A Shrek-Themed Burlesque Shockingly Loyal to the Source Material

I’m going to have to start keeping a daily diary like The Andy Warhol Diaries (or who am I kidding— The Andy Cohen Diaries). Not just because this experience is already half-way over and it feels like I just set foot on Scottish soil, but that each day packs in such a blur of interactions I’m having sincere trouble sorting them out.

The other day I grabbed a drink with my dear friend Guy Branum (whose show Be Fruitful is so smart and beautiful and hilarious and joyous) and though I had just seen it, we both paused with deep introspection on when the hell this was. It turned out, it was barely 48-hours prior, but so much life wedged its way in between that our fuzzy memories were fully justified. This fest, unlike say— the Bridgetown Comedy Fest in Portland or even Comic Con in San Diego — is so unique in its massive, global density that we marveled at the fact that we both knew so many people performing and visiting, but had yet to run into much of any of them.

I’m here all alone, but I’ve never been less lonely. For each of the shows I’m assisting, I’ve befriended a cabal of incredible strangers bonded through our ships passing through the green room at the same time. There’s the banjo trio who are always tuning, the “Bad Shakespeare” improvisors who seem to multiply every time I turn my back, and a woman named Katie who has completely stolen my heart. She produces and hosts a lively high-concept show called “(N)o Refunds” where a single audience member pays a premium price ticket in order to compete in 3 rounds of games to prove they have enough talent to justify getting their money back. So much of our chats in the backstage area drift to, “where else could this show be a smash?” Edinburgh audiences are unlike any I’ve ever experienced and that alone is worth the 10-hour flight.

One day post-show, I was walking out of one of our venues with our cast (truly can’t remember which) when someone needed a pen and a friendly a couple quickly offered. After a quick beat of small-talk, we fell directly into deep-talk and I learned everything about them: they’re a husband and wife who live in Portland. They attended the Fringe last year for the first time purely as audience members and instantly knew they needed to come back. Their daughter is an aspiring playwright. Their other kid’s an aspiring illustrator. Soon they put together a whole show written by the daughter, illustrated by their sibling, acted by their friends and performed all month at the breezy hour of 5:20pm (4:20 for the second half of its run). It’s called, “We’ve Got Time” and I can’t think of a more beautiful way to support your artistic child.

I’d like to say this was a unique encounter, but I’ve easily lost count on the exchanges that feel like charged serendipity within seconds of engaging. Earlier on the walk to one of my shows, a Scottish man complimented my jacket and soon we were chatting merrily the entire 20-minute uphill walk (god help him, he never lost his train of thought or breath). His name is Richie and he’s excited for me to experience his country, but strongly advised against going to Amsterdam after my run. (“Too damn fecking expensive”). I assured him I was going to the basic bitch destination of Paris for a week.

Then later in the day, I found myself attending a POC Fringe producer meet-up, where a group of friendly strangers gathered in a circle like a support group for pinching ourselves. After I introduced myself and pitched all 3 of the shows I’m assisting, I heard a woman say, “…Hey, I’m sorry— but did I used to teach spin class to you?” Her name is Mandy and we instantly embraced as the room took it in with equal parts delight and unfazed smiles. “The magic of fringe!” Her show here is “Critique Cabaret: A Cabaret for the Politically Exhausted” and everything about it screams a beautiful person stepping out to seize what they want from this world — which feels like the subtext of every Fringe encounter. Though Mandy and I have lived in the same city and haven’t seen each other in almost 10 years, of course it would take being 6k miles from home in a city flooded with 3 million visitors to be reunited.

Fringe is unpredictable like that, and also unpredictable in ways beyond your control. Days after arriving here, I found myself on a work Zoom that delivered me a fresh writing deadline and suddenly my Fringe schedule was re-set. I now write every morning, race off to assist my 3 shows during the day, then wedge as many shows I can manage in between. It’s not ideal, but it also kind of is. I’m the kind of Sick Bitch Creative™️ who thrives in constant chaos (perceive my astrological sign from this as you will) and I truly can’t imagine a better ecosystem for creativity than being immersed in a town where over 3k people are courageously flinging their bright ideas to the wall.

I first became aware of “Swamplesque” back in London when they had a quick run at the Soho Theatre. I, a dumbass, missed out on that performance — so I, a genius, leapt to grab my ticket the first night of their Fringe run — and I’m so glad I did. Not only because the show starts off with Sexy Shrek gyrating to “All Star”, but that the whole company seems like they’re having the best time of their lives.

(Stefon voice) “This show has everything.” A donkey in full drag make-up lip-syncing “One Night Only” from Dreamgirls (notably, the Jennifer Hudson version). A Pinnochio stripping down to “If I was a Boy” by Beyoncé. And my absolute favorite: The “Mirror Mirror” doing an aerial strip tease to “Man in the Mirror” in a full disco ball body suit.

I’m no prude, but you may catch me clutching my hypothetical pearls when it comes to Dreamworks IP making near-constant “jerk-off” gestures. The show is a finely tuned machine of muscle and flirty mockery. Our Shrek and Co not only embody their characters and play out their snippets of scenes from the movie, but they also seem to have thought of every single bawdy gesture to accompany them, like if ASL ate A-S-S (that doesn’t quite make sense, but just go with me). When Shrek meets Donkey for the first time, they lip-sync the “I’m making waffles” moment with gestures both flirty and friendly, adding a strange subtext to their relationship. When Princess Fiona takes the stage, she’s our only performer grabbing a live mic and actually singing “Someone to Love” by Queen (though naturally, changes the lyrics to “Somebody to fuck”). I don’t need to tell you that when the dragon drag queen comes out, there’s a LOT of faux-genital play with its long dragon tail (which our performer has also fashioned into a whip for effect, confusing everything I know about biology).

And I’m gonna be honest, I don’t quite understand what fantastical seas had to shift to make Shrek this generation’s semi-ironic infatuation of choice, much that I don’t understand the way I felt after witnessing Puss ‘n Boots mime falacio with their sword or Lord Farquaad rip off their medieval coat to expose a voluptuous boob. But then again, life’s mysteries may never be solved. “Ever after” has always been nice and vague, allowing you to project whatever outcome that makes you feel best. And with a sold-out crowd at one of Edinburgh Fringe’s largest theatres, cheering for every body type under the sun, thrilling in the pursuit of cheekiness — who could feel better?

Swamplesque is playing at the Assembly Main Hall at the Edinburgh Fringe through August 30th — then taking the tales on tour through the UK and Australia.