Gloria: Tales from my Inbox

The OffWestEnd Awards have announced their 2026 nominations, and with them comes a press release so densely packed with structural reform announcements that one begins to suspect the awards themselves have become secondary to the annual ritual of explaining why everything has changed. Again. This year's big revelation is that the Offies have collapsed their previous two-tier system of Finalists and Nominees into one unified list, which apparently required an entire manifesto to justify. The new model promises to end category gaming, reduce nomination bloat, future-proof the awards, and possibly cure several chronic illnesses. One waits with bated breath to see if it also makes the tea.To be fair, the stated ambitions are admirable. Moving away from rigid categories towards flexible Areas of Exceptional Contribution sounds progressive until you remember that Production, Performance, Design, Sound and Music, Staging, and Creation are essentially categories wearing a philosophy degree. The press release insists this new framework reflects how theatre is actually made, supports non-hierarchical practice, and improves parity between art forms. It also claims to have reduced overall nominees by more than fifty percent while simultaneously increasing ceremony accessibility, which is either brilliantly efficient or suspiciously contradictory depending on how generously one interprets the spin.What we know for certain is this: nearly two hundred nominations have been announced across eight Areas, drawn from over five hundred productions at more than one hundred venues. The ceremony takes place on March 30th at Central Hall Westminster, hosted by Divina De Campo, with tickets on sale now. Past winners include Baby Reindeer, Fleabag, and Operation Mincemeat, which gives the Offies legitimate bragging rights for spotting breakout work before it becomes unavoidable. This year's nominees span the expected spectrum from grassroots companies to recognisable names like Charles Dance, Nicholas Farrell, and Geraldine James, all of whom are nominated for Creditors at the Orange Tree. Whether this represents the sector's vitality or simply confirms that even establishment actors occasionally need somewhere to perform between telly jobs is left to the reader's discretion.The press release devotes considerable energy to explaining what the new system is not, which always inspires confidence. It is not about box-ticking. It does not artificially cap winners. It does not sideline TYA, opera, cabaret, or immersive work into niche categories. It creates space for collective practice and encourages risk-taking. One begins to wonder what fresh hell the previous system must have been to require such emphatic reassurance. The Innovation and Industry and Inclusion areas are entirely new, with the latter encompassing newcomers, organisational leaders, companies, collectives, and something called a community engagement practitioner, because apparently we needed a category that sounds like a LinkedIn job title.Still, credit where due: the Offies matter. They have championed independent theatre for sixteen years, and as OffWestEnd enters its twentieth year, the sector needs all the visibility it can get. Whether this latest structural overhaul represents genuine evolution or merely administrative restlessness remains to be seen. One hopes the ceremony itself will focus less on explaining the awards architecture and more on celebrating the work, because nobody buys a ticket to hear about process improvement initiatives. Congratulations to the nominees. May the evening be shorter, stronger, and mercifully light on self-congratulatory speeches about future-proofing.

There is nothing quite like a Hollywood release to remind everyone that theatre existed first. The new Wicked film fluttered onto screens in late November, all emerald shimmer and studio gloss, and within hours London Theatre Direct was apparently watching its analytics light up like someone had accidentally typed “defy gravity” into Google Trends.According to their data, the film’s opening weekend delivered a neat 50 per cent jump in visits to the Wicked stage-show page compared with the weekend before. Pageviews were up 53 per cent, which suggests people weren’t just clicking once before wandering back to whatever streaming platform had distracted them. Even on-site searches for “Wicked” climbed by 30 per cent. Three decades into the internet age and people still treat website search bars like a séance.Stretch it out to the full week and the pattern doesn’t wobble. From 17 to 23 November, users viewing the wickedly familiar green-tinted show page rose by 21 per cent, with pageviews up 22 per cent. Searches almost doubled, a 97 per cent leap that feels suitably theatrical. And the orders followed suit: new customers up 24 per cent, returning ones up 48 per cent. Apparently nothing nudges loyalty quite like a film reminding you of that show you promised yourself you’d finally book.London Theatre Direct’s CEO, Johan Oosterveld, offered the calm, sensible version of events. A big-screen event lands, audiences remember the original, and everyone rushes back to check ticket prices. It is the circle of life, but with witches. He noted that renewed attention “introduces entirely new audiences to the possibility of experiencing the magic live on stage,” which is the sort of line you can almost hear being emailed at speed between marketing departments. Still, the numbers do back him up.Everything here comes from aggregated, anonymised data, which feels appropriately modern: no spells, no broomsticks, just traffic spikes and people clicking the same link repeatedly because they forgot to bookmark it.Yet there’s something oddly cheering in the whole thing. After all the noise about films overshadowing theatre, the opposite has happened again. The moment Elphaba swoops into the cinema, audiences remember the West End is still sitting there doing it eight times a week without CGI.

