Alan Cumming did a gig for a cat, Tiff Stevenson was drowned out by samba and some performers even made a profit … fringe veterans discuss their first time and how the festival has changed

It was when I still had a fringe of my own: 1974 seems like yesterday, or a date from the ancient history books, depending on how old you are yourself. I was a student and lucky to be there at all. For years Cambridge University had sent a group of actors to do a couple of serious plays plus the Footlights revue. A financial disaster in 73 meant the whole thing was called off in 74. But at the last minute we found a way of subletting a stage to put on just the revue. Would I have made the cut if they needed someone to do justice to a kitchen sink drama and Aristophanes in the original Greek? Probably not. But nearly 50 years later I am still coming back for more. And I haven’t done a straight play yet. Clive Anderson’s My Seven Wonders is at Assembly George Square Studios, 6-28 August

In 1984 I was in a comedy double act with Forbes Masson called Victor & Barry. We went along the Royal Mile handing out leaflets – looking in the gutter and seeing a footprint on your face is very salutary. On the night of the fireworks nobody came, just a cat. So we did the show for the cat – we felt we could do with the practice. Then we got this terrible review in the Scotsman, written by a certain Andrew Marr. Later we were invited to perform at the Last Night of the Fringe club and did the song Lucky Stars but made up new lyrics: “We can thank you, Andrew Marr, that you’re not as smart as you like to think you are …” Burn is at the King’s theatre, 4-10 August

In my last year of uni I was at the Gilded Balloon with the show DreamDate. We’d interview two strangers then improvise a romcom of what might happen if they got together. A surprising number of couples dated IRL because we’d show them their future and send them out to dinner. One pair are now married with a child. Like all the fringes of my youth, it began with yoga and ended staggering on stage after a shot of Berocca. Every Edinburgh fringe can be described as having the time of your life while crying uphill in the rain. We were told our show was being fast-tracked for TV. That was in 2000. We’re still waiting. The Guilty Feminist is at the Gilded Balloon, Edinburgh, 25-28 August

In 2010 I was in Stef Smith’s Roadkill, directed by Cora Bissett, staged in a flat for audiences of 12. What an introduction! I loved the festival’s range of shows, the parties, the folk you met from around the world. Three years later, my one-woman show, HeLa, directed by Graham Eatough at Summerhall, was the first year that venue presented itself as a strong alternative to the Traverse. Everywhere in Summerhall, you saw theatre that moved, inspired and challenged you. In 2016, I wrote and directed Expensive Shit. To be back at the fringe with my most ambitious project felt really daunting, to present it at the Traverse was even more overwhelming. I was incredibly proud of it. The fringe has been integral to my development as a theatre-maker. In these challenging times, I hope it continues to inspire. Medea is at the Hub, 10-28 August

On my first run at the Edinburgh festival, I made money. I’ll say that again: I made money. I did nothing other than turn up and perform. I was not in debt and didn’t have to take four years to pay it off. I wasn’t supposed to go but Paul Merton broke his leg playing football on the Meadows so the booker had a prime-time slot free. They flew me up and paid me £200 for a week. Our compere, Ivor Dembina, organised the gig, and Jo Brand, the late James Macabre and I took turns with the running order. We slept on the floor and were woken each day by coughing actors in their underwear, trying to find an ashtray. It was a bit Withnail and I. Joe Strummer played Edinburgh the night before the fringe opened and rather brilliantly tickets were on the door. You queued. You paid. You got crushed. It was the best thing I saw that year. Possibly many other years too. Mark Thomas: Black and White is at the Stand, 4-28 August

In 1994 I took my solo, Under Milk Wood, and a play about my uncle, Richard Burton, which I directed. I was terrified of losing my shirt but got lucky. I’d opened Under Milk Wood at the Traverse in February and the critics were kind, so the fringe run had sold out. It was the 10th anniversary of Richard’s death that August so I learned an early lesson in the power of famous names and anniversaries at the fringe. The following year I did Animal Farm on the 50th anniversary of its publication. I have since presented more than 150 shows and have had to roll with many punches to make things work. In 1994, I rented an entire four-bed flat in the New Town for £500. Now, similar flats are going for £10,000. I went home with a profit in 1994. I don’t think I’ve made a profit on any show since, bar 12 Angry Men in 2003. Why do we do it? Because if you get things right, although you won’t win up there, you might further down the line. Many of my shows have lived well beyond their fringe run: Morecambe (2009) and The Shark Is Broken (2019) both triumphed in the West End. Where there is a dream there is a way – it’s just that theatre dreams cost much more now. 9 Circles, directed by Guy Masterson, is at Assembly George Square Studios, 3-29 August

