Latest Interviews

Scotland and Comedy Editor James Macfarlane had a fabulous time interviewing cult icons Mink Stole and Peaches Christ about their upcoming show 'Idol Worship'. They talk everything from the origin of their friendship, what to expect from the show and why this will be the first and final time they bring the show to the UK.Peaches Christ and Mink Stole! How are you?Mink Stole: I cut my thumb last night on a knife, but other than that, I'm absolutely fine.Peaches Christ: I think none of us are fine right now, wherever you are in the world, especially if you're an American, it's a hellscape. But outside of the obvious, I’m doing well!Let’s talk about Idol Worship. It’s being described as ‘part interview, part concert, part storytelling’. How did you find the balance between those elements when you were building the show?Peaches: It started 25 years ago as a conversation before a midnight movie screening as part of my Midnight Mass movie event. Mink was the first icon I'd ever invited, and I fell in love with her. I couldn't believe that she was willing to do a show with me! I had the audacity to ask her to do it again and again. From there, I asked her to be in a movie and, for part of the movie promotion, we decided to sing a duet. That led me to ask her to be in a big drag show and then we had enough material to do a show, Idol Worship, without a screening of the movie. That’s when it transferred into just the two of us on stage. Mink sang and we had movie clips. That was about ten years ago. During the pandemic it evolved again and became much more about our friendship and working relationship. So, it’s truly evolved over time.Mink: It became a mutual admiration, because I have so much admiration and respect for Peaches. When she asks me to do things, they're fun, they're good and they're well done, so I always say yes. She takes good care of me and it's always a positive experience.The show itself celebrates Mink and her legacy, as well as the creative partnership between you. How did you decide what parts of that history you should be including on stage and what to leave out?Peaches: That's a great question. To be honest, it’s very difficult. Mink lets me almost exclusively decide what to highlight about her. If she doesn't like something or she's tired of a particular story, because we've told it a million times, then we’ve got a thousand more. So much so, in fact, that the conversational part of the show is truly impromptu. We know we're going to talk about Pink Flamingos and about me being exposed to Multiple Maniacs and the sacrilege in that film. We know that we're going to connect some of these dots. But it does change. I'll tell you that, for the fans, the iconography that we are celebrating is, of course, Connie Marble, Peggy Gravel, Taffy Davenport and Dottie Hinkle.You described the show as an ‘uncensored exposé’. What does being truly unfiltered in a live performance look like to you both?Mink: Well, it's uncensored in that we talk about things that are perhaps not family friendly. Words do fly out of our mouths on occasion.Peaches: It's not so much that Mink and I are being outrageous, we're really not, but you might think that us discussing parts of our lives and our work, for some people, we might need that uncensored caveat to refer back to. We've never gotten complaints, but we've definitely seen people's shocked faces, if that makes sense.So, with the film clips and the live music and the storytelling all woven together in this show, what kind of experience do you want the audience to take away?Mink: I think we want them to go away thinking that they actually met us and that they got to know a little bit about us and what we're like in our real lives.Peaches: I think this is the most revealing Peaches show I’ll ever do. I'm sitting there in full drag, but a lot of what I'm talking about is my inner child and what my reaction to discovering her was like before I discovered Peaches and how it led to becoming Peaches.In this show, you're seeing a lot more of Joshua. And I like that because, when I started drag, Peaches was armour. She was a disguise and a way for me to rebel and to protect myself. I love that this show's become that sort of deeply personal. I agree with Mink, I want them to get to know us. I actually want them to see a different version of drag. I'm lucky as a Gen-Xer to have been exposed to all other kinds of drag. Don't get me wrong, I really am entertained by RuPaul’s Drag Race, but for some people, that's their only view of what drag is or has been. I love it when the young people sit with their blue hair realising, ‘Oh shit, we had no idea’. Young people being turned on by the same stuff that turned me on is so brilliant.Is there anything that you've learned about each other on a personal level throughout doing the show?Mink: So, we both grew up Catholic and the way that Catholicism did damage to us as children is something that we've been able to explore a bit. I had some very cathartic moments that have informed Peaches' catharsis, big time. We have been instrumental somehow in helping each other and my talking about it with Peaches on stage still helps me because there's always that lingering feeling like you've got a crucifix tattooed on the back of your neck.Peaches: It's like having to be deprogrammed and that takes a lifetime. I learned so much from Mink. But you also have to remember that I met Mink at 24 years old. She’s literally watched me grow up. I'm 52, so I'm sure she's seen me really evolve. And I would say that the thing that's been lovely as far as the evolution of working with Mink is just what an incredibly good friend and mentor she's become. I call her one of my drag mothers because she, Cassandra Peterson and John Waters were such incredible showbiz mentors to me in a very nurturing way. I feel like they have taught me how to show up and be gracious and to really enjoy getting to know people who I've inspired.Years ago, there was a fan who had a tattoo of Mink. She hadn’t seen this very often. Now it happens regularly. Pretty much wherever we go, someone's going to have a tattoo of Mink and Mink's looking at it going, ‘You put that on yourself?’ She was so baffled by it but she’s changed lives.Mink: I found it very hard to accept at first.How does it make you feel now, Mink?Mink: Well, it's incredibly gratifying. I feel very responsible now for these people, that somehow I can't do anything wrong in my life that would justify them having to remove the tattoo.Peaches: I mean, I always think about the Harry Potter fans...Back to the show, it's the first and last time that you're bringing Idol Worship to the UK. What makes this seem like the best time to say goodbye to the show?Mink: We had planned to come in 2020, but the pandemic hit. It was an earlier iteration of the show, so, in a sense, I'm actually really happy that we didn't bring it then, because what we're bringing now is better.Peaches: We were scheduled to be in London in March 2020. That's how close it was to happening and this was something she and I were so looking forward to. One of the things about the show is we do at the end kind of talk about our personal lives. Mink has intentionally decided to slow down some because of getting married and wanting to enjoy a different life. The idea of touring, it's hard. It's Mink, me and my husband, the three of us going from theatre to theatre. We do our best to really make it comfortable for Mink, but, at the end of the day, just getting on stage is hard, let alone the movement from city to city, the packing, the unpacking, all of that stuff. When we were planning our London show, I thought if we're going to go to London, let's go all over the UK. And that's what happened.Speaking to you today, it’s obvious that you have such a lovely friendship. I want to know your favourite thing about the other person?Mink: First of all, Peaches has such enormous ambition, talent and determination, which I admire enormously. However, I think I am most taken by Peaches’ kindness. She’s really kind and generous, not just to me, but to everybody that I've ever seen her work with. There may be some things that I haven't seen, but I have never seen her be cruel.Peaches: Thank you, Mink. I will say that my answer is very similar, but I'm going to frame it like this. It's kind of like when I met my husband. I used to think that in order for me to marry someone, they're going to have to like the same movies, they're going to have to like the same music. I used to think all those things were important. When I met my husband, he had no concept of who Peaches Christ was. He did not know who John Waters was. He was open to learning everything about me. What bonded us was our view on humanity, our kindness, our sense of how to treat people and our sense of what's important in this world to live a good, fulfilling life. Mink and I bonded over the same stuff.I think we're basically saying the same thing. When you work with someone and even if they're talented and you admire them, but they don't treat people the way you think people should be treated, it's very hard to sustain a relationship, even if the work is great. So, if you think that I'm nice and you look at the people that I work the most with, especially Mink, but you could look at Jinkx Monsoon, Bob the Drag Queen and a bunch of others, the people that I'm really connected to as family, what you can discern is they're probably similar people.

Luke Stiles talks to us about growing up in California, studying at LAMDA and his debut play Miraculous. Let’s do this chronologically, Luke, and start with where you grew up and your background.Luke: I was born in Pasadena, California, and grew up in southern California, very much in the church. I was announced in the same church my parents were married in, and we went every week. During middle and high school, I went to youth group every week and spent every summer at a week-long Christian camp in the mountains.What kind of church environment was that?Luke: It was an evangelical Presbyterian congregational church – very Protestant, slightly new wave. The church itself was big and a bit old-fashioned in its ways, so I grew up with a conservative foundation, but my youth pastors were always these twenty-something aspiring theologians – mentors who gave a more progressive lens, and that combination really shaped me.Camp was especially formative. You’re away from your parents, up in the mountains, spending a week with these people and the friends in your cabin. Those shared experiences were defining.Where did you go to school after that?Luke: I went to high school in La Cañada, and throughout I did theatre and was writing as well. I went to UC Berkeley for undergrad and studied journalism, politics and economics. I stayed active in theatre, took classes and wrote for the paper, The Daily Californian, which became a central part of my identity and development, as did my theatre professor, Christopher Herold, who really shaped my path. He encouraged me to pursue an MFA and coached me through the audition process for LAMDA.I was accepted and moved to London in 2023, completed the Classical MFA programme in April 2025, and have since been putting up work with collaborators, mostly in the fringe circuit. Last year, some of my best friends and I took FRAT to the Prague, Brighton, Camden and Edinburgh fringes, and that kind of scrappy, grassroots theatre was an incredibly formative experience. That run started at the Old Red Lion.And that’s where you are staging your play, Miraculous, so let’s move on to that.Luke: I started writing this piece at LAMDA. I put an early version up at the April Fools’ Fringe scratch night in 2025, which Diego and Brock also produced, and the response was really lovely – very encouraging. Miraculous really came together at the end of last year when I was thinking about what projects I wanted to do in 2026. The draft we’re working with now came out of that.And who are your collaborators on the piece?Luke: Our main team is Diego Zozaya, the other actor; Brock Looser, our producer; and Toby Clarke, our director.I trained at LAMDA with Diego Zozaya and I’ve collaborated with him a few times before. Diego wrote a project, A Mechanical’s Midsummer Night’s Dream, that took him, Brock and me to a theatre festival in Beijing. I wrote the role in Miraculous with him in mind from the outset.Miraculous is produced by Brock Looser, another member of our LAMDA cohort and long-time collaborator. We started an improv group, Wiggle Room, together, and she brought invaluable producing experience from her own work at the Old Red Lion last year.Our director, Toby Clarke, has been a vital mentor. He directed our actor showcase and the web series The L’s during our training. He’s done a lot of dramaturgical work with us and really helped shape the script. His expertise in both stage and screen has been invaluable, especially given the intimacy of the Old Red Lion Theatre, which allows for a cinematic, high-detail performance style.So what’s the play about?Luke: It’s about a youth pastor and a troubled teenager who meet over a series of mentorship sessions at a Christian sleepaway camp. As their views on faith, sexuality and divine intervention become increasingly incompatible, the tension rises and culminates in a fatal attempt to test whether miracles still happen.Given what you said earlier, how personal is the material for you?Luke: Completely personal. I grew up inside evangelical church culture, so I know its rhythms, its language, how it can make you feel chosen and confined at the same time. I was really interested in that moment when sacred language collides with adolescent chaos, when you know the doctrine but start having real adult questions. I lived that experience, and I wanted to see it on stage.I think the most personal stories often become the most universal. There’s a lot of conversation right now about young men feeling isolated or adrift. When you’re searching for structure and meaning, the church can offer that in a powerful, sometimes intoxicating way. My play examines why that structure is attractive, but also how it can become destructive.Does it connect to contemporary Christian politics in the USA?Luke: Not overtly. It’s more about generational belief systems clashing than about politics. We see versions of conservative Christianity through two lenses. Josh is a teenager seeking answers, stability and a father figure, and Paul is a millennial pastor who appears progressive but holds fundamentalist core beliefs about sex and religion. The play lives inside that tension.What do you hope audiences will take away?Luke: I don’t know exactly what the outcome will be, and that’s exciting. I think there’s a temptation to “solve” the play – to assign blame or decide who’s right. I’m less interested in that. I care more about the moral dilemma and the emotional cost for the two people at the centre of it, and about watching them collide and change over the course of a week.We’ve put a great deal of care into the rehearsal draft, and I’m eager to see how audiences – both those from religious backgrounds and those from none – react to the relationship at the heart of the story. For some, it’ll feel deeply familiar. For others, it’s a window into a world they’ve never experienced. I’m just excited for the conversations it sparks.Looking ahead, what are your hopes for the production?Luke: We’ve had a wonderful response so far, with interest from a few theatres. My hope is to secure a further run this summer or autumn and continue developing the piece from there.Thinking back to some earlier comments, and as this play arises out of your Christian camp days, I’m curious to know if you are still part of the church back home and whether you attend here.Luke: I go once in a while when I’m home with my parents, and I’ve been once here with my aunt, but I don’t attend regularly any more.Photo: Luke (right) with a friend at one of the camps.

Chris Leicester's play, 180° Chord, continues its UK tour with a run at Greenwich Theatre. Here we find out about his background, the play and his approach to theatre.Chris, let’s start with a biographical introduction, which I suppose should begin with your childhood in Sheffield and how you got into writing.Yes, they were interesting days. I’m a working-class lad from Sheffield. At that time you were pretty much expected to wander off into a working life in the coal mines or steelworks, so being creative was a bit of a stretch. I did it anyway and began writing poetry. I went to a rough comprehensive with rubbish teachers, bar one, and so fighting in the playground was obligatory and broke up the creative flow somewhat. But by the end of it all I knew what I wanted to do. The first thing I did after finishing the sixth form was to go on walkabout around Europe, whilst taking on 14 various, and mostly appalling, temporary jobs. I felt I needed to get more experience in life, and I did, and it’s one of the most valuable things I ever did.You graduated from Liverpool University in 1998 with a degree in creative writing and since then you say you’ve been on a journey. What’s that involved?My theatrical journey began in Liverpool. I joined and then ended up running a writers’ group called Liverpool Playwrights. I soon began to realise that getting my work produced by a company was likely to be really hard work, so I formed my own company over a pint in the Pilgrim pub in the city. I put on a short version of a play I’d just written and those of four other members of the group. The learning curve was vertical but gave me a start on this tricky and sometimes rocky road. As I wrote more and the reviews continued to be good, I pushed out the boundaries further and further to where I am now. There are two main qualities you need for this, I reckon: perseverance and near stupidity.The play you are now touring, 180° Chord, started out as a book. Can you give us an insight into what inspired the story and the characters?I’ve always had a healthy respect for fate in my own life and it never amazes me what it can suddenly throw at you. I was looking for a situation in which something or someone could change completely, instantly and without warning. The idea of a ruthless copper finding himself in the same prison he’d sent a lot of villains to provided a brilliant premise for this. Also, in 180° Chord, I play with the idea of how similar a ruthless copper and a seasoned and competent criminal are. Those two characters make for great theatre, especially as we’ve got two fantastic actors playing the roles.You decided to make it into a play. Why was that and what challenges did the process involve?Because the book hinged around two main characters, it was crying out to be adapted to a theatre piece. I had to simplify the subplots a little and make sure that I was still showing and not telling. Keeping the staging simple and maintaining the flow of the play was essential to making sure the story carried well, which I think it does. The play has been significantly workshopped and it’s had a few changes since it was first performed a few years ago. This process is vital to keep the project vibrant and appealing.The two actors you mentioned are Paul Findlay and Dominic Thompson. How did you come to cast them and what do you think they bring to their roles?I’d already pretty much cast the play via Spotlight when I received an email from Paul. As soon as I heard him read the script I knew he was a perfect fit. Paul had worked with Dom a number of times and recommended him. They’re well known in the Midlands and beyond and have won several prestigious awards. They bring excellence to these characters. I’d describe them as exceptional actors, especially as they work so wonderfully well together. They are true masters of their craft.Talking of crafts, what do you feel to be the benefits and downsides of directing your own writing?It’s great to be able to write your own directions into a new project as you’re first creating it on paper. I can visualise the story, dialogue and characters, but I can also see how the finished project can be staged, how it can be lit and moved, and what sound effects can roll the performance along. A downside could be that you have a blinkered view and that the production could be limited to and by your own input. The remedy for this is to listen. I’m fortunate to have worked with some great professionals over 30 years, and so when someone I respect tells me that perhaps something isn’t working as well as it could, or an alternative could work better, then I listen.You describe yourself as having a minimalist approach to theatre. What are the fundamentals of that and how are they incorporated in 180° Chord?I say that my work is driven by the words and the actors. This is my minimalist approach. Some of this comes from having been at the Edinburgh Fringe a couple of times and having had a number of UK tours. There’s only so much stuff you can cart around. Given tight get-in and get-out times, your production has to be simple. I rather got addicted to that, making both the words and acting really count. 180° Chord is no different. The set will fit in the back of my car. The play is stronger for it, I believe. We have to make words and the performance work as well as they possibly can.You’ve said the play has an educational purpose. Can you explain that?This is two-fold. There’s a message to young people about not getting involved in “county lines” gangs. It’s not a preachy message, but it’s there all the same. The second purpose is to encourage young people to be creative. This applies to everyone. I love Shakespeare now, but when I first came across it at school, it felt like it was owned by posh, pretentious people. No chance for a lowly comprehensive school lad then. Nobody owns imagination. It’s an open space where anybody can roam. This is a message I love to spread.This relates to your Dramatic Insight project, so let’s hear about that and also your theatre company, Too Write Productions.The Dramatic Insight project adds another dimension to the theatre projects of Too Write Productions. Whilst we’re showing people the play itself, we can connect with young people to tell them how we created it, what steps we took and what we learned along the way. It’s like double rations. They complement each other perfectly.What’s your message to young writers and presumably the message you keep giving yourself?Be bold. Listen to the right people and possibly ignore the wrong people. Believe in your own work. Be true to yourself and, above all else, keep creating.

Stephanie Badaru was invited by Intermission Youth Theatre’s artistic director Darren Raymond to become the first graduate of the company to direct a production for them. We asked her about the experience.Stephanie, how do you view the company?I view Intermission Youth as a family, first and foremost. I’ve been lucky enough to see the organisation through a variety of lenses, as a participant, a facilitator and now a director. That has given me the chance to see how much the organisation has grown, all while keeping the mission of supporting young people at the core. My involvement as a director, 17 years after doing the programme myself, is a testament to the work they do and the people they are.Some people might think it strange that a youth theatre company focuses its work around Shakespeare.I think it’s easy to question ‘why Shakespeare?’ but even more than before I understand why it’s so important and so effective. Firstly, the themes he wrote about are just as relevant today as they were when they were written, but also understanding the language and working with classics breaks down barriers for young people. It’s about connection, and actually using Shakespeare’s plays allows for such an opportunity to expand empathy and make connections.How did you come to direct Comedy of Errors Remixed?I did the 10-month programme all those years ago, and when I was introduced to the organisation, I think Darren saw something in me and knew what journey I could go on. Two years ago I came back as a facilitator, which I’d wanted to do for years to give back and support the programme, but never had the time. This year I came back again, intending to facilitate, and then was asked to direct. It did make me think ‘how far are they gonna take this personal development thing?!’, but that’s what Intermission are about. Darren and the rest of the team have an incredible passion and ability to see a young person’s potential and lock in with them to make it happen.Were you surprised to be asked to direct this year's show and how does it feel to be making history?I was extremely surprised! I still think Darren is crazy for asking me but we’re here now. When he first called me, I said no, because of time and also my experience. He then suggested that I could co-direct with another grad. I agreed, even though I doubted the other grad's capacity. Then it turned out the other person wasn’t able to work on it. Despite my worries, my heart was shouting at me that I had to say yes, so as soon as the next call came from Darren I said yes straight away and told him to take that as my final answer, no sleeping on it, no mulling it over.Intermission changed my life, and continues to do that for every young person who participates in their programmes. Ever since I completed the 10-month programme I’ve always wanted to give back, not necessarily to be a part of making history, but because if I can help make a difference in one young person's life the way that others made a difference in mine, I’ve done something to give back.One feature of IYT productions is double casting. How does that work out for you as director?It’s really fun. I get to see two almost entirely different shows. When we first started rehearsals, it felt like they looked to me for answers, and my response was that 1, I don’t have the answers, and 2, I’m not there to tell you how to act or what to interpret from the text. It was challenging, but in refusing to answer those questions, it gave the casts space to consider it all, apply their own opinions and interpretations, and in some ways create their own show. It has meant that while the text is the same, the characters are dynamic between the two casts: they have different intentions, there’s nuance to how they deliver different lines and there’s different depths to the relationships.This year’s production is a reimagining of Shakespeare’s Comedy of Errors, created by Artistic Director Darren Raymond. What’s he done with it, and what themes and issues does the production highlight?Darren’s script pulls out some seriously topical issues like displacement, identity, immigration and the struggle to assimilate, which are relevant generally, because of the current social climate, and also because so many of our cast and the young people Intermission work with come from immigrant backgrounds. We’ve found our focus is on empathy and humanising the stories of refugees and immigrants. I think that seeing young people, especially those from immigrant backgrounds, is especially hard-hitting because it personalises those who are being impacted negatively by the social climate and policies. A lot of the time the headlines we see are quite dehumanising, and vilify immigrants as a group rather than acknowledging them as individuals. In our first scene, you actually get to hear people’s stories. Through the stories you hear, we allow an opportunity to personalise, to humanise and to actually give space for the extremely difficult circumstances that immigrants have fled.

I recently saw Thekla Gaiti’s play Postdramatic at Milano Off Fringe Festival. I was intrigued, excited and somewhat perplexed by the nature of the work and the performance it requires that I decided an interview was needed to find out more abut her and the theatrical style she has adopted, which was new me.Thekla, let’s start with an introduction to your background and training.I’m an actress, performer and educator based in Athens, working across theatre, film, music and television. Recently I have been exploring conceptual photography and solo performance. I’ve trained extensively in acting, voice and movement, with a focus on physical theatre, improvisation and both solo and ensemble performance. Postdramatic is my first solo piece, and it began as a photo series before evolving into a full-scale performance.The title of your play gives away its genre, so can you tell us something of the history and characteristics of this style of theatre?Certainly. When we speak of postdramatic theatre, we refer to a broad range of performance practices that have emerged since the late 20th century, roughly from the 1970s onward. It didn’t arise from a single movement, but from wider cultural shifts: the crises of the 20th century, the rise of mass and digital media, the decline of grand narratives and a growing scepticism toward fixed identities and stable meanings.In this context, artists began experimenting with new forms of expression, incorporating methods and practices from a variety of artistic and disciplinary traditions, while questioning the traditional foundations of dramatic theatre: plot, character psychology, linear storytelling and the primacy of the written text. The term itself became widely established after Hans-Thies Lehmann’s seminal study Postdramatic Theatre in 1999, which was quickly recognised internationally as a key reference point for understanding these new aesthetics.What’s unique about postdramatic theatre is that, rather than offering a formula to follow, it opens a space for experimentation. It isn’t defined by a single style, but by a set of tendencies: narrative is rarely linear or continuous, often taking an open or discontinuous form; the performer’s presence takes precedence over character psychology; and the text becomes just one material among many. Postdramatic theatre draws freely from other disciplines — visual arts, dance, music, video — collapsing traditional hierarchies between them. The audience is no longer a passive observer, but invited to interpret, respond, and even participate, rather than simply decode the performance.Directors like Robert Wilson, Pina Bausch, Heiner Goebbels and Romeo Castellucci use postdramatic forms to break traditional storytelling. Their work reflects the complexity of contemporary life, with its fluid identities and overlapping realities and focuses on experience, resonance, and multiplicity rather than fixed narratives.Hοw did you discover this form of expression and why does it appeal to you?I discovered postdramatic theatre during my Master’s studies and was immediately captivated by it. Unlike more traditional forms, it offered me the space to realize what theatre could mean for me, not only as a practice, but as a lived way of responding to the world. I decided to dedicate my thesis to creating Postdramatic as a solo performance.What excites me about postdramatic work is that it lets me create something personal and strange, offering the audience a fresh way to experience theatre; a way to explore ideas, emotions and perspectives in a form that’s unconventional, surprising and vibrant. It’s my chance to speak with my own voice and create theatre that’s intimate, alive and speaks directly from me to the audience.How have you used the form in your play, which you refer to as “a sincere tribute to the Incomplete” ?In this piece, I use postdramatic form to embrace rather than resolve incompleteness. The piece is built as a collage of short scenes that keep shifting before they can settle and grew out of my own creative and cognitive rhythm: a mind that shifts quickly, gathers impressions, and struggles with closure. Postdramatic theatre allows me to turn that restlessness into method, transforming chaos into material rather than obstacle. I call it a “heartfelt tribute to the Incomplete” because it doesn’t try to fix or solve this condition, but to live inside it honestly, and invite the audience to inhabit that space with me.Is the medium more important than the message?In postdramatic theatre the two can’t really be separated. The medium is part of the message and the message only fully exists because of the way it is delivered. Most often the form is the statement. In my case, the choice to work with discontinuity and incompleteness isn’t just a stylistic frame around an idea, it is the idea.You go on to say that “making sense of what happens on stage is optional”, so what would you like people to take away from having seen your performance?I don’t expect the audience to “make sense” of everything on stage — that’s not the point. Postdramatic does not favor a predetermined conclusion that I want them to arrive at. There is no unified “truth” or a clear message to be decoded. The swimmer character in my piece moves through the scenes, opening up possibilities rather than giving answers, and I hope people leave having experienced an emotional journey, taking with them a feeling, a moment or a spark of recognition.Thekla, thank you so much for this insight.Postdramatic is still touring in Greece and internationally and as an example of this genre it is outstanding. It has been met with great enthusiasm by audiences and also won an Off West End Award (Offie) in London in March 2025. The next step in its journey is a phygital theatrical hybrid, merging live performance with cinematic language, set to premiere in February 2026 at a major cinema in Athens, which Thekla sees as challenging herself "to explore postdramatic theatre in deeper, more experimental and unfamiliar ways".