History twirled into the spotlight yesterday at The Pleasance Grand when Linus Karp and Joseph Martin, the spirited duo behind Awkward Productions, legally tied the knot in front of a sold-out audience of 750. Yes, a wedding as a ticketed Fringe event – the first in the festival’s 78-year history and, remarkably, the first LGBTQ+ couple to marry as part of the official programme. I have waited decades for something this audacious, or, depending on your tolerance for public matrimonial spectacle, utterly indulgent.The ceremony had the subtlety of a glitter bomb in a library. Cosimo Damiano Angiulli, Edinburgh designer and the mind behind SIMO THE LABEL, styled the event. Martin arrived like a brat set to Charli XCX’s Von Dutch, while Karp was hoisted onto the stage by three helpers to the strains of Jellicle Cats. Watching that choreography unfold – precise yet entirely unnecessary for the legal act – was a reminder that theatricality, not efficiency, is the Fringe’s true language. Edinburgh City Council’s Jackie Blackburn officiated, striking a delicate balance between heartfelt sincerity and gleeful chaos that only Fringe organisers could sanction. Sooz Kempner serenaded the room with 2 Become 1, a best man delivered a surprisingly moving reading of Party in the USA, and the rings were transported via a playful Lord of the Rings spoof courtesy of fellow troupe Recent Cutbacks. When the words “husband and husband” finally rang out, the audience leapt to its feet, a reaction that felt both joyous and, frankly, a little overwhelming.After the vows, drinks were served, proving that Fringe weddings are best enjoyed with sugar, alcohol, and just a hint of disbelief. Later, the newlyweds performed their latest production, The Fit Prince, a camp fairy-tale romcom set in the fictional kingdom of Swedonia. I’m still weighing whether the on-stage nuptials added charm or just an extra layer of exhaustion for the audience, but either way, it made the evening feel unmistakably alive.Martin and Karp have now firmly secured their place in Fringe history. The festival has always celebrated extremes, and this wedding – wild, heartfelt, and unapologetically camp – reminds us why we return year after year for the spectacle, the chaos, and those moments of genuine emotion that manage to sneak through the glitter.

Nicole Nadler, performing her one-woman show Exposure Therapy at the Edinburgh Fringe, found herself fighting back tears after a third of her audience left fifteen minutes before the end. Four women who arrived late stayed for only twenty minutes, offering the consolation that she was a “beautiful soul” as they slipped out of the tiny room, which held just twelve people in total. Nadler later urged future Fringe-goers to stick it out, even if a show isn’t to their taste – a heartfelt plea that was both brave and slightly heartbreaking.The blunt truth is that the Fringe is not a charity – it is famously merciless. Emotional vulnerability and audience interaction are thrilling to attempt, but they come with the risk of public exposure. Four polite departures midway through a show are not a tragedy – they are a clear signal from an audience deciding their attention elsewhere.Nadler’s call for kindness – “If you hate it, just stick it out” – lands somewhere between earnest and plaintive, like a parent begging a toddler to eat their vegetables. A quiet room with minimal laughter is often an unmistakable sign that engagement has faltered. When energy in a space this small drops flat, it is rarely a problem with the audience. Authenticity alone cannot carry a show; it needs to be compelling.Her consolation that those who left “paid full price so I guess I won” offers a faint silver lining, but it reads more like an attempt to salvage pride than genuine triumph. Filming the walkouts for later review hints at a kind of painful masochism – instructive, perhaps, but also undeniably sharp to relive.Social media rallied quickly, with fellow performers offering sympathy as one might for a minor personal tragedy. Yet goodwill does not alter reality. At a festival where survival is earned, early exits are messages, not personal insults.Nadler’s experience captures the Fringe in microcosm – vulnerability meeting an unforgiving audience. It is a baptism by fire that few emerge from unscathed. The question now is whether Exposure Therapy can hold the full fifty minutes, or if those departing feet were merely giving the show an early intermission it may have deserved.Image: TikTok/@heavyheels_heavysuitcases

The Old Royal Naval College and Elstree Studios are teaming up to mark a hundred years of British film with an attempt at a Guinness World Record for the largest gathering of people dressed as film and TV characters. On paper, it sounds like a grand homage to the nation’s screen heritage. In reality, it feels a little like someone handed the keys to a costume shop and said, “Go on then – make it a day to remember.”The venue itself is a treat. The Old Royal Naval College, a UNESCO World Heritage Site, has graced more film credits than most actors could dream of. Elstree, meanwhile, is the venerable studio where legends like Star Wars and Indiana Jones were made. Together, they hope to unite costumed Star Wars extras, Bridgerton dandies, and a motley crew of superheroes in what will probably feel like a giant, slightly sweaty cosplay photo shoot.Participants can pick characters from a roster that reads like a mid-2000s cinema trivia quiz – Captain Jack Sparrow, Batman, Sherlock Holmes, even Paddington Bear and Roger Rabbit get a shout-out. To count towards the record, costumes must include certain outfit and prop elements – so no turning up in jeans claiming to be Thor. VIP ticket holders, at £13.50 in advance, get access to film prop stations, a walking tour, and a rare exhibition of vintage posters. The rest of the crowd can enjoy roaming entertainment, giant games, and dinosaur puppets. Yes, dinosaur puppets. How exactly they fit into the elegant Painted Hall is anyone’s guess.The press release is vague on participant numbers, judging criteria, or what happens if you turn up as an unapproved character. Such ambiguity suggests the organisers are counting on the spectacle to distract from logistical uncertainty. Still, it promises a family-friendly day out, with free activities alongside the record attempt. If you tire of trying to look convincingly like a Bridgerton extra, there’s always the silent disco or a themed film afternoon tea – presumably to help you recover from the odd sense of having been part of a slightly awkward historic moment.This is billed as a landmark celebration of UK screen culture – an ambitious gesture from two institutions that sit at opposite ends of the production spectrum. Yet there is a faint whiff of desperation, as if the organisers worry that a century of film history alone won’t draw a crowd without costumes and a Guinness certificate.At the very least, this event should offer a few memorable moments and plenty of opportunities for spectacular Instagram shots.

