In a new series of interviews, we are going to be reflecting on this years Edinburgh Fringe with artists and creatives who performed at the festival to learn how the festival went and to find out more about their work.
In this interview, we speak with Sofia Genco reflecting on the run of Disciples of Anatomy.
With the run in Edinburgh now complete, how do you reflect on the time at the Fringe?
I was naturally hesitant before the Fringe, because I was aware I was waiting to embark on an experience that would be hard, and in many ways would change my life. Luckily, that change has been for the better and we managed to dodge any catastrophes! I will look back on my first Fringe as an almost herculean task I wasn’t sure I had the guts to do until I was actually doing it. I’ve never experienced exhaustion and excitement in such equal amounts, it really is its own beast.
I was naturally hesitant before the Fringe, because I was aware I was waiting to embark on an experience that would be hard, and in many ways would change my life. Luckily, that change has been for the better and we managed to dodge any catastrophes! I will look back on my first Fringe as an almost herculean task I wasn’t sure I had the guts to do until I was actually doing it. I’ve never experienced exhaustion and excitement in such equal amounts, it really is its own beast.
Bringing an independent, Autistic-led production to the Fringe comes with unique challenges. What was the biggest lesson or takeaway for you as a writer and creator from this run?
Being Autistic in a working theatrical environment is, in itself, an oxymoron, and there is not clear-cut answer to whether or not it is fulfilling and enriching or disheartening and difficult. I was met with practical and professional obstacles, when my dedication to efficiency clashed with the reality of Fringe chaos, but I was also thrilled to have so many lovely conversations with fellow autistics, or those with autistic loved ones. It was experiences such as these, small interactions that were often fleeting, that outweighed the difficult. This process has taught me a lot about translating my own experience as an autistic woman into both a creative, and professional outlet. I feel more prepared now to continue the narrative of Disciples of Anatomy in an even better way, working with each iteration to make it truer to the lives of autistic individuals.
Being Autistic in a working theatrical environment is, in itself, an oxymoron, and there is not clear-cut answer to whether or not it is fulfilling and enriching or disheartening and difficult. I was met with practical and professional obstacles, when my dedication to efficiency clashed with the reality of Fringe chaos, but I was also thrilled to have so many lovely conversations with fellow autistics, or those with autistic loved ones. It was experiences such as these, small interactions that were often fleeting, that outweighed the difficult. This process has taught me a lot about translating my own experience as an autistic woman into both a creative, and professional outlet. I feel more prepared now to continue the narrative of Disciples of Anatomy in an even better way, working with each iteration to make it truer to the lives of autistic individuals.
How did the reality of your run compare to what you envisioned during rehearsals?
By show fifteen everything drifts into autopilot, and scenes you had to use every ounce of concentration to do within rehearsals, started to become the ones I was thinking about what’s for tea in. I was prepared for a total amassed audience of thirty or so over a couple weeks, since we are completely new theatre, and a period drama at that. But the cast and I were flabbergasted at the audiences we ended up getting. With the audiences bigger, our performances grew to meet them. We totally exceeded my expectations and the show filled out a space bigger than I ever envisioned for it.
What was the biggest surprise—positive or negative—once you actually got in front of Fringe audiences?
Laughter! (Or some nights, the lack thereof.) Disciples of Anatomy has quite a few Midlands specific jokes and any audience who had travelled up got a great laugh out of Maud, which I was thrilled about. Some audiences stayed laughing right until the final moments where the choice to laugh would have become slightly deranged…Yet other audiences sat without a peep and paid the show, bless them, far more respect (or boredom) than it deserved. Once we stopped fighting the 27-degree heat and industrial fans, the silent audiences, by no fault of their own, unnerved me no end. I will always welcome laughter, even when unexpected. Yet it was interesting to see the alchemy of an audience, whose laughing and why, or who sat and ate a cereal bar and didn’t care a jot. All reactions interest me, especially in a Fringe Black-Box when you’re all right up in everyone’s faces. It’s such a singular experience, for better or worse.