Whenever my friends ask me for show recommendations, Mythos: Ragnarök is top of my list.It’s fun to tell them about this show based on Norse mythology, featuring the likes of Odin and Loki, and watch their jaws slowly drop when I mention it’s all told through wrestling.Mythos: Ragnarök is the only show of its kind in the world and one of the Fringe’s successes. Having debuted at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival in 2021, the show opened to a single audience member, who has since attended every year’s opening night. Four years on, it’s one of the highest-rated shows, selling out performances and becoming a crowd favourite at the Fringe, with a dedicated cult following.Curious to discover how this crowd-pleaser came into existence, I sat down with Ed Gamester, the creator, owner, pro-wrestler and lead performer of Mythos: Ragnarök.Having known him only as Odin in the show, I couldn’t help but feel nervous about meeting this intimidating pro-wrestling god. Ed, as I soon discovered, is a kind and caring gentleman with a deep passion for storytelling and wrestling.“I’ve been a wrestler forever, since I was 16. So I was very familiar with the wrestling industry and how wrestling worked as an art form, as a form of storytelling. I thought it was the best thing that I ever discovered or ever did.”With an extensive career as a stunt performer, fight arranger and athlete, Ed combined the artistic flair, charisma, storytelling and improvisational skills of a pro wrestler with freestyle Olympic-style wrestling and stunt elements.“I tried to combine the three of them together to take the best of all those things to create a new way of doing violence – live violence that hadn’t been done before. I decided to base that in Norse mythology because that’s just my own background and my interest.”While studying philosophy at university, Ed got to “really dig into the old myths and legends in their original languages and play with the poetry of it all. So, when the opportunity came up to create my own show, I thought, ‘Hey, I want to base it on that because I love it.’”Mythos: Ragnarök strikes a chord with audiences that is hard to pinpoint, possibly due to the combination of factors. Ed has undoubtedly found a stylistic crossover between mythology and wrestling that makes total sense as a medium.“If you describe mythology, it’s a collection of superhuman entities often colliding over ridiculous nonsense and resolving their conflicts through fights or trickery. They become household names, and people know they don’t exist, but they still act like they do. It’s like a quasi-realistic approach to a religion. Thor doesn’t exist, but you still tell stories about him as if he does, and people do that with wrestling; they’re massive characters that archetype characters that collide over nonsense and fight one another, and we all know The Rock isn’t actually The Rock, but you’re still talking about him like he’s The Rock. In my world, I figured that pro wrestlers are modern mythological characters, and pro wrestling is modern mythology.”Although the ideas had been brewing for some time, the pandemic’s closure of film sets and wrestling shows, and prohibition of performances by government decree, meant that Ed and the cast were out of work. “So I was forced to sit and write the show. And then I was forced to put it on its feet, because I was going to go insane if I didn’t get to perform. Because it’s not just a job, it’s a lifestyle.”After a brief run at a theatre in London in 2021, the show made its debut at the Edinburgh Festival Fringe. “No one has ever done wrestling here, not like that. There’d been occasional one-off wrestling shows and normal wrestling, but no one had ever done a run. No one had done wrestling every single night at the Fringe. So there was no blueprint for it. But I knew it needed to happen because until wrestling and wrestlers are in environments like this, people will never understand what we do.”Ed, along with his partner Melanie Watson, who designed the show’s look and costumes, has worked for five years to get the show off the ground, continuously improving it. All set pieces are built and handmade by them, inspired by Viking-age artwork – no small task, as the costumes must look worthy of the gods while also surviving being wrestled in.“Every night we get slammed into the floor, into hard surfaces. There are people in the cast who are close to seven feet tall, and some are 130 kilograms.”Having recently celebrated his 200th performance, Ed’s efforts have paid off as “the venues have got bigger and badder every single year”. The show has now travelled to six countries and is booked till 2027, but always returns to its debut stage at the Edinburgh Fringe, where fans and newcomers alike have rallied around Mythos: Ragnarök, with many audience members having come to see it in the past and wearing the show’s merch.The show is layered, showcasing what is possible through the storytelling art of wrestling.“The storytelling art of wrestling is so versatile, it isn’t just limited to ‘You’ve annoyed me, now we’ll fight’, which is what we do for the first bit of the show. Once we’ve done that and proved how well it works, the next step is to show how we handle tragedy and emotional beats. Can we do emotional stuff?”In a festival overflowing with theatre, comedy and musicals, Ed makes a point about wrestling:“In a musical, when the character gets to a point where they can’t talk anymore about their feelings, they sing. In our show, when we can’t talk about our feelings anymore, we fight. And if you think musicals are legitimate theatre, then you should think we’re a legitimate theatre. It’s a different way of expressing feelings and telling stories.”You can catch Ed taking on the role of Loki in this year’s Mythos: Ragnarök.

It is very seldom that I find anything or anyone here in August that makes my wizened, embittered old heart lift and sing. But I spoke to Wil Mars recently about bringing back Some Guy Called Dave's Funniest Joke of the Fringe, to fill the gap left by TV channel Dave – who evidently couldn’t be arsed to wade through a month of one-liners – and my wizened, embittered old heart is singing like a show queen at a Sondheim karaoke night.It is quite something to listen to someone like Wil. “I care about one-liners and proper jokes – I absolutely love them. Hearing a great one makes my week or month or year. That's why I'm bringing back the (Some Guy Called) Dave Joke of the Fringe and putting up the £250 prize money from my own pocket.”And it gets better: “I care about standup. Proper comedy club standup. And it should have a place at the Fringe. It should be respected more. That’s why I’m doing the Edinburgh Fringe Comedian of the Year, encouraging comedians to do their best stuff, and putting up the £1,000 prize money from my own pocket.”As he talks, I can feel there might yet be hope for the Fringe at every level.“I care about comedians. Especially the ones that aren't in the spotlight. That's why we're doing the Joke Sellers show, with all ticket monies and joke auction money going to Comedy Support Act – the comedians’ benevolent fund.”I know what you're thinking – at the end of the last paragraph there’ll be a little laughing emoji and a “gotcha”. Nope.Back to Wil.“I care about sketch comedy, and when it's done well, it's SO MUCH FUN. I grew up watching sketch on TV, and you just don't see as much nowadays. I'm bringing my Sketch Thieves show back to the Fringe to help give sketch acts another opportunity to showcase their brilliance and help them to find an audience for their shows.”He even cares about non-performers.“I care about Fringe audiences. They've treated me so well over the years. They’ve loved my Joke Thieves show more than anything else I’ve ever brought to the Fringe, and so I'm bringing it back for them.”I’m having a quasi-religious experience here…“Oh, and I'm also doing my own solo show – but that's just me telling all my best one-liners and recording it every day for YouTube.”Go, people. Watch. I doubt we shall see his like again.

We talked to Victoria Melody about her EdFringe show, Trouble, Struggle, Bubble and Squeak.Victoria, let's start with the extraordinary background to your show. You went through a divorce and joined a historical re-enactment society in a move to find new paths in life. That's where you came across the 17th-century radicals, the Diggers. So let's begin with that part of your story.I’m an anthropologist, so I embed myself in Britain’s niche communities for around four years and make shows about the people I meet and how they change me. I’ve been a beauty queen, a championship dog handler, a funeral director and a pigeon fancier.When my marriage broke down, I was feeling lost. I started looking for answers in weird places and I stumbled across a history book by Christopher Hill about the English Civil War and the radical groups that emerged during that time, including the Diggers.So, I joined a 17th-century historical re-enactment society. While I was learning about 17th-century army drills and setting fire to myself with lit musket cord, I was also falling into a wormhole about radical politics, land rights and community action. That’s what the show grew out of.The Diggers believed the earth was a common treasury for everyone. They took direct action – not petitions or polite requests, just people putting their bodies on the land and saying, “This is ours, and we’re going to use it to survive.”They lasted about a year before they were crushed by landowners and authorities, but their ideas lived on. They were rooted in their communities – radical and hopeful. They believed in equality and were hungry for a different kind of world.You also discovered that there are people around today like the Diggers and their stories have become the basis of your show. Can you give us some examples?Modern-day Diggers are everywhere. Ordinary people who step up when no one else does. When the state fails them, they take action.The show is based on my time working with a community in Whitehawk – a council estate in East Brighton that borders the South Downs National Park, but it’s not included in it, so the land is constantly under threat from industrial development. It’s a place of contrasts. Around half the children live in poverty and the life expectancy for men is ten years less than the rest of Brighton.The show is hopeful though, celebrating the everyday heroes who don’t make history books but should. Something happened between the community and the developers that was almost miraculous – like a modern-day fable.In what ways do you think we are currently let down by people in power, and how can we go about improving our lot?Here’s one example that comes directly from the show. The NHS currently spends around £20 billion a year dealing with malnutrition. And yet we got rid of community meals on wheels.One of the people I met, Bryan Coyle, who founded a community meals on wheels service, had to squat a disused kitchen just to start feeding people. He and his volunteers, many of them pensioners, were technically trespassing in order to cook meals for vulnerable people. That’s where we’re at – people having to break the law to feed their neighbours.The people in this show aren’t waiting for permission or policy. They’re feeding people, protecting land and saving spaces that matter. Not because they’ve got loads of time or money, but because no one else is doing it. And that’s what’s so powerful. They remind us that change doesn’t always come from the top – it comes from the ground up.You've collaborated for the first time with political comedian and director Mark Thomas. Tell us about that relationship and how it’s influenced the show.I’ve always admired Mark and the way he mixes activism, humour and storytelling. Working with him has been a proper masterclass.He challenged me to make this show without film, which is a first for me. I usually use film to help audiences believe the stories, to see the real people and the settings I’m talking about. Without that, I’ve had to step up my writing and performance and describe things more vividly. He’s taught me how to move at a different pace, and I think the show is stronger for it.It's a serious topic which you approach through the medium of comedy and storytelling. What do you think comedy can bring to these issues?Comedy helps people stay open. When you hit someone with pure facts or hard politics, they can shut down. But if you make them laugh, you make a connection.I come from a big, chaotic working-class family. I learned early on that if I wanted to be heard, I had to be loud and funny. I think humour gives us breathing space. It allows us to talk about grief, injustice and anger without it feeling like a lecture.What would you like audiences to take away from the show?I hope they feel the joy in people and the beauty in community. The news is full of stories about monsters running the world. This show offers an alternative – a reminder that real power lives in ordinary people doing extraordinary things.I want people to come away feeling hopeful and maybe a bit fired up. Not in a shouty political way, but in a “Let’s roll up our sleeves and do something” way. Because it’s already happening. We just need to notice it and join in.

We spoke to Ryan Stewart about their new EdFringe show, KINDER. It involves a drag artist, a library and a catastrophic misunderstanding of a ‘reading hour’…Ryan, your show features a drag artist, a library and a misunderstanding about a ‘reading hour’. How do those come together?Words and languages have always been such queer things, haven’t they? We all use them in our own ways to make sense of the world we’re in; and as the world creates new things that need naming and describing, words are born, or changed, or recontextualised. That transfigurative nature makes them very queer.Formal understandings of our languages have often been filtered through ethno-national boundaries and limitations that flatten complexity and homogenise those languages’ speakers and writers. Think of the variety of dialects, accents and regional differences in meanings and spellings that exist, and the various sociopolitical connotations and implications intertwined with the speaking or writing of these variations, and it all starts to be very queer indeed. It becomes the open mesh of possibilities, gaps, overlaps, dissonances and resonances, lapses and excesses of meaning that Eve Kosofsky Sedgwick understood “queer” to mean.And for people whose queerness extends far beyond any of the borders we’ve demarcated humans by, language is a lifeboat in a frigid, iceberged ocean of heteronormativity – a tool to safely connect with our kin and create community. We took words from all different pockets of our languages and made a bricolage of our own that only recently has begun to spill over with the commercialisation and mainstreaming of drag culture, which has increased the capital of our words.Opening up libraries for people to give readings has become ubiquitous – but what would happen if a drag artist misinterpreted the nature of a reading hour they were booked to do, and what would the implications of that misunderstanding be in today’s world? That’s how KINDER came about.You talk about finding poetry in panic and comedy in chaos, but beneath that you are dealing with the important issue of censorship. At the same time, drag artists reading to children has become a big issue in the USA. Why do you think that is?To be honest, I don't know what is behind the rationality of those who protest for drag bans. I guess that’s why I’ve written the show – to try and get to the bottom of how something so innocent as reading books to children in libraries has become so politicised.What I do know, though, is how we ended up here. For marginalised communities, history is a long game of two steps forward, one step back – and the last decade has seen massive social and political gains for queer people. At the same time, and almost in spite of the progress we’re collectively making, the world is becoming an increasingly difficult place to navigate economically. And rather than own up to the gross inequity that has led us here, those in power direct our gaze horizontally to those around us, not up towards them.History is littered with these periods of economic upheaval, and whenever you see a populace suffering, you also see the rise of a moral panic that seeks to shift blame away from those who have the ability to meaningfully change something. Today, that new moral panic has centred on disruption of gender and scapegoating our trans siblings – of which protests against drag are an extension. The freedom offered by recognising the fluidity of our bodies is a threat to a capitalist system that thrives on divisions created by saying what people can and cannot do, and so anything that seeks to dismantle that, or is seen to be in collusion with that, suddenly comes under fire.But you say you use drag as both a disguise and a magnifying glass. How does that work?Great question! The short answer is that it can all be summed up by summoning the proverbial Trojan horse.Venturing a little further, sometimes it is the most outrageous and the most outlandish that stealthily reveals what we’ve been hiding for so long – that forces us to look upon ourselves and think, “Hmm, where did we go wrong?”We have long utilised the aesthetics of drag to uncover societal anxieties. Think about Marlene Dietrich’s androgyny in Morocco, the iconic Daphne and Josephine in Some Like It Hot, or Robin Williams’ beloved Euphegenia of Mrs Doubtfire. Comedic, yes – but through the laughter, we’ve watched as these loud and brash characters navigate experiences of harassment, objectification and ridicule (or radical acceptance, as in those closing moments on the boat in Some Like It Hot).The gender-bender, even in their positioning as the joke, occupies a sort of mythic, Puckish space that undermines hegemony. Drag offers the artist a mask – a literal second face, if you will. So, for me, the character of Goody in KINDER has been a mask that I’ve been able to use to talk about the things in my life I’ve not yet been able to give voice to as Ryan. They are my disguise, and I use them to talk about what’s really going on right now.And if you think about the figure of the drag artist today, and look at how much power the proponents of this current moral panic have imbued them with – in spite of the precarious reality we really understand artists to be living under – you begin to see how this disguise starts to magnify our problems.

We talked to Alejandro Postigo about his Spanish show at this year’s Edinburgh Fringe.Alejandro, you’re bringing Copla: A Spanish Cabaret to the Fringe this year. Let’s start with an explanation of copla.Copla is a popular song tradition that emerged in Spain in the early 20th century. It’s often compared to torch songs or chanson because it blends folk roots with theatrical flair. At heart, copla is storytelling set to music. Each song is a miniature drama about love, shame, defiance or heartbreak. For many Spaniards, these songs are part of our collective memory, echoing from our grandparents’ radios and oral tradition. However, despite its Spanish relevance, copla is practically unknown outside Spain – which is something I’m trying to redress with this show.What is the emotional range of copla?It’s vast. A copla can be gloriously over-the-top or heartbreakingly restrained. One song might be a bawdy celebration of forbidden passion, the next a lament for a lost homeland. What I love is that copla never apologises for being emotional; nothing is understated. That directness is something I think audiences today really crave.How does it relate to the more well-known Spanish flamenco?Flamenco and copla are often mentioned together because both thrived in Andalusian culture and share Romani and Arabic influences. But they are quite distinct forms. Flamenco is built around improvisation, rhythm and virtuosic expression; you feel the raw passion in the dancer’s footwork or the singer’s wail. Copla, on the other hand, is structured and narrative-driven. It’s much closer to musical theatre: the lyrics tell a clear story, complete with characters and plot. While flamenco can be abstract, copla is about painting a picture in words. Also, although copla is often associated with Andalusia, it really became the popular music of the entire country.It was appropriated by Fascists under the Franco regime, but does that mean it just went underground?Not exactly – more like it split into two faces. Under Franco, certain “acceptable” versions of copla were promoted as official folklore, scrubbed of any challenging content. But for ordinary people, the songs still carried double meanings. They were sung in kitchens, in bars, and sometimes in secret gatherings. Drag performers, for example, kept the more subversive side of copla alive, but they often had to do it behind closed doors.After the dictatorship ended, there was an explosion of reclaiming copla from a queer perspective. In a way, the return to democracy let people say publicly what they’d always been whispering – that these songs belonged to everyone, especially the marginalised.And traditionally, that included the illegitimacy of relationships outside heterosexual marriage and of love gone wrong. Has it changed over the years?Those themes remain at the heart of copla, but now they’re celebrated rather than hidden in coded language. Historically, copla gave voice to women who were judged or shamed – to single mothers, adulteresses, women who refused to conform. In my work, I build on that tradition by reinterpreting these songs through a queer and migrant lens. When I sing about exile or forbidden love, it resonates both with the old stories and my own experience of living between cultures. I think that’s why copla still feels urgent. It’s a way to transform stigma into pride.What’s the story in your show, and what can people expect in your cabaret production in terms of the balance between narrative, characters, music and dance?Copla: A Spanish Cabaret is part musical performance, part confession. The show starts with my arrival in England as a young migrant, carrying these songs in my suitcase, and follows how I’ve learned to reinterpret them in my own voice. Each copla is a chapter: there are tragic heroines, defiant outcasts and moments of absurd humour. I sing in Spanish and English, so audiences don’t need to understand Spanish to feel the story. There’s live music, video projections with archival material, and an atmosphere that swings between camp cabaret and intimate sharing. You can expect laughter, tears and maybe even a singalong.The show blends the personal with the political. Was that always your intention with this project?Yes – copla is inherently political because it’s about who gets to tell their story. As a queer person and a migrant, I’ve always felt the tension between longing for home and wanting to break free of its expectations. By performing these songs, I’m both honouring the past and queering it. It’s a way to claim space for people like me within Spanish cultural memory.What would you like the audience to take away from the show?First, that you don’t have to be Spanish to connect with this material. These songs are about universal feelings: longing, shame, joy, the hunger to belong. I hope people leave understanding that folklore isn’t a dusty relic – it’s something alive you can reshape to tell your own story. And that sometimes the best way to resist invisibility is to step into the light and sing.

We talked to Smita Russell about her autobiographical show, Odds Are, which she performs at this year's Edinburgh Festival Fringe.Smita, your show comes to Edinburgh after winning the Grand Prize at the United Solo Festival in New York City. What do you think is in it that made for success?The quick answer is that the script is bold and beautiful, but people aren’t just responding to the writing. The show is successful because it’s honest and vulnerable. It breaks your heart. At the same time, I’ve worked hard to ensure it’s not trauma porn. There’s a fair amount of humour threaded through the 60 minutes, but it’s less about landing a punchline and more about noting absurdities and being truthful – even if it makes you question my sanity.For example, my obsession with Dyson vacuums really is the only reason I chose a vacuum-assisted birth over a C-section. And yes, I was envious of a guy who was the victim of nuclear radiation (the envy was for a different reason!). Because I lay out my wild and unvarnished story, a magical thing happens after each show. People write emails or DMs or line up to share the most difficult moments of their lives. Odds Are stays with audiences for hours, days, even weeks. It’s successful because it makes you consider the role of luck in your life.I understand you refer to “a scientific diagnosis of bad luck” among other things. Has your life been beset with disasters?I love this question. By many metrics, I am profoundly lucky – and I’m aware of my overall good fortune. My bad luck was targeted, and it wasn’t the mild variety – like, “Oh, darn! I keep hitting red lights!” – it was a losing streak that bordered on the mythic. In the show, I call it a “cosmic sniper attack”, and attempts to understand it drove me to mania. The bad luck felt pinpointed. Purposeful.Telling the story, framing the events, trying to make sense of them – it’s the only way I regained any control. Because it all comes down to how we tell the story, right? You could lose your house, but meet the love of your life. Or take Violet Jessop, a historical figure who was in three major ship disasters – including the Titanic – and walked (or swam) away from them all. Is that good luck or bad?You kept quiet for many years about these things. Why did you finally decide to tell your story?Silence imposes a very real burden. I felt weighed down and guilty because I’d been lying for over a decade. I told my therapist that I wanted to gather everyone I cared about in a room and tell them the truth in one fell swoop. I had no plan when I said this – but I manifested it. A few months later, I sent out an email invite that read: “I began storytelling in order to gain the experience and strength to share this specific story with all of you...”Generally, people practise in front of friends before sharing with strangers, but I had to practise in front of hundreds and hundreds of strangers before sharing with a single friend.What’s in your background that made you able to take your story to the stage?I don’t have a classic theatre résumé. I’m a writer. I work in education, and I’m an animated person. I don’t have stage fright and I take risks. If you were to ask my mother (and please don’t!), she’d tell you that I was late to speech – but when I finally talked, I spoke in story, not in words.Two years ago, I ended up on stage because I needed a hard deadline. Otherwise, my story would’ve gathered dust in a desk drawer.As luck would have it, the deadlines all happened to be for competitions that I ended up winning. The wins were great, but it was the audience response that always dictated next steps. People kept asking for more, so a six-minute story became 20 minutes – and finally stretched to an hour.You have an impressive team around you. What was the process of deciding how to deliver the show?I have daily conversations with the producers, our graphic designer and our director. I’m in awe of them and grateful that their fingerprints mark this project. Odds Are is largely about the role of change in our lives, and I think often and deeply about the sequence of bad luck that helped bring such brilliant collaborators into my life.As for delivering the show? Part of the thrill is discovery. We’re finalising the poster right now, and it’s been a series of conversations about the tagline, colour palette, central image and the drop shadows on the title. We bring the same thoughtfulness to all aspects of the show. Rehearsals have begun in earnest, and every day is centred on experimentation. We say, “First idea, bad idea” a lot – and keep riffing until we land on the great idea.What would you like audiences to take away from the show?Surrender to chance, luck, fate – whatever you want to call it – without expectation. And share your story, please.

We talked to singer Michelle Burke about her EdFringe show, Mind How You Go.Michelle, with your Celtic heritage, it's not surprising that you’ve chosen to tell the surreal history of your family through music and storytelling. What material did you have available to draw on?Well, when I first started working on my new record, I had a scrapbook of photos and stories and a few ideas stuck into it. There’s a stunning photo of The Twins – my granny's mother and her twin sister. The story goes that, at the age of 16, one of them snuck out the window to a local dance, caught the black flu, and died.Then there are poems that my great-grand-uncle wrote when he was a political prisoner on Spike Island. A rhyme my Granny Griffin recited was the starting point for a song called Crow – and just stories, I suppose, that have stuck with me over the years.I understand there are some rather crazy stories within your family history. Would you like to give us a taste?Well, I suppose all families have stories they grow up just hearing, and mine are no more extraordinary than anyone else's. The stories are varied – from the arrival of Uncle Pat from San Francisco with his family on the day Neil Armstrong landed on the moon. My aunt found a photo of Uncle Pat at the airport in San Francisco, all decked out in a dickie bow and tuxedo, waiting to board the plane.But the story of that summer of 1969 started much earlier for my mother and her siblings. Uncle Pat had sent home a cheque for my Grandad Albert to buy him a car for his holiday so he could show the family around Ireland. He had saved for years for this trip. My grandad couldn’t drive, so a Hillman Hunter sat on the road outside the house for months awaiting the arrival of the American cousins. My mother and all her siblings were allowed to sit in the car after their supper each night.My uncle told me that even though they couldn’t go anywhere, it opened up a world of imagination and possibilities for them. They still talk about that summer of 1969 when the American cousins arrived. They looked different, smelt different – it was like they were from another planet.How do you view the part that organised religion has played in your life?I have very mixed views about it all. When I was a child, I didn’t know any different. I went to Mass, was confirmed and made my Holy Communion. It was just the done thing when I was small – everyone at school did it. It was very much part of the community I grew up in.There’s no doubt it shapes you as a person when it’s such a big part of your childhood – for both good and bad. I did love the hymns though. I’ve always felt uneasy about the power the Church held. It’s complicated, but I don’t go to Mass anymore – well, very rarely.You reference colonialism – how do you feel about that, in both the context of Ireland and Scotland?Living away from Ireland for over 20 years now, I can’t help but see how deeply colonialism affected both places. My great-grand-uncle was a political prisoner on Spike Island during the War of Independence. And you see similar patterns in Scotland’s history too – the Highland Clearances, the suppression of Gaelic culture, the way communities were displaced and scattered.Ireland’s story is similar to what is happening in Palestine right now. It makes you realise that all those colonial patterns I grew up hearing about in Irish history – they’re not ancient history at all. They’re still playing out around the world today.Music is an integral part of your show. It’s varied and centred around your latest album. Tell us about the compositions and the other musicians.Duke Special produced the album, which will launch in the autumn. I’m a big fan of his work. When I performed my show Step into My Parlour at Celtic Connections, I invited him as a special guest, so I was delighted when he agreed to produce my new record. I co-wrote the songs with Duke Special, Kathryn Williams, Boo Hewerdine and Stewart Robbie. There’s a wonderful cast of musicians on the album, including gorgeous backing vocals from Rhiannon Giddens and Inge Thompson.When my grand-uncle Tom was a political prisoner on Spike Island, he wrote poetry – and we’ve set one of his poems, Smile A While, which features on both the album and in the show. There’s a song called American Cousins, Twins, The Calling, and a song called From Cabot Cove to Conna, which is inspired by Angela Lansbury moving to our parish.What would you like audiences to take away from the show?I hope people leave smiling – and maybe even wondering what stories live quietly in their own families, or how the places and people we come from shape who we are.

We spoke to Niall Moorjani about their new play at this year’s EdFringe, Kanpur: 1857 – a piece rooted in the Indian Mutiny of that year.Niall, Kanpur: 1857 “challenges the narrative of heroism and villainy, examining contemporary conflicts around gender, colonial violence and making art in times of crisis”. Were you keen to write about the Rebellion, or was it just a convenient vehicle for exploring those issues?I have been fascinated by the Indian uprising since I studied it years ago in my undergrad at uni. I had always wanted to write something about it and originally thought it might take the shape of a novel. But then, with recent events in Gaza, I was so struck by the parallels – a colonial oppressor reacting to a moment of violent resistance with mass collective punishment. It made me want to tell the story of the uprising of 1857 to hopefully draw attention to what’s happening in Gaza right now and ask people to think differently about it.But that doesn’t mean I’m not incredibly passionate about communicating this very under-told (in British contexts) Indian story. It’s part of our history now and deserves telling as such.It sounds as though you’ve taken on quite a challenge in the breadth of material and issues. How have you interwoven all those elements?Traditional-style storytelling sits at the core of all of my work, and in the end it was actually fairly straightforward to do it as a story. So the rebel (my character) is forced to tell the tale of how they became involved in the uprising by a British officer – and naturally, in the telling of that very personal story, the rest of it just sort of unfolds.In the historical business we might call it a microhistory, where you use one person or one moment from the past to explore a far larger period of history. I guess in some ways this is a sort of dramatised, semi-fictionalised microhistory. But it’s super effective and keeps things nice and simple. My character can’t speak to everything that happened in the uprising, just as someone couldn’t tell you everything about Covid-19 – but what they do tell gives great depth of its own sort and touches on a much wider picture.You also refer to it as “a satirical interrogation of colonial history”. How does satire work as a vehicle for achieving your objectives?Ohh it’s just so effective – like, mocking power and atrocity is such an effective way to highlight its absurdity and therefore morally problematic nature. I took so much inspiration from people like Armando Iannucci and Chris Morris, but also closer to home, Jonathan Oldfield (the co-director and performer), who co-writes Time of the Week with Lorna Rose Treen. And even though it’s a different kind of satire, I find them so inspiring for mocking and critiquing unjust structures and elements of society. So Jonathan was amazing to have on board.For good measure, you also have a live soundtrack. Why did you incorporate that into the play?Well, live music was actually played as part of these events (where Indian rebels were strapped to cannons), so it felt historically accurate to do so. But also, the specific musician we have – sodhi – is just an absolute master. His tabla transports you straight to India and adds so much clarity and emotional depth to the storytelling in the show. He is incredible, and I’ve worked with him before on one of my other shows (Mohan: A Partition Story), so it’s a joy to be working with him again.You’re the winner of the Charlie Hartill Fund 2025. What did the prize consist of, and how has it helped you bring this work to fruition?The prize consisted of both financial and in-kind support that has been quite game-changing. It’s allowed us to upgrade our set, but most importantly not worry about a lot of external stuff like I normally would – ticket sales, upfront costs etc – and means we can actually focus on the piece itself. I’ve never had that before and feel so lucky to be in it.With that said, it doesn’t feel right to be one of the only artists of colour with this kind of support at the festival. I hope more organisations follow Pleasance’s lead soon and have lots of specific prizes for artists of colour.What would you like audiences to take away from the play?That history is complex and nuanced. That colonialism is alive and kicking. And that revolution and resistance are human – not simply statistics.

