Once we did a show called “Sparky’s Wizards School”. Some might say that it was a blatant attempt to cash in on the Harry Potter Zeitgeist. Some might say that it was a cheap piece of commercialism. Some might say that it was an attempt to fleece the parents of impressionable young children.
Well, they can say it all they like. It packed them in, and the kids left the theatre happy after an hour of knockabout fun.
Well. Most of them did.
The show resulted in the only time that we have ever been asked for a refund. And it all arose out of a misunderstanding. You see, to publicise the show, we sent various members of the cast and crew out onto the streets of Edinburgh in costume. On this particular day, our steadfast set-builder, a bespectacled man in his middle years, took to the High Street in an outsized chicken outfit. One of the few families with young children who didn’t run screaming from him looked at the flyer and asked him, “Is this a magic show then?”
Our trusty man from Lanarkshire replied: “Aye – it’s totally magic.”
(For foreign readers and those who live more than ten miles from Tannochside, I should explain that in the Lanarkshire vernacular, “magic” is a term used to denote excellence. It does not necessarily imply the presence of David Copperfield).
At any event the family bought a ticket, but left after about twenty minutes and then volubly demanded their money back on the basis that they had been sold a pup. “Where were the tricks?” they demanded of the front of house team.
We refused them, and happily the story ended up in the diary section of The Herald. Where it gave us more publicity and sold us more tickets.
Nightcap
15 years ago
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