In Edinburgh, locals are divided about its festival - some go at it with gusto, others spend August gnashing their teeth at the traffic and tourists. At the Brighton festival - a more bijou affair - Brightonians make up the majority of audiences, and virtually everyone I talk to is upbeat about the arts jamboree, buying tickets to several shows, and getting a kick out of the town heaving.
Brighton is a city that's accustomed to a big influx of tourists throughout the summer months, and the fact that the local community is so supportive of the festival makes the embarrassing collapse of Happy Together all the more surprising.
The dreamy climate last weekend was conducive to the blend of dawdling and frenzied activity that make for a terrific festival mood. But for all the peeling, clapped-out romance of the seaside town itself, a big theatrical hit seems to be eluding Brighton this year. By far the best thing I've seen is still Stockholm, which transfers to Hampstead theatre this month.
I have yet to get to Fevered Sleep's An Infinite Line, but I took a look at the installation for the show. For this, you step into in a cool basement room full of glowing, whirring projections. The piece is a swooning evocation of the quality of light in Brighton. It made me recall the first glimpse I caught of the town's skyline - a sort of lush one-night stand between pink and blue. The installation doesn't capture Brighton in winter, when the sea is blackened and silvery, like an aged mirror, but it's a reminder to go stand and stare at the horizon.
Hundreds of people turned out at Wild Park for Periplum's The Bell on Sunday night, an outdoor spectacle inspired by Andrei Rublev, Tarkovsky's epic film set in medieval Russia. It boasted a striking final image: a gigantic, fiery bell seen through a snowstorm, but this was a long time coming. The show, ponderous, portentous, and with far too many cowled monks for my taste, didn't inspire confidence in Arquiem, another promenade performance by the same company this week.
Norman, a dance theatre piece about the animator Norman McLaren, had wonderful film clips, state-of-the-art virtual projection, unexciting choreography and a script as flat as linoleum.
In a branch of Pizza Express, actors made up as waiters and a chef are dishing out helpings of Shakespeare a la Carte. I wanted to order Titus Andronicus - the "one with the high body count" according to the menu - but nobody bothered with my order. This is really a set meal: you have to take what you're given. It's harmless stuff, with a few nice flourishes: Ophelia distributing basil, the audience clinking their cutlery during a rousing speech from Henry V, and some very acceptable mini-croissants for breakfast.
I still haven't thanked you for last week's tips. Unfortunately, I won't be in town on May 20, so I can't catch Short Cuts at the Nightingale theatre. I saw Chris Fittock's Red and Blast Theory's Rider Spoke in London (to my mind, the later was a botched affair and I'd be curious to know whether the company have tinkered with it since then). But I should be able to make Connected: As We Are at the Brighthelm Centre. Any more suggestions?