Just when you thought Edinburgh had exhausted every Fringe publicity stunt – from nudity in the Meadows to interpretive dance in Lidl – along come two Japanese theatre companies who have taken subtlety, given it a swift chisel, and slapped black censor bars across Antonio Canova’s The Three Graces. For a brief, glorious moment, the National Galleries Scotland resembled a prudish episode of Art Attack, courtesy of Theatre Group Gumbo and Book of Shadowz. Their new show, Shunga Alert, seems determined to throw modesty and taste under the same speeding rickshaw.According to the official release – and confirmed by photographic evidence – the companies covered the sculpture’s serene nudity with hilariously insufficient black modesty panels. These are not panels you could nick from a leisure centre changing room. Think more along the lines of a graphic-design PowerPoint malfunction, applied with the precision of a tipsy intern. Flanking the sculpture were three performers dressed in a hybrid of cosplay, clown gear, and what looked like the aftermath of an Ayacon sample sale. The result was absurd enough that if Duchamp were alive, he might have sued for emotional copyright.The image makes for a pitch-perfect teaser for Shunga Alert, a self-described “filthy, hilarious and genuinely informative” show at Underbelly Cowgate. Co-created by Gumbo and Book of Shadowz (formerly the criminally underrated Mochinosha Puppet Company), it promises absurd clowning, physical theatre, and intricate handmade shadow puppetry – because nothing says erotic heritage quite like a sex doll named Pleasure and an AI called Pain.The title refers to shunga, the Japanese tradition of erotic art that once delighted the Edo period and now terrifies the easily offended. Rather than simply exhibit it, Shunga Alert brings the art to life with projection, puppetry, and a plot about an aspiring artist on a libido-fuelled mission to create the ultimate erotic masterpiece. If that sounds like a particularly avant-garde episode of Robot Chicken, you are not far off.There is no false advertising. The release makes clear it is bold, adults-only, and features a sex doll with a character arc. Following a Best of the Fest nod at the 2024 San Diego Fringe, Shunga Alert has erupted onto the scene in a riot of shadow, satire, and sex. A meticulously choreographed riot, mind you, with projections handmade in the traditional Ukiyo-e style. Yes, amid the knob gags, there is genuine craft – something many Fringe comedies could not locate with a flashlight and a map.As for the stunt? It is cheap, it is cheeky, and it works better than most £12,000 Instagram ad campaigns. By slapping censor bars on one of Scotland’s most serene sculptures, these artists have done what the Fringe does best – startle, provoke, and make us laugh out loud in a public space where we probably should not.God help us all if the National Galleries ever let them near a Rodin.

As the curtain rises on this year’s Edinburgh International Festival, the Festival’s Board marked the occasion with a rousing chorus of Strategic Realignment in E Major, announcing the appointment of five new trustees. Between them, they have mastered international diplomacy, financial regulation, corporate partnerships, digital policy and, presumably, the delicate art of nodding politely through sponsorship decks. The festival programme may be full of singers, dancers and theatrical visionaries – but offstage, it seems to be all about actuarial tables and broadband.Let’s meet the cast, shall we? Andrew Gilmour spent three decades at the United Nations wrangling peace and human rights, which should prepare him nicely for negotiating egos at late-night receptions. Lyn McDonald OBE ran the Scotland Office, meaning she has extensive experience pretending Holyrood and Westminster get along. Michelle Reglinski hails from Comcast and Sky, where her role as Chief Revenue and Partnerships Officer almost certainly means she speaks fluent Brand. John Taylor is a former President of the Institute and Faculty of Actuaries, which means he brings a rare skill to the arts – counting. And then there’s Chris Yiu from Meta, formerly of Uber and the Tony Blair Institute, a man whose CV reads like a tech bro’s fever dream and whose idea of cultural engagement may well involve explaining the algorithm to a string quartet.According to EIF Chair Sir Keith Skeoch, this “distinguished group” will help the Festival honour its legacy while embracing opportunity. Which is trustee-speak for: “We’re going to talk a lot about digital transformation while quietly hoping someone under 40 buys a ticket.” He insists this is a “pivotal moment” as EIF gears up for its 80th anniversary in 2027 – a milestone that, judging by this list, seems to require more corporate strategy than artistic flair.The subtext is not subtle. Arts organisations are scrambling to remain relevant, solvent and vaguely accessible in a post-pandemic, algorithm-addled world. The EIF is no exception. Its answer? Hire people who’ve advised governments, regulated banks and monetised content across continents. One wonders how many have voluntarily sat through three hours of Belgian interpretive mime at the Traverse, but no matter – governance is in safe hands.This influx of expertise may indeed bring sharper strategy and global clout to an organisation that wants to be more than a summer arts showcase. But it is hard not to notice what’s missing from this announcement: a single mention of artists, or audiences, or what any of this might mean for the people who queue in a drizzle on the Royal Mile hoping for transcendent magic and get a soprano in a wetsuit instead.Still, if you want your festival to run like a hedge fund with a harp section, this is how you do it. The EIF now has enough boardroom firepower to launch a mid-sized nation-state. Let’s just hope someone in the room still remembers why people go to the theatre in the first place.

