It's a brutal business

By TIM WATKIN

The man lies face down in the street, to all appearances shot dead. The woman passing by casually leans down and plucks the piece of paper from his waistcoat strap and walks on.

It's a brutal business trying to promote a show in Edinburgh during the Fringe Festival, a little death a small price to pay to grab attention. Of course, the "dead" man is an actor dressed as a riverboat gambler and his colleagues shout the name of their show to the crowd on the Royal Mile. "Western, come and see Western, good seats still available tonight."

It's not surprising to find good seats available in most venues. In the three weeks of the Fringe, there are a staggering 1500 shows on offer.

Walking around central Edinburgh, the flyers come at you by the dozen and everyone has a different gimmick.

Some offer a colourful bit of cardboard. Others promise five-star performances or "the last chance to see ... " It's not long before you're trying to avoid the next person with a handful of A5 flyers.

Sit for a moment and you're an easy target. One man promises he doesn't have a flyer to give, but offers a magic trick with two rubber bands. It's quick and impressive and while you're admiring it he fishes into the side pocket of his combat pants and says with a grin, "I lied about the flyer", placing it on the table before you.

New Zealanders travel 19,000km to take their chance in this creative bun-fight, but this year they've been holding their own, averaging four stars across the shows and doing fair to excellent business.

H.J. Kilkelly, producer of the J.K. Baxter bio Jerusalem, Jerusalem, was earning herself a sunburn as she handed out flyers at the free Fringe Sunday gigs last week. She had a four-star review from the Scotsman ("innovative and provocative") to back her up.

Written by Mike Riddell and performed by Dunedin theatre company Te Tutua, the heavily stylised but still haunting story of Baxter's dying days made it to Edinburgh by the skin of its teeth. The 16-strong cast and crew, a mix of professionals and amateurs, needed good fortune at an art auction that raised $48,000, and $20,000 from the Dunedin City Council to get here, after Creative New Zealand twice refused support. "We hate Creative New Zealand right now," says Kilkelly.

But she loves the Scots and tourists who are heading to their show in increasing numbers. "There's such a buzz.".

When she works the Royal Mile most days, she's accompanied by a cast member singing a waiata. People love it. "They love anything Maori," she says.

Even good ol' Mika. Although two-for-one tickets were being offered in the streets, the Scotsman gave him four stars for his Maori song and dance cabaret with a disco and Vegas twist. Despite the reviewer's concerns about "ethno-plunder", she concluded it was "brilliantly executed" and said, "no wonder they're calling Mika the Maori Queen of Scots".

The other offering with ethnic roots is Indian Ink's Pickle King, which has received mixed reviews.

More traditional Fringe fare is the dramatic monologue, with New Zealand represented by Stephen Papps performing Blowing It, which he co-wrote with Stephen Sinclair (promoted here as a Lord of the Rings co-writer). The reviews, mixed on the play, have universally, and rightly, praised Papps' "muscular and dexterous" performance. The play had a run at the SiLo in 1999, and was toured in 2000 but had been put on the shelf for two years.

Resurrected, its door numbers were slowly building last week halfway through its 24-show run against what producer Gavin Robertson calls Edinburgh's cut-throat competition.

But the undoubted New Zealand success story this year has been the comedy folk act Flight of the Conchords, cannily exploiting the cult following they established here last year. "At this stage last year we might've had maybe 15 people in the audience," says Bret McKenzie, who with Jermaine Clement make up the duo promoting themselves as the "fourth most popular folk parodist act in New Zealand".

The night I was there it was a near-full house of more than 100 at their 10.45 gig.

Last year they had a midnight slot, but two Irish comedians on before them liked what they saw and put the word out among the comic set.

"We became the kind of show other comedians came to see," says McKenzie, and word got through to the industry, including the critics. This year, they've picked up where they left off and their new show High on Folk is winning rave reviews. The Guardian in particular has championed their cause, giving them four stars and a full-page profile in their Arts tabloid and, on Saturday, including them in a list of five festival highlights.

They've given out next to no flyers. "It's almost not worth it."

The Conchords avoid the trap of being a one-joke act with continually hilarious lyrics and ironically earnest banter ("it's kind of like talking, but it's like clever talking"). They even veer into folk-rap such as The Hiphopopotamus and The Rhymenoceros ("we're going to folk it up"), insisting that even though folkies are taking swipes at them they're "keeping it real".

And the word on the street has been heard by the BBC. The Conchords are working on a folk mockumentary for Radio Four. They know it's only a small start. Old heads around the festival say it takes four or five years to make a real impact. So, with the thousands of others who have a Fringe dream, they'll be back next year trying to stand out from the huge crowd.