We talked to Trish Lyons about her EdFringe show BUZZ, which chronicles tragic events in her life.Trish, your show BUZZ is described as a one-woman stand-up tragedy constructed around a stalking in Toronto, a suicide in London, a breakdown and time in a mental hospital. Can you tell us something about those events and how you bring them together?BUZZ is about seeing and being seen. I was stalked in Toronto. I never saw my stalker. He would break into my home and take and leave things for me. It was a wholly frightening experience because even my home was not a safe space. I was acutely aware that he was watching me. He could see me but I could not see him. I wanted to become invisible – which I did, but it had consequences.A few years later I witnessed a suicide in London. This experience was also about seeing, but this time as a witness. The trauma of the suicide triggered PTSD that had the uncanny psychological effect of making my body a vanishing point – a black hole that I was disappearing into.These vivid experiences of seeing and being seen all spring from my understanding of the world as a visual artist. Art structures the way I see the world and ultimately saved my life.What was your motivation for compiling the show?It is our storytelling impulse that inspired BUZZ. Was it Joan Didion who said, “We tell ourselves stories in order to save our lives”? It is revealing that history and story are the same word in French – histoire. Stories are core to our sense of self, our origins and our histories.When I witnessed a suicide, the experience profoundly affected me. It silenced me and I unravelled. When I found myself in a psychiatric hospital a few years later, I discovered the power of bearing witness and telling our stories. I heard stories of paranoia and suffering that I remember to this day. I grew more compassionate, and the experience expanded my ideas of what the mind is capable of.So first and foremost, BUZZ is storytelling with surreal elements. I describe BUZZ as a cross between the storytelling podcast The Moth and performance art.You worked as a lecturer in Fine Art and you are described as a post-punk frontwoman. Can you explain how those elements help to convey your message?Both being a lecturer and a lead singer have prepared me for performing in front of an audience, which has readied me for the hardcore experience of live performance at the Fringe.Being in a band is very rough and tumble – you play in dodgy venues and have to set up your own kit and know the equipment. It hones a whole set of improvisational skills.When lecturing, I extemporise and discourse with the aid of notes. When I wrote BUZZ, I was meandering and weaving in abstract ideas, but in rehearsals these passages were deadening. I had to really strip back the text and get the action to move. My director, Lee Brock, would very diplomatically say, “That’s a really interesting section, but it doesn’t move things forward.” So out came the sword – and slash, slash, slash. (Hey, have you noticed that sword is an anagram of words?)What would you like audiences to take away from the show?I appreciate how difficult the subject of suicide is, but I also know that talking about it saves lives – so what I hope for is that BUZZ inspires conversations about suicide and PTSD.

We talked to Beth May about her bipolar disorder and her EdFringe show Beth Wants the D.Beth, your show is an autobiographical presentation that confronts death and delusion using your struggle with bipolar disorder. Can you explain the nature of the condition and how it affects your life?I think the clearest way to explain bipolar disorder is to explain what it’s not. It’s not feeling really sad and then really happy the same day, it’s not mood swings at the drop of a hat, and it’s not an anger management issue. It’s more of an illness of energy – the dangers of having way too much energy or none at all. It’s characterised by episodes of mania and depression, which last weeks or months.During manic episodes I’ve stayed up for days on end, found nonsensical mathematical connections in the letters of my friends’ names, and heard the voice of Satan. Episodes of depression have had me quitting jobs, moldering flat on my back in bed for weeks, escaping into drugs or alcohol, and praying for death. And then there are periods like right now, where I’m doing okay and these symptoms seem pretty damn extreme and, well, a little crazy. That’s just the nature of the illness – without treatment, my brain trends toward entropy, and when I’m healthy, I’m kind of left wondering what it all means. So I wrote this show about it.What was your motivation for compiling the show?My good friend Alice Stanley Jr, who is an incredible person and a ferociously talented writer, met me for dinner one night, and before the drinks were even ordered she told me, “I’ve been really interested in shame recently,” and I laughed because Alice is very funny in the way she says things like this – like with the assuredness and simplicity of a kid saying they’ll be an astronaut. But we started talking about the things we were ashamed of, which brought me to my life with bipolar disorder and the chaos that the illness has inflicted on me and my loved ones, and how hard it is sometimes to pluck pieces of my identity away from the things I’ve done or believed during episodes.Alice told me to lean into the shame and the weirdness and see what I could get out of it. I think a couple of months later I had the first draft of Beth Wants the D. I’ve felt fear and shame at literally every step of this process, and it’s also been something that has excited and fulfilled me probably more than anything else I’ve written so far. Cheers to Alice.What do you consider to be the advantages that comedy has over other forms of theatre for dealing with these sorts of issues?I’m just speculating here, but speaking personally, comedy shows are scary whether I’m on stage or in the audience. When I’m on stage, I’m scared nobody will laugh. When I’m in the audience, I’m scared I’ll laugh at something I shouldn’t laugh at – like a tragic or offensive run-up to a punchline or something.Also speaking personally, I think that fear is a really good thing. I think it makes both parties vulnerable to some extent, where that vulnerability leads to compassion and ultimately connection. To write about something painful is to invite the audience into the experience of that pain, but to write comedy about something painful is to invite the audience into both the experience of pain, and also a bit of its remedy (if laughter really is the best medicine).What would you like audiences to take away from the show?It is shockingly easy to go crazy. I know they call drowning the silent killer, but your head can just as easily slip beneath the surface of paranoia or delusion before anyone else notices, because the curtain between madness and sanity is very thin. When does religious belief become psychosis? When does grief become clinical depression? It’s really hard for most people to say. And that makes serious mental illness extremely scary. It’s both sneaky and propulsive; madness begets more madness.But the message I hope audiences walk away with is that there is also a road back to sanity. It’s often much longer, and much more exhausting, but it is absolutely possible, and it is absolutely worth fighting for.

James Macfarlane speaks to Club NVRLND director and creator Steven Kunis about creating such a magical showClub NVRLND reimagines Peter Pan as a Y2K-era club kid. What inspired the idea to turn Neverland into a late-night dancefloor?The idea for Club NVRLND came to me during the winter lockdowns of 2020. It was while I was sitting with feelings of nostalgia that the show began to take shape in my mind. First came the idea of the dancefloor as a kind of Neverland – a place where time stops, where you can lose yourself in music and movement and the crowd. Then came the soundtrack: those towering pop anthems of the 2000s that my team and I grew up with. That era’s music is so saturated with pure and uncomplicated emotion – joy, heartbreak, rebellion, wonder. It really is the perfect sound for the world and story of Peter Pan – of this boy clinging to youth and terrified of growing up.The show features massive 2000s hits from Britney to Justin Timberlake. How does the music power the story and what guided your choices in building the soundtrack?Pop music carries memory in such a visceral way – you hear the first chord of an Avril Lavigne or a Panic! At the Disco song, and suddenly you’re 15 again: heartbroken, ecstatic, invincible, rageful, you name it. The songs are more than just nostalgic period pieces – they’re emotional lightning rods and an incredible shorthand for immersing our audience straight into the minds and experiences of our characters. It was thrilling to see how effortlessly the music slotted into the world we were creating.Wendy is about to get married when she’s pulled back into Peter’s world. How does this story balance wild, nostalgic fun with deeper questions about growing up?We’re not inventing anything new here – that tension is already baked into the core conflict of J.M. Barrie’s original story: Peter Pan refuses to grow up, but Wendy feels like she has to and struggles with what that really means. What Barrie does so brilliantly is hold those two forces side by side – the wild, exhilarating joy of staying young and the quiet ache of realising time won’t stand still. Translating Neverland to a nightclub – where Wendy’s a ragged runaway bride, Peter’s dreading his 30th birthday, and Hook’s a jealous, ageing ex–go-go dancer trying to take over the club – gave us the perfect canvas. It’s chaotic, it’s euphoric, it’s full of life, and it’s all wrapped up in deliciously camp fun.Immersive musicals are rare at the Fringe. What can audiences expect when they step into Club NVRLND, and how will the Assembly Checkpoint space transform? What kind of theatrical experience are you aiming to give Fringe-goers who think they’ve seen it all?Think of Club NVRLND as a place to go rather than a show to see – Tink’s up in the DJ booth spinning out all the hits of the Noughties; Tiger Lily is on stage with her entourage of dancers geeing up the crowd; and you’re on the dancefloor where you can drink, dance, talk, and experience the whole show happening all around you in real time – as if you really were in a nightclub. I won’t offer any more spoilers than that, but I think the work that our cast and creative team have pulled off will really challenge what people think is possible in an Edinburgh Fringe venue.

James Macfarlane speaks to the mastermind behind the queer phenomenon that is GISELLE:REMIXGISELLE: REMIX reimagines a classic ballet through a queer, genre-bending lens. What drew you to Giselle, and what did you want to explode or subvert in retelling it?Giselle, as a classical ballet, is well known in ballet circles, but outside of that it’s not really in the cultural mainstream. I wanted to shift the focus from how others harm us to how we harm ourselves – how certain parts of us die and new versions emerge in response. In this retelling, Giselle isn’t an innocent fawn in the woods. The piece moves from a queer utopia into chaos and hedonism, from innocence to raw self-exposure.Your Giselle is raised on 90s romcoms but finds a very different reality in queer intimacy. How does the show blend pop culture fantasy with the raw, messy truth of queer experience?Yeah, I say it in the show – I was raised on Julia Roberts, Drew Barrymore and Pride and Prejudice, specifically the 90s version. Like many of us, I grew up on that wholesome, idealistic idea of love. Then, as you get older, that fantasy is torn apart. You realise love isn’t simple or linear – it’s messy. And in a queer context, that realisation is even more profound. So the show blends that pop culture fantasy with the raw reality by starting in a queer utopia and descending into queer hedonism.This show has been described as everything from “dance-theatre” to “warehouse cabaret” to “pop concert odyssey”. For first-time Fringe-goers, how would you explain what they’re about to witness?The best way I can describe it is: a unique live experience. I remember last year struggling to explain it, because it really doesn’t fit into any one box. It’s not strictly dance, it’s not theatre, it’s not cabaret, or performance art, or gig theatre – but somehow it’s all of those things at once. We’ve described it as what might happen if Matthew Bourne met Leigh Bowery in a club and decided to reimagine Giselle. I’m especially excited for first-time Fringe audiences. This show is chaotic, unboxable and bold, and it makes total sense to bring it to a festival that celebrates exactly that.The show features a soundtrack ranging from Judy Garland to SOPHIE. How did music help shape the emotional arc and visual style of GISELLE: REMIX?I wanted tracks that spanned decades but still felt cohesive – The Carpenters, Natalie Cole, Judy Garland, La Roux, SOPHIE. SOPHIE especially was vital – her sound captures everything this show is: beautiful, grotesque, hyperreal. Every song had to earn its place not just individually, but as part of the full sound journey. I’d listen to the entire arc to make sure the energy flowed, that nothing stuck out or stalled the momentum. The music doesn’t just support the show – it is the show.Beyond the performance, you’re also hosting CLUB GISELLE at the Fringe. How does the party extend the spirit of the show, and what can audiences expect from those nights?Club Giselle will be a euphoric, messy, joyful space for Fringe pass holders – performers, technicians, volunteers, producers, box office staff, anyone working across the festival. So often people are scattered across venue-specific bars or locked into long hours, and we want to bring everyone together. It’s about creating a space that’s inclusive, flirty, communal, a bit weird – in the best way.

We spoke to native Scot Max Fulham about his upcoming Edinburgh Fringe debut, FULL OF HAM, and the childhood experiences that led him into the world of ventriloquism.Max, in the last few years you’ve made colossal strides in your act and are now ready to take on the Pleasance. From childhood memories of the Fringe, how does it feel to be making your Edinburgh Fringe debut – and will you be visiting the old stomping ground in Linlithgow?It is truly special, and I wouldn’t be doing what I’m doing if not for the Fringe growing up. The Royal Mile was the first place I saw variety, with its many street shows, and some standup acts my dad took me to (which I was definitely too young for) were the first time I saw comedy in the flesh. It’s perhaps not quite momentous to say it was a childhood dream, given the nature of the Fringe, but it’s undoubtedly one born in the heart of the festival. And it’ll be nice to catch up with various Scottish friends while I’m up – plus it’s useful to know the lay of the land and be properly equipped to handle the temperamental Scottish summer.You’ve mentioned before that your first puppet was one your parents bought you when you were nine – did it have a name? And growing up, did you have any influences in your routine or in creating your characters?My first puppet didn’t have a name. It was a little pink sock puppet – simple, but one I instantly fell in love with. Teddy bears are cool, sure, but why not have one that comes to life? Since then, I was hooked on puppets. It sounds a bit sad, but it’s served me well, and it gave me opportunities to perform at school assemblies – some of my first gigs. I used to repeat lines from The Two Ronnies on the Gold Channel, nicking a few gags from them (I was unethical as a child!), but they gave me the much-needed experience of how two people work in tandem for comedy. That’s been intrinsic to my own routine – albeit with the added pressure of tiny me on my shoulders as well.You have many marionettes in your puppet arsenal – the boisterous Grandad and Gordon the Monkey, to name a few. Can we expect to see any new characters debut this summer?Oh yes, several – depending on how you count them. There are new characters coming into this show and it’s very exciting, very fun exploring them. I’ve worked with Grandad since he was born because, well, he’s my Grandad. But it’s also been fun getting to know some new characters and seeing where they take the show. There are some new occurrences in this show too – from my wisely or unwisely unleashing of intrusive thoughts, to spiritual awakenings and processed meat. It’s definitely a jam-packed, vibrant act. As soon as one character departs, another will be along in just a moment.You manage to blend realism with comedy so seamlessly. What can audiences expect to see on the Fringe?I think it plays with ventriloquism in quite a different way. In some moments, it’s exactly what people think ventriloquism is – but then it takes a new direction. To anyone new to ventriloquism, I’d say come and see it live, as it’s so much more entertaining in the flesh. There are still lingering preconceptions about the art – I had someone ask me recently whether they were coming to a comedy show or a ventriloquist act, as though the two were mutually exclusive. Full assurance to Broadway Baby and its readers – this show not only explores characters but sketch comedy too. The vibe I like to create is that we’re all together in a room, and I’ve got some very fun things to show you. So come along and have a laugh!Finally – we’re all excited to see your fabled talking ham. But what’s your favourite type of pork?Well, for nostalgic purposes – and this is a big old hint – I would have to say the hit children’s Billy Bear ham. Is that meat content even legal? These questions and more will be answered in the show.

We spoke to Jessica Aszkenasy about her bold, genre-bending debut solo show TITCLOWN at this year's Edinburgh Fringe, training at École Philippe Gaulier, and raising money on OnlyFansJessica, let’s start with an overview of what it was like to train at the legendary École Philippe Gaulier and what it involved.Hmm. I really want to be as measured as possible here. Before going to Gaulier, I had done a few clown workshops with Dr Brown and Elf Lyons – performers I love, who have both trained at Gaulier – so naturally I wanted to go to the “source”. It was an incredibly intense experience. Lots of personal growth, uncomfortable discoveries and space to explore. Movement classes in the morning and improv in the afternoon.I had never been to a drama school before, so it was really great to be in that environment and be able to just immerse myself in it for 10 months. I was there at a particularly hard time for the school, as it was the final year Philippe was just about able to teach part-time, so it was a period of readjustment. He and Michiko (his wife) have really built something incredible there. I think, though, institutions can sometimes absorb and perpetuate attitudes that no longer serve us. It’s really important that teachers pay attention to how much certain demographics are elevated in a workshop setting, and to the language that is used when giving feedback. At the end of the day, we’re all paying the same fees. My show, TITCLOWN, which was conceived straight after I finished Gaulier, is a reaction to this.But your experience there took a turn when you ran out of money and decided on a particular way to survive. You embraced OnlyFans with what might be called an alternative perspective – one that was reinforced when the money started to roll in.Haha, “alternative perspective” – this turn of phrase made me chuckle. I guess it is somewhat alternative – I don’t wear makeup, or sexy lingerie, or try to hide the wobbly bits of my body that I don’t always love. My approach is incredibly DIY, so I was shocked when I made £2,000 within the first month. I’m a size 12, so let’s not get ahead of ourselves here – I’m not breaking the mould in some huge way. But it does go to show that there’s a big difference between what we’re conditioned to think is attractive and what we actually find attractive. I thought people would only buy content from 22-year-olds who were a size 8 and picture-perfect. I couldn’t have been more wrong.Do you think you found a niche that others on OnlyFans didn’t realise existed?There are a fair few creators (especially Gen Z creators) who are taking this approach – I’m definitely not the first. But I think what draws people in is the intimacy they get with my content. It’s not all X-rated posts. I market my account as my “dirty Instagram”. People want the sexy stuff, but they also want to know what you had for breakfast. We’re all just horny voyeurs, really.Your experience became the basis of your show, which goes beyond just telling your story. What have you learned from the experience?I feel like I’m incredibly fortunate to have found this path. It’s given me financial independence and the autonomy to be able to make work that I’m proud of and have lots of fun while doing it. I’ve learned that you really can just make it up as you go along (I will, though, heavily caveat this with the recognition that I say this as a mostly able-bodied white person with no dependants).Would you recommend OnlyFans to others as a fundraiser?OnlyFans is a full-time job. It’s hard work – 80% of it is knowing how to market yourself and constantly self-promoting. Most of it is trial and error, and you work alone and risk exposing yourself to a lot of not very nice people. And it comes at a price. I’m only doing this because I’m one thousand percent sure – after having tried every different kind of day job under the sun and having already explored multiple career paths before I started performing – that this is all I want to do. I also came to OF at the age of 30 with a strong sense of self and a lot of self-love and self-respect. If I’d come to this at 19 or 20, it would have been a very different story. So no, I would not recommend viewing it as a fundraiser. A fundraiser suggests a temporary solution with an end date and little risk – and that’s not what this is.What would you like people to take away from your show?Joy, mostly. Silliness. Fun. I’d like for women to walk away feeling less shame around their bodies, and for cis men to observe without judging. At the end of the day, I just want everyone to have a good time. The world is quite a harsh place right now, so if any of the chaotic joy I try to conjure up rubs off on other people over the 50 minutes I’m on stage, I’ll be more than satisfied.

James Macfarlane speaks to James Barr about trauma, healing and dark rooms.James Barr, how are you?I'm great! I feel really good, James. It’s such a heavy question. I've been very busy, and that has taken its toll a bit. I did a UK tour and I missed a lot of trains and had to buy new ones, which was really annoying. But the sky is blue right now, which is really nice! I think I really need a weekend of doing absolutely nothing and not thinking about anything.Your show I’m Sorry I Hurt Your Son (Said My Ex to My Mum) is back this year. Are you excited?Absolutely! It was great last year, and I had some amazing reviews, so I feel lucky for those. I know in myself now, as a person who’s been through this experience, that I’m a lot further along with my healing. It’s a funnier show now, and it deserves the opportunity to be seen. So I had to bring it back! There’s been so much interest from audiences and critics alike to see the show evolve, so I think it deserves the chance.What’s surprised you most about the evolution of the show? Are there moments that are easier to tell now?It’s definitely easier. Last year in Edinburgh, I had days where I was really happy and others where I was really sad. The Edinburgh run was filled with sadness and anger and by the end of the Fringe, the show completely unravelled in a way I didn't expect. So after Edinburgh, I took a break from the show to heal. But I realised that, actually, it’s not finished – and like abuse, healing and grief, it’s never going to be finished. It stays with you forever. I think taking the show to Australia really helped, because I thought: if this experience had never happened to me, I wouldn’t be across the world sleeping with these gorgeous Home and Away men! Australia is such an amazing country and a great place for comedy, and it really hit another level when I was performing there.Do you have anywhere to add to the list of places where you’ve found healing?Have I been to other sex parties, is that what you’re asking? I've been to a lot of dark rooms in all sorts of different countries across the world. The only problem is that now I start getting recognised in dark rooms! I was in a dark room in London and I was getting with a Spanish guy. Then, a random man from across the room shouted: “He's famous! He's famous!” So everyone in the dark room turned around and looked at me. The Spanish guy said: “Why is he screaming?” And the guy literally shouted: “He's on Piers Morgan!” So I was recognised for my overly woke alter ego.Have you had a reaction to your material that’s taken the show to a really unexpected place?Yeah, there was a woman who was laughing hysterically at some really violent moments. There are just these moments in the audience where people lose their minds and are laughing when they shouldn't be and then, because they're laughing, everyone else starts laughing. Before I know it, I’ve got the entire room laughing at something really horrifying. And that's absolutely what I wanted to create. I wanted to create a panic. I actually do want them to laugh at all of it – even the awful stuff.How has your relationship changed with the really powerful silences in your show?I naturally started putting more jokes into those silences. I made the decision that I don’t want to be sad, I want to be happy. I didn’t want to be mean to myself because I realised that I was more healed than I was last year. I didn’t want to stand there and be sad about it, so I didn’t want the audience to be sad either.You’re also a radio host as well as a comedian. How has your radio persona changed through this year of healing?I'm less afraid now than I was. Initially, being broken and sad and then being on the radio and having to be really happy – I think it was actually what I needed. It was really helpful to me to just switch into a different mode and forget about what was happening in my personal life. It was essential to my survival. But now, I wouldn’t say my persona has changed on the radio, but I’m definitely less afraid than I was. I’m less afraid to go on the radio and admit that my ex was abusive. I feel more confident and safer in myself to be able to talk about things and be more open. So that’s good.What are you like offstage?I chose chaos for a while, and that pushed me forwards as a human. I’ve done a lot of work to forgive myself and some of my past choices, which is really nice. I think the main change in me offstage is that I’m now more able to say, actually, I don’t want to do that, and I feel confident saying it.Thanks for speaking to me! Do you have any shows you’re looking forward to seeing?I’m looking forward to seeing David Ian’s Am I Mean? He’s such an incredible crowd-work comic. I’m excited to see Joe Sutherland’s new show and Elf Lyon’s new show, which I haven’t seen yet. There are so many things I’m looking forward to seeing!

James Macfarlane speaks to Tiff Stevenson about her new show and some fabulously ‘post-coital’ thoughts.Post-Coital is such an evocative title for your newest hour. Why did you choose that name and what kind of “post-coital thoughts” are we in for this Fringe?Weird, existential and bonkers ones. I wanted to be able to talk about all the things you can muse on philosophically when sex is out of the way. Like am I a witch? What is an umarell? Is empowerment just for the middle classes? Must I see everyone I know doing amateur pole dancing? Will I make it on to the celebrity bunions 2025 list? Why are men so lonely? What is space feminism? What is a shuffle retreat? Why are we all entrained? Can I transfer my soul into a puppet and most importantly will my guardian angel show up when I’m naked?Your show covers everything from space feminism to step-parenting and the perimenopause. Do you see these as connected themes or are you embracing the glorious chaos of what our brains do when the lights go out?A bit of both. I’m definitely diving into my personal opinions but also a macro look at what it means in the wider world. Feminism has gotten a bit bonkers in the last few years and everything now is categorised under some kinda ‘girl boss’ ‘female power’ so I do want to unpack what that means and the messages younger generations are getting. Also the ‘have it all’ myth — you can have it all if you are incredibly wealthy, have access etc. I’m in the gooch of life which is to say midlife. Which means juggling parenting stuff with perimenopause and ageing parents. They are all connected themes in a way as they intersect with class, age and access.You’ve said maybe the UN should only meet after everyone’s had sex. Fringe shows are full of big ideas, but this one might be the most radical solution to world peace we’ve heard. How did that line come about?Ha! Sex is used simultaneously as a sell and as a distraction. See my poster, for example. I feel that once sex is out of the way it allows for clear-headedness a bit more. Sometimes our primal urges are too at the front. So we can be relaxed and de-escalate. We can also be a bit more existential and maybe focused?This isn’t your first time at Monkey Barrel. What keeps bringing you back to that venue and how does it shape the kind of show you create?I’m able to do the Fringe because of the model the Monkey Barrel runs. I don’t have to pay upfront fees, I don’t have a promoter, I just do it with them, hire some flyerers and away we go! They offer the best split financially and I love that people on lower incomes or students are still able to attend using the PWYW model. This enables me to be more creative in the work and keep adapting the show during the run. Also it’s a stand-up focused venue that’s there year-round. Everyone just knows what they are doing, very competent and is being paid properly. It makes a huge difference. At the Fringe it often feels like there are too many intermediaries and everyone makes money except the acts. That doesn’t feel right. There are lots of promoters and producers who are brilliant too. However, it is an economy of scale thing: unless you are consistently selling 400-odd tickets a night then hiring a big promoter who then does huge billboards isn’t going to work for you. Even then I have friends who have shifted 8,000 tickets over the course of the run (£14 quid a pop) and walked away with £1,000 in profit. So something is broken. I have also rented the same flat for the last three years slightly out of town and my landlords are big supporters who basically do mates rates. The Fringe should not become a rich performers’ playground.You’ve made the Best Reviewed list at the Fringe five times already. Congratulations! Does that bring extra pressure when you’re writing a new hour or do you thrive on the challenge?Thank you! I’m always trying to top last year’s show every year so there is that. Even though I’ve been on that list a bunch there are still certain outlets that have never once reviewed me – looking at you The Guardian. To be honest though I just want my audiences to love it. I have people who come back year after year and spend their hard-earned cash on the show and I want to live up to their expectations.Fringe audiences are famously up for anything. What do you hope people leave Post-Coital thinking, feeling – or overthinking – once the show ends?I want them to know how important it is to feel needed and seen. I’m talking a bit about the various stages of life and I’m dealing with ageing parents and you see your own mortality in that. So hopefully that. Also you’ll need to decide if you are an Umarell or witch?

