 19 Hour Playwriting Contest. We’ll be done our rehearsal at 5:30 (it’s not likely we’ll finish any earlier), which gives me just enough time afterwards to make some quick edits and get the thing printed.

12:26 pm
I need a title.

1:22 pm
Just out of the shower. Not quite finished the final scene, but I’m at the bottom of the 22nd page.

A taxi is on its way to bring us and our inordinately heavy set to Tarragon for our 2:30 tech (Kris likes to be there 45 minutes early). Hopefully, I can find a power outlet somewhere in the neighbourhood and finish up before then (my laptop has the World’s Worst Battery).

It’s going to be a race to finish by 7:00…

2:09 pm
I am stealing internet (and writing the play) in front of Tarragon theatre (thank you, Richard Rose, for not encrypting your wireless connection!).

Hopefully my battery lasts long enough to get some work done.

5:39 pm
Just got back to the Tranzac Club from tech. Got through everything (set-up, levels, and a run) in 2.5 hours exactly.

Now, I have an hour and twenty minutes to finish the play, proof read it, print it, and hand it in at the Advance Box Office.

Why the fuck am I blogging?

6:55 pm
Done.

Written, proof-read, printed (although that was more difficult than expected), and submitted. With 5 minutes to spare, even.

Now, since I haven’t eaten since somewhere in the neighbourhood of 9:30 this morning, it is time for dinner. And a beer.

Our director had asked us to be off-book for today’s Churchill Protocol rehearsal. At the time, it didn’t seem like a big deal. We’d have the a three-day weekend to work our texts, and we didn’t rehearse until Monday afternoon. No problem.

But: Kris had to work Friday, Saturday, and Sunday, as well as work some editing for the show’s video prologue.

And: I had some rewrites for the Rideau Project that were due Monday (ie. today) as rehearsals start Thursday.

This was going to present a problem. As such, Kris and I made a deal. Neither of us would be off-book for the rehearsal. We’d try to learn some lines, but we wouldn’t stress out too much about it (we even “not off-book” fived on it), as Nat couldn’t yell at both of us, could she?

So what happens? Last night – when I am not learning my lines – I get an email from Kris: “I’m off-book . Nyah.”

Kris: 1
Pat: 0

Well played, Joseph. Well played.

Maybe you remember last year’s photo shoot.

This time, we decided to call ahead.

Needing to start publicity for The Churchill Protocol before the Fringe Tour, Kris and I (along with our photographer, the lovely and talented Jennifer Scrivens) went out to Bearbrook Farm (where they have a petting zoo and an abattoir on the property… creepy) in search of goats.

And man, were there ever goats. Petting Zoo Goats.

As we approached the fence they all trotted over, looking for pellets no doubt. Since we had none, they decided to try and reach the long grass just beyond the fence, while completely ignoring the long grass just inside the fence. There was a decided lack of sympathy on my part as they whined (brayed?) for our help. After trying our hardest to ignore the surprisingly cute livestock, we headed into the pen to have the photos taken.

You want to know the dark secret of petting zoos? They are covered in shit. Seriously, we could barely take a step without landing in goat poop (don’t tell our costume designer). It is everywhere. Boots definitely rode home in the trunk.

No sooner had we made our way through the gate than the whole herd (gaggle?) of goats made their way over to us. “This time,” their goat-brains thought, “they’ll have pellets for sure!” Unfortunately for them, we did not. But, as we looked for the best spot to take the pictures, the goats followed us around anyway. Eventually, some of them got bored and started grazing in another direction, but for the majority of the goats – goats that are exposed to people all the time – we were fascinating.

You know how they say “goats will eat anything”? This is ABSOLUTELY TRUE. We couldn’t put anything on the ground, because a) it was instantly covered in shit; and b) as soon as something that wasn’t goat shit touched the grass, all the goats would make their way over and gum it for five to fifteen minutes (unless we got it away from them sooner, which we always did).

Then, and I can’t remember how or when it happened, but suddenly, the goats turned on us. No more photos and no more cooperating. Now, I don’t know of “herding goats” is an expression – as in, “trying to do something very difficult and frustrating is like herding goats” – but it should be. Because man, trying to herd those goats was like herding goats. We chased them around and around the pen, and whenever we had one cornered, he somehow managed to escape (no, we weren’t outwitted by them. Goats are much stealthier than their cloven hooves let on).

Eventually, we caught one, and one of his kids followed, enthusiastically following his dad. Well, probably not his dad, since every eight seconds or so, Little Goat would try and mount Big Goat. Little Goat would mount, and Big Goat would buck. And no matter where we moved or how many times Little Goat was shooed away, there he’d be again, on his hind legs behind Big Goat.

Eventually, we got rid of Little Goat, and wrapped the photo shoot up shortly thereafter, as Big Goat (aka Marcel) was very cooperative from that point onward (it’s amazing what getting rid of a tiny goat penis will do for another goat’s morale).

But at the end of the day, after all the goat feces was cleaned from our boots and a weird greasy goat-fur substance was washed from our hands, I think we got our poster shot…

Get your tickets now.
- p