Honesty when selling a show…

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Cheryl and I have been running around Assembly George Square Gardens at Edinburgh Fringe handing out flyers for Tribute Acts. We have actually reached a breakthrough which is going to be very useful for the rest of our Fringe experience – we like flyering.

Our flyer image is next level (thanks to Christa Holka and Alexander Innes) and we’ve now discovered the perfect hook.

‘We interviewed our dads.’

Everyone raises their eyebrows. ‘Really?’

‘Yeah. We asked them loads of questions and in the show we try and make a tribute out of all the nonsense they came out with.’

‘Ha’

‘Oh and also when we were growing up we thought our dads were Tony Blair so the show parallels the rise and fall of Tony with our Dads.’

The people we talk to have been making great jokes at this point. We target young people. Older people. People who are drinking. Dads. And Lad-gends.

But we don’t tell them everything. We don’t tell them that actually the show deals with the crippling disappointment and heartbreak of being dumped by your dad. The strange weight of rejection when your family breaks apart. When you are no longer the priority. When another woman lurks in the background. And you turn from the light of someone’s life into the shackle around their neck. The feeling that if they can treat your mother in this way then they are condoning every mistreatment from a partner against you in the future.

We met a really wonderful father and daughter queuing up to see a show and we told them our pitch. They had some great jokes about the premise and promised to come and see us.

They did. They came together and they sat in the front row. They both laughed loudly. The father laughed at Cheryl’s dad’s terror of her having a bra. The daughter laughed at my dad’s bizarre blankness when trying to think of a female politician. When the show closed they applauded loudly and left.

We saw them on the street yesterday and they were full of excitement about the show. The daughter said that her parents had divorced when she was younger. Upon leaving the show her dad had turned to her and said you need a hug. That they had gone to a café, cried and talked honestly.

This is so brilliant.  We are so pleased. When we were making this show we wanted to start conversations.

It also made me think, if we were to talk openly about the show when we flyer, would people be willing to take the risk? Tribute Acts is all about disillusionment and hoping for a good time. So I guess it is apt that we are doing the same in our flyering. Perhaps the show actually begins then….

Oh and if we flyer you. The end of the pitch goes like this –

‘It’s also set in space.’