As the train pulled into Hogwarts I had no idea what magic was waiting for me. This place where walls sweat and ceilings cry felt both medieval and throughly modern. It was 2006 and I was in Eric Bogosian’s Talk Radio in the upside down purple inflatable cow. A samba band played outside every day during my monologue. The pressure has since mounted on acts (especially comics) to have award-worthy shows upon arrival, rather than finding their feet over the month. Now it’s too much of a shop window and financial risk to make that happen. Working-class people were already squeezed out when I started coming. I hoped the pandemic might have given the fringe the reset it was due. Judging by what I have been quoted for rent it seems not. I’m excited about going back and at a point in my career where I can make money and justify it. I just wonder what the twentysomething version of me would do now. I hope she’d find a way to make it work. Everyone deserves magic. Tiff Stevenson: Sexy Brain is at the Pleasance Courtyard, 3-29 August

With a ping of my email, I saw the invite to do a three-hander show as a destiny I couldn’t ignore. I’d been the previous year just to check it out and now here was a chance to participate. I jumped at the chance and convinced my family to join me. It was 2010 and the show itself was a bit of a disaster. The others were nice guys, but our material was incompatible. People came in to see me but walked out because they were too risque. The experience taught me how to book a performance space, about the throng of the fringe, and left me hooked for life. I knew I’d do a solo show the following year. For me the fringe has changed in that things that once seemed out of reach are now within my grasp. I feel part of that hustle and bustle, working hard and playing hard. Njambi McGrath: Black Black is at the Pleasance Courtyard, 3-28 August

I remember it well. It’s hard to forget when you burn yourself out so much that you end up in hospital with pneumonia. That’s what happened to me in 2013. Not that it put me off. In fact, it just gave me material for the next year’s show. Thankfully, I’ve never been back to the Edinburgh Royal Infirmary since because I learned the importance of pacing yourself. You could say I’ve developed as much as the fringe has over the years. There certainly seems to be something for every taste these days. What makes the fringe great is that you get the chance to see something incredible, something shockingly bad and something you would never usually go to watch, all in the space of a few hours. But I draw the line at silent discos. Lost Voice Guy: Cerebral LOLsy is at Gilded Ballon at the Museum, 15-28 August

I was travelling the world performing at festivals. After a radio interview in Australia, an interviewer suggested that I put a show together and take it to Edinburgh. I called the fringe in 2000 and was directed to a small venue. I could perform my first musical at 11.30pm. There were more than 1,400 shows with an average audience of three. All I had to do was be above average and figure out how to get people into my show instead of into bed. On opening night it was cold and raining but in the audience of three was a critic. The result? A five-star review and a sold-out season. Movin’ Melvin Brown: A Man, A Magic, A Music is at the Pleasance at EICC, 5-27 August

In 2003 we drove into town late at night and the posters on Princes Street made the place feel like Vegas. That night we went to the Underbelly for a late show. I was 18, drunker than I have ever been in my life and my best friend was sat next to me. He has remained next to me for a lot of fringe experiences, and has directed my last three shows. I don’t think I have a single negative thought about my first festival – it’s a feeling I’ve been chasing ever since. Garrett Millerick: Just Trying to Help is at Monkey Barrel, 2-28 August

Gulp … my first magical fringe was 2004. Though next door to Ireland, it was a big psychological step to take. “Will I be good enough on this world stage? I could lose lots of money!” I did! But stepping into this beautiful city, like an Escher painting carved from one rock, led me on a life-changing adventure, performing all over the world. This former architect finally ran away with the circus. It was inspiring to watch other performers’ shows and to my delight the reviews were great, giving me the confidence I needed. Luckily I was spotted singing by Ewen Bremner who phoned Stephen Frears and suddenly I was filming Mrs Henderson Presents alongside Judi Dench and Bob Hoskins. Though tough, it was worth the risk – and it has been each year since. Camille O’Sullivan: Dreaming is at the Underbelly, 3-28 August