James Macfarlane chats to Amy Veltman about everything funny in "that department".Let’s start with the obvious: why pelvic floor health? What made you decide to turn such a personal and overlooked topic into a comedy show?I chose to share a lot of my personal story because I didn’t know anyone else’s. The rough outline of my experience is this: for years, I’d had several amorphous midsection issues that were having a negative impact on my quality of life, but I had no idea what kind of doctor to consult or exactly what my question was, which was its own embarrassment. It turned out almost all of my problems were connected to the pelvic floor. What?? When I was prescribed physical therapy for my own pelvic floor, I thought I must be one of the few people in New York City who’d ever experienced such a thing.What I learned in pelvic floor physical therapy astounded me. I was incredulous that, as a 55+-year-old woman, daughter of an obstetrician/gynecologist, and all-around curious person, there was so much useful information I didn’t know about our most basic bodily functions. My treatment improved my quality of life an unbelievable amount.I wanted to spread the word, in the off-chance I wasn’t the only one with my set of problems, and started writing and performing little bits of what would become the show. The more I talked about my issues, the more people talked to me about their own. Ah, so I wasn’t some unique creature in my city of 8 million people!Your observation that the topic is “overlooked” was a big attraction for me. Menopause is getting so much attention these days, but the poor pelvic floor often gets taken for granted, especially considering how much it does for all of us. I wanted to give the pelvic floor a moment in the sun.Your show blends character work, music, multimedia and a ‘medically unsanctioned chart’. What can audiences expect from the experience?Audiences should be prepared for some silliness. Also, while the show delves into the workings of the body, I’m not going for shock or gross-out. I try to take people through my own discoveries and reactions, along with my difficulty acknowledging and accepting them, let alone sharing them with anyone else, even my husband. And yet, everything I learned was so useful and funny, I had to share it with someone, so now we have a show.You’ve performed PSA across the US, from San Diego to Off-Broadway in NYC. How does it feel to now bring the show to the Edinburgh Fringe?For years, I’ve been Edinburgh Fringe-curious, but whenever I would go to an information session or hear about it from a friend, I would think, “That sounds a bit overwhelming for me!”But then I made this show I’m proud of, which people have responded to by laughing and even occasionally seeking help for their own medical issues or feeling “liberated” by hearing someone talk about something they felt isolated experiencing. It’s also so much fun to perform this show; I’m finally sharing with others all the stuff that has made me a star in my own mind.Lastly, not to bring down the vibe, but I’m 57 and a half, and I’m shifting into a more urgent now-or-never mode. My body can do this show. My kids are (mostly) out of the house. My brain can hold the whole thing. I was able to access the resources to perform here. I’m grateful that the window is open.There’s a real push right now to destigmatise conversations about women’s health. Did you set out with a message in mind, or did the comedy lead the way?A job I had was coming to a planned end, and people kept asking me what I was going to do with my “extra time.” It sounds corny, but I asked the universe (or whatever) to help me find a solution that would fit my two criteria: I wanted to do something that would have a positive impact, and I didn’t want to be bored. In response, the universe delivered some worsening issues, the means to address them, and the title PSA: Pelvic Service Announcement. I’m endlessly grateful that my problems are related to the pelvic floor, which is related to pee and poop and sex, which are both innately funny and essential to our quality of life.I agree with your premise that women’s health is stigmatised, which leads to it being under-researched, under-funded, and under-taught. Some doctors (male and female) are dismissive of women’s experiences of pain and suffering, which leads to terrible outcomes. In the United States, these problems are much more acute for Black women.Having said all that, I want to emphasise that pelvic floor health is a concern for men and women. As much as I wish it were otherwise, I believe the misconception that pelvic floor health is solely a women’s health issue makes it even more stigmatising for men to seek care when they have issues. Cynically, I wonder if we can get pelvic floor health to be seen as more of a men’s health issue, so we can get ample energy and funding to research and care for all of our pelvic floors!As a comedian, podcast host, and mum, you mine a lot of material from everyday frustrations and bodily surprises. Where do you draw the line, if at all?I definitely draw a line! I want to be that cool, chill girl who’s fine being outrageous and shocking, but I think my mom built in a white-gloved inhibitor. For example, as I was creating and then performing the show, several people wanted to know more about the impact of my pelvic floor problems on my sex life. Due to popular demand, I had to push myself to add a little more candour in that department, but not an excessive amount – as you can tell by my referring to it as “that department.”

James Macfarlane chats to Lulu Popplewell about love, OCD and the bisexual implications of Robin Hood.After a hit debut with Actually Actually, you’re back with Love Love. Was it obvious love would be the next big theme, or did it sneak up on you during therapy?It wasn’t obvious at all, weirdly. I spent my year off creating an entirely different show about chronic illness and body stuff. It was only in December 2024 I realised that while the show wasn’t bad, I was going to feel really negative performing that show every day for a month. So my very patient and talented director, Joz Norris, said: OK, no worries, what else is on your mind?I had an old ex stuck in my brain at the time for reasons I couldn’t understand, and I realised the idea of love felt interesting to explore – specifically a desire to understand what it is, and why it’s worth pursuing when the fallout can be so awful.The show title isn’t even meant to be a play on the last show’s title… that was very much by accident. Love Love is just a slightly hideous phrase I use with some people I care about.This show digs into the messiness of relationships, obsession and mental illness. How did you strike the right tone between heartfelt and hilarious?This was more something to look at carefully with the mental illness stuff than the love stuff, I think – it’s fairly easy to tread the line between the two when the topic is more universal.But I really strongly feel that we shouldn’t feel like we’re done talking about mental illness in comedy. I understand maybe people feel bored of hearing about depression and anxiety, and if that’s the case then hopefully that’s a good thing… it means it’s been destigmatised to the point of being boring. What a win!But there’s still a ton of stigma around other stuff – stuff that feels scary to hear about still. E.g. bipolar, psychosis, and my main focus in the show, Pure OCD.Getting the tone right while making it funny is hard. It’s hard to educate concisely but fairly on something you feel passionate about, while also not making it overly heartfelt. Hopefully there are enough jokes in there to balance it out.Your background in psychotherapy and counselling adds an extra layer to the comedy. Has training in that field changed the way you write or perform?Maybe? This show touches on tropes of the human condition and the existential difficulties of love (but, you know, with jokes).I think on the one hand my training has informed me, but on the other it’s made writing harder. Often I’ve thought things like: “Yes, but what you aren’t exploring there is the relational attachment element of what’s going on, and the fact that issues of trauma and esteem would impact how someone reacts individually to an ex-partner…” and I just have to tell myself: oh my god shut up and pick a lane to write in, because that’s what makes a show better and funnier.It’s impossible to cover the nuanced reality of things without making it a TED Talk. So it informs what I’m interested in, but does then also make it a nightmare to force myself to gloss over some of the vast generalisations I’m making in the show.The show covers everything from Pure OCD to the bisexual implications of Robin Hood. Were there any bits you hesitated to include, or was it full steam ahead into the oversharing?I’ve been described as an oversharer a couple of times in reviews, I think? It’s an odd one because I don’t take it as an insult, but the phrasing “over” implies it’s too much.The aim is never to be too much to the point I make the audience uncomfortable! I do like playing with the line between surprising the audience with honesty, and bringing them in on an experience in a way that feels shared and relatable.But speaking openly about things comes naturally to me – I like to share because I think that in sharing, there’s something to connect over or learn and, hopefully, find funny.That said – yes, there were elements to the dynamics of the ex at the centre of the show that I cut out. It felt like that was making it too much about me trying to work through something specific to me alone, and not about how we might all relate to the subject matter.Your debut sold out and transferred to Soho Theatre. With Love Love, what are you hoping audiences take away this time around – beyond maybe an urge to rewatch Disney classics with fresh eyes?I genuinely just hope audiences enjoy it. This show has been a real labour of (pardon the fart) love.I started making this show in December 2024, and I then spent most of spring in hospital/too ill to do comedy. So this show has been a huge effort of trying to play catch-up, of trying to do what I could, when I could, and get something I’m proud of over the line in time for the Fringe.And I am very proud of it.Also – that weddings are scams for gifts.

James Macfarlane speaks to Ben Hart about all things magic and illusion in his new show.You’ve said that this show feels different, and that you’re no longer sure where the trick ends. What changed for you in the way you perform or think about magic?My journey in magic has been full of surprises and seems to constantly evolve. I’m always searching for ways to make the work more astonishing – not just in the moment, but in the echo it leaves behind. I’ve come to realise the magic doesn’t end when the trick does – it lingers in memory, reshaping itself over time.Now, I think about what I’m crafting not just for the stage, but for the days, even years, that follow. It’s a kind of memory-hacking – a quiet trick that plays on long after the lights go down.There’s a tension in this show between performance and something genuinely uncanny. Do you still consider yourself a magician first, or has that definition shifted?In some ways, I find the term magician a bit limiting – it still conjures images of sparkly cloaks and dancing assistants, which couldn’t be further from what I do. But at the same time, I’m proud to use it. A magician is, at heart, someone who keeps dreaming in a world that often finds fantasy embarrassing. I think we need more of that, not less.I always play the magic as if it’s completely real – for me, it is. And something strange happens when I commit to that: by the end of the show, the audience often starts to believe too. That’s where the tension lies – the shift from scepticism to surrender. And that’s the space where the real magic lives.Your shows often blend darkness, charm and theatricality. What makes The Remarkable Ben Hart distinct from your previous Fringe shows?Each year, I try to create a show that kills off the last one – shedding its skin completely. I change the tone, the aesthetic, the material… always revealing a new corner of myself that hasn’t been seen before.This time, the setting is clinical. The stage feels more like a laboratory for wonder. The magic is stripped back – no clutter, almost no props. Just me, a live video camera that lets us zoom in to forensic levels, and the audience’s thoughts.Much of the show is shaped by a series of strange dreams I’ve been having – so it’s intimate, unsettling, and just a little surreal.In 2023, I was a huge supporter of Colin Cloud’s After Dark – another show that danced between illusion and true mentalism. How do you feel your work sits within that space of mystery, psychology and belief?Colin is a great friend and we frequently talk to each other about ideas (we’ve even done a few TV shows together). I’m a big fan.My work lives in that same blurred space, I think, between mystery, illusion and mentalism. I’m not so interested in proving something – I’m more drawn to creating an atmosphere where the impossible feels possible. Where the audience isn’t sure if they’ve witnessed a trick, or just remembered something strange.For me, magic should make you question the rules you live by. It should feel like a dream that’s just beginning to crack – a psychological fog, where the audience leans forward and wonders, what if this is real?Any one moment in my show might secretly be achieved by sleight of hand, hidden mechanics, or my genuine psychology and the kind of sixth sense you get when you spend your life looking at audiences and how people behave… I love the synthesis of all of those things.You talk about thoughts coming to you before they should. What’s the most unsettling moment you’ve experienced on stage lately? Has anything genuinely surprised even you?There was a night last year when I vanished a coin… and it genuinely vanished. It wasn’t in my sleeve, my pocket – nowhere. For a moment, I thought I’d slipped into my own trick. That was unsettling.After the show I checked my pockets, I looked on the floor etc. I promise you it genuinely vanished somewhere. Maybe it will turn up somewhere strange (like in the lining of my jacket or something) one day, or maybe I really did do it right finally…You’ve created magic for everyone from Penn & Teller to Tom Cruise. How does returning to the Fringe, where everything is stripped back, compare to working on that kind of grand scale?The Fringe is the truth. No cranes, no pyro, no second takes – just you and the audience, inches away, sharing the same breath.I’ve worked on huge sets with enormous budgets, but at the Fringe, there are no producers watering things down, no committees. It’s pure. It’s personal.Here, I get to follow a strange idea all the way to the edge – without having to explain it to anyone. It’s the only place where I can be completely myself and still be believed.Here I can set my own rules and be agile with my creativity, responding more directly to the audience. And we still manage to sneak in the occasional grand moment – where the scale or something surprises the audience, who are expecting something modest, and they get a silly moment of grandiosity. I love those moments in my shows where the theatrics of the thing carry the audience away.You’ve said audiences might never see the world the same way again. Without giving away the magic, what do you hope people carry with them after they leave the room?I hope they leave feeling like the world has a crack in it – and maybe something beautiful is leaking through. That a tiny part of them is still spinning, still questioning.I’m not trying to fool people – I’m trying to remind them that not everything has to make sense to be meaningful. If they walk out seeing the ordinary as a little more extraordinary… then the magic didn’t end when the lights went down.

James Macfarlane speaks to Barry Ferns about his next Fringe show.Let’s start with the obvious: how exactly did you end up legally named Lionel Richie – and what made you keep it for seven years?Ha – you know what, I ask myself that question on a weekly, if not daily basis. The whole story feels like some mad, Hunter S. Thompson, LSD-inspired dream. And yet, it’s my life.The most basic answer is that, throughout my life, I’ve taken jokes way, way too far. That’s one of the reasons I’m a comedian – I’m always the one walking into a lamppost in the background. But every step of the way, it felt like the right thing to do… until I looked down and realised I was holding a passport with my picture under the name “Lionel Richie”.This show weaves together bankruptcy, identity, homelessness, and stand-up. Why tell this story now?It feels like the right time because those themes are everywhere right now. We’re in the middle of a cost of living crisis, and coming from a Dorset council estate without a safety net – and having the brass neck to think I could be a comedian – maybe I was just an early warning for what a lot of artists are now going through.To survive as a comedian today, you often need two jobs and to house-share with seven people. Looking back, it’s wild what I went through – but I know plenty of comics who are in their own leaky lifeboats. I’ve been a comedian for decades. This show is a bit of a moment to take stock and go, “Wow. That was mental.”There’s a wild honesty to the title, but also something very Fringe about it – surreal, funny, and oddly moving. Was that balance intentional from the start?I think that comes naturally when the story’s true. When I look back at how young, hopeful Barry kept getting back up and trying to make it work – and kept losing everything in the process – there’s something very poignant there.People might not have lived this specific story, but we’ve all thrown everything into something. And when it doesn’t work out, it hurts. That kid’s capacity to keep going was incredible. And in my case, the failure just happened to include a Grammy-winning pop star’s name on my bank card. Trying to live as an artist isn’t always pretty – but it’s often colourful and compelling. And it almost always sounds insane.You’ve been performing at the Fringe since 2001. How has your relationship with it changed over time, and how does this show reflect that?Your first time at the Fringe blows your mind. It’s like running away to the circus – a human circus, where the animals treat themselves badly. Every doorway is a stage, every café has a poet or trapeze artist sitting next to you. And of course, there’s the rain, the bagpipes, and the smell of trans fats in the air.Over time, though, the magic can wear off. You start to take it for granted – even roll your eyes when someone says, “Oh no, another sword-swallowing Mexican accountant.” And once you factor in the financial pressure, it gets harder to enjoy it all.That’s why I genuinely think there should be two Comedy Awards – one for people with a producer or agent, and one for the acts who are out there flyering, producing, and doing it all themselves. It’s night and day in terms of what you can give to your show.You’ve played a huge role in developing other comics’ careers through Angel Comedy and The Bill Murray. How has that experience shaped how you view your own story?Completely. I created Angel Comedy for the 15-year-old version of me – the one with no mentor, no idea how to become a comedian, and who made every mistake.It didn’t need to be as hard as I made it. No one should go bankrupt or end up homeless for trying to be a comic. If you’ve got a couple of key people supporting you, it makes a world of difference. That’s why we give spots to new comedians every night at Angel. It’s so, so important, because those first few years are brutally hard.And if you’re reading this – go check out the Angel Comedy Showcase at the Fringe. It’s all new comedians, they get 100% of the ticket money, and we cover the show costs. It’s often enough to help them pay for food and accommodation.Starting the Comedians’ Choice Awards in 2012 was another big thing for me – it’s the only Edinburgh award voted on by comedians. It’s a way for comics to recognise and reward each other. That matters.

The Burton Brothers talk about their fascination with the Roaring Twenties as they bring their show 1925 to the Edinburgh Fringe.1925 is such a specific moment in time. What drew you to set a whole sketch show in that exact year, and how did it shape the material?We both grew up on comedies from this decade. From an early age, our dad sat us down and showed us Charlie Chaplin, Buster Keaton and Laurel and Hardy, and these performers had a huge influence on our comedy style.The word “timeless” gets thrown around lazily these days, but the comedy from the 20s truly lives up to that promise. If a couple of young boys from Australia can sit down 100 years later and still laugh and appreciate the comedic mastery on display, then “timeless” is the only word for it.Comedy aside, the 20s is such a rich decade in history. The music, the fashion, the attitudes are all so unique and instantly recognisable, making it ripe for parody. Plus, who doesn't love some big band jazz numbers!The show uses the glitz and absurdity of the Roaring Twenties to reflect on the 2020s. What parallels did you find most striking between then and now?The more we researched and wrote this show, the clearer the parallels between then and now became. The 20s kicked off a wave of individualism and personality over connections to institutions. Organised religion began to backslide, divorce became mainstream and movies and movie stars became the new obsession.Many standards of modernity began in the 20s and have only intensified since. The attitude that permeated Western countries during this decade was one of wilful ignorance and an arrogance that this was the greatest time to be alive. That gives the whole decade an inherent and built-in irony: the “roaring” 20s with its opulence and excess, being immediately followed by the Great Depression and the second world war. Not such a great time to be alive any longer…This starkly reflects our attitudes today – that we are living in the best time in human history because of our modern comforts, technology and air conditioning. One can only wonder: if history repeats itself, what kind of ironic doom are we racing towards now?You’ve called this your “fourth original sketch comedy show – now in Technicolor!” How has your style evolved over the years, and what’s new about 1925?We’ve always had an old-school, vaudevillian approach to sketch comedy. Our work is inspired by the classic ‘song and dance’ men of a bygone era as well as the broader slapstick comedy of the silent film stars and classic Looney Tunes.Bringing that style together with modern sketch comedy has been an evolution for us – one we’ve gotten better at each year. It’s all culminated in this show, which puts our skills, influences and inspirations to the test. 1925 is a true hybrid of old vaudevillian comedy, told through the lens of a modern sketch show.From prohibition to Hollywood glamour, the show blends historical parody with musical numbers. How do you balance comedy, commentary and choreography?Comedy and choreography is a classic combo of the 1920s. From silent film stars to flashy Broadway musicals, it was everywhere throughout the decade. It would feel dishonest to do a show set in the 20s and not have a handful of song and dance numbers – what’s the point otherwise?The commentary in our show is present but it isn’t excessive. The goal, first and foremost, is comedy. Any commentary is always playing second fiddle to the giggle.The Fringe can be a launchpad for international acts. What’s it like bringing your Australian perspective on history – and sibling banter – to Edinburgh?It’s an incredible treat! Edinburgh is such a fantastic festival to be a part of, and bringing our show here is a very exciting opportunity. We hope that 1925 is unique and stands out among the regular comedic stylings on offer.Our brotherly dynamic is inherently recognisable. We’ve all had a quarrel with a sibling or loved one – we just do ours on stage for your enjoyment!What do you hope audiences take away from the show?An appreciation of the decade and a smile on your face! If you’re a lover of all things 1920s, this show is for you. If you’re not a fan of flapper caps and jazz numbers, we hope that after seeing this show, you’ll change your tune.But most importantly, we want people to leave with a smile. This show is packed with goofs, gags and giggles, and our biggest hope is that you come and have a laugh with us.

Jacob Nussey talks about his debut show at the Edinburgh Fringe, Primed, and its roots in working at Amazon.Jacob, what made you want to build your first hour around your time working at Amazon?Every time I mentioned I used to work in an Amazon warehouse, the first question people asked was, ‘What was it like?’ We all use Amazon, so there’s a weird curiosity about it. Everyone has a picture in their head, usually based on headlines, but most people don’t actually know beyond that. I’m in the position to tell people what it’s like from the inside – and give them a laugh while I’m doing it.Primed lifts the lid on warehouse life with a lot of sharp humour. Was it cathartic, exposing or just hilarious to finally write about it?It’s definitely a bit cathartic. Obviously there are a lot of jokes you can’t make when you work somewhere. So much of the writing was sifting through ideas I’d been mentally collecting for years. It’s satisfying to finally poke fun at Amazon’s expense – though there are plenty of jokes at my expense too, to be fair.There’s a real stealthiness to the way the show tackles working‑class aspiration and wealth gaps. How conscious were you of weaving those ideas in alongside the jokes?I wasn’t trying to make a point – it’s an hour of jokes, not a TED talk. I don’t really talk politics on stage, so it was never going to be overtly political. When you come up with jokes about a topic, themes naturally rise to the surface whether you plan it or not. The show is about my life and experiences and I am working‑class. Working at Amazon was never my dream, so it’s almost unavoidable to touch on that, and it ends up shaping what the show is really about.You describe the absurdity of job interviews and being rejected before ending up at Amazon. How much of the show is about finding dignity and comedy in places people overlook?I was never any good at interviews; they’re a mystery to me. But there’s something inherently funny about the fact that nobody really knows what they’re doing and everyone tries to blag them. We’re all in the same position.Your delivery has been called “hilariously nonchalant”. Does that deadpan style come naturally, or did it develop over time?My friends and family say it comes naturally. I’ve always had that dry, deadpan way of talking, even before stand‑up. It wasn’t something I consciously developed, but over time I’ve learned to lean into it. The straighter I play something, the funnier I find it. I’ve been told I’m unassuming, so people wouldn’t think I’m a comedian – but I promise I am. Don’t listen to what they say in Mexborough.You were part of Best in Class in 2023, and now you’ve got your own full run. What did you learn from that experience that helped shape Primed?It was my first time at the Fringe. Being part of Best in Class made it feel less overwhelming. It’s given me a support network and taken the edge off what can be a daunting experience. I learned so much from the way other comics handled their shows, and it gave me an idea of what to expect from a full run.You’ve done tour support for acts like Russell Kane and Jack Carroll. Has anything from those gigs influenced the way you’ve approached your debut hour?They’re some of the best. The way they structure their shows and how polished everything is – I’ve picked up a lot. I haven’t done loads of tour support, but it’s always nice to play to someone else’s audience and adapt. Even though it’s my show, I still have to bring people in and keep them with me the whole way.The title is clearly a dig at Amazon’s culture, but it also suggests something ready to go. How “primed” do you feel for this next stage of your comedy career?It definitely started as a dig at Amazon, but I hope it also hints that I’m on the edge of launching. You can prepare as much as you like, but you never really feel ready until you’re actually there and doing it.

We talked to the team behind two shows at this year’s Edinburgh Fringe: Space Hippo and Shunga Alert!You’re bringing two wildly different shows to this year’s Fringe – a sci-fi epic starring a heroic hippo and a raunchy puppet romp through Japanese erotic art. What ties these projects together for you as artists?The first shadow puppet show we ever made was called Oni, where we told erotic Japanese folk tales. It was the first show we considered a success. That led us to creating Space Hippo, where we developed the cinematic style we use now. Shunga Alert! is a spiritual successor to Oni – it’s the show Oni would’ve been if we had known what we were doing back then. So as different as Space Hippo and Shunga Alert! may seem, for us it’s all connected.Shadow puppetry is at the heart of both productions, but used in very different ways. How do you adapt the medium to suit such contrasting tones – from cosmic adventure to adult comedy-doc?We love juxtaposing the old with the new. In Space Hippo, we try to make an epic, big-budget science fiction movie using shadow puppetry techniques that have existed for thousands of years. Shunga Alert! is more high-tech – we use document cameras and projection – but all the puppets are painted in the traditional Japanese ukiyo-e style, which dates back to the Edo period.Space Hippo has already toured internationally and earned acclaim, while Shunga Alert! is a newer piece. How has your approach differed between reviving one show and debuting another?Honestly, not that much. We’re always looking for small ways to improve our shows. It’s hard to believe we’ve been performing Space Hippo for almost ten years. It still feels very new and relevant. I think that’s the power of science fiction.There’s an undercurrent of commentary in both pieces – environmental collapse and political manipulation in Space Hippo, and repression and fetishisation in Shunga Alert!. How important is it for you to balance message with entertainment?It’s absolutely the most important thing to us. It’s literally all we care about. Theatre is a bad career choice for anyone who just wants to make a decent living. We don’t make shows because we want to; we have to. We are obsessed with trying to make shows that will entertain people and somehow have them leave the theatre knowing or feeling something that will make their lives a little better. Otherwise, what are we even doing?The Fringe is famous for its creative freedom – and for its demanding schedule. How do you prepare for the intensity of the month?A month seems like a long time, but it actually goes by very quickly. We live in Japan but travel a lot. Before the Fringe, we like to look for travel accessories to be comfortable when away from home for a long time. We bring things like our own travel pillows and towels. This year I got an ultra-portable umbrella.Audiences might come for the laughs or the visuals, but what’s something you hope they leave thinking about after seeing either show?One of the things we love most about theatre is that a show is a completely different experience for every single person who watches it. We do make shows with certain messages in mind and write scenes hoping to make people feel a certain way. But everyone has a different life experience, and that causes them to experience the show differently. For us, the most satisfying thing is having people tell us how the show uniquely affected them – sometimes in ways we never could have imagined.

