Somewhere in Edinburgh, a man is drinking his own urine. Elsewhere, the story of a religious sect that commands its followers to use “butt plugs” plays out as a musical. In yet another room, a comedian sings the same song over and over for an hour.
It is shows like these that have sustained the welcomingly weird and ungovernable lore of the Edinburgh festival fringe. In recent years, though, the annual jamboree has been accused of becoming an increasingly commercially savvy entity. The radical experimentalism might just be intact, but does this now sit at the fringes of the fringe, rather than its centre?
