First Dates: In Fidelity at the Edinburgh Fringe

“I’d rather set myself on fire.” Taking part in an onstage blind date in front of a paying audience; it’s fair to say that’s not an entirely inviting prospect for a certain proportion of the theatre-going population – along with, quite clearly, my host for the evening.

But then there’s the rest of us, those with a lust for the limelight and a tendency toward spontaneity; the kind of people who’d be more than happy to risk embarrassment for the sake of deliciously validating attention and a chance to connect with a total stranger. I’m of the latter persuasion – and handily so, as I’d been invited to act as a guinea pig dater in rehearsals for In Fidelity, Rob Drummond’s latest play in which two audience members are united on their first ever date for the viewing pleasure of an entire auditorium.

If you’re thinking the premise sounds a little like the reality TV programme First Dates – well, Rob thinks so too; “This show’s been in my head since 2012, before First Dates existed,” he tells me. Steven Atkinson, the show’s director, chuckles, recalling that Rob had even chosen the title First Dates before it was snapped up by Channel 4. “They beat me to it, but I beat them to it up here,” Rob laments, tapping his temple. “Just means we’re plugged into the zeitgeist.”

But title and premise aside, comparisons are brought to an end. In Fidelity swaps out the bombastic Franglais croons of First Dates Fred for the wit, shoulder shrugs and casual companionship of Rob himself, who plays the dating show host. Instead of interviews and auditions, the daters are selected onstage via a series of questions such as “Do you ever cry at films?” “Do you try to hide that you’re crying?” and “Is there someone on stage right now who you might fancy a bit?” This, along with the narrative tapestry woven into the live date transforms what could have been moreish voyeurism into a mature piece of mille-feuille theatre.

My own experience with In Fidelity was a pared-down affair. Though the actual run will take place in the Traverse, I was spared the stage and spotlight in favour of a rehearsal room in HighTide Theatre’s London space. The invited audience was a modest dozen or so, and Steven, the director, stood in as my date under the pseudonym of Sebastian.

Contrary to my expectations, Sebastian turned out to be, well, a bit of a shit. A striking digression from the affable, articulate Steven to whom I’d been introduced just five minutes earlier, this alter-ego was disinterested, conversationally stubborn and boasted less chat than a Yeoman Warder.

But, encouraged by Rob’s reassuring presence in the corner of the room, I dug deep. Recalling that ‘Sebastian’ had mentioned an interest in swimming, I offered an anecdote about a time I engaged in nudist swimming. I immediately regretted it, but the audience giggled, the tension disintegrated, Rob grinned and – victory of victories – my fictional date smiled too.

“Sorry, about that, Steven really put you through the wringer, there!” Rob gasped after the rehearsal. Turns out the pair were workshopping worst case scenarios – how things might unfold if the daters didn’t click as expected. “But that’s proved something – if you just let these things run their course, it usually turns into something really nice.”

It seems they’re out to create as many of those organically lovely moments as possible, through whatever means necessary. “They say don’t try to recreate funny moments because it won’t go down as well the second time, but that’s not quite the case for lovely moments,” Rob explains. “Bizarrely enough, they do seem to work the second time. Maybe sincerity is easier to pull off than comic timing.”

The show is a romantic departure from Rob’s dizzyingly tense Bullet Catch (brought to the Fringe in 2012) in which he performed the notoriously risky stunt of the same name with the help of a brave audience accomplice. In the same way that the central stunt in Bullet Catch facilitated a theatrical investigation into human nature, free will and magic, the In Fidelity dates are embedded within other subplots and segments. There’s the narrative of Rob’s own 15 year relationship with his wife, Lucy; the story of his research on Match.com and what he describes as a ‘Pandora’s box’ that he subsequently opened; and the tale of Darwin, his wife and his evolutionary explanations for monogamy, fidelity and love. 

But why, exactly, are we so interested in watching other people’s dates? Rob cites Darwin, offering the explanation that it’s evolutionarily useful to observe successful mating behaviours. He’s got his own theory too, though. “Married couples like to watch people dating because it’s vicarious. There’s a part of you that misses that thrill of dating, of being able to just go ‘I think I’ll shag you today!’ There’s something in that; and I think married people set single people up for that very reason.”

I ask whether writing the show offered Rob himself that same vicarious catharsis, and his eyes shoot up to the ceiling for a second. “I spend far too much time analysing and thinking about small things – destructively a lot of the time. I’ve never thought of this before but yes, putting it down in ink kind of made the voices a little bit quieter.” There’s a beat of silence, broken by a cackle from Steven, coloured with both amusement and understanding. “I really think that’s why people write,” Rob continues, “to get rid of the voices. It’s like alright, I’ll fucking write it!”

When the pair aren’t riffing on one another’s jokes, they’re modestly steering praise towards one another’s skills (Steven finds Rob’s creative flexibility and instincts a dream to direct; Rob thinks his instincts are nothing without Steven’s elucidation). They also have a pleasant habit of leapfrogging from topic to topic. We hear Rob’s story of performing Bullet Catch during political unrest in Brazil; “We discovered that the demographic of a riot is the same as a small experimental theatre show, because no one turned up! They were all three streets away, burning cars.”

There’s Steven’s research on a religious dating website called Christian Mingle, on which gay users are forced to determine one another’s sexualities via subtle clues in their profiles, “which is its own problem, really.” Then there’s Rob’s disproportionate fury and Steven’s subsequent glee when we ‘touch wood’ so not to jinx the fate of the show. The pair seem to grasp one another’s perspectives quite profoundly; a creative match made in thespian heaven.

When we’ve composed ourselves, I ask whether they think they’ll succeed in coupling members of the public. “I think out of three weeks of shows in Edinburgh it’s quite likely that some of the pairings will last longer than one or two dates,” Rob enthuses. Steven agrees, “The things that you’re looking for are ticked; are you in the same place? Do you share similar interests? Have you given enough time to getting to know that person?”

He makes a good point – even the most private of blind dates are a can of worms steeped in anxiety, fear and awkwardness. It’s a certain type of person who volunteers to crack that can open in front of an entire audience. And for two such people – after choosing to see the same show, queuing up on the same fairy-lit Fringe evening and sitting under the same Traverse roof – to meet finally their match? Well, it’s a start, isn’t it.

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In Fidelity, Traverse, 4-28 Aug (not Mon), times vary, £12.50 (£8.50)