Georgie Grier isn’t alone – performing at the Edinburgh Fringe can bring anybody to tears

As uplifting as the experience can be, I’ve known people whose bad experiences at the festival have made them quit performing altogether, writes Fringe poet Luke Wright

The Fringe is relentless (Getty)

These days I like to think of myself as a seasoned pro. In my quarter century of being a gigging poet I’ve won writing awards and performing awards, played the Albert Hall, the Palladium, the Apollo, had hearty pull quotes from my heroes, and five-star reviews in national newspapers.

But last week I found myself stuttering and stumbling from group to group in a temporarily requisitioned student’s union with a bundle of free tickets growing sweaty in my grip. In my desperation I even described myself to some cynical-looking young people as a “spoken word artist.” Dirty is an understatement.

So I had some idea of how Georgie Grier felt when she took to Twitter on day one of the Fringe with a close up photo of her crying face and the words: "There was one person in my audience today when I performed my one woman play, Sunsets at #edfringe. It’s fine, isn’t it? It’s fine…?"

You probably saw it, because it was picked up by celebrity after celebrity wishing Georgie well. The public couldn’t believe her misfortune, and the next day the show sold out. Georgie found herself being interviewed on Sky News and in receipt of a glowing four-star review in The Sunday Telegraph.

Now, I’m no fan of online displays of emotion (that’s what we have poetry for, for God’s sake) nor of mawkish celebrity consensus. But even as I licked my wounds after a second day of iffy sales, I couldn’t help but feel happy for Georgie.

But of course, the backlash started the next day. Some cool guy making really great life choices trawled back through her Twitter feed and found that last year she also posted a tweet in which she said she had cried after her show because she only played to two people, her parents. So, it was a stunt after all!

You couldn’t possibly be upset two years running. Twitter had its gotcha. Television personalities and industry publicists scoffed. People expressed their “disappointment”. The inevitable cries of “grifter” were tossed about with reckless abandon. One tweeter gave out sage career advice: “Maybe next year you call your play ‘Chancer’? Or maybe even don’t bother at all, since you cry about no crowd every year.” Yeah, that’s it, stick to the man!

It wasn’t long before the tabloid press got involved. The Daily Mail, never a publication to shy away from chance to punch down said: “Same tears... DIFFERENT years: Edinburgh Fringe actress who went viral after weeping online that only one person showed up to her gig posted almost IDENTICAL self-pitying post 12 months earlier.”

Georgie is performing the same play as last year. She obviously really believes in the piece. After her Fringe dreams didn’t come off in 2022, she had the grit and guts to dust herself down, raise the money, do the graft of rehearsing, and go through it all over again. A whole year of waiting to roll the dice, of dreaming, of hoping, for that big break.

Then, on the first night? An audience of one. Who wouldn’t cry?

I hope Georgie avoided the vitriol and is enjoying healthy audiences. Her show has been well-reviewed, so her perseverance has paid off. If it wasn’t for that one desperate tweet she might have toiled away in obscurity for another year.

The Fringe is relentless. Most runs last 25 nights, with only one rest day. And the competition is intense. With around 2.2 million tickets sold for around 50,000 performances, there is officially an average audience of around 44, but if you take into consideration the big names comics playing 700-seater venues, the real average is much less.

Giving away freebies like I was on day one is just one of the myriad marketing techniques used by performers, producers, and marketers at the Fringe. On the cobbled street of Edinburgh’s gloriously gothic Royal Mile, bright-eyed hopefuls hand you flyers stapled with their reviews.

Timely two-hander. Four Stars, The Scotsman! Every year at least one of them will take to lying down, covered in their own flyers, playing dead. As a marketing technique it’s awful, but as a satire on the Fringe, it’s a solid three stars.

The point is, of course, that we are all desperate to be seen. Look! Look! I made a thing. Please look, it contains my very soul. And while the attention-seeking might seem unpalatable, remember this is just how all your favourite actors, comedians and playwrights started off. Of course, all the celebrities had great encouraging tales to tell Georgie. Their dreams did come true.

But spare a thought for all the great shows that never got seen. Over the years I’ve seen such wonderful talent leave the industry because they never got that break.

So I celebrate Georgie’s good luck. We need more of it.

And as for me? In the end, I performed my first show to about five paying punters, my publicist, his wife, and twelve members of a youth theatre group who stared stoney-faced at my incisive quips on middle-age. Then yesterday I got two five-star reviews. It’s good to keep the faith.

Luke Wright’s Silver Jubilee is at Pleasance Dome until 15 August, and will then be touring nationally