In a development sure to confuse every media exec currently pitching Hamilton as a VR experience, new research from London Theatre Direct suggests that Britain’s under-40s are putting down their phones and picking up programmes. Theatre, it seems, has become the new self-care. Or at least the new spa day with slightly better lighting.According to the study – which combined more than 4,350 responses from regular punters and a YouGov poll – nearly 80 percent of 25 to 39-year-olds who frequent the theatre say it acts as a “digital detox.” No scroll, no swipe, no algorithm shoving content down your throat. Just live humans performing emotional cartwheels in front of you for the price of a Pret lunch and a handling fee. Who knew?This is not mere escapism. It’s therapy in a velvet seat. Three in four regular theatre-goers say it forms part of their self-care routine, which suggests that while much of the country is meditating on apps and bathing in Gwyneth Paltrow’s moonlight, these people are quietly weeping into plastic prosecco at Dear Evan Hansen and calling it wellness.Even more curiously, two in five report that the good feeling lasts for days – a sort of post-dramatic glow, if you will. Not only that, but 75 percent say theatre sparks real conversation, which, in a world where “commenting” usually means typing “omg” under a TikTok, feels practically revolutionary.The report also challenges the idea that theatre is a niche pursuit for dusty people. One in four UK adults rank it among their top three joyful nights out, ahead of cinema, sport and dancing. It’s unclear what kind of joy these respondents find in most nightclubs, but apparently watching a man dressed as a Victorian chimney have a breakdown in iambic pentameter trumps it.It is not just the metropolitan elite. The data shows audiences outside London are more likely to describe theatre as emotionally resonant. Which makes sense – if your local theatre only gets Blood Brothers once every three years, you are probably going to feel something. Even if it’s just disbelief at the price of interval ice cream.Naturally, the experts behind the study are delighted. Johan Oosterveld, CEO of London Theatre Direct, called theatre “a space to switch off, reset emotionally, and come away feeling clearer.” Which is certainly one way to describe The Woman in Black. Meanwhile, Joyfulness Approved – a consultancy that sounds like it was founded by sentient mugs from Paperchase – claims theatre is one of the few places people are “fully present.” That may be true. Although if you have ever sat behind someone live-tweeting Cabaret, you will know that presence is, at best, aspirational.Still, the numbers are compelling. And if nothing else, they remind us of theatre’s stubborn brilliance – that strange, sweaty ritual where hundreds of strangers sit in a dark room and agree to believe, together, for two and a half hours. No filters. No buffering. Just voices, light and silence.So yes – theatre is apparently self-care now. Pass the tissues. And the programme.PIC: Donna Easton (L) Nick Ede (R) Co-Founders of Joyfulness Approved Source: London Theatre Direct

It is not even Day One of the Edinburgh Fringe and already we have theft, scandal and – if the marketing team at Vagabond Skies – The Van Gogh Musical is to be believed – a fine art heist. Edinburgh, hold my absinthe.According to a release so breathless it might need a paper bag, one of the show’s posters was “stolen” from Middle Meadow Walk sometime between 20 July and now. Let us be absolutely clear: this is not an actual Van Gogh, no matter how long you stare at it or how many drama grads hum underneath. It is a show poster. Printed. Presumably glued. Possibly weather-beaten. Not the Sunflowers. Not even Sunflowers for GCSE coursework. Yet they have gone full Antiques Roadshow panic about it, and honestly, I respect the delusion.A spokesperson called the incident “very frustrating” and referred to the pilfered poster as a “masterpiece” – which is bold, considering no one has seen the show yet. But here is the thing. If you plaster the Meadows with musical theatre posters in July, you are not advertising – you are feeding the pigeons.The suggestion of foul play is, frankly, adorable. A “fine art thief” stalking the Meadows? Darling, the only thing artfully lifted from this area in the last 24 hours is someone’s overpriced falafel wrap. If anything, the disappearance of the poster should be treated not as a crime but as a small mercy. Fringe punters can now walk 30 feet without being visually shouted at about tortured painters singing in falsetto. Let us call it a public service.Still, the PR stunt is almost impressive in its shamelessness. A poster goes missing and suddenly we are neck-deep in a faux art heist, just in time for opening night. One might call it coincidence. One might also have a functioning frontal lobe.And yes, “authorities have been informed.” Presumably this means someone emailed the Fringe Society or filed a report with Security Dave in the purple vest. If Police Scotland are now assigning detectives to missing posters, I would like to report the theft of three hours of my life from last year’s immersive clown-ballet in a skip.If Vagabond Skies hopes to spin a flimsy disappearance into ticket sales, they had better have a better plot than “someone nicked our poster and we want it back.” But hang on. I have just spent the last 20 minutes mentioning their show. Perhaps it worked. Cunning. Congratulations to the marketing team for making something out of nothing – a true Fringe tradition, and arguably more creative than most musicals about painters.Now, if someone could kindly steal the next three hundred posters on Nicolson Street, we would all be better off.

Ah, Spotlight. The gatekeeper to every actor’s dreams and overdrafts. That indispensable digital hallway where performers queue up to flog their talent for the chance to say “Line?” in a regional yoghurt commercial. This week, Equity – the performing arts union with more backbone than most theatre boards combined – has finally decided to take the casting behemoth to the High Court over what it bluntly calls “the tax on hope.” Apparently, the only thing more inflated than Spotlight’s sense of self is its pricing structure.Let us start with the unarguable. Since the warm-and-fuzzy days when Spotlight was a family-run firm, it cost £140 to join in 2009. By 2021, it had crept to a still-tenable £158. Then came Talent Systems LLC, the private company that snapped it up in 2021 like a vulture buying a small-town bakery and promptly tripling the price of the croissants. In just four years, the annual fee ballooned to £205.80. And if you are paying monthly – the standard route for, say, working actors – you are coughing up £224.64 a year for the privilege of possibly being ignored by casting directors nationwide.That is a 30 percent rise post-takeover – which Equity, rather politely all things considered, calls “above inflation.” One can only imagine the restraint it took not to scrawl exploitation with a side of grift across the press release in red ink. Lynda Rooke, Equity President and one of the eight claimants in this class action, is not mincing words either. “The tax on hope must stop,” she declares, correctly identifying Spotlight’s business model as less “membership” and more “ransom note with a login.”Spotlight, naturally, responded to Equity’s 2024 request for fee justification with the corporate equivalent of a shrug and muttering, “We do what we want.” They insist the legal regulations on reasonable pricing do not apply to them. How convenient. Presumably next they will be exempt from gravity and decency too.The court case – scheduled for 15 and 16 July – promises to test whether Spotlight’s monopoly, which handles 95 percent of UK castings, can continue gouging performers like a West End ice cream vendor during a heatwave. And if “monopoly” sounds hyperbolic, let us be clear: if you are not on Spotlight, you are not in the game. You are not even near the board. The launch and instant public murder of their £300-a-year “Premiere” membership in 2023 was a rare moment of clarity from the industry – proof that even actors will revolt if you poke their empty wallets hard enough.But here is the real tragedy. It is not just about a fee. It is about access. For working-class actors, actors of colour, and performers without a side hustle as a Pilates instructor to make rent, these hikes are career-ending. This is not merely inconvenient. It is gatekeeping at corporate scale – where hope is measured monthly and billed with interest.Now the question falls to the courts: is it legal to hold a monopoly on dreams and charge through the nose for the privilege? Talent Systems might soon find that a monopoly is not quite as cosy when the unions show up with lawyers instead of hashtags.If Equity wins – and frankly, if there is a god of equity in the theatrical sense or otherwise – Spotlight may finally be forced to stop wringing the already wrung. Until then, it remains the most expensive paywall between talent and opportunity this side of central London.Darling, they say the show must go on. But must it always come with a direct debit?