We talked to Andy Linden about his background and his EdFringe show, Baxter vs the Bookies.Andy, Wikipedia lists all your film and TV credits going back to 1988, but says nothing about you, your origins, background or personal life. Are you happy to fill that gap for us?I grew up in Tottenham – and yes, I am a Tottenham fan. I left school at fifteen and worked as a van boy for Maynards Sweets. Got the sack for selling merchandise on the side! I trained as an upholsterer and did material cutting, then I relaid railway tracks, from South Tottenham to Haywards Heath – sixteen-hour shifts, backbreaking – and worked on building sites.Comedy and music were my release, so I started doing fringe theatre and revue shows in pubs. My first proper job was in Pinter’s The Kitchen, at the back of a civic centre – we got expenses! Then I juggled day jobs with performing. In the 80s I had a comedy double act with Cliff Parisi (Fred in Call the Midwife). I kept acting, doing all sorts – like kids’ TV (East of the Moon with Terry Jones, directed by Neil Innes), Hale and Pace, and Chancer with Clive Owen. I also did my own solo standup across the country. Nowadays, I just act, and have appeared in loads of TV and film.I live in north London, married to the novelist Liz Webb, and we have a nineteen-year-old son. After quite a wild life, I now enjoy gardening and, for my sins, I trundle along to see Tottenham every week.I listened to an interview you did ten years ago for the Crouch End Comedy Festival entitled 30 Years of Comedy Downstairs at the King’s Head, and another you gave at the Harry Potter premiere. What struck me is the extent to which you seem to be a self-effacing, self-deprecating and humble man who would rather give credit to others – and at the premiere seemed to be thinking, “What’s a bloke like me doing in a place like this?” Are those descriptors accurate?I’m happy showing off in standup and acting, but then I’m playing a character – I’m much quieter when I’m myself. When I went to the Harry Potter premiere in Leicester Square, I was so shocked. I got out of the posh car, wearing my shiny suit that I’d bought for the occasion, and was confronted with screaming fans, lights and cameras. I felt like one of The Beatles! An interviewer asked me, “What’s it like to fly on a broom?” Hard to answer when it’s really a slow process – acting on a green screen in a studio. I was overawed and probably did come across a bit self-effacing in the interviews.As I brought it up, can you tell us something about being in Harry Potter? Any good stories?All the Winnebagos were huge and the staff couldn’t do enough for you. When Sky Sports faltered on my TV, they were in in a nanosecond to fix it! As for the actual filming, the best thing was the great cast and the director, David Yates, who put everyone at their ease and trusted the actors.The tentacles of the Harry Potter franchise reach far and wide. I was on holiday in Chile at an obscure wine tasting and I drew huge curiosity – I was called Mundungus the whole evening.Of all the parts you’ve played or films and TV shows you’ve appeared in, which was your favourite or most memorable? (I assume it wasn’t Farting Man in Audience in KY Telethon!?)One of the most enjoyable was a Radio 4 series, Keeping the Wolf Out by Philip Palmer, set in Hungary in the 60s, where I played a crooked detective who eventually gets his comeuppance.Dying in shows is a living for me. I’ve been shot several times, had my neck broken, been bashed round the head with a cricket bat, bitten by snakes and had a heart attack on screen. I died in the film The Business, and in the TV series Rome and Merlin, to name a few.Now you’ve created a monodrama for yourself with Baxter vs the Bookies, which you've adapted from Roy Granville’s book. What drew you to the story? Are you a racing or gambling man?I’m a huge racing man – I go racing regularly and put on (sensible) bets every week at my local bookies. So when I decided to do a one-man show, it had to be about horse racing. Baxter is a perfect character for me – a down-at-heel inveterate gambler, one of life’s anachronisms, but an underdog who never gives up.Have you done a book adaptation before? How did you go about the process?No. But I loved the stories, so I contacted the author for the rights. I used three of the stories, but adapted them to work for theatre – softening Baxter in places to make him more relatable, developing the characters for comic and dramatic effect, and ordering and heightening the stories for drama. Especially the final one, in which Baxter risks his whole livelihood against his nemesis – an upstart young bookie who only relies on stats, unlike Baxter, who is a true lover of horse racing. I also added a story of my own about Baxter’s failed love life – both for comedy and pathos.Baxter feels he’s an anachronism in the modern world of computer stats, flashy websites and online gambling. Do you have any of those feelings yourself about the modern world?God yes! I am not very computer savvy. Although my wife says it’s amazing what I can do on the computer when it involves Spurs! I’m from the generation who didn’t grow up with computers at all. I constantly feel that the computer is a sentient being out to get me. My smartphone is smarter than me.While we're on the subject of changing times, what do you feel about the current comedy scene – the material and audience responses?The acts on the circuit now seem a lot slicker than in my day. But also a bit more conveyor-belt, with mainly straight comedy. There are far fewer double acts and less off-the-wall variety.What would you like people to take away from your show?I’d like them to have been thoroughly entertained – to have felt like they were right there with Baxter, experiencing his highs and lows. When I did the show before, two guys approached me in a local betting shop, called me Baxter and asked me for tips. They really believed in the character!

We talked to Grace Mulvey about attitudes towards the subject of death and the background to her show, Did You Hear We’re All Going to Die?Grace, you’ve been nicknamed the Death Queen. How did that come about?By the time I was 24 years old I had been to about 20 funerals and had never been to a wedding, so the nickname the Death Queen stuck. I’m like Angela Lansbury in Murder, She Wrote, with less iconic glasses. Due to having so much experience with it at a young age, I have a practical attitude towards illness and death, so I am the person my friends turn to when they need advice.You grew up in Ireland but moved to London. Was that for career purposes?Absolutely! I won the BBC Galton & Simpson bursary for comedy writing, so thought it best to up sticks at 33, leave Dublin and head to the city of bright lights and cancelled trains. I think leaving my home country really made me commit to my dreams and goals.Do you think that generally the Irish have a very different attitude to death from the English?I think the attitude towards death is the biggest cultural difference I have come across between the Irish and English. The Irish live to die. Wakes in the home are an Irish tradition. There is even an Irish Wake Museum – oddly it’s not as famous as the Guinness Storehouse.My mum is from Roscommon in the west of Ireland, so I’m used to traditional wakes. Irish funerals are like a strict hotel checkout – they are 48 hours after the person has passed. It means that when someone dies, loved ones, friends and acquaintances get together instantly. It leads to an intense time of bonding, storytelling, drinking and inevitably laughing.In England, it seems that funerals happen almost a month after a bereavement, so there’s a sense of detachment, I think. I’ve found the English take longer to settle into my show as they find the subject matter uncomfortable at first. Scottish audiences are on board straight away. But I have won round the English – I just address it straight away so that the show is great craic from the get-go.And your mum and dad had their own approaches to the subject.My dad is so open about the fact that death is part of the life cycle. He’s almost too open about it, if I’m honest. When I worked in retail in my 20s, he once insisted on meeting me on my lunch break at a Yo! Sushi – he was going on holiday the next day and wanted me to read his will. After seeing how little money I’m to inherit, I talked him out of getting the expensive dragon roll.What’s mad is that my mum is quite a worrier in day-to-day life – she jumps every time her phone rings. But when it comes to a death, she could run a business as a funeral planner. Like the Jennifer Lopez romcom classic The Wedding Planner, but with an Irish twist.Death is perhaps the last taboo subject. Did you embrace the topic because you thought you’d found a comedy niche, or was it just a personal fascination?Honestly, it’s not a taboo subject to me because I’ve always been surrounded by it. I’m 36 now and I haven’t hit the milestones of most of my peers – I’m not married, don’t have kids, I still don’t know what a tariff is – but I’ve experienced a lot of death. It’s natural for me to talk about it and to joke about it. Also, it’s something that every single one of us will experience, so why don’t we talk about it? By finding the funny in it, we can take some of the fear away. And frankly, I have too many funny stories to not talk about it.Did you have any doubts about creating a show around it?Absolutely – but then I have doubts about doing a show at all. I have doubts about stand-up. I have doubts about the outfit I’m wearing today. I have doubts all the time about everything – but then just do it anyway. Nothing is for certain except death and taxes.I read that while you don't fear death, you do fear back fat, the rise of fascism, and low-rise jeans. Would you care to comment on those?I think we can all agree that life is scary right now. The rise of fascism is plain to see, and I think it’s linked with low-rise jeans coming back into fashion. If you want to hear more about that, you’ll have to come to the show.And I fear my back fat because I can’t see what’s going on back there. Frankly, it’s none of my business – it’s for other people to look at.What would you like people to take away from the show?It’s fun and life-affirming. I hope this is a show that stays with people – not only because there are some truths in it, but because it’s really funny.It’s also a show for the “bad news” friends – those people who always have some bad news to add to the WhatsApp group. For the people who at this stage are embarrassed by not being able to provide news like: “Hey, I got engaged,” “Hey, I got the keys to my dream home,” or “Hey, I don’t have a UTI.”

We talked to Alejandro Martín de Mier about his background, Butoh, and his Fringe show The Nest.Ali, let’s start with your background.I'm 36 and from Santander in northern Spain, though I’ve lived in many different places including Madrid, Croatia and Málaga. Before I discovered I liked moving my body, I used to move my home.I studied and worked as a social worker for many years. Human relationships and working with people were always my main interests. But I got tired of constantly dealing with problems and navigating organisations. I asked myself: if you're not happy, how can you help others?The fun part started around the age of 28. Can you picture that guy at the club with no rhythm at all? The one who tries to dance but just can’t – not even after a few drinks? That was me. Actually… that’s still me, in a way.Then one day – for reasons I still don’t quite understand – that guy ended up in a Butoh dance class. And he started moving. And he discovered that movement made him happy. So he kept going, growing more curious, moving with more freedom and more possibilities each day. Eventually, he began sharing that with others through workshops, and even created a few performances.What inspired you to form your own company?I never thought about having my own company. I’d had bad experiences putting too much pressure on goals, money and other practical stuff, so I just want to forget all of that. I earn money from other activities, so my main goal right now is to enjoy the Fringe.I started dancing quite late, and my motivation was to investigate the body, the mind, relationships and space by organising workshops. But one day, I was sitting on the floor before training and I clearly visualised the whole show – I had no choice… The rest? It just came along. A musician appeared, all the support I needed, opportunities to dance at different festivals: in my hometown, Madrid, Edinburgh, Amsterdam… Actually, I still don’t really know what I’m doing; I just want to dance and share my passion, so I keep going.Tell us about Butoh and your style of dance.Butoh is a Japanese style of dancing that was born around the 60s. It’s characterised by slow movements and an abstract way of showing ideas and meanings. It really goes to the subconscious part of the mind. At that time in Japan they were living a difficult moment because of the second world war and the atomic bomb, and the dances were a bit dark. But this is not Japan, and it is not the 60s. So my main goal is to bring all this knowledge and wisdom into a western context.What I really like about Butoh is that no technique is needed. I have practised contact improvisation, contemporary dance and physical theatre, which have had a powerful influence on my dances, but the freedom Butoh provides me is unique. I feel I can be myself with it, and that’s why I choose to go in this way.What is your Fringe show, The Nest, about?It's about birth and transformation. It is a way of living. Imagine each moment lived as a baby trying to come into this world; a small chicken cracking the egg. Everybody loves to see them: babies, puppies, cultivated plants for our own food. Why don’t we treat ourselves like that? Why don’t we see everything as a baby? Why don’t we change the things we don’t like? We used to do it just with our mind, imagination… oh, we all love it! But I try to go one step further: I put my body on that.In the show, I move away from positivist and New Age narratives that try to sell everything as beautiful and cheerful. Sorry, folks – Disney is just an international company that got rich because they know we love being children, but they have no interest in seeing us get off the couch or out of the cinema.In my show, I present reality, rawness, struggle, enthusiasm, joy and pain. I share my life process and how it’s worth going through every part of it.What is the significance of music in the piece and its relationship to the movement?Music in The Nest is everything around a birth: pleasure, contractions, fear, pushing, heaviness, excitement, release, intensity… we’ve all been there at the beginning, but most of us just don’t remember. What I do while dancing is simply obey the music.My partner JULI(0) is the creator and live performer of the music, and it’s really important – though it can be polarising. I know it’s a bit intense. The feedback I’ve received has been both: “I loved it” or “It was too much for me.” I’m fine with that – anything that makes people feel something is perfect, exactly what I’m aiming for.The music has three different parts. First, we just use guitar and amplifier, drone style with a little bit of hardcore. Second, absolute silence. And third – oh! I love it! – it is a loop in crescendo with different instruments like Tibetan singing bowls, claves, shaker, hand drum, voice and other sound effects.Why did you choose to perform at the Fringe? How are you feeling about it?Well, my brother has been living in Edinburgh for more than ten years. I was just beginning to learn about dancing. I visited him while the Fringe was happening. I remember watching a show and thinking, “Could I be here performing someday? Nah, no way.” Then last Christmas he said, “If you are creating something… remember I live in Edinburgh, come to the Fringe,” and here I am!What would you like the audience to take away from having seen your show?Presence. I specified in the description of the show: “a living meditation shared between movement, space and audience.”With the show, I just want to travel all together. Where? Well, each person has their own dreams, imagination, ways of perceiving. So I just want to go all together through them – just let them have a space during the show, use my body and the atmosphere we have created to relax and go somewhere else.

We spoke to the celebrated Scottish artist Moy Mackay about her background, her specialist form of art and her contributions to this year’s EdFringe.Moy, you graduated from the famous Glasgow School of Art. What was it like studying there?I began my studies at GSA in 1987 and graduated in 1990 – the year that Glasgow became the European City of Culture. Creatively speaking, this was a fantastically exciting time to be in the city.I studied Printed Textiles. The course had – and still has – a very strong reputation, and it was tremendously competitive to be accepted onto it. I was aware of how privileged I was to be studying at GSA, aware of the reputation, history and legacy of the School, and I was excited to be part of that. There were some super-talented and competitive students in my year, all producing work to a very high standard – everyone really worked their socks off! This work ethic inspired us all and really pushed me on in my own creative journey.You’ve carved a highly specialised niche for yourself in the art world. Did that originate at the School?During my time studying Printed Textiles, I started to become aware of – what I perceived as – a huge divide between Fine Art and the other subjects taught in the School. It felt that there was intellectually much more gravitas and respect afforded to Fine Art.As a student I didn’t understand this – it felt elitist. I believe that one art form is as worthy as the next. However, this disparity inspired me to start considering how I could combine the two art forms in my work, and I became excited about the idea of marrying traditional craft techniques with a fine art application, to create new and original concepts.As my work developed, I started painting onto fabrics and fibres and stitching into them. This led me to explore the concept of creating paintings that essentially weren’t made with paint.And you are now renowned for a style of felted painting. Can you explain what that entails?The felted paintings were created as a direct result of the experimental work I had been developing at GSA. Continuing my fascination with fine art and craft, I started to explore incorporating the use of traditional felting techniques within my work, as I had never seen felt used in this way before.My creative process embraces the traditional practice of the landscape artist – primarily sketching and painting in situ and using a variety of media. The felting process takes place in the studio, where I translate my sketchbook work into felted paintings, using traditional felting techniques augmented with stitch and embroidery.It’s interesting to note that new visitors to my exhibitions have often commented that they were unaware the images were not traditional paintings until they saw the work close up!You were born in Edinburgh but live and work in the Tweed Valley. To what extent has the landscape and environment of the region influenced your art?I love living in the Tweed Valley. My living environment blends seamlessly into my creative output. My heart is in nature and the countryside, and I am continually inspired by the colours, the skies, the changing seasons and the light. All of this influence is evident in my art.In addition to the inspiration I literally find on my doorstep, I also enjoy visiting other hidden rural corners of Scotland to sketch, paint and create new work. I really enjoy the buzz of cities and all that they have to offer culturally. I have regular “city fixes” and I imagine if I were living in Edinburgh, my work would be more focused on urban landscapes. However, as an artist I respond to the tranquillity of the countryside – it gives me the inspiration, headspace and clarity that I need to focus on and develop my work.You have two different events listed at the Fringe. Let’s start with Every Picture Tells a Story.Every Picture Tells a Story is showcasing at the Scottish Storytelling Centre. It’s the first time I’ve worked collaboratively with creative writers and storytellers for an exhibition, and it’s a really exciting departure for me.The idea came about because people constantly tell me how immersive they find my work, and how they can create their own imaginative narratives around the places depicted in the paintings. I became fascinated with the idea of inviting creative writers – including authors, poets and songwriters – to collaborate, using my artwork as a starting point to inspire their own written ideas. It’s fascinating how artworks can be interpreted on a very personal level, and sometimes in very unexpected ways.For My Scotland, you’ve set up a studio in Edinburgh. What can we expect there?I’m going to be exhibiting (and working) in the Dundas Street Gallery. It’s an amazing space in the centre of the New Town – a must for gallery lovers.Being a Borders-based artist, it’s a great opportunity to bring my work to a wider audience during the Festival and to meet visitors from all over the world. I wanted to set up a studio here so that I could continue to work and create during the Festival. For visitors, I think that being able to engage with my creative practice brings something additional and special to the exhibition. It’s an opportunity for them to get an insight into the magical and fascinating process of felt painting – perhaps for the first time.My Scotland showcases recent work from my travels around Scotland, and I look forward to sharing stories and insights about the paintings with gallery visitors.What would you like people to take away from your shows?I would like people to get a sense of the beauty of rural Scotland. I would also like them to be creatively inspired by my work and ideas – and perhaps use this inspiration in their own creative journeys.

We talked to Henry Naylor about his previous writings and this year’s show at the Edinburgh Fringe, Monstering the Rocketman.Henry, your production at this year’s Fringe marks a departure from the seven plays you’ve written about the West’s uncomfortable interactions with the Middle East. Before we get on to your new show, can I ask for your take on the current situation in the region?It’s a total shitshow. And when will it end? All nuance seems to be lost and no one seems to be listening to one another. There’s so much bad blood, hostilities could last for generations.If you were to write a play about the Middle East now, what aspect would you focus on and what points would you want to make?Wow, massive question!My focus has been on the impact of global events on the person in the street. I feel that the news typically deals with the decisions and movements of politicians and armies; news bulletins rarely dwell on the impact of their actions on ordinary folk – which is unfortunate, because it distances Western audiences from the story. I believe art can bridge the gap. By writing about civilians, I hope to create some empathy. Echoes was about the impact of Isis on a schoolgirl; Angel, about a law student who became a sniper; The Collector, about a translator during the Iraqi occupation; Borders, about a graffiti artist, etc.Nowadays, I’d focus on the ordinary people who are fleeing the region. I think refugees deserve more understanding and compassion.So why have you left the Middle East behind this year and gone for something completely different?To be honest, when I first wrote the Arabian Nightmares series, the UK artistic community was silent about the Middle East. It’s easy to forget how nervous British theatre was when Isis burst on the scene. There seemed to be a collective ostriching – artists were scared to touch it. The National Theatre tried – then cancelled – its production of Homegrown days before it opened. I felt theatre was failing audiences. People wanted answers. Having worked in Afghanistan, and having retained contacts with both Afghans and journalists, I felt I had some small insight. I’m proud to say Echoes was the first play in Britain to deal with Isis.Now, there are more informed commentators – and opportunities are being given to eastern voices. So it feels right to step back – unless I can provide a perspective that isn’t being covered by others.Let’s move on to this year’s show, Monstering the Rocketman. What’s it about?Well, it’s based on a true story!In 1987, The Sun printed the unverified claims of a rent boy, who said he’d arranged a sex and drugs party for Elton John. But it wasn’t true. Elton hadn’t even been in the country when the alleged orgy took place – and he could prove it. But bizarrely, The Sun didn’t back down and pursued Elton mercilessly. A two-year tussle took place, which resulted in Britain’s biggest-ever libel case, and features Ferraris, punch-ups, gangsters, prostitutes, bugged phone calls, a £10 million divorce suit, Princess Diana, the Vice Squad and a pair of devil dogs...With all that, it almost seems redundant to ask what appealed to you about the story. Was it just too good not to take up, or did you want to make a point about the media’s treatment of people and this was a structure to wrap it around?Partly because it’s a cracking yarn... partly because I think Elton should be celebrated... but mainly because I wanted to write a piece about the vital importance of a reliable popular press.There’s no nuance in the debate about the tabloids at the moment. There’s a general feeling that they’re a bad thing. In fact, a recent Ipsos survey found that only 13% of adults had confidence in the press! That needs redressing.Not all tabloid journalists are the “scum” of the popular imagination. There are some good folks out there – who have a really important role to play: holding power in check and protecting the people. We can’t keep taking our news from dodgy internet sources. But to recapture trust, the mistakes of the past need to be acknowledged and lessons learned. Many of those mistakes loomed large in the Elton John case.(To be fair to News Group Newspapers, they’ve paid massive damages after the phone-hacking scandals, made contrite noises, shut News of the World, etc. All steps in the right direction – but more needs to be done.)Did you consult Elton John about it?I pitched the idea to his company a few years ago. They loved it, but the movie Rocketman was in the final stages of production. They told me they couldn’t get behind two Elton-biography shows simultaneously and to “come back in a few years”... Now, there is the possibility they were fobbing me off – but I’m pretty confident they weren’t. So here I am, working the idea up.What is the process of turning a news story into a production? What’s the style of the show and how did its format evolve?I’m old enough to remember the story as it happened – and how extraordinary it was to see a national newspaper print a full front-page apology. I thought for a long time it would make a great show. So I spent over four months in the British Library reading 1980s tabloids to understand what happened – and capture the context and attitudes of the era. And wow, Britain has changed so much!The show takes the form of a monologue, told from the perspective of a fictional Daily Mirror journalist who covered the story.What would you like audiences to take away from the show?A few good laughs, a ripping yarn and a load of talking points.

We spoke to Callie O'Brien from Elastic Fantastic about the company and their new show at this year’s Edinburgh Fringe, in a conversation that encompassed the process of writing, queerness and the current trans scene.Callie, let’s start with some background on the company and how you got involved.Scattered between Leeds, Bristol, Brighton and Edinburgh, we’d actually never all been in a room together until the day before our tech rehearsal at last year’s EdFringe. The others – Mike Dorey (director), Jake Mace (producer and writer/performer of our debut show Deeptime Atomic Waste Pleasure Party) and Ronan Gordon (composer) – met at college and were creating historical theatre together way back in 2017, before shifting focus to queer solo storytelling after the pandemic, with hopes of building a semi-professional theatre company.My own involvement started back in 2022, during my very first Fringe Festival, with a napkin pitch in Surgeons’ Courtyard for a show about nuclear waste and techno music. Sci-fi, synthy, queer? I had to get involved. Cut to three years later and that show – what would become Deeptime – boasts a sellout run at the Prague Fringe and rave reviews (if you’ll pardon the pun).We really found our niche with Deeptime, and we’re excited to bring more of what we love creating to Edinburgh this summer – deep and novel worldbuilding, immersive multimedia storytelling and visceral queer perspectives.So let’s move on to this year’s production, Shallowspace Cryotech Feverdream. Why do you think this story should be told now, and what are you hoping will come across to the audience?Shallowspace is, above everything, a show about queer love. It’s messy, unapologetic, aching, and sometimes painful. But underpinning it all is that undeniable sense of connection. Connection with those who share your lived experience, even if you’ve never met, and connection with your past self, who doesn’t yet have the words to express what they’re feeling.The queer community is watching our rights and livelihoods be dismantled before our eyes, so there has never been a more important time to shout about our existence than right now. Shallowspace asks how we might preserve humanity’s legacy and, with the way the world is going, what does it mean for a queer person to be the one to tell it?The show’s main character is August. Who is she, and how has she developed since you started writing the show?I’ve definitely put a lot of myself into August. Her nerdiness, eccentricities, speaking patterns – all are an artefact of growing up online while coming to terms with her own queerness and neurodivergence. As a trans person, I feel there’s almost a necessity for us to become experts in gender theory, psychology and endocrinology in order to justify our existence.August definitely uses this mindset as a crux, thinking that her intelligence can get her out of an impossible situation and help her get through to voices that aren’t even listening – if only she knew enough to find the right thing to say.Since writing the first draft at last year’s Fringe, trans existence in the UK has been under constant interrogation and threat. I’ve definitely felt August’s voice shift over the last few months, and the version you’ll meet is brimming with equal parts yearning and queer rage.And what about your interest in science fiction – how has that translated into writing the piece?To me, such a core part of queer youth is that feeling of escapism. Finding that place where you can plug in, submerge yourself in another world, and forget all about real life. Sci-fi media was that for me growing up – the Fallout franchise, Starbound, and Star Wars: The Clone Wars. Pretty early on in the play, August finds her escapism in the Archive – a digital record of all human history which she’s shepherding through space. This show is a love letter to all those alternate worlds of my childhood, complete with all the blinking lights and technobabble you’d ever need on a journey to the stars.The show uses multimedia. How have those aspects been integrated into the narrative?Multimedia has become a big part of the Elastic Fantastic brand – immersive soundscapes, found footage, and ethereal montages. With Shallowspace, we’re being a lot more ambitious in how we’re using audio and projection for scene-setting and storytelling. I’m really excited for it.Beyond the obvious inspiration of the glitchy, grungy hallmarks of retrofuturism and cyberpunk media (genres which are pretty inherently queer if you’re paying attention), the process of making these weird and wonderful projections is a queering in itself: warping and layering things to a breaking point where all the glitches, noise and digital artefacts become the art. We’re building August’s world from the ground up for our audience – the blinking lights of her habitation capsule, the shifting seas of data she explores, and all her ephemeral frozen dreams.What are your hopes and ambitions for the Fringe this year?Last year, I wrote a whole show (this show) while working full-time as a venue technician and working on Deeptime for half the month, so that’s a hard precedent to beat. I track a lot of my Fringe stats – shows seen, 5am bedtimes, trips to Banshee Labyrinth – so writing another show or beating any of those metrics is always a goal.But beyond that, I want to connect with as many creatives, new faces and old friends, as I can. The people are always what keeps me coming back to the Fringe; the opportunity to experience art and theatre and music together is what makes this chaotic, exhausting month worth every minute. If Shallowspace can bring people closer together – get people connecting and talking about queerness or identity or even just their favourite nerdy media – that’s about the best thing I could hope for.And your hopes and ambitions for the future?I had an absolute blast following Deeptime to the Dundee and Prague Fringes after our Edinburgh run last year, and I’d love to see Shallowspace make a similar pilgrimage, with maybe a few more stops along the way!After that, this definitely isn’t the only play I’ll write – I’d love to explore the potential futures of the planet August left behind: dreams of digitised consciousness and dystopian cityscapes, or utter devastated wasteland inspired by my first sci-fi loves of Fallout and Borderlands. Something a little Mad Max-y, maybe.

