Hello Dali

Amidst the anything-goes anarchy of the Fringe, Señor 'everything-goes' Dali is very much in his element. Appropriately enough, Andrew’s Dallmeyer’s unhinged biographical monologue, Hello Dali, already boasts a wicked Fringe First to its name. Prompted by the triumph, the play has insistently returned to Edinburgh a beyond reasonable number of times since its 90s conception, imprinting enough Dalis in the festival’s recent memory to rival the Elvises of Las Vegas.

Our latest contender is no less arresting and freakish than you’d want him to be, and ushers us into the deviant mind of the artist with quite the insidious charm. Which route to take on the guided tour is partially up to us, and every so often a member of the audience is asked to pick a number from the selection on display to determine the sequence of narration. This, don’t you know, refers back to the organised randomness of Dali’s surrealist policy. Chapters include ‘Childhood’ and ‘Fetishes and Phobias.’ We learn through exuberant, prop-aided ramblings the supposed inner thoughts of history’s most stylish eccentric, and arrive at a Freudian paradise full of mad obsessions and wild associations.

This is a place where cauliflowers are explosions of energy and things of complete compression – and that’s just the tip of the iceberg. Fans of Dali will find their passions mildly complimented, while those less familiar with his ideas might have a hard time keeping up with the wordy and relentlessly fast-paced tirades. Though it comfortably avoids being pretentious or elitist, it does come close to being as banal as a coffee-table book with its manicured and ultimately limited discussions.