There was a time when the Edinburgh Festival Fringe felt like a fever dream scribbled in biro by a sleep-deprived drama student with a ukulele and a point to prove. It was sticky floors, ropey tech, one flyer per armpit and the wild-eyed hope that maybe, just maybe, Lyn Gardner would walk in. It was anarchic. Beautiful. Broke. But crucially, possible. Today? It is less “scrappy cultural utopia” and more “unregulated economic bloodbath with clown wigs.”The 2025 edition is shaping up to be the most financially exclusive yet, and unless you are being bankrolled by an oligarch or have just sold a kidney on the dark web, performing at the Fringe is now as accessible as a Soho House membership. A recent Times report confirmed what every artist sobbing into their grant rejection letter already knew: Edinburgh is the most expensive city in the world for hotel rooms during August. More than New York. More than Monaco. More than sense. According to the Independent, the U.S. embassy reimburses its employees £480 per night during August – by comparison it is £277 in London. And it is not just performers feeling the squeeze. Journalists are expected to survive on instant noodles and divine intervention too.For young artists, the economics are insulting. The much-loved Durham Revue, a staple of student comedy, revealed they will spend 60 per cent of their budget on a shared flat – a cool £9,000. For one month. In Scotland. Not Cannes. Not outer space. Scotland. You could put on five decent regional tours for that. Or buy a small flat in Dundee. Yet this is what is expected, even normalised, in what was once a celebration of accessible, alternative art.And it gets bleaker. Tales abound of performers camping in fields at £43 a night. Others are taking four jobs just to cover the cost of bringing a show. They crowdfund, remortgage, pray. They pack their dreams and their blackout poetry into a 1998 Ford Ka and drive to their financial doom, because somewhere deep down they still believe that the Fringe matters. That it will make them. That someone will care. Of course, the only people truly profiting from this sadistic lottery are the landlords, who, having gorged themselves on the short-let feeding frenzy, are now charging up to £34,000 for a single flat during the festival. That is not a typo. Thirty-four thousand pounds. For a flat. In a city where Greggs counts as haute cuisine.The Fringe Society has made some valiant noises about affordability. They have secured 1,200 rooms at £280 per week or less. Lovely. Except there are 3,600 shows. Do the maths. That is like announcing you have brought a jug of tap water to put out the Great Fire of London. They have also pointed at the Free Fringe models and said, “Look! Hope!” which is a bit like tossing a rubber dinghy into a tsunami and calling it a ferry.Yet those small, rebellious outfits are offering a flicker of salvation. PBH Free Fringe and Laughing Horse continue to operate on a genuinely community-minded ethos, refusing to charge performers venue hire fees and instead suggesting voluntary contributions towards shared costs. It is grassroots. It is punk. It is underpaid. But it is alive. Shedinburgh, the charmingly lo-fi brainchild born of pandemic chaos, is another rare gem. This year, they are offering guaranteed fees, covering travel and accommodation, and even providing a £5,000 fund for first-time performers. In this economy, that is basically winning the Euromillions.But such outliers should not have to exist as exceptions. The major venues – those grand old dames of the Fringe circuit like Assembly, Pleasance and Gilded Balloon – are not exactly evil overlords, but their business models are starting to resemble the West End with worse acoustics. Together they have distributed about £400,000 in support to artists and venues, and launched memberships to stabilise the ecosystem. Fine. But a reality check is needed. These are also the places where show fees, insurance, tech costs, PR retainers and box office splits can leave even sold-out runs in the red. At this point, it is less of a festival and more of a reverse pyramid scheme with mime.And what about the critics? Those of us – mostly unpaid – enduring the heat, the hype, and the 1pm immersive monologues in blackout tents? Many of us are not going. Can’t. Accommodation costs alone can gut a freelancer’s year. The Fringe is becoming a critical echo chamber where only the well-funded, sponsored or otherwise financially suicidal get to participate. It is like inviting everyone to a party but only letting the rich kids in the front door. Everyone else has to write their reviews from the car park.You do not need to be Angela Rayner with a clipboard to work out the solution. Stop giving tax breaks to Airbnb barons and start capping short-term lets during August. Offer subsidised housing for artists and reviewers, even if it is grim halls of residence with showers that cry when you use them. Create a bursary scheme that actually pays living costs. Make venue subsidies conditional on artist welfare. And for god’s sake, stop pretending that “exposure” is currency. You cannot pay for toilet paper with a ★★★★ from The Skinny.If you want the Fringe to survive – no, if you want it to matter – it needs to be reclaimed from the money-men, the brand activations and the theatre schools with Instagram interns. Bring it back to the broke weirdos. The risk-takers. The kids who duct-tape fairy lights to pub ceilings and make magic out of MDF. If that sounds sentimental, tough. The Fringe was never perfect, but it was ours.Now it is being rented out by the hour, with a cleaning fee and a threat of cancellation if you speak above 60 decibels.So here we are. A once radical, wild, DIY cultural mecca has become a gentrified circus where the clowns are broke and the ringmaster’s an estate agent. And yet, in the corner of a dive bar, at midnight, someone will perform something devastatingly brilliant for twelve people and a drunk dog. And it will be worth every penny they will never get back.But unless the system changes, that someone will not come back next year. And that would be the real tragedy. Not because the art died. But because the rent killed it.