We talked to Dylan Kaeuper and William Grice about their EdFringe debut show Cody and Beau: A Wild West Story, their friendship, and the creative process behind the production.Let’s start with some background from your early days – where you grew up and met, to being at uni.Will: We grew up around Oxfordshire but didn’t cross paths until secondary school, where we became close friends – largely through our shared love of theatre and the arts, collaborating on several school productions. In our final years we directed and performed a show together, and since then we’ve developed a unique stage chemistry.We visited Edinburgh last year. The city held huge appeal for both of us with its rich arts scene and, of course, the Fringe. We saw a load of shows and left feeling completely inspired. Heading home, we swore to put on an original show together while at uni. And here we are! It’s a full-circle moment for us – the culmination of a creative partnership years in the making. Now we’re both at Edinburgh Uni. I’m studying English Literature, while Dylan has decided to be a bit extra and study English and History.Where did your passion for performing come from?Will: It started when I was a kid – when your creativity and imagination are most alive. I found that on stage I discovered a confidence I didn’t know I had; a form of expression that allowed me to be someone I wasn’t. There’s something so mesmerising to me about that transformation – stepping into someone else’s shoes and telling their story. I think a part of me has always been chasing that.Dylan: My passion for performing probably came from doing plays in secondary school. Will and I were very lucky that most of our close friends also loved acting, which created an energy with my peers I’d never felt before. Although I would be terribly scared before a show, that moment when everything clicked into place and you forgot everything in your life except the scene itself was unbeatable.You’ve set up your own theatre company. What’s the aim behind that?Will: Our aim is to make inventive, actor-led theatre that surprises and provokes – but above all, entertains; to breathe new life into theatre and make it feel fresh and immediate again, particularly to younger audiences. We want to tell original stories where the performance is rooted in the connection between actor and audience.Cody and Beau: A Wild West Story is our first show with the company, and it’s driven entirely by two bold, comic yet deeply endearing characters. We hope that by sharing what we’re passionate about, we can create work that resonates beyond the stage.So tell us about Cody and Beau.Dylan: The inspiration began almost a year ago, out of a fascination with the American West – the historical period, its influence as a genre, the literature of Cormac McCarthy, and how the era has been mythologised on screen through films like Clint Eastwood’s. There’s something about stories set amongst that harsh, unforgiving landscape. But what struck us was how little Westerns have been explored on stage, despite being such an inherently theatrical period – rich with drama, contradiction, and a very raw kind of humanity.From there it began to take shape. Cowboys are often idolised by children, but in reality most were broken men with dark pasts. We wanted to explore a scenario where these violent themes collided with the innocence of a coming-of-age story, and to explore masculinity through that lens. Especially now, with the conversations around masculinity evolving and so much noise online about what it means to be a “man”, the Western offered a fresh and complex backdrop to examine those themes.Will: The West’s darker history of racial conflict has become a crucial part of the piece as well. Through the characters’ journey, we explore how the fear-of-the-other mindset is learned, and how children are often shaped by the ideologies that surround them. These ideas feel increasingly urgent – particularly in the context of debates around immigration and identity. Through the characters’ innocence, we aim to invite the audience in and then slowly ask them to confront something deeper, balancing a playful energy with something more unsettling.You're staging it in the round. What lies behind that choice?Dylan: The show is very physical and often breaks the fourth wall, so we want to create a deeply intimate experience that fosters a connection between performers and audience – as though they’ve stepped into Cody and Beau’s bedroom and into the world of their imaginations, placing them right inside the boys’ perspective, surrounded by their energy, their games, as if they’re participants in the fantasy. There’s something beautifully raw and exposed about working in the round. It removes the distance between audience and performer and makes the experience immersive in the truest sense.What’s it been like putting together your first Fringe production? How do you feel about it with a month to go?Dylan: Bricking it? No, honestly – with a month to go, there’s excitement, optimism and a healthy dose of nerves. It’s been exciting, creative, hilarious, stressful, exhausting – all of it. With just the two of us pulling the strings, it’s definitely been hard work; writing, producing, promoting and performing all at once – juggling everything from marketing to tech, which we’ve never had to think about before. But it’s proven an incredibly rewarding experience. We’ve grown so much as collaborators and as friends. It’s been really special to build something from scratch together and watch it evolve from a silly idea into a fully fledged piece of theatre. We’ve had so much fun along the way, which makes all the chaos worth it – and we’re proud of what we’ve created and can’t wait to share it.What would you like audience members to take away from having seen your play?Will: We just want to tell a good story. One that connects. If people leave the theatre talking about it, asking questions, or feeling something they didn’t expect to – that’s the dream. We want it to make them laugh, think, and even feel unsettled. But above all we want them to experience an hour of theatre in which they are swept up into the characters and the world we’ve created – and come away feeling entertained.

We talked to Cory Cavin about his culinary, chaotic show Enjoy Your Meal at this year's Edinburgh Festival Fringe.Cory, how are you?I’m great! I’m in New York and it’s very hot, and I’m looking forward to being in Edinburgh with cooler temperatures. I’m also producing a movie in New York right now – called Dream Baby Dream – while prepping for Fringe, so things are very busy.Enjoy Your Meal invites audiences into a working restaurant with real food, drink and a chef on the verge of a breakdown. How did this deliciously chaotic concept come to life?There used to be a very small arts space in the middle of a tiny office in a truck parking lot near my apartment in New York, and they would do weird art stuff there. I was working for Bon Appétit and I would come home from shoots and pass the space, thinking it would be cool to do a comedy show where you make food for people right in front of you.I went in there once and there were two guys in big robot costumes with glowing lights all over them playing electronic music for only four people in the audience. It was great, and I thought it would be very cool to do an up-close show for a small number of people. I’ve always been obsessed with people on the brink of losing it and falling apart while also trying to smile.And everything falling apart is precisely what’s happening to your character, Chef Wayne Swingle, while desperately trying to serve the last best meal of his life. How much of him is you, and how much is a worst-case scenario in a chef’s hat?Any time I’ve had people over for a big dinner, I’m always trying to do too much while trying to be a good host and act like things are chill – and also wiping sweat away with a kitchen towel. I naturally want to please people and usually hold all the stress inside while pretending everything is OK, so I suppose some of it is definitely me. The rest is imagining this guy who really does want to get his shot – and then, because of bad luck, just can’t make it happen.This show isn’t just immersive – it’s edible. What can audiences expect to be served, and how closely is the menu tied to the emotional journey of the performance?We’ll have light hors d’oeuvres up top, a cocktail and drinks, a Thai-inspired fusion dish, and a dessert of very high hopes – which, like many of Chef Swingle’s hopes, may descend to the lowbrow realm while still remaining tasty. The dishes, like all menus, are subject to change as things fall apart.The menu will be ambitious and, by the end, you’re left with what Chef Swingle can offer – as he doesn’t have much left to offer himself. But by then, I hope you’ve gotten to know him enough that the food isn’t the only thing you care about.How has your background in food media shaped the way you wrote and staged this show?I spent a lot of time behind the camera watching chefs on set. I learned a lot from the chefs I worked with – how to present, how to talk about food, how to describe flavours. And food media is everywhere – not just on the Food Network, but on your phones and social media. There are a million recipes for iced coffee. It’s insane. But I wanted to make a show about a guy who would not be good at any of those things.Summerhall’s Former Women’s Locker Room is already a quirky space. How are you transforming it into “The Restaurant”, and what made Summerhall the right home for your Fringe debut?The Former Women’s Locker Room will be set up like a small, intimate tasting restaurant – like you’re coming to a chef’s table. I went to a chef’s table-style restaurant in New York years ago that had 12 seats per night. It was so cool to spend a night with a small group of people and the staff serving you – now imagine going to that, but it doesn’t go right.There will be other immersive elements to really get you into the chef’s head – lights, sound, smoke, kitchen tools, interactive displays showing where the chef gets his ideas, video examples of his past work, and probably him spilling things.There’s a quote that says, “Food brings people together while ruining the person making it.” Do you think that’s true of performance too? How do you hope this show feeds its audience, emotionally as well as literally?That’s entirely true for this show. The tagline is: “The audience eats while the chef breaks down.” The show is literally bringing people together because it’s an audience, and I do think having food on the table anywhere puts people at ease. It makes people relax and focus in.I hope they see a chef with hopes and dreams trying his best, putting on a performance in front of them as it falls apart – largely due to him and his mistakes.And for those who ask, “Please sir, may I have some more?” – you make an appearance later in the evening.Yes! I’m also doing the show Great Times at Fringe with Kevin James Doyle, a nightly line-up show right after this one. So I’m excited to perform twice nightly. It’s all going to be really fun, and I’m looking forward to it.

Luke Connell is a regular panellist on the Stand Comedy Club Newcastle’s monthly show Nerds Just Wanna Have Fun. Luke Sunderland is professor of medieval French literature at Durham University. They are the two sides of one person. We had to find out more.Luke, your two main activities in life seem an unlikely combination. Let's start with how you got into academia.I loved languages and history at school, and went on to study Classics and French at King’s College London. Towards the end of my final year at university, I was really enjoying working on my dissertation (on Roman border fortifications) and going into dusty corners of the library to find even dustier books. I began to think I’d like to do even more of that – and now I’ve been at university for over 27 years, eventually becoming a professor.And how did your involvement in comedy come about?In GCSE drama class, my friend Matthew and I loved doing silly sketches and trying to make everyone laugh. We are still remembered in Stockport for a daft sketch we did about baked beans. At university, I did improv and was in a sketch act, before finally trying standup.Do you adopt a light-hearted approach in your lectures?Yes, because medieval material is often funny and it’s important to remember that people had a sense of humour in the past. I teach the fabliaux, which are very bawdy texts about what happens in castles after dark. There are a lot of misunderstandings about who is in bed with whom. It’s good to bring out the comedy in these tales, before going on to ask what they tell us about medieval ways of thinking about bodies, sexualities and identities.Now tell us about the Nerds show – where it came from and what makes it special.It was the idea of a Newcastle-based comedian called Neil Harris. He approached the Stand Comedy Club to propose a comedy night about science – they loved the idea and we’ve been going for over 18 months now. We do a different theme each month, and we’ve covered things like geography, sea creatures, science fiction and crime. Neil is a genius with AI, programming and animation, and often makes his own video games especially for the show. For example, he created code to combine Jane Austen novels and Geordie Shore in a bot called Darcy-3PO. The other regular panellists all have their own forms of nerdiness: Matthew Wheelwright knows all about insects, Elaine Robertson does brilliant material on things like oxbow lakes and birds’ cloacas, and Kelly Edgar is an expert on psychology and physics.But that’s not been your only outlet for bringing the two worlds together.I’ve done a few different academic-comedy crossover shows, including Comedy for the Curious and Bright Club. There’s definitely an appetite out there for comedy that doesn’t come from what is relevant to our lives, but from exactly the opposite – from the outlandish and obscure and unfamiliar. Like Nerds, these shows are bringing different audiences into comedy.You have a new piece for this year’s Fringe – Luke Connell: Bloody Marvellous. It's a comedy show about the Middle Ages, with games, props and songs, in which we get to know creatures like sea-centipedes and manticores, dogs with names such as Havegoodday, and characters like Eilmer the flying monk. Do you have plans for after the Fringe?I’d like to explore the possibility of performing the show at castles and other heritage sites. It’s a different way of doing heritage and brings the period to life in its own unique way.What would you like people to take away from your show?A sense of medieval people’s imagination and humour. We too often see the period in terms of disease, ignorance and war. But people were witty and playful, and they took joy in inventing wonderful contraptions, in imagining distant lands with strange customs, and in stories and images of fantastic animals such as you mentioned.

Producers Marc Routh and Simone Genatt chipped into a conversation about their new show, World’s Greatest Lover, which features characters ranging from a conniving Casanova to an unrequited Romeo, from the clandestine Cyrano de Bergerac to the dangerous Marquis de Sade.How did this brilliantly bizarre concept for World’s Greatest Lover come about?Broadway International Group decided to commission a new musical that featured an all-male cast to satisfy the demand for a vehicle for former K-pop and boyband stars, and the pop/theatre team of Julien Salvia and Ludovic-Alexandre Vidal seemed like the perfect match. When they submitted the first draft, we were bowled over and immediately scheduled a reading to see if it was as good in person as it was on the page. They continued to refine the show through a presentation at 54 Below and then an extended workshop in New York, and it was clear that there was something special here.The show is billed as wildly entertaining and genuinely heartfelt. How do you strike that balance between hilarious romantic chaos and sincere emotional moments?Love is the central theme, and all the characters are wildly romantic. Because the audience already knows and loves our heroes, they are the perfect subjects for humour as stories and surprises unfold. The blend of comedy and romance is natural.Each character represents a different vision of love – unrequited, dangerous, poetic, seductive. What do they reveal when they’re all forced to share the same stage (and maybe the same spotlight)?Each of our lovers has their own unique point of view on love, and as the title implies, the show is a clash between the characters as to which of those points of view is the right one. It’s very aligned with the dilemma the world is facing now, as various perspectives conflict with each other, with each faction entrenched in their particular viewpoint. And over the course of the show, they learn that it’s the blending of those visions that has the potency to overcome the threat to love in our world.You’ve assembled a powerhouse creative team, from Emmy-winner Joshua Bergasse to Eurovision songwriters Julien Salvia and Ludovic-Alexandre Vidal. How has that international flavour shaped the sound and style of the show?Josh was our first call after receiving the original draft of the production and his commitment was strong and immediate. He’s the perfect collaborator to help bring these characters to life through a combination of his unique skills in direction and choreography. We have a long association with Josh that goes all the way back to the original productions of Swing! and Hairspray, as well as the revival of Smokey Joe’s Café. Julien and Ludo are new to our creative family, but we met and quickly bonded, and they embraced the commission wholeheartedly. These characters are archetypes that have been reinvented by novelists, poets, screenwriters, playwrights and lyricists throughout history, so their universality offers a great opportunity – as filtered through the sensibilities of Josh, Julien and Ludo. This is a brand-new musical making its debut at the Fringe. What made Edinburgh the right place to introduce World’s Greatest Lover to the world?Broadway International Group has had the great fortune of introducing many productions to the world market through the Edinburgh Festival, including Cookin’, Reel to Real, China Goes Pop and many others. We love producing for the festival audience and the discipline of creating a successful production within the bounds of the festival constraints.If each of the characters had to define ‘true love’ in one sentence, how wildly different would those definitions be – and who do you think actually gets it right?Romeo, Cyrano, Casanova and the Marquis de Sade do indeed have views of love that are diametrically opposed, and when the show begins, each of them is absolutely certain that their view is the accurate one. But when a stranger intervenes, they are forced to examine other points of view and realise the value of their fellow comrades in the pursuit of love.

Laura Benanti talks about her new show, Nobody Cares.Laura, Nobody Cares is your first ever UK show. What made now the right time to bring your brutally honest, self-deprecating comedy to the Edinburgh Fringe?I actually made my UK concert debut in 2019 at Cadogan Hall, but this will be my first time performing my comedy show outside of the States! Edinburgh Fringe is a bucket-list dream for me – as is doing my own show in London, which is where I'll be in September. I'm also pretty excited to get a break from the dystopian hellscape that is currently the United States of America.You call it a comedy show with music, not a musical. What can audiences expect from the blend of storytelling and original songs, and how do they work together onstage?I want to be very clear that it's not a musical, because I want to set audience expectations. I would hate for someone to come to my show expecting to hear me sing from My Fair Lady and get standup comedy instead. The show is a hybrid of autobiographical storytelling in a standup-style format, punctuated by original comedy songs co-written with my writing partner Todd Almond. Todd debuted his show I'm Almost There at last year's Fringe to great acclaim!The show covers everything from three marriages to perimenopause to people-pleasing recovery. When was the moment you realised you needed to turn this into a show?Writing this show wasn’t actually my idea! I was approached by Audible about doing their Theatre Series, where they audio-record the show at the Minetta Lane Theater in Manhattan and then stream it on the Audible platform. The version of the show I’ll be performing this summer has changed a bit. I cut about 15 minutes, Todd and I wrote a new song, and I refined the ending. I'm really happy with it – I feel like the show got a tan and lost a stone. The title, Laura Benanti: Nobody Cares, was actually inspired by the thing I kept telling myself as I began writing the show. I finally had to succumb to the idea that perhaps no one would care. I'm relieved that people seem to!You’ve said your favourite audience members are the boyfriends and husbands who got dragged along and leave as fans. What is it about Nobody Cares that surprises people the most?I think there are some people – especially those who were dragged there by someone who said, “I know you don't like Broadway, but I think you'll like her” – who simply don’t know that I’m funny. I think the standup-style storytelling is surprising to people, as it's not something I had really done before. People have said to me that they expected to cry but didn’t know how much they would laugh – and vice versa. I think some people simply don’t know what they’re going to get, which is exciting to me!From Broadway to Melania Trump, you’ve had a wide-ranging career. How does this show feel different from what people might know you for?I'm known primarily for my work on Broadway (TV and film as well, but I think when people know of me they often associate me with theatre). This show is a completely different beast from either of those art forms. This is autobiographical comedic storytelling, breaking the fourth wall, singing original comedy songs, and being a little naughtier than people might expect me to be.If Edinburgh audiences walk away remembering one thing from Nobody Cares, what do you hope it is?That they had a great time and left feeling joyful.

We asked Mary Kennedy, the ‘New Fiona’ of Shameless, about that role and her new show at the Fringe, Hail Mary, None of the Grace, which contains some surprising material.Your show opens at your mother’s funeral – not the usual place for a comedy to start. What made that moment the right launchpad for this midlife coming-of-age story?My mother was one of the funniest people I’ve ever known, so it felt fitting. She was 66 when she died and I was 42, with two young kids. My father had died about 10 years earlier, so at that moment I was alone in midlife. But because of my mother’s terminal illness, and travelling back and forth from LA to Boston, there was a sense of relief. At her funeral I realised it was time for me to live my life. I’ve always lived my life comically, even in tragedy.You describe growing up Irish Catholic in Boston with “all of the tragedy, none of the money”. How has that shaped both your comedy and your relationship with grace (or lack thereof)?Every good comedian comes from tragedy. I’m third cousins, twice removed, with the Kennedy family, and my Kennedy family dealt with the same tragedy – just without the money. This has really shaped my comedy. It’s made me relatable, and I realised very early on that comedy naturally comes out of tragedy. That’s what has helped me survive.Hail Mary, None of the Grace dives into inherited guilt, motherhood and finally living life for yourself. What’s the most surprising reaction you’ve had from audiences so far?Edinburgh will be the world premiere! But in our workshops of the piece, audiences were very surprised by how I weave the dramatic, the poignant and the comedy together.You’re best known as ‘New Fiona’ on Shameless. How does stepping into your own story on stage compare to playing someone else’s chaotic daughter on screen?I love the term “chaotic daughter”! Anyone who’s raised a teenager understands this. I apologise to my mother up in heaven every day. Playing New Fiona was by far my biggest break as of late. I almost fit into the Gallagher family too much – I understood the family dynamic in Shameless and was able to really embrace the role.William H Macy (Frank Gallagher) made me feel like family from day one. Playing characters in a one-person show – from yourself (the narrator) to the other characters in the piece – can feel chaotic, but it’s a fantastic challenge for a character actress like me. It stretches you, and you use every piece of training and performance memory. The character I see must be portrayed to the audience in a believable way, and the way my character (me) interacts with these characters has to be organic. It’s a conversation, and the audience should see these fully realised characters.There’s a line about not passing inherited guilt on to your kids. How do you walk the line between deeply personal reflection and making people laugh out loud?Guilt, ha! It’s in my DNA. They probably got some of that in the womb. I really try to honour those who’ve gone before us. Parenting is never perfect and my parents truly did the best they could. With a backdrop of Catholic guilt, sometimes I’m automatically guilty over something and I have to talk myself out of it. I’ve really tried to raise my kids not to feel guilty about everything. A little healthy guilt is fine, but living your life guilty is not living.This is your Edinburgh Fringe debut. What drew you to bring Hail Mary, None of the Grace across the Atlantic, and what do you hope UK audiences take from it?I toured with my other one-person show Mid Life Mood Swing, directed by Charlene Ward, for over two years. That show debuted at Whitefire Theatre’s Solofest in 2023 and, in 2024, I performed it again at Solofest and won the Encore Award. I spent two years doing that show across the US, including a one-nighter off-Broadway and in Canada. I was so moved by the response everywhere I went – especially in Canada – that I felt I really needed to tour internationally.That’s where Edinburgh Fringe comes in. Audiences, and my director and I, wanted a sequel to Mid Life Mood Swing, and Hail Mary, None of the Grace was born. I knew this was the right piece to bring to Edinburgh – it really explores my Irish lineage and Catholic upbringing, and I thought that would resonate in the UK. My director, Charlene Ward, is also of Irish descent, so it’s been great to work on this new piece with an international audience in mind.

Jake Brasch and Nadja Leonhard-Hooper engage outrageously in conversation about their new Fringe show, HOLE, an irreverent 70-minute musical by American Sing-Song.How are you and the USA?We’re great! Our country is falling to fascism and simultaneously all of our dreams are coming true. It’s a very confusing time in a young girl’s life (together we make one girl, FYI).Let’s talk HOLE! We’ll start with the obvious: how did you come up with a post-apocalyptic religious cult that’s saved from damnation by wearing butt plugs?We started with a lot of questions:What’s going on with men? Are they doing okay? How should one be a man? Why is the Christian right so horny? How could we defamiliarise their obsession with chastity and control in a way that teases out how truly perverted their worldview is? Why do so many people who claim to have been abducted by aliens report being anally probed? How could a mother disown her child for being gay? Is there anything up there? What happens after we die? How do we make gay people gayer, and allies gay?We decided to answer these questions in the only way we knew how: by writing a musical.Our first musical was about an 86-year-old woman finding sexual liberation in the sea. We wanted our second to be about men. What makes a man? Who makes a man? We were dealing with some stuff in our own families – cousins getting disowned for being queer. Sad, fucked-up stuff. And simultaneously, we were thinking about aliens. Specifically, why is everyone who gets abducted by aliens getting anally probed? Somehow, these two ideas came together to create the musical HOLE!HOLE! is described as a “$50-million horny musical fantasia” performed by just two “deranged freaks” with a keyboard and some trash. What’s the joy in doing something so big with so little?We make “theatre of the (deranged) mind” because we know that any time you’re telling a story, it’s not actually happening on stage – it’s happening in the mind of the audience. It’s almost like an old-school radio play: yes, you’re watching us perform and make the music, but in your mind, you’re flying into the sky because your butt plug fell out.HOLE! is fun because almost nothing is happening on stage, and the audience walks away with incredibly vivid images. It’s the show they’re making in their minds. Imagination is better than a big set budget. Imagination is better than AI! People sometimes forget that all theatre happens in the mind of the audience. What’s going on on stage is just there to activate it.The show plays with religious fanaticism, queer longing and absurd comedy. How do you strike the balance between the deeply ridiculous and the unexpectedly profound?Folks are always shocked by how earnest and rigorous our show is. We believe in the ridiculous as a pathway to the heart. The deeply ridiculous is the back door of the soul – it’s the secret path to the profound and the divine. We don’t know how to make serious things that aren’t funny. You want me to cry when you haven’t made me laugh yet? Jesus. Buy me dinner first! Take me high to take me deep.You’re bringing this wild, butt-plug-fuelled spectacle from sold-out NYC previews to the cobbled chaos of Edinburgh. What are you most excited (or terrified) about performing HOLE! at the Fringe?Oh, it’s pure excitement. We’ve done the show in front of people five times now, and the feedback is frankly rabid. People have the best time. We’re frequently told their faces hurt from laughing so hard. Getting to do that every night is a dream.We also can’t wait for that random Tuesday night show where there are ten people in the audience and none of them think it’s funny. It will be hell to play – but in a meta sense, it’s the funniest possible way this show could be performed: for an audience of people who are deeply unamused. So hopefully that will happen. But only once.There’s a huge queer heart underneath all the madness. What do you hope queer audiences – and audiences in general – take away from this show?If you’re gay, can you be gayer? If you’re an ally – why? Stop that. Grow up. It’s time to be gay. If you’re neither gay nor an ally, have you considered prostate stimulation?If God really is watching, what do you hope She thinks of HOLE!?We hope God smiles on our efforts to troll our way into a more loving and open world. Barring that, we hope She strikes us down. Can you imagine? It’s our closing night at the Fringe and we’re singing our hit number Sky Fucking in the Sky, and suddenly Cowgate is struck by lightning? That would be amazing.Thanks so much for speaking to me today. Finally, what shows are you excited about seeing this Fringe?DeliaDelia! The Flat Chested Witch! is a New York act that seems really spiritually connected to us. We can’t wait to see that Witch play basketball. We love Recent Cutbacks – they do famous movies live on stage and it’s amazing. We think they’re doing Lord of the Rings and Jurassic Park this year. Other than that… you tell us! We’re so excited to see theatre from all over the world.

We talked to Stacie Burrows about creating her show No Good Drunk and dealing with its very difficult roots.Stacie, your show, No Good Drunk, is described as a “hauntingly lyrical road trip through memory and addiction” that deals with alcoholism and domestic abuse. Let’s start unpacking that with the context in which those issues are explored.I utilise storytelling and original music to tell true stories of the “no good drunks” that upended my family for generations. My mum really didn’t know her father at all. He drank himself to death when she was nine years old. All she was ever told was that he was a “no good drunk that’s buried in El Paso”. She spent years wondering about him.I was first contacted by the ghost of my grandfather in 2005. A little boy who lived next door was known for talking to the dead! I live in Los Angeles and yes, we are very “woo-woo”. The only people who confess to believing in ghosts are people who have had undeniable interactions with them. The “pint-sized medium” that lived next door gave me a message which gnawed at me for years until I made the decision to find my grandfather’s grave. At the cemetery in El Paso, Texas, I was met with more questions than answers.So I made it my mission to explore every lead that might produce information I could give my mum. She died last year from complications related to Alzheimer’s disease. Before she lost all her faculties, she shared memories of her father with me. But I knew they weren’t really her memories – they were the answers I was able to give her based on my research.How did you go about doing the research, and what effect did your discoveries have on you emotionally?I relied heavily on public records and interviewed as many family members as I could. I always recorded the conversations – some of which I utilise in the show. The greatest source of information came from my grandmother’s filing cabinet, a treasure trove of memories and evidence. Many of the answers my mum always wanted to know about her father were right there in the house, in a well-organised filing cabinet. After all, my grandmother was a secretary – keeping files in order was her life’s calling.Putting the show together was absolutely exhilarating, draining, fun and emotional, leaving me completely fulfilled.Your mother lived in a place and time when it was difficult for women to be heard. Do you think that still applies to women and many other voices today? What is the way forward?Absolutely. When my mum was growing up, she had no outlet or encouragement to speak her mind publicly about hot-button issues – like her drunk husband who roughed her up. It’s sickening to think these women were supposed to be the caretakers of their families, but they’d better not speak up when someone mistreated them. I’ll qualify that by saying my mother’s first husband was an abusive alcoholic – not my father.Of course, it’s still an issue today for marginalised people to fight to be heard. I think the only way forward is to have uncomfortable conversations, stare directly at injustice and shout about it from the mountaintops. I’m sure it wasn’t easy for Gloria Steinem and Ruth Bader Ginsburg (and many more!) to open the door to different points of view. But because they did it then, we can do it now. We still have a lot of work to do, but at least the cogs in the machine are turning.You reveal people stuck in a rut. Do you see that in the ones you mention and in other forms – and what does it take to get out of one?Oh, do I hate a rut! My mum was in a rut for the greater part of her life. We all fall prey to ruts at some point. My show is centred around addiction, and that’s a special kind of rut. There are so many resources available now – free resources like smartrecovery.org and Alcoholics Anonymous exist online. But in order to unstick yourself, you must move your body, seek out sunshine, and talk to someone. And if you need medication to stabilise yourself – for crying out loud, take it! I’m not ashamed to admit I take a low-dose Lexapro. I resisted the stigma for so long, but now I realise how helpful it is.Once you had the material, you had to find a way to present it and highlight the issues. I understand that you, along with co-writer Sam Small and director Katierose Donohue Enriquez, have used various devices to do that. Can you tell us about this collaboration?Sam’s a multi-instrumentalist and he co-wrote and co-produced the songs. We were sitting in my yard overlooking the Santa Monica Mountains. Sam had his guitar and we shared a few bottles of beer. I started telling him these stories of my mother’s father – a no good drunk buried somewhere in El Paso – and his eyes lit up. “These would make great songs,” he said. Sam is a bona fide genius poet and musician. Even though he’s much younger than I am and grew up on the East Coast, he has an affinity for writing in the 1950s Texas style. I was so honoured that he wanted to be part of the show.Katierose Donohue Enriquez is my director and story developer. She has an uncanny knack for threading heartbreak with humour, as she does in her own solo show Queen of Fishtown. I love working with Katierose because she pushes me to find my way past my fears. She knows what the show needs, and I trust her wisdom.What would you like audiences to take away from the show?Oh, gosh. Well, it’s not my intent, but they’ll probably take a little sob home. It’s the most cathartic show I’ve ever done. I hope they will find themselves in this story in some capacity.

