After a hard day down the pit (other wise known as Traverse 2) what a girl needs is a bit of trash theatre, and Eurobeat - Almost Eurovision at Pleasance Grand hits the spot. I reckon it's going to be one of the mega hits of the fringe along with The Sound of Music Drag Show at the Gilded Balloon and Fuerzabruta at Ocean Terminal in Leith - although the latter's location 15 minutes away from the centre of town and the fact it's got 1,200 tickets to sell each night may scupper its chances.
Eurobeat on the other hand is already packing them in and audiences are having a ball. Despite suffering from early on-set Edinburgh exhaustion which had left me with a strong desire to spend a couple of weeks in a darkened room listening to Gregorian chants, and being all on my own (sad but true), I still found myself rooting wildly for my chosen country - Estonia - even though their song sounded like a toilet being flushed. Sweden's Abba lookalikes and the Russian boy band were always in with a better chance, although my absolute favourite was Iceland's number - a spoof of Björk. Several of the songs are actually much better than real Eurovision entries and the lyrics are often a clever mix of innocence and innuendo. Terry Wogan is on hand in a filmed introduction to get you in the mood and the show has an interactive element - you vote using text message.
Now let's be absolutely clear what we are talking about here: Eurobeat is to high art what the turkey twizzler is to haute cuisine. It will not be liked by anyone who has ever said: "I really must go to the theatre," as if theatre is some kind of cultural medicine. There is nothing in the slightest bit improving about Eurobeat and like turkey twizzlers it will do you no good at all, but it is darn good fun, and is probably best enjoyed in a large crowd all prepared to enter into the spirit of the thing.
It works because it doesn't insult the audience's intelligence and always assumes that they will get the joke, and because the production values are high and the cast work their cotton socks off - and in some cases the rest of their wardrobes too. The famous Eurovision costume "reveal" is just one of the many Eurovision traditions spoofed, along with sour faced Eastern European presenters. No, it's not going to change your life and it is instantly disposable, but only the terminally high minded would be inclined to award this ludicrously silly and enjoyable show nul points.