Greater Manchester Fringe returns this July with all the gusto of a reinvented Britpop B-side, serving up 75 shows in 17 venues across the city’s pubs, old mills, railway arches and – because this is Fringe, after all – Stockport Railway Station. The festival runs from 1 July to 2 August and opens with the usual fanfare: a launch party on 14 June at the Kings Arms, spiritual HQ of Northern experimental theatre and enthusiastic gin consumption. I suspect some performances will be more experimental than the cocktails.Now in its umpteenth year of championing the brilliant, the baffling and the very much still in development, the 2025 programme leans heavily into new writing. Three freshly minted plays – I Don’t Want to Play Anymore by Libby Hall, Adult Orphans by Becca Ashton, and Boys We Knew by Emilia Chinnery – are products of the Shelagh Delaney New Writing Award at Salford Arts Theatre, directed by Roni Ellis. Chinnery, 18, makes her professional debut with a play about three young Salford lads clinging to dreams of Oasis-level fame with none of the follow-through. “They come across as quite angry at the world and angry at women,” she says. One imagines a great deal of yelling in bucket hats, and frankly, I am here for it.Elsewhere, the festival spills over with theatre that blurs boundaries – and occasionally common sense. Dr Black is Dead at The Fitzgerald is part murder mystery, part magic show, inviting audiences to solve the case or become suspects themselves – Fringe meets Cluedo with a touch of Derren Brown. Fallen Bodies at the International Anthony Burgess Foundation rewrites humanity’s origin story through the lens of disability, with writer-performer Oliver Turner and director Shannon Black promising incisive comedy and, presumably, a few raised eyebrows. Missed Calls, a headphone play with mime and contemporary dance, closes the festival at Hallé St Peters, offering audiences a chance to eavesdrop on a crumbling relationship one voicemail at a time. I have no doubt some poor spectator will leave thinking twice about answering their own phone.Other highlights include Karma, a new musical from first-timer Archie Jackson, and One Hundred Percent, Precarious Theatre’s offering described as a “dark comedy” – always a promising phrase. Award-winning ETAL Theatre returns with Wink, tackling toxic masculinity in the digital age, presumably somewhere between Tinder and an incel Reddit thread. Songs in the Key of Love brings choral tenderness and poetry to men’s mental health at Hallé St Michaels, while Railway 200, a free promenade show at Stockport Station, sold out faster than you can say “platform theatre.”For younger audiences (or their more patient parents), Neysa Killeen offers Irish storytelling at the new 422 Community Hub in Longsight, with sessions split by age – because apparently even seven-year-olds are picky now. Meanwhile, Happy As Pye includes BSL and neurodiverse leads, ticking much-needed representation boxes with actual substance.Stand-up comedy is, as ever, well stocked with names ranging from circuit staples to nervy newcomers with jokes about flatshares and therapy. Mitch Benn, Amy Webber, Jonathan Mayor and Becky Fury are all on the bill, joined by a scattering of award-winners, improv troupes and, I would wager, at least one person performing an entire set from the perspective of a sentient vape pen.In an era of ticket pricing that seems to demand a mortgage broker, Fringe co-founder Lisa Connor offers welcome clarity: “There is no dynamic pricing.” A rare thing – a festival that remains defiantly affordable, staunchly inclusive and wholly unbothered about where you trained, if at all. I suspect a lot of audience members will thank her for it.Use your favourite search engine to find tickets for Greater Manchester Fringe – get them while you can, before the Salford lads form another band instead. And yes, I am already wondering which bucket hats will survive the summer.

If you’ve been hankering for a show to leave you simultaneously enlightened, exhausted, and emotionally wrung out, Priyanka Shetty’s #CHARLOTTESVILLE might be your grim cup of tea. Billed as “the play that Trump does not want you to see,” it promises a hard-hitting, verbatim docu-play about the 2017 ‘Unite the Right’ rally – that unfortunate moment when America reminded the world it still had a thriving white supremacy problem, complete with tragic casualties and a lot of shameful shouting. After a sell-out run in Washington DC, the UK premiere lands at the Pleasance’s Bunker Two, a venue that somehow feels claustrophobically apt for such an unflinching examination of racial violence and identity politics.Written and performed solely by Shetty, a University of Virginia alumna who arrived seeking the American dream but found something closer to a nightmare of racial isolation and escalating hostility, the show draws from over a hundred interviews, court transcripts, and news reports. It is exactly what it says on the tin: immersive, relentlessly earnest documentary theatre. Those craving nuance will find it here, but don’t expect a comforting narrative or much in the way of theatrical frivolity. This is theatre as moral examination, minus the fluffy cushions. I suspect some audience members will leave furiously tweeting and weeping in equal measure.Shetty’s double duty as writer and solo performer could be read as brave or exhausting, depending on your tolerance for intimate storytelling with no wiggle room for levity or counterpoint. Direction by Tony-winner Yury Urnov, fresh from Helen Hayes accolades and regional theatre acclaim, promises the kind of craft you need for a show carrying this cultural and political heft. The production is shepherded by Richard Jordan, whose trophy cabinet of Olivier, Tony, Emmy, and Fringe First awards could probably furnish a small museum. If anyone can ensure this show doesn’t buckle under the weight of its ambition, it’s him.Ultimately, #CHARLOTTESVILLE is precisely the kind of theatre Edinburgh needs to remind itself it is more than a playground for daft comedies and bland musicals about long-dead royals. It dares to hold up a mirror to the ugly underbelly of American history and contemporary race relations, told through one woman’s brave, meticulous storytelling. If you value your sanity and your thirst for subtlety, perhaps proceed with caution. But if you want a show that pulls no punches – and apparently makes Trump’s blood boil – this is your ticket. Expect to leave feeling disturbed, enlightened, and just a little bit exhausted. Welcome to the Fringe, where the truth is rarely comfortable.