Ben McGuinness and Lauren Barrie are looking forward to their writing and performing debut at the Edinburgh Fringe. How do they feel about it? “Completely terrified. Absolutely buzzing.”Here they talk about their friendship and the process of co-writing Almost Everything.Ben, you describe yourself as a recent graduate of Italia Conti and a proud Scot. So let’s start by hearing about your Scottish heritage, why you chose Italia Conti and what the course was like.B: I grew up in the small town of Kilsyth at the foot of the Campsie Hills in a working-class family. Being the middle kid out of five, I was always running about playing dress-up with my brothers and getting into different characters. We holidayed all over the UK, but you really can’t beat Scotland for the scenery, the history, the castles. I remember running about Dunadd Hill, sword-fighting with my brothers and wee sister. Moving down south was hard, but I had to follow my dreams, and after having to audition in a disabled toilet (long story), everything pointed to Italia Conti being the perfect school for me. Known for its vigorous training in acting, singing and dancing, I was pushed to my absolute limit. The three years were not easy, especially being away from home, but the Christmas visits and Hogmanay kept me going, and it was all well worth it in the end.Lauren, when did your love for acting start? What has your journey been like so far?L: I grew up in South Woodham Ferrers, Essex, as the middle child – the so-called “naughty one” – always performing around the house. My love for acting began when my mum enrolled me at the Pauline Quirke Academy. I did singing, dance and acting, but I always counted down to the acting classes. That love grew when I joined Italia Conti Juniors full-time. There, I discovered classical text, explored different acting styles, and, for the first time, felt like I truly belonged. When Conti closed during Covid, I focused on education, studying theatre studies, dance and psychology at A-level. I thought about writing a play but trained at ArtsEd on the foundation course in acting, which taught me more than I expected and deepened my love for live theatre. During this time I met Ben, who was like a breath of fresh air – his energy reignited my desire to write a play. Although the process has been stressful, I feel so grateful, and for the first time I feel OK with not knowing what the future looks like. I am enjoying the spontaneity of it all. I wouldn't change a thing.How did your partnership come about and what has the experience of co-writing been like?B: While I was training at Italia Conti, I got really close to a really bubbly girl – we were like brother and sister, still are – which meant I was over at her place a lot, and Lauren is her more dark and romantic “crying over an ex” sister – very much like me.L: We pretty much bonded over having an identity crisis every Tuesday.B: We clicked from the moment we met, very quickly became close friends, and I think we just really respected each other as fellow creatives, as I knew she was also an actor and we both had little writing projects on the side buried in our Notes apps. One night we had a bit too much wine and the Notes app was opened, and we knew, after hearing each other’s work, that we wanted to create something together, so thought what better time than now.L: Co-writing has been challenging for sure, but extremely rewarding. The feeling you get when your ideas align is unmatched – every time Ben would have a lightbulb moment he would jump up and say, “Wait, wait, wait (dramatic pause) I’ve got it,” which always made me laugh. The great thing about writing with Ben is that he is a friend first and foremost, and we have no shame in telling each other the truth (even if it does hurt the ego a little). Key word – compromise. I have very much learnt that you have to make sacrifices when co-writing, and even though we drove each other up the wall, it was never anything a bottle of wine, a deep chat and a good laugh couldn’t fix.What’s the storyline and where did the inspiration come from?B: Essentially, it’s boy meets girl, girl meets boy, boy meets girl’s sister. It’s about three people whose lives become deeply intertwined, and how their relationships change and evolve through time, for better or for worse.L: We both love the books Normal People and One Day, and wanted to write something that gives people the same feeling through live theatre – something that’s raw, relatable and honest, with love at its core.Your publicity says it’s intimate, messy and very real. How do those elements come together?L: The play is messy for many reasons, perhaps because it’s a play and can be and, for the most part, we wrote in my kitchen at 2am after long shifts and because we aren’t afraid to write characters who make bad decisions – because that’s human.B: I think it’s messy because we are messy. The play is a reflection of who we are as people, and we’re very tactile and love intimacy and connection with other human beings. We’re all about keeping things real in life and cutting the bullshit, so we wouldn’t want to write characters that aren’t who we know to be true.What’s it been like putting together your first Fringe production?B: It’s been an eye-opening experience, and we’ve learned so much throughout the process. From securing the venue – with the lovely help of Derek Douglas at Braw Venues – to casting the talented Imogen Eden-Brown in the role of Emily, every step has been a learning curve.L: We definitely didn’t expect the overwhelming response to the casting call. It really highlighted how collaborative this whole process is. We were lucky enough to have George Brooks as our casting director – he was absolutely brilliant!B: As a creative, I’ve grown exponentially. You have to be completely on the ball and organised with communication across the entire production team. With two incredible directors – Graham Newell and Taylor McClaine – coming in to support the process, it was essential to keep them fully up to date with rehearsal times, spaces and any last-minute changes. At the same time, we were coordinating with our amazing set and costume designer, Tiffany Yu, and our superb sound designers – Morwenna Williams and Luke James. And most recently Olli Slatter has been our incredible DP for the play’s trailer.L: We really had to rally everyone we knew to get all hands on deck. One of my friends, the incredibly talented artist Jacob Skinnard, created all the art pieces and paintings featured in the play. His work brought an extra layer of depth and authenticity to the visual world of the production – it just shows how much of a team effort this whole project has been.What would you like audience members to take away from having seen your play?L: I don’t think it’s something to take away; I think it’s something to carry with you.B: Ooft.L: Yeah, I mean, hopefully people learn from all three characters.B: I want it to scream at them to make the right decision when it matters.L: But there is no right decision – you never know what path each decision you make will lead you down.B: I suppose, this life thing’s hard.L: Ultimately, we want audiences to know that that’s OK.

We talked with Aaron Pang about his solo show, Falling: A Disabled Love Story, in which he attempts “to unravel the complexities of love, lies and life after disability.”Aaron, can you tell us about your disability and how you came to weave the other elements into your story?It’s funny. Even this question is a version of “What happened?”, which is the exact question strangers constantly ask when they see my cane. It’s the question that sparked the entire show. There’s some irony in that, because the show isn’t really about what happened. It’s about everything that came after.I have a spinal cord injury, and I won’t spoil it more! You'll have to come to the show to get the full story! But what interested me much more than the incident itself was how that moment changed the way people looked at me, how I saw myself, and how it shaped my experiences with dating, sex, intimacy, and masculinity.The show blends comedy, storytelling, and vulnerability because those are the tools I’ve always used to process life. Who needs therapy? (Just kidding, I go to therapy). But the show is about the absurdity of navigating other people’s expectations while learning how to live in a body that feels both familiar and foreign. The cane gets me the question, but the story is about what people expect to hear. The story they think they want isn’t the one I’m telling. And the one I am telling is where things actually get interesting.What was your motivation for compiling the show?My motivation for creating Falling came from living in a world where ableism never sleeps. It shows up in how people talk to me, how they look at me, and how they assume they already know my story. I got tired of seeing disabled lives reduced to either tragedy or triumph. I wanted to break the tropes of inspiration porn and tell a story that doesn’t follow the usual arc of healing or overcoming.Disabled people deserve to have complicated, messy, funny, and even sexy stories. We are not here to be lessons or reminders to be grateful. I wanted to create something that lets me be fully human on stage – flawed, confused, and still figuring things out.How does the medium of dark humour facilitate your story?I think it’s interesting that we label a lot of jokes about disability as 'dark humour', as if disability is automatically something sad or tragic. That assumption says more about how society sees disabled people than it does about the content itself. For me, the things I find funniest are often the moments where disability and discomfort meet, not because they’re depressing, but because they reveal something real, strange, or absurd. I love jokes that make able-bodied people shift in their seats a little. I’m not trying to shock for the sake of it, but I do want to challenge what people expect. Humour is my way of inviting the audience into my world, not just to look at it from the outside. And in my world, some of the most uncomfortable jokes are also the most joyful.What would you like audiences to take away from the show?I want audiences to be confronted by their own expectations. I want them to think about the kinds of stories they gravitate toward, especially when it comes to disability. Most disabled stories follow the same formula: a struggle, a breakthrough, a triumph. We’ve been trained to find that satisfying. But that formula doesn’t leave a lot of room for nuance, messiness, or contradiction. My hope is that Falling makes people reflect on the kinds of narratives they’ve been told, and the kinds they’ve been comfortable with. I want them to ask themselves why certain stories feel 'inspiring' and what that says about how we view disabled people. And maybe, after the show, they’ll be more open to listening to stories that don’t wrap up neatly or exist to teach a lesson. Stories that are complicated, personal and unapologetically different.

Michael DeBartolo is currently in New York City, where he’s already performed a version of his comic monodrama Tell Me Where Home Is (I’m Starting to Forget).I messaged him on 29 January this year in response to a question he asked on the Edinburgh Fringe Performers Forum on Facebook. Since then, we’ve been in regular contact, discussing all aspects of the production and what to expect in Edinburgh. Here’s more of his story.Michael, let’s start with your background in the USA.I grew up in suburban Connecticut – loving family, pretty house, nice teachers. On the surface, everything looked idyllic. But underneath, I knew something was off. I had my first crush on a boy in the mid-90s, and it felt like someone had dropped a tornado into my world. I was spun into a whirlwind of longing and glittering illusions, suddenly searching for somewhere – anywhere – I could feel at home in my own skin.I studied communications at the University of Rhode Island (because that’s what you do when you’re not quite ready to say, “I want to be an actor”). But an intro theatre class woke something up in me. I won Last Comic Standing at my university in senior year, and I knew performing was just beginning.After graduation, I moved to New York City… and in with my 90-year-old Grandma Cissy in the Bronx. I spent most of my 20s with her. She quickly became a social media fan favourite, and living with her was one of the great gifts of my life.Then you trained and started to perform and write.Yes. I trained at the Neighborhood Playhouse, auditioned, performed in off-Broadway plays and – of course – waited many, many tables. The turning point came when I was cast as Sebastian in the VR film Queerskins: A Love Story. It premiered at Tribeca, won a Peabody, and led to a second film and several offshoots. That project gave me a taste of how deeply I needed to tell my own story – one rooted in queerness, grief, humour, tenderness and love.In 2018, I set out to write 100 stories in 100 days about growing up gay – the kind of stories I needed as a kid. I shared them on Facebook and the response floored me. One was picked up by Humans of New York and shared with millions. That’s when I realised the story didn’t just belong to me – it could ripple outward.How did you arrive at your show’s title?It was inspired by a story from Chicken Soup for the Soul, where a four-year-old girl gently pleads with her newborn brother, “Tell me what God feels like; I’m starting to forget.”That line cracked something open in me. We come into the world with a sense of connection and wholeness – and slowly, the world teaches us to forget. That story, paired with my lifelong bond to The Wizard of Oz – especially as a little gay boy who saw himself in Dorothy – birthed the title Tell Me Where Home Is (I’m Starting to Forget). It felt like a prayer.How would you describe your show?The show is about remembering; who we were before shame told us who we were “supposed” to be. It’s about finding our way back to that sense of belonging – and realising it was here all along.It’s a queer spiritual rollercoaster about denial and longing, filled with gay panic, irreverent humour and gut punches; camp, unfiltered and tender. It’s VHS tapes and locker rooms and the desperate, ridiculous, beautiful ways we try to find home in a world that teaches us to run from the truth. Think Dorothy’s journey over the rainbow… but with more masturbation jokes and fewer Munchkins.Why is it important for you to share this show now?One of the loudest messages I received growing up was about what couldn’t be spoken aloud. The silence around queerness in my home and school wasn’t just absence – it was instruction. When something is never named, you start to believe it doesn’t belong in the world.As I write this, the US Supreme Court has ruled that parents can pull their children from school when books with queer or trans themes are read. We’re living in a time when erasure is being legalised. What’s at stake isn’t just stories – it’s people’s humanity.This show is my resistance. It’s not just about breaking silence – it’s about speaking the unfiltered truth of what shame and self-hatred can look like in a child. And through that truth, creating space for compassion, recognition and the kind of belonging every child deserves.At what point did you decide to take this show to Edinburgh?In many ways, I’ve spent my life struggling to put myself out there. I’ve hidden behind humour, perfectionism and fear. But as terrifying as it is to share my story with a room full of strangers, it’s nowhere near as terrifying as the ache of wondering, “What if I had done the brave thing?”So this is about choosing courage. And with Edinburgh, it’s about having the guts to leave my comfort zone and bring something raw and personal to a new audience. Regardless of the outcome, I want to live a life where I know I showed up – wholeheartedly.And if I can offer even a fraction of what certain works of art have given me – that moment of recognition, that “me too” – then every vulnerable word will have been worth it.How are you feeling, now that it’s one month away?I’m undulating between beaming with pride and Googling diseases that require quarantine but aren’t life-threatening. Part of me is thrilled, and part of me wants a valid excuse to hide under the covers. But the truth is, my heart is in this show. Every word, every joke, every gut punch. I’d rather put my heart out there and have it break than keep it buried and safe. I’m scared. But I’m ready.What would you like people to take away from your show?Laughter, first. Big, guttural, did-he-just-say-that? laughter. But beneath that, I hope they leave feeling more connected to themselves.Tara Brach said, “It’s not until we stop running from ourselves and offer compassion to our unmet needs that we can truly awaken.” That’s what I want this show to do – to remind us of our humanity, our ridiculousness, and our right to belong. Even if only for an hour.

We talked to Jessie Nixon about making her Edinburgh Fringe debut with Don’t Make Me Regret This.Jessie, let’s start with your childhood, which I understand was less than straightforward, even though you ultimately succeeded academically.I was the ultimate latchkey kid. An accidental only child in a single-parent household in Bristol. It was certainly nomadic, as we moved house and school extremely frequently, for reasons that escape me now.At some point, it became necessary to be homeschooled. My mum was a qualified teacher, so this wasn’t a problem academically, but it was exceptionally lonely – especially as we were living in my aunt’s (definitely haunted) house in the countryside.I like to think I’ve completed the class system, as I’ve had almost every type of schooling. In every school they said the same: you’re atrocious at maths, but good enough at English and creative stuff that we’ll take you. I distinctly remember one of my teachers telling me I should be a standup. So thank you to him!Apart from your comedy, you have another full-time job, which I’d like to hear about – how you came by it and what it involves.Ahaha. So – you won’t meet anyone who hates nepotism more than me. However, I am literally a nepo baby. My mum is a civil servant and so (until very, very recently) was I. Although it’s not quite as bad as it sounds, as the application process is stringently anonymised. I worked for the Department for Business and Trade. So much transferable knowledge when it comes to negotiations and diplomacy vs comedy. Both are about establishing status, articulating complex ideas and reading the room. In another world I would have made a world-class negotiator, I fear.But you’ve also had a slew of jobs – and acquired a criminal record.I’ve had many unglamorous jobs: chocolatier, bra-fitter, call centre, recruiter and teacher. Every person should have to work a year in retail in their twenties – you can really tell when people haven’t had to! Oh, and yes, bra-fitter was my favourite, and did spawn my penchant for MILFs, thank you for asking.Over the pandemic I really struggled to get a job, and it transpired that this was due to having a criminal record (for fare evasion, boringly) that I didn’t know about, as I’d never been notified of any fines or court dates. I had it for two years and only found out when I got a DBS. Always carry your railcard, kids! I actually fought them and eventually settled out of court. Shout out to Section 5(3a) of the Regulation of Railways Act 1889.Your Fringe debut show Don’t Make Me Regret This delves into your guilt around ambition, your relationship with self-discipline, your rage against nepotism in the industry and dealing with a class-ridden society. So let’s hear about those.Yeah, it started out (as many shows do) as an amalgamation of my funniest material, but it became increasingly apparent that it was broadly about wanting to be noticed, beloved, and wanting a fair chance.I really struggle with classism and nepotism. I think because I started in Bristol, where it wasn’t an issue, and then moved to London – and whenever I would think “this person is blowing up but doesn’t really have funny bones”, the answer would be the same every time. Ah. They have a famous parent, or a parent who’s an industry giant, or they’re just landed gentry. It’s hard to not feel like you’re just being bitter about it – people say “that’s life, life’s unfair!” – but there is something so insidious about how covert and yet obvious it is.You also tackle being body positive, feminism and how that reconciles with wanting everyone to fancy you.I try! I didn’t want this to be just a fat liberation show, even though I think body positivity and showcasing diverse bodies is so important right now, as culturally we grow more conservative again. Ironically, I have lost 20kg in the last year (half stress and half having better discipline). I’m absolutely frothing at the mouth to start catching Ozempic allegations, but there is a contradiction there, as the message of the show is trying to be empowering and accepting. I don’t want people to think I’ve abandoned my body-positive sentiments, but at the same time I love having massive biceps and succulent quads, and I do want everyone to fancy me! Sorry!!!!!And on two occasions you’ve gone viral.Yes, and I wish it was more, because I love the dopamine hit of seeing that little notifications bubble. One was for impressions (I’m a decent mimic) and one was a satirisation of how the media reports on this country's prolific violence against women. It’s shocking that there is so much complicity in the exonerative language reserved for male aggressors. It was picked up by a great charity called This Ends Now, who work against this kind of harmful reporting. Check them out!But you hope the future will be full-time gigging.So far it is! I can’t believe how much time I have and how not-tired my brain is! I want to gig far and wide, go abroad, do more telly, write on everything and meet everyone. I’m going to enjoy this Fringe out of spite, because I’ve worked for so long to get myself this opportunity, and I will be rinsing it for all it’s worth.What would you like the audience to take away from your show?I want them tired from belly laughing. I know I’ve enjoyed a show when my cheeks hurt – so basically I want them a little the worse for wear physically, but mentally I want them to feel empowered, and I want them to want to be my friend! For me, the desire to go for a pint with the comic after the show indicates that it’s been a good show. Also I’ve got no money, so if they want to literally buy me a pint, that would be good.

Joe Sib makes his Edfronge debut with California Calling. In an uplifting and inspirational conversation we soon learned of his passion for music and life.Joe, I take it you’re a West Coast guy through and through, so where did you grow up and how was it?I grew up in Northern California in the 1980s, right when punk rock was starting to bleed into the suburbs. It wasn’t L.A. glam or big-city grit — it was tract homes, strip malls, and a lot of confusion. My parents split when I was a kid, and like a lot of Gen Xers, I was figuring things out on my own, riding my skateboard through it all. But the beauty of that time was that something was happening just beneath the surface this energy, this rebellion, this music that didn’t need polish or permission. And somehow, I was lucky enough to be standing right there when it all started to explode.When did you embrace punk rock? What was the attraction?I was 13 when I found punk rock — or maybe it found me. I heard the Adolescents, Black Flag, Social Distortion… and that was it. I was hooked. It wasn’t just the sound, it was the attitude. It said, “You don’t need permission to start something. You don’t need to be perfect.” That was a radical idea for a kid who never felt like he fully fitted in. Punk gave me a tribe. It was loud, it was real, and it felt like home. These were kids like me — confused, passionate, scrappy — trying to figure out life one three- chord song at a time.You went on to work with many groups. Can you give us a couple of highlights from that period?Fronting WAX and 22 Jacks was a dream — a chaotic, sweaty, beautiful dream. I remember the first time I heard our song on the radio while driving around — it didn’t feel real. Then there was the Spike Jonze video where a guy runs down the street completely on fire — that was for our song California. It played constantly on MTV. Suddenly, this scrappy punk kid from NorCal was inside the TV I grew up watching. But honestly, the biggest highlight wasn’t the media stuff — it was the connection. Being onstage with my bandmates, night after night, feeling that energy between usand the crowd. That was the real magic.Eventually you created your own label.Yeah — SideOneDummy. I co-founded it with my best friend, Bill Armstrong. We started it in my apartment with a fax machine, a phone, and a mission to support artists the way we wished we had been supported. We didn’t have a business plan, but we had passion. We signed bands like Flogging Molly, Gogol Bordello, The Gaslight Anthem — acts that brought something unique and real to the table. We also helped build the Warped Tour compilations, which introduced tons of fans to new bands every summer. But it wasn’t just about releasing music — we wanted to create a space where artists were respected, empowered, and heard. It was a label for artists, by artists — and that made all the difference.What’s been the most formative influence on your life?The idea that one day can change everything. That sounds like a slogan, but I’ve lived it. One day you discover a band that inspires you to start your own. One day you get onstage for the first time. One day you meet the person who becomes your creative partner. Life pivots on those moments. It’s why I keep showing up — because you never know when that next 'one day' will arrive. And if it hasn’t happened yet, it still can.What’s the secret to putting together an entertaining show?You’ve got to tell the truth. Even when it’s messy. Especially when it’s messy. Whether it’s stand-up, storytelling, or music — the audience can smell authenticity. If you’re willing to be vulnerable, to share the highs and the heartbreaks, people will go on that ride with you. I try to make them laugh, sure — but I also want to make them feel something. That’s when the real connection happens. That’s when it sticks.How do you feel about your first EdFringe?I’m excited. I’m nervous. I’m deeply grateful. Edinburgh Fringe is one of those places where anything can happen. I’m not going over there expecting to win awards or get discovered. I’m going to tell a story that means something to me. And if one person in the crowd feels like they’re seen, like their own story matters too, then I’ve done my job. That’s what this is really about — connection. And I’ve always believed that the right people will find the right story at the right time.What would you like the audience to take away from your show?That your story has value. No matter how weird, chaotic, or unconventional your life has been — it matters. You’re not too old, too late, or too broken. If you’ve still got breath in your lungs, you’ve got a shot at your next chapter. California Calling is my way of saying: the past might’ve been punk, but the future is wide open. Your 'one day' could still be out there — and when it comes, it changes everything.

Narin Özenci was born in Romford Essex to a Turkish Cypriot family as a second generation immigrant. During university she was screened for autism and discovered the clowning group ‘Ridiculusmus’. Now she has a solo career in comedy.Narin, Inner Child(ish) is rooted in your own experiences. How did the idea for the show begin and evolve into what audiences will see at this year's Fringe?It's rooted in shame; shame I wanted to put in front of an audience to have fun being a messy neurodivergent person. I have challenges that I have kept secret for many years trying to be a functional person while putting others on a pedestal, due to shame. I tried to fix myself, but then I realised that I was going against how my brain works as an autistic person. I'm still having real challenges with this show because of my ego and trying to be understood.You’ve just reminded me to let that go. A friends said, "You need to respect yourself." To which I replied, "I'll start tomorrow!" and got lost viewing Cast Away. Then, after watching lots of self help seminars I had the idea to reenact it as a way to reveal my brain on a plate.You’ve described this as a survival show. What’s been the most challenging part of putting such a personal, physical piece together?Disciplining my brain, because it is like a wild stallion. It goes full throttle, then its tired for ages, not wanting to see anyone and to be in total silence for a few days. Also it's not that personal because I am not revealing anything too specific. I might say lots, but I am not saying anything at all that is of detriment to myself. My past shows have been shouty and aggressive to block out feelings and push past the numbness on the from getting scared on stage and being scared of people. This time I am doing the opposite, which is terrifying because it is so vulnerable and exposing. So essentially it's a survival show about how I manage to survive my melt downs and social withdrawal.There’s no linear narrative in the show. Was that a creative choice to reflect how your mind works, or did it emerge naturally during development?I dont think in a linear way, I think in a detailed way which is really annoying for me because it's exhausting. It did emerge naturally,because I tried to be conventional and it just doesn’t work for me, which is absurd when you think about it, because I am such a direct person and yet I create things as an allegory.You personify different parts of your brain in the show. What made you want to bring those internal experiences to life on stage, and how have audiences responded to them?I think im going to cut them out! I am not sure, because they have been misbehaving and causing problems on stage for me. They are part of the sabotage crew and they have been messing up parts of my previews.People in self help and therapy keep harping on about the shadow self and the inner child as though it's an entity or separate being. I took it much further and made them parts of the brain. Audience members sometimes get confused and think that these characters are real, so I will probably need to tell them that I am channelling them. Have heard of that? Channelling is when you breath and you get your brain into delta waves and you let an alien or ghost take over your body. So I think that's what I will do. I will channel reptilian brain, aka Hungry Vagina. If my family are reading this I am sorry; I have a normal functioning body.You’re camping during the Fringe, which must make matters more complex. How does that decision tie into the spirit of the show itself?It doesn’t because I am just saving money as an idiot trying to survive in this world and with myself. Come to think of it, Tom Hanks is by himself in the middle of no where trying to survive on an island; I will be in a tent in a field trying to survive the rain and junkies.You talk openly about being autistic and how that affects social situations. What does performing this show in front of a live audience offer you, emotionally or creatively?This show has been nothing but a hassle and hard work. It has taken me a year and a bit to understand why I am doing it. It has made me question many things about myself as a performer and writer as it made me realise I was putting on a character of how I think people think I am rather than simply being in the moment and playing.How has performing Inner Child(ish) informed or inspired your development of clowning workshops for neurodivergent people?After performing my show and looking into how my brain works, I wondered about other people's experiences of being neurodivergent and wanted to provide a space for them to have a voice; fun workshops to help them respect how their brains work along with lots of rest in between to allow recuperation.

