In an increasingly categorised Fringe (this year added Spoken Word to an already multi-colour-coded Fringe programme), it can still be a delight to come upon a show that just doesn’t quite fit any of the boxes. Legs 11 is precisely that: part monologue, part wannabe cabaret; part personal memoir, part unintentional promotion for Pretty Polly stockings. It references shadow-puppetry, audience participation, and just a hint of burlesque, yet remains delightfully unclassifiable. (Except it is, of course, listed under ‘Theatre’.)
‘Live artist’ Tom Marshman is an engaging, if not in-your-face performer, although it’s fair to point out that the venue’s former role as an Anatomy Lecture Hall in Edinburgh’s old Veterinary School initially undercuts the warmth of this particular piece. It comprises of a deliberately staggered series of steps outlining his personal journey ‘from leg shame to leg fame’ or, as he alternatively suggests, ‘from surgical stocking to Pretty Polly stocking’.
Marshman’s central point — that most of us pay far too little attention to our legs and the role they play in our lives — is symbolised by how, when he looks at his legs now, he can remember the happy, hyperactive child he once was, as well the sullen teenager he later became. He also remembers the times when his legs let him down; he remembers the varicose veins that, aged 35, ultimately kick-started a new confidence in (and understanding of) his own self-image.
The hook for this whole project is, of course, the fact that soon after that medical operation, Marshman entered the open competition to become Pretty Polly’s new ‘ambassador’. With a little help from a lot of friends, he made it through to the final ‘legs 11’ — the final public online vote suggesting he has the sixth-best legs in the country . To be fair, it’d be a cruel audience that would deny that, on legs alone, he almost certainly should have won.
At times cheeky, and a little bit ramshackle, the only disappointment about Legs 11 is that some dramatic moments, such as the memory of one particular teenage sleepover, lack the true emotional punch they deserve. Overall, though, this is delightfully unexpected.