Covent Garden was buzzing this Saturday as theatre fans, bargain hunters, and selfie-seekers converged on St Paul’s Church for the fifth annual Acting for Others Flea Market – and this year, they smashed the fundraising record. More than £110,000 was raised for the charity, which supports theatre workers in times of need, marking the event’s most successful outing yet. I wouldn’t be surprised if a few punters left with their pockets lighter and their hearts just a touch fuller.Sir Stephen Waley-Cohen, Co-Chairman of Acting for Others, was all smiles. “We are delighted that the West End Flea Market is going from strength to strength and the wonderful amount raised, which is significantly higher than previous years,” he said, radiating the kind of optimism only a room full of theatre people can generate.Theatre shows lined up to flaunt their wares, with stalls from Back to the Future, Cabaret at The Kit Kat Club, Les Misérables, Mamma Mia, Mean Girls, Moulin Rouge, SIX, The Phantom of the Opera, and more. Best Dressed Stall went to The Book of Mormon, which wowed attendees with exclusive props and a delightfully irreverent ‘Spooky Mormon Hoopla’ game. The judging panel – Christopher Biggins, Dame Arlene Phillips, and Janie Dee – seemed to enjoy themselves as much as the crowd, who jostled for selfies and signed memorabilia like it was a sport.Jamie’s Bakery kept the sugar highs going, Go Live Theatre Projects hawked quirky gifts, and the West End Charity Football Club hosted a penalty shootout that looked like it was as much about fun as form.Star sightings were aplenty, with luminaries such as Derek Jacobi, Cassidy Janson, Giles Terera, and Rachel Tucker taking time to greet fans, sign autographs, and generally remind everyone why the theatre world thrives on a mix of glamour, generosity, and just a pinch of chaos.Thanks to Shaftesbury Capital Plc’s sponsorship and the generosity of theatre fans, the £110,000 raised will now support 14 member charities under the Acting for Others umbrella, from the Actor’s Children’s Trust to The Theatrical Guild.It was a feel-good day of fundraising – and yes, one suspects that some lucky punters went home with a little West End magic tucked under their arm, along with enough sugar to last until next year’s Flea Market.

If hell is other people, then the underworld is about to get decidedly crowded – and Kevin McHale might want a lifeline. The Glee alum, making his UK stage debut as Xanthias in Stephen Sondheim’s rarely revived The Frogs, now faces a rotating door of guest stars sharing the role of Pluto – and they are poised to give Hades a run for his money.First up is Drag Race UK’s Victoria Scone, the first AFAB queen on the franchise and an instant fan favourite. With credits ranging from a campy Mother Superior in Death Drop to a menacing Carabosse in Sleeping Beauty, expect divine chaos with a side of glitter.Then comes Danielle Steers, a veteran of jukebox musicals and powerhouse belters, recently seen as Catherine Parr in Six and channeling Janis Joplin in A Night with Janis Joplin. If the devil has all the best tunes, Steers might just steal every scene – and possibly your soul.Sooz Kempner follows, a stand-up comic whose sardonic edge has been honed by solo shows and BBC audio dramas. The afterlife is in for a roast. Rounding out the announced Plutos is Jo Foster, who has made a name playing tortured romantics and sassy sidekicks in & Juliet and Hex. Charm, chill or chaos – she’s got it covered.One final guest star remains to be revealed, and given this lineup, they’d better come armed. Meanwhile, McHale’s Xanthias will be dodging frogs, furies, and fiercely fabulous Plutos as he assists Dionysos in his mission to save humanity – one croak at a time.The Frogs, a comedy born in 405 BC and resurrected with Sondheim’s sardonic score, plays at Southwark Playhouse Borough from 23 May to 28 June. Bring popcorn, perhaps a cushion for fainting, and definitely a life vest – this underworld is about to get delightfully crowded.

Comedians gearing up for the Edinburgh Fringe 2025 are being handed a lifeline by Brass Tacks Comedy – the small, female-led grassroots company that has seemingly decided to save everyone from the soul-crushing reality of bombing on stage. Whether genuinely altruistic or just keen on a bit of attention, the Scotland-based outfit is offering downloadable guides aimed at helping comics survive the chaos without imploding under the weight of their own hubris.The freebies include a Fringe Survival Guide, a Budgeting Guide with editable templates, and a how-to on actually structuring a comedy show – because shouting punchlines for an hour doesn’t technically count as a narrative arc.“We know the Fringe can feel like a logistical nightmare wrapped in an existential crisis,” says founder Katie Palmer. And yes, some of us might recall why we gave up on it years ago. Palmer insists these guides will not only soothe the chaos but also provide the emotional through-line your show desperately needs – a polite way of saying “we’ve seen what happens when you wing it.”For those seeking more hands-on help, Brass Tacks has launched ‘Fresh Eyes’ sessions – £110 for a two-hour workshop in which Palmer and colleagues watch your work and offer brutally honest feedback. Comedian Grace Mulvey credits Palmer with shaping her 2024 Fringe show, which Rolling Stone apparently hailed as a hit. Mulvey describes the process as helping her ‘find the clear theme of the show’ – a charitable translation of “stop rambling incoherently.”All downloads are free, because, as Palmer says, “no one teaches you this bit.” True enough – though some would argue experience and observation are just as valuable as downloadable PDFs.Still, for any unseasoned comic in need of a sanity-saving intervention, Brass Tacks Comedy might just be the festival fairy godmother you never knew you needed. Or, at the very least, the one you can afford.