I was in Footlights in 1973 but the director dropped me from the Edinburgh run. To keep costs down, the cast also had to do a serious play. In my earlier, straight-acting career I’d managed to wreck two of those – Yeats’s The Death of Cuchulain and Cocteau’s La Machine Infernale – by getting laughs when I didn’t mean to. Seeing I was heartbroken by his decision, the director said I could be in the BBC radio version of the revue. This seemed cold comfort but turned out to be the start of my career. I went to Edinburgh anyway and attempted to take my revenge by leading half a dozen unscheduled Tarzans into the show’s finale. To total silence. Very embarrassing but I’m still the only person who’s been fired from Footlights for being too funny. John Lloyd: Do You Know Who I Am? is at New Town theatre, 5-15 August

Quarter Life Crisis in 2019 was the first show I performed at the fringe. I was nervous but Underbelly made me feel at home. It was really fun because audiences were up for being a part of the show and were even hanging around afterwards. This year I’m taking my debut dance show as a choreographer. And for a lot of the creative team it’s their first time at the fringe, so I guess you’d say it’s a team of firsts … I know the fringe will feel different because of years off (due to Covid) but I feel honoured to be welcoming people back to the fringe in its 75th year. Dance Body is at Summerhall, Edinburgh, 3-27 August

A one-man theatre show called A Strange Bit of History at Hill St theatre in 1993. I played a bunch of characters, eastern and western, in a drama about global zeal for the return of Christ in the mid 19th century. It won a Spirit of the Fringe award. To start, the audiences were small but a couple of favourable reviews later it began selling out and eventually toured internationally. In 1997 I did what I thought was the last performance, in Haifa, Israel. Twenty years later I was approached by someone who saw it in Edinburgh and, bizarrely, had never forgotten it. He asked me to revive the piece at the British Library. It went down a storm and, again, was booked for an international tour. But then Covid hit. We might make a film as I may now be too decrepit to perform it live. The lesson? You never know where your first show takes you. Omid Djalili: The Good Times is at the Stand, 4-20 August

Acts from all over the planet dream of Edinburgh – just like an actor wants to do Broadway, comics want the fringe. In 2015, I was in a 40-seater basement and terrified – it was a shock to the senses but amazing too. In 2019 I had a prime time slot in a 75-seat shipping container – I’d gone from playing at Hampden to the Nou Camp, not a big player but a pretty solid left back putting in a decent performance. I’m delighted to be back, making people laugh every night for three weeks. Susie McCabe: Born Believer is at Assembly George Square Studios, 3-28 August

I’ve calculated it, and I’ve spent more than two years of my life at the Edinburgh fringe in total. On my first year, in a mixed-bill with Ed Byrne and Kevin Hayes, I discovered that cupboards can be rented out as bedrooms because my window to the world went into … the kitchen. At your first fringe, you discover one of the greatest and unsung moments that is a magical five minutes cross-over at the venue where you get to meet another act every day for a month. For us it was the legend of Australian comedy that is Greg Fleet. The challenges change with every generation for performers, but some things are immutable. No matter where you’re from in the world or what age you are, you will need to get fed at an odd hour of the day. My advice? If you walk into a chip shop, when they ask “salt ‘n’ sauce?”, you say no. Salt and vinegar, please. Andrew Maxwell: Krakatoa is at the Gilded Balloon, 3-29 August

In 2014 I brought my show Black Is the Color of My Voice. I wasn’t prepared for the festival’s scale: the energy and hum intoxicated me. It’s hard not to be amazed or inspired when you see Shakespeare sashaying down the Royal Mile to tunes from a small stereo. That boldness and drive compelled me to believe anything was possible. The festival changed my life, allowing me to work exclusively as an artist ever since. It’s been wonderful to witness the festival growing with diverse performers and stories. However, it’s still a massive financial undertaking. I’m fortunate that I now live in Edinburgh because accommodation costs have become prohibitive. And I’m afraid these kinds of barriers will change its demographic. Black Is the Color of My Voice is at the Pleasance at EICC, 4-20 August

My first proper Edinburgh was in 1992 when I was 20 years old. I didn’t earn any money but was provided with a much nicer flat than I actually lived in and managed to get by on my weekly income support payments. Beer was cheap and panini and flat whites were pretty much unheard of anyway. I was at a pretty dingy venue – a room with a little bar underneath a church – packed every evening with a keen audience, open to having a good time. At the other end of the scale was the Fringe club, a raucous, smoke-filled pit which I had experienced at 18. I remember waiting to do my 10-minute open spot as the act before me got pelted with cigarette boxes. After deciding I needed more life experience to be a better comedian, I changed course, went to drama school and got on with other stuff. It’s taken me 30 years to go back. I wonder how it’s changed. Debra Stephenson: The Many Voices of Debra Stephenson is at Assembly George Square Studios, 5-28 August