Banshee Labyrinth Cinema Room
Aug 8-30
(20:55)
There is something remarkably magnificent about Edith Alibec’s debut clown hour. But first things first: what an absolute aesthetic treat is The Void—a cubist phantasy built around a diva, a Star Trek-era alien of sorts, beclad in purple, with long, rippling arms reaching out into the audience. Then, to the lucky ones she ensnares, Edith utters that half-terrifying, half-wonderful word:
“Connected.”
These audience connections soon take on a profound purpose, for Edith wants us to discover what is missing from our lives—the void—and once we find it, she finds just the thing to fill it. This show, then, isn’t simply epic clownerie, but an audit of the mysterious affectations & effects of modern life. It’s a chance to clean out & fill our inner voids, & every time somebody does, Edith flashes those sparkling white teeth, becomes visibly empower’d, & the show just keeps getting better.
The venue is one I always love at the Fringe—the Banshee Labyrinth’s Cinema Room, whose tier’d seats & Art Nouveau drapery are completely conducive to solo shows. And what a show! I’d taken my mate Tam along, an Edinburgh resident, who declar’d at the end:
“It’s exactly what you want to see at the Fringe & I don’t think I’ll see a better show this year.”
As for me, I simply bask’d in the glow of Edith’s illuminative performance – & what a joy! As I’ve already said, the visual artistry of The Void is intoxicating. There’s also some clever technician work going on behind the scenes. One guy declares his favourite film to be Fantastic Mr. Fox & soon enough it’s being beam’d into the room. On another occasion, a lassie’s favourite song is booming thro’ the speakers only moments after she mentions it. There’s an impressive sense that anything the audience throws into Edith’s strange little universe can somehow be absorb’d & transformed into part of the show.
As for Edith’s own void, one thing missing is a boyfriend. This leads to one of the highlights of the hour, when an audience member is recruited into the role for a brilliantly funny segment—including raucous sex noises in the dark. The relationship doesn’t last, alas, on account of his ways. Then, when a lassie comes onstage a little later, she starts wagging her finger at the ex-boyfriend unsympathetically. Pure audience riffing: a play within a play within a play.
That’s where The Void really flies. Edith has constructed a visual & conceptual framework strong enough to contain the show, but loose enough for whatever happens in the room to become part of it. Beneath all the clowning, alien glamour & delicious absurdity is something surprisingly tender: we’re laughing at our strange human need to find whatever we think we’re missing, while simultaneously being invited to acknowledge that need.
Wholesome to the bone, The Void is a fantastical, otherworldly, world-class journey along Edith Alibec’s creative synapses & into the very guts of our existence—all the while charming, thrilling & entertaining us.
The Void is fast becoming one of those Fringe shows that insists on being seen. And I urge you strongly to do so.
Damo