Milton Keynes’ biennial festival of bewildering spectacle, absurdity, and outright madness is back. The IF: Milton Keynes International Festival returns this July, promising ten days of artistic chaos that will either leave you inspired or questioning your decision to leave the house. From pyrotechnics to human trees, and vertical choreography on 40-metre sculptures to robot-written poetry, this is not your grandmother’s idea of culture.The festival kicks off with Deabru Beltzak’s Symfeuny, a noisy, spark-filled, drumming-infused promenade performance on 18 July. Expect pyrotechnics lighting up the streets of Milton Keynes before culminating in a grand finale in Campbell Park. Nothing says “refined art” quite like exploding things in public spaces, but, to be fair, the city survived the 2015 Rugby World Cup celebrations.For those less inclined towards fireworks, Transe Express’s DNA Vertical Odyssey offers a vertiginous alternative. Performed on a 40-metre-high sculpture beneath a 200-ton crane, it blends aerial dance, drumming, and some seriously impressive engineering feats. Watch humans hang off a giant crane while you sip your overpriced coffee nearby – it’s audacious, dizzying, and, if nothing else, excellent people-watching.Fugit by Kamchàtka, running from 24 to 26 July, invites audiences to wander through Wolverton with complete strangers, abandoning the safety of familiar routines. It’s an homage to those who “abandon the unnecessary,” and might appeal if your relationship with your phone could do with a little detox.Meanwhile, Pagrav Dance Company’s One Sky brings the spirit of India’s Kite Festivals to Campbell Park on 19 July. Six dancers collaborate with puppets in a dynamic fusion of movement and tradition, celebrating Pagrav’s twentieth anniversary. Cultural fusion has rarely looked so energetic – and yes, you might consider sending them a card.For a quieter, contemplative moment, Michael Pendry’s Les Colombes in Middleton Hall at centre:mk features more than 2,000 white paper doves, exploring the delicate balance between individual freedom and collective belonging. Visitors are invited to contribute their own dove, potentially sparking a miniature peace uprising across Milton Keynes.The festival also revives the beloved Spiegeltent, with acts including The Noise Next Door and La Voix – familiar to Drag Race fans as the perennial competitor who never quite takes the crown. And for families, Shlomo’s Beatbox Adventure for Kids offers extreme beatboxing and a gentle reminder that sometimes the fun of art lies in not taking it too seriously.Milton Keynes, brace yourself for a festival that pushes boundaries, challenges expectations, and may leave you questioning what, exactly, should be staged next. Whether you’re drawn to drumming, daring acrobatics, or immersive wanderings, IF: Milton Keynes promises an unforgettable, occasionally disorienting experience – and really, isn’t that the best kind of art?Full programme and ticket details at ifmiltonkeynes.org.

Brace yourselves, culture vultures and masochists alike. The Edinburgh Festival Fringe has wheezed out another one thousand five hundred and sixty-four shows for 2025, bringing the total to a casual three thousand three hundred and fifty-six. That is not a programme. That is a cry for help.The organisers, in a remarkable display of optimism or perhaps denial, have invited audiences to #DareToDiscover. Nothing says “meaningful discovery” quite like elbowing through forty flyers and five clowns on stilts to reach a half-lit venue above a vape shop.Tony Lankester, Chief Executive of the Fringe Society, heralded this “last release of shows before the full programme launch on 3 June” as an exciting glimpse of what artists are bringing this year. I am all for enthusiasm, but someone should check if quality made it onto the stage alongside quantity.In typical Fringe fashion, genres range from theatre and comedy to cabaret, drag, opera, children’s shows, menstrual musicals, and something billed as “an interactive, mythology-inspired modern story”, which seems to involve holding a torch while someone in linen screams about destiny.Themes are equally eclectic: “women’s history,” “conspiracy theories,” “existentialism,” and “club culture,” the last likely referring to a 10pm meltdown in a converted cellar that smells of IPA and regret.A handful of titles illustrate the mix. Sink or SING! promises empowerment through karaoke, while Dragged Through the Mud offers a glimpse into the loneliness of being fabulous. Go With the Flow takes on the menstrual cycle with music and mischief, proving that biology and performance art are, apparently, compatible.Comedy punters will find CatGPT: Feline and Feral, featuring a robo-kitty life coach; Maria McAveety: A Problem Like Maria, where the comedian questions if she is the problem (spoiler: probably); and Biff to the Future, in which the villain from Back to the Future inexplicably takes centre stage. One suspects some ideas were whispered in panic over coffee.Children are not spared. Snakes and Bladders somehow manages to explore snakes and urinary tracts simultaneously, while Monski Mouse's Baby Cabaret invites toddlers to ponder life’s great questions amidst wiggly worm songs.There are tributes to Liza Minnelli, Frank Zappa and Shane MacGowan, alongside shows about sleight-of-hand and sperm donation. And if you still think I am exaggerating, Mushroomification features a talking fungus and a hive-mind scientist named Karies, so you are thoroughly unprepared.In short, it is the usual Fringe fever dream: over three thousand shows, one working toilet, and someone dressed as a fish insisting their one-woman mime about climate anxiety is life-changing.You have been warned.