Was there a specific moment on or off stage that defined the Edinburgh experience for you this year?
On the mile flyering I met a couple from Sunderland who congratulated us on our first Fringe and said that they had a train halfway through the show, but they’d try and make it. That night I saw a glimpse of the door shut halfway through and found out they had come to see the show for a short half an hour before rushing for a train. The utter kindness to buy to buy a ticket just for a portion of the show, and to be the final show of their Fringe! I’ll never forget it. Also, on our first night, we had a mother and daughter watch the whole show and translate the lines into their phone to understand the plot along with us. That was such a privilege for people to go beyond a language barrier to support something new they knew nothing about (as in, not at an existing show they could google beforehand for some extra help). I mean what an honour!
How did you manage the physical and mental stamina required to perform daily in that high-density environment?
Halfway through the run I had to go into Napiers Apothecary near Pleasance Dome to buy a cream that stopped your legs aching because my calves were in such tatters from the hills, flyering, and endless standing. You know it’s true exhaustion when you turn to Victorian pots of cream to cope. With my autism, my greatest fear was shutdown. I knew as we went on, I would get gradually more tired, and tiredness for autistics is not a simple feeling, but a complex myriad of lower emotional regulation, physical pain, illness, and overwhelm. Being contracted to do shows is in complete contrast to this process of exhaustion, so there was an initial fear of being unable to perform. Food was the saviour here, as there was defiantly no time to rest! With the show scheduled for 6:35pm, I was a bit like that children’s book Six Dinners Sid, I was having dinner about three times across the evening to give me the energy I needed! Usually by the next morning I was too excited to get out and all the exhaustion faded into the background.
How did you handle reviews and word-of-mouth chatter while still having to go out and perform every night?
Some reviews said everything I wanted them to say, and others were so miscellaneous and random in their criticism we have got a really good laugh out of them. Having hours at the computer validated by people complimenting the writing or characterisation has been so rewarding, but it is hard to go out on stage knowing people are complaining about the air conditioning being too loud, or the end being confusing, or it just not-quite-hitting-the-spot for them. Really, we had no choice but to reset and play it just as hard for that night’s audience in the hopes that they were a crowd of people who would like it, and if they weren’t, we tried out best to make them like it. There is only so much you can do, and there has to be a radical acceptance of that in order to get out of bed and do it again.
Did any audience reactions or feedback lead to real-time tweaks in the script or performance?
There is an argument in the latter part of the play, that if we didn’t get the exact rhythm to it, became actually quite embarrassing to play out. Argument scenes are so vital to me when I write because they are so often got wrong. It was the part of the play that needed the most fiddling throughout the run, because it is only in front of the audience you realise the anger you’ve programmed yourself to display doesn’t read as warranted if all the decisions made up until that point don’t hit their mark. There is so much I would change now, and so many lines I resented by the end of the run! But I only know that now from having said them repeatedly, so it was all a necessary process.
What is one piece of advice you would give to anyone who would want to take a show to the 2027 Ed Fringe?
It’s depressing, but it’s realistic. Do the fundraising first, then apply when you’ve got that pot of money sat ready and waiting to be used. The costs come fast, and if you don’t have that money, it really hinders any enjoyment of the milestones you will pass. I’d love to just say ‘enjoy yourself!’. But with Fringe as it is, my honest advice would be don’t start till you have your costs covered and if that takes years, then plan to do the show in a few years. It is the reason (unless I gain a wealthy beneficiary or win the lottery) I won’t be performing next year. I can never raise that much money on my own ever again. I’d like to stop having dreams about my teeth falling out! There is so much more I could have done in the ways of advertising and content if I hadn’t of been scrabbling about for hidden fees mere months before we left for Edinburgh.
Where can people follow your future work?
My personal writing is kept up with on @sofiagbillington. And Disciples of Anatomy will carry on into the future over @disciplesofanatomy! We are defiantly not over yet…
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