We interviewed Marie Hamilton about her show Madonna On The Rocks, her background, motherhood and the creative process.Marie, your show is rooted in your own experience of balancing the demands of motherhood with pursuing a career, whilst dealing with postpartum depression, but you've found a novel approach to expounding on those issues, so let's start with your story. How did you start out and arrive at where you are today?I trained with Philippe Gaulier when I was 18 and then I worked as a jobbing actor for a long time. I was part of a number of devising processes and loved the rush of having a vague idea at the start of an R&D- a play about medieval basket weavers, say- and by the end of the week having characters and songs and a heist montage. It was magic.Eventually I built up the courage to tell stories myself, and asked people I loved and respected to make some shows with me. I was always too scared to do a solo show though, but then I had a baby. You can’t expect many people to want to work with you if your working hours are 8.30pm - 11pm. And so my lonely late night writing slowly formed itself into this.Having a baby blew my brain apart. It was terrifying and beautiful and there was a dark period when I didn’t know if I could ever make anything again. Theatre is all I’ve ever done, and I couldn’t see a way of doing it anymore, and the loss of self was enormous. After hundreds of exhausted, often teary, sometimes angry, increasingly galvanising conversations with other artist Mums, I started to feel there was hope. I had to make something- for me, and for all of us. It helped me claw my way through the darkness, and after that it felt like I could do anything. Even a solo show.What was the driving message you wanted to convey that motivated you to create Madonna On The Rocks?Motherhood is a gift, but it can also be scary and lonely and dark. We are obsessed with the idea of the ideal mother selflessly sacrificing herself, but this pedestalising of ‘maternal sacrifice’ is toxic. Self-sacrifices, however willingly made, lead to tiny initially imperceptible resentments, which over time build up. It also teaches our children that giving up is what Mum’s are supposed to do.It’s still deeply shameful to talk about post-natal depression, even though pretty much every mum I’ve ever spoken to has talked about feeling lost and scared and adrift during that early motherhood time. It was the feeling that I’d lost my career, and that there was no way I could get it back that tipped me into the bad place. Then, when I did start getting it back, I had a deep, dark guilt for leaving my baby. It was an impossible Catch-22 and it drove me mental.The longer all this is shrouded in secrecy and shame the more people will fall into those dark places. That’s terrible for the mums, the dads, our industry and our children. We have to speak the unspeakable, smash up the pedestals, support each other, and make some art.You have award-winning composer Ben Osborn and Fringe First Award winning director Hildegard Ryan on the team. How did that collaboration come about?Hildegard directed the brilliant Mustard by Eva O’Connor, which I loved and so I sent her a creepy unsolicited text. She had just had a baby too and our chats got deeper and deeper. All our fears and late-night scrolling bubbled up and fed into this show.I worked with Ben on the last show I made: Polly, a very punk adaptation of John Gay’s banned sequel to The Beggar’s Opera. We spent a beautiful week in Berlin, Ben, Madeline Shann and I, figuring out lyrics and writing music which we sent via voicenote to Hildy and slowly our play became a musical.After the first development period Hildy got pregnant again (inconsiderate) and then moved back to Ireland (really inconsiderate) and so this year I’ve been working with Stephanie Kempson, who directed Polly. Having Steph and Ben and Madii (the original Polly crew) all in on Madonna has been a dream, like getting the band back together. It was working with these brilliant, talented, generous people that I was so keenly missing after my first baby. I feel so flipping relieved to have found my way back. It’s logistically harder with kids… but it is possible. And I’m a better, happier Mum for it. What were you looking for in the variety of music you’ve included in the show?I wanted it to feel like breaking into a broken theatre brain: show tunes mixing with club bangers, post-show techno, a bit of power pop, heartbroken jazz from the 300th ailed audition and furious punk. Each song is in a totally different musical world which allows us to jump around emotionally and stylistically and have a lot of fun. How important is comedy in telling your story?So important. I believe deeply that if you want to change people’s perspectives, making it funny really helps. No one wants to be lectured or beaten over the head with your pain. As a feminist there’s nothing that upsets me more than bad feminist theatre. Shouting at people with nothing smart to back it up will most likely make them hate women even more. Shout at them by all means- I love a bit of shouting- but make them laugh too, and maybe cry a bit. Put them through a hysterical, hormonal rollercoaster of emotions.What would you like audiences to take away from the show?I want them to feel powerful and galvanised and ready to fight for a fairer future. To help that sweaty, frizzy haired, baggy eyed woman get her buggy up the stairs, and then go and make some art, because it’ll make this bin fire of a world better.I want anyone feeling scared, lost and alone, to know that it’s ok. That it will pass. That whatever their feelings are about motherhood- about being a mother, about having a mother- the dark, taboo, nasty, sometimes scary thoughts, we might not talk about it, but we’ve all been there. If you can laugh at those thoughts and see them for what they are: hormones and impossible societal expectations amplified by exhaustion, they lose their hold.

We talked with Beth Paterson about the background to her show NIUSIA.Beth, you had a sell-out development season at La Mama Theatre, Melbourne and award-winning seasons at Melbourne Fringe (2023) and Adelaide Fringe (2025) with NIUSIA which has its international debut at the Edinburgh Fringe 2025. What inspired this story?It was hearing a recording of Patti Lupone belting out a Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien parody that drove me to put pen to paper. This spoof, I Regret Everything, captured me. The laundry list of faux pas, the cherished woe, the drama of it all: everything about it screamed Nana. My mother and I laughed until we cried, then we cried until we laughed. Questions bubbled out of me and I pressed for more.Nana hasn’t left my head since. I became obsessed with this enigmatic figure from my childhood. I had no idea how the bitter, heavy-lidded woman from my childhood memories could be the same charming, verbose, quick-witted woman who came alive through my mother’s stories. And on top of that, how this woman could also be the gutsy survivor who saved countless lives in Auschwitz. This apparent incongruity captured me, and I began writing and writing and writing to uncover who she was, and in extension, who I was.You ask, "What does remembrance look like when all I remember is the space where questions should go?” How did you go about filling in the spaces and doing the research, and what feelings about remembrance do you have now?My grandmother was very tight-lipped about her time during the war. It was a seething wound — of hurt, loss, and shame. There were a few sanctioned stories she’d trot out if absolutely necessary, but try to dig deeper and all hell would break loose. She had an acid tongue, and my mother was no stranger to her cruel, pointed outbursts. The message was clear: ask at your peril.That silence left huge gaps—gaps in knowledge and memory—and vastly different accounts of events depending on who you asked. So while I did a huge amount of reading about the experiences of Holocaust survivors and their children, Kat and I made a clear decision: it was far more honest, and more interesting, to investigate the 'not knowing' than to try and fill the gaps with guesses.What followed was a deep dive into my own relationship, and my mother’s relationship, with the history and legacy my nana left behind. Because remembrance is a strange thing. It’s rarely about the person being remembered. Remembrance is for the living. We construct narratives to shape who we think someone was—so we can understand who we are, and where we’re going.In making NIUSIA, I revisited all my unpleasant memories of my nana, and in doing so, I re-made them. They shift as my relationship with them shifts. And making a show about them radically changes that relationship. Remembrance, I’ve come to realise, is an act of creation. Everything in NIUSIA is true—but shaping a story out of something as entropic and contradictory as a human being always creates something new.We often look upon Holocaust survivors as though they are only that, but they were real individuals and Niusia I understand was by no means perfect? Does this create conflicts in remembering her?Yes and no. Remembering someone who was complicated (read: sometimes a raving bitch, sometimes the picture of generosity) means learning to sit with ambiguity. One of the guiding principles of the process Kat and I engaged in has been 'and, not or'. We found that Niusia could be incredibly cruel and incredibly loyal. Both are true.Holocaust survivors have long been cast solely as victims. That’s undeniably part of the truth—but it’s not the whole story. They were also parents, bosses, gift-givers, friends, activists, brilliant pains in the ass. They had the courage to rebuild their lives in the painful shadow of war. And, shockingly, people are rarely, if ever, faultless agents in this wacky world. Being a survivor doesn’t exonerate Niusia from her harsher behaviours—but writing her off flattens her, demands a perfection unattainable by anyone, and robs us of something vital: complexity, compassion, and the ability to hold conflicting truths side by side.You wrote the piece but you've mentioned Kat Yates. What discussions did you have about how it should be staged and delivered?Kat Yates has been part of NIUSIA from day one. While her title is 'director' more crucially, she’s the co-creator of the work. So our conversations have always gone far deeper than blocking or staging. An example that sums up her influence: when I first began writing, I didn’t think my Jewishness was central to the story. But Kat—who comes from a Lutheran background—kept asking questions. I’d bring her vignettes and she’d say, “Can you explain this to me?” I’d blink and realise, “Oh… this isn’t universal?” That repeated experience of contrast—of noticing how Jewish my upbringing actually was, despite feeling so estranged from it—gradually became one of the show’s major threads.Without Kat’s presence, that theme may never have emerged. She became a kind of foil to my writing—a collaborator who could spot what needed to be explained for an audience, what needed expanding, and what could become a central idea. She took on the role of audience advocate, helping us build a show that doesn’t gatekeep knowledge of Jewish history or culture, but instead warmly invites people in. Her questions cracked open something fundamental in the work.Among many things, NIUSIA is an exploration of diaspora experience—what it means to be the granddaughter of a survivor, to feel not Jewish 'enough', to somehow know so much and so little about your heritage at the same time. Kat’s direction has brought this show to life with humour and humility, but it’s her long-standing collaboration that’s shaped it into what it is today.What would you like audiences to take away from the show?More than anything, I’d love audiences to leave curious and unashamed. The starting point of NIUSIA is not knowing, and time and time again we learn from audiences all the shapes and sizes 'not knowing' comes in. We’ve been lucky enough to present this work to secondary school drama students, to young lefty Fringe audiences and to the grey-haired matinee audiences of country towns. Across all of them, something resonates. Youngsters reflect upon the histories from which they emerge, curious to call their grandparents to learn more. Older folk reflect on the long-passed matriarchs of their childhoods, and resolve to sit their families down and share stories they have become the custodians of. And people of all ages breathe a sigh of relief when they hear someone articulate what it’s like not to feel Greek enough, or Italian enough, or Jewish or Indigenous 'enough' to claim it proudly.With a healthy dose of Jewish humour, NIUSIA gives voice to those feelings. It invites audiences to begin their own journey, no matter how much or how little they think they know. A start is a start.

We spoke to Clare Fraenkel about her monodrama, I Was a German.Clare, your show seems highly topical, but it begins with your grandfather. So let’s start there – tell us his story.My grandfather, Heinrich Fraenkel – known as Heinz – was a writer and journalist. He lived an eventful life! Growing up, my parents often told me the story of his escape from Nazi Germany: he was, very luckily, tipped off that the Gestapo were waiting in his Berlin flat to arrest him. So he had to flee the country with little more than his passport and the clothes on his back. But as he died when I was very young, my personal memories of him are quite hazy – his German accent, and playing with animal shapes I made from the pipe cleaners in his study.Then a whole sequence of events kicked off after Brexit. Firstly, I discovered I was entitled to a German passport, but it came with a dilemma, as my grandparents were Jewish refugees, and my right to the passport was due to the way their citizenship had been stripped by the Nazis. Since both are long gone, there was no way of asking them how they’d feel about me ‘reclaiming’ a German nationality.I decided to go for it, as it felt like quite a positive thing to do. It was only after I submitted my citizenship application that I made a slightly incredible discovery – it turned out my grandad had published a book, Farewell to Germany, explaining why he never returned. So of course, I read it – and was amazed that his reasons for staying in Britain weren’t what I expected. In fact, so much of his story felt like a version of history I’d never encountered before.With that knowledge, you began a quest to discover your own roots?Yes – in the sense that, as a third-generation descendant of refugees, my natural instinct had been to look forward and not dwell on the past. But suddenly I had all these questions. I wanted to understand what motivated my grandfather’s decisions – I realised from his book that his attitude to both Germany and Britain was far more complex than I’d imagined, and that his roots in Germany (and therefore my own) were much deeper than I’d ever allowed myself to explore.It felt natural to me, as an actor, to explore our two stories through a play: intertwining the narratives to give voice to his story and try to understand how he might have felt about my decision to reclaim the citizenship that had been stolen from him. In a way, it made the conversation through the decades feel more present – and I’ve ended up getting to know a grandparent who died before I could really know him.But your show broadens the personal into a reflection on migration, identity and antisemitism. How do you structure that, and how do you interweave music and visuals?The music and visuals have been created in quite a playful way, to bring the audience along on my grandfather’s journey – I really wanted his historical migrant story to feel engaging, contemporary and relatable. We embraced the language of 1930s cinema in the use of projections, as cinema is a recurring theme in his narrative. We were also inspired by his enthusiasm for Berlin and its cabaret scene – that’s a big influence on the music (composed by Arran Glass), all played on instruments authentic to Germany of the era. We’ve used these aspects of his life to tell his story in a way that reflects him as a person and also clearly distinguishes the two narratives.My own narrative is much more grounded in the present – breaking the fourth wall and engaging directly with the audience, to counter the distancing effect I sometimes feel when watching historical pieces – that sense of a story from ‘the olden days’. I’m a real person in the room with the audience, telling my grandad’s true story.As far as the broader reflection on identity goes, it all stems from the specifics of his story. As they say, ‘the personal is political’ – and I Was a German explores the dehumanising impact of antisemitism and displacement on an individual, and the ripple effects through his family. After an early work-in-progress performance, I chatted with someone from a completely different displaced background, and they really related to the show because of its specificity.Now I’d like to give you free rein to talk about your work in the context of today – how do you perceive the current climate and the issues we face?I think the main thing is how incredibly pertinent this story still feels – the rise of the far right and the general intolerance within political debate make it feel like an increasingly urgent perspective to share. In this current age of divisive and fractured political discourse, I was really moved to discover how fervently my German grandfather believed in British tolerance, and saw it as the defining feature of British identity.Imagine if the messaging we got from politicians today was that ‘Britishness’ isn’t about flags, royalty and historical wars, but about tolerance, thoughtfulness and welcome? That the very essence of being British is being open and accepting towards people who differ from ourselves? Wouldn’t that be fabulous? And is there any way of making it happen?What would you like audiences to take away from the show?I’d love them to empathise with my grandfather’s story, and the way he tried to choose his own path – at times more successfully than others – but ultimately the essential humanity of wanting to live on your own terms. I’d also love people to reflect: to be inspired to check in with their worldview – and see if there are any assumptions or beliefs they might want to question. And hopefully to be humming a song or two. And maybe even feel an urge to book a trip to Berlin!

We interviewed Ria Lina about her life, academic background and comedy.Ria, you’re hailed as the only Filipina comedian in British stand up and by TOFA as as one of the 100 Most Influential Filipinos in the world 2025. I haven’t checked, but if true how does it feel to be your country’s sole representative and world influencer?I didn’t think of it that way till you said it! Well, obviously I’m honoured to have been selected this year. It’s a huge responsibility, but it’s a great diaspora to be a part of. We believe in the one drop rule - if you even have one drop of Filipino blood you are one of us! So everytime we find out someone new has a connection we own them as ours. Our network and visibility is growing and I’m proud to be a part of it.You were born in the UK but have moved around other countries for various reasons.Yes, we moved a lot when I was a kid, but I came back to the UK for Uni and stayed ever since, but because I speak with a slight American accent (the famous international school twang) people think I’m foreign. Drives Reform voters nuts when they find out there’s nothing they can do about me. Or shut me up.Your last full run at the Fringe was nine years ago, what were the highlights of the intervening years?Hmm, I wouldn’t call the pandemic a ‘highlight’, but as an ex-virologist it allowed me to stretch my old science muscles and help at the same time. Since we couldn’t congregate or work as comedians I went back into science communication on the news/TV/radio to help people understand what was going on. The science was evolving so rapidly as we were learning more about the virus, but also, as the virus itself was evolving, so I fielded a lot of questions and calls from people who were just scared and needed to be able to ask things in their own way.When the world reopened, I continued as a news pundit (which I love) in addition to doing comedy and writing. I’ve been lucky to have been able to partake in a number of shows that span both, Mock the Week, Have I Got New for You, Times Radio, News Quiz…This year’s show is called Riabellion, because I understand you hate the world and think it’s time to rebel. Why is that?Hate the world is a bit strong. Let’s say as a mother, I am extremely disappointed in it and I think it needs to take some time to think about what it’s done and where it’s going. I think we’re getting (gotten to?) an ugly place. We are divided when we should be together, and we are partisan on facts, which is insane in itself, and means we are not focussed on solutions. Ironically, everyone is rebelling in their own way. Identity politics is about refusing to conform and instead stand up for yourself, which is amazing, but we have to conform where it matters or nothing will work anymore and I think (some) people have forgotten that.Your show ‘explores the idea of individuality vs conformity and intelligence vs stupidity’. How does that work out?Well, in a crowd, individual reasoning is overridden by social cues, and the group often syncs to the loudest or most emotionally charged voice, regardless of accuracy. The result is that collective stupidity triumphs, as the crowd defaults to the impulses of its least intelligent member. And that’s what’s happening in the world on a massive scale, in the last decade we have dismissed critics in favour of customer reviews, expert scientific advice for personal opinion, and as the wealth divide widens, we find people less equipped to fight back (and by equipped I mean with education). Is this the price of being ourselves?In what ways has autism affected your life?This is a tricky one to answer, because I’ve never not been autistic. It’s kinda like asking a person with two legs, how has having two legs affected their life. If they lost one I could understand asking them how only having one leg has changed their life, but I was never neurotypical so I can’t say how being autistic affects me. I feel what I feel and have learned it’s more that other people sense some things (hypersensitivity). I have both incredibly tight musculature and yet am really flexible (hypermobility). I prefer logic to emotion, I hate things that don’t make sense (to me), which is quite a lot and I love sushi. Not sure that’s related though.In contrast to being a comedian you have a BSc in Experimental Pathology, an MSc in Forensic Science and a PhD in Virology. Did you practise in those fields for any time and what openings has such an impressive academic background given you?Before committing full time to comedy I also spent some time as an IT Forensic Investigator at the Serious Fraud Office. Which is not as glamorous as it sounds. Believe it or not, the Forensic team are the computer geeks of the fraud prevention world and the accountants are the real jocks of the place. As for openings, see above about pandemic.You are also a prolific writer. What would you like the audience to take away from your show?I want the audience to have a great time, first and foremost. And secondly, I’d like them to have the confidence to speak up, do things differently, or fight back against whatever injustice they see to bring the world back to sense (not necessarily what they feel though - that’s different). Let’s work together, chat more, raise our children wiser and just be more kind.

We talked with Dylan Adler growing up 'Jewpanese' and his comedy.Dylan you refer to yourself as ‘Jewpanese’, so let’s start with how your parents met and what that mix of cultures meant for you growing up. So my mom is Japanese and my dad is Jewish. My parents met at UC Berkeley in the San Francisco Bay Area. I joke that UC Berkeley is actually where all Jews and Asians procreate. It's their migratory breeding ground to make kids like me who put on one man shows about being Biracial.My mom was born in Tokyo but my Ojichan (Grandpa) moved the family to California when she was an infant because she and her sister had asthma. My Obachan (Grandma) and her family experienced Japanese Internment during World War II. After that experience a lot of Japanese Americans didn't want to teach their kids Japanese in order to prove their patriotism. Because of this my mom doesn't speak much Japanese and neither do I. I speak more Spanish than Japanese, to be honest. But I did grow up around Japanese culture and my mom is an amazing cook who would make Sushi and Donburi for us. But we did keep our shoes on in the house. My dad is Jewish but extremely reform. We celebrate Hanukkah, Passover, and Roshashannah but I didn't have to do a Bar Mitzvah. For me 'Jewpanese' means I look Asian while being extremely hairy and have IBS and anxiety.What does your twin do?My twin brother is the Principal oboe player for the Tucson Symphony Orchestra. He has a real job. But one year ago he started doing stand up comedy in Tucson, to my dismay! I'm like "Get your own thing! Stop copying me!" I might try to pick up oboe just to spite him. I am honestly happy that he's doing comedy, but we did grow up doing all of the same activities like classical piano, gymnastics, and mathletes. We were constantly compared to one another so it was nice to have something like comedy that made me feel distinguished from my brother. But I also do like to include my twin brother in comedy videos that I post online. We really are best friends and call each other every day. And thank goodness he's also gay otherwise we would have nothing to talk about. No more talks about Drag Race, Grindr, poppers, flaky gay men, or Mariah Carey.You trained as a classical pianist. How much has that background influenced your show and what other outlets has it given you?Classical piano was my first introduction into music. My mom forced me and my brother to take lessons when we were six, but we then immediately fell in love with it. Our piano teacher, Sally Christian, had an immense influence on us. She encouraged us to really engage with the emotion of the pieces and what they invoked inside of us. She opened doorways when it came to interpreting art and allowing it to be a true form of catharsis and freedom. She taught us that music was more than notes on a page. I've kept those lessons with me my whole life. I definitely took those lessons with me when I pursued musical theatre composition in college. I also take those lessons with me in my comedy and musical comedy. How much rhythm, timing, and intention play into how a joke will land.You also have interesting stories about your grandfather, your ex-boyfriend, your therapist and sexual trauma. All of that you’ve told us forms the basis of your show. What's the secret of putting it all together as entertainment?It's definitely a process, but some of my favorite humor is dark humor. I love to turn something that feels very dark and heavy into something that brings levity and joy. I love to talk about experiences that were difficult for me in a comedic and approachable way in order to dissolve the tension. I talk about these subjects as I see fit to serve the show.You’ve toured extensively, but how do you feel about coming to Edinburgh?I am both incredibly excited and nervous. I had the amazing opportunity to open for Atsuko Okatsuka this year in February in fourteen European countries. I'd never been out of the country before that and was nervous my material wouldn't translate. Some jokes did not translate but to my surprise most of my material did. I would add some slight alterations and context to certain jokes but I was pleasantly surprised for the most part. Also our show in Glasgow was one of our favorite shows because the crowd had a great energy. I'm curious to see how Edinburgh Fringe audiences will receive my hour. I've been working very hard with my director Sam Blumenfeld on making the show as strong as possible. I've always wanted to go to the Fringe and am so excited to perform and see as many shows as I can! I heard Edinburgh Fringe is like theatre camp which is a dream for a theatre kid like me.What would you like the audience to take away from your show?I want the audience to be fully entertained. I really try to entertain the audience as much as I can, no matter how many people there are. My favorite comedians are people who fully physically commit to their material and that's something I try to do. My show is autobiographical and has moments of hard comedy and moments of sincerity. I hope people feel they went on a journey with me and perhaps laughed, cried, or did both at the same time.

We spoke with Ronan Colfer’s about his bold new play, Our Brothers in Cloth, at this year’s Edinburgh Fringe, that explores the wider impact of clerical sexual abuse on families and communities in the rural Ireland of his youth.This feels like a deeply personal piece - was your hometown affected by clerical child abuse and is that the inspiration?Yes, it was affected by it, and yes it has been a big inspiration in writing the piece. As I was growing up it was all coming out in the papers and being reported about on the radio, albeit in a very sensitive manner, and the adults would shield us from it as much as possible, but still, we were able to grasp enough of the essential elements to understand what was happening, and what that was, from what I could gather, was that a bad man had done some very bad things and he was being held to account for it. One of my earliest memories actually is of a small gathering of people outside the nearby grotto which had a statue of the Virgin Mary with three kneeling altar boys before her, and the plaque, which bore the name of the priest, being removed and replaced with a new one to erase any connection he had to the creation of that site. And even though I was very young, I remember the whispers and the stern faces as it was happening, which now, looking back on it, obviously had some effect on me for it to have stayed with me all these years.Why has the issue been so difficult for Ireland to confront - and has it been fully confronted?I believe our deep historical and cultural ties to Catholicism are part of the reason this issue is so difficult to confront—because addressing clerical child sex abuse also requires us to reckon with and condemn the Catholic Church as an institution that has shaped the nation’s morality and identity for centuries. Because when we examine this deeply disturbing and evil abuse, we don’t just see how many priests were involved (as detailed in the 2005 Ferns Report), but also how widespread the denial, neglect, and institutional cover-up truly were. Perhaps then, we as a culture need to ask ourselves, have the positives really outweighed the negatives? Many of the older generations who grew up in a much more catholic-centred Ireland would say that it was more positive than negative, as they may have very fond memories of great community spirit, all of which sat under the umbrella of the Catholic Church. But I grew up in the 90s, and I think for people of my generation and beyond, the Catholic Church lost its place as an emblem of national identity and as a moral compass because so much corruption and wrongdoing has been revealed to us over the years. I really don’t think the Catholic Church can ever recover from the child sex abuse scandals that have come to light. It’s not just the abuse itself, but the decades of denial, systemic cover-ups, and additional horrors — like the Tuam babies and the Magdalene Laundries — that have shattered its standing in the hearts and minds of the Irish people. The dramatically low numbers of new entrants to the priesthood are a clear reflection of this disillusionment.Your play addresses the intergenerational impact of abuse, rather thanconfining it to victim and perpetrator - tell us about that.I wanted to examine the impact it had on the family and the community. I think the victim/perpetrator narrative, although equally as important and vital for us to look at also, has been told a lot. I think with a circumstance like this, with such strong emotion attached, it seemed much more difficult to me to create a structured narrative within that. Whereas seeing it through the lives of others gave me a much wider perspective of the happening to work from - i.e. the church’s cover ups, the denial in the community, the division within families. I think it’s these areas I wanted to explore more so than that of a victim/perpetrator story - although that is in there too, it’s just not the main emphasis.Can theatre add something to our understanding of the issue beyond what official reports, news stories, public campaigns and legal cases can do?I think what it does, and what film and TV can do too, is show us the people living inside the official reports and the news stories which in turn creates a completely new image and understanding of it in our minds eye. A window seat view into it if you will; where one gets to witness the reactions, the shock, the laughter, the disgust, the joy, and so on and so forth, as these intense situations unfold in real time. As audience members, we often form emotional bonds with these characters and even imagine ourselves in their place. Ultimately, this leads to a deeper understanding of how and why people make the choices they do—and, I suppose, we become a little less quick to judge.How and why have you been working with activists and charities in bringing your production to the Fringe?I felt it very important to reach out to activist Colm O’Gorman for a number of reasons. He was a victim of the very same priest that served in my village in the 70s and 80s and the reason that priest was charged and brought to court in 1999; he is the reason the Ferns Report - the biggest report of its time on clerical sex abuse - was published in 2005, and lastly, but certainly not least, Colm was also president of Amnesty International in Ireland which, as I’m sure most people will know, deals with so many kinds of injustices across the globe. I had read Colm’s own autobiography as part of my research and I knew I had to reach out to him and make some kind of contact. Thankfully I was able to get to him through his social media platform and from there we started a conversation. Colm was so open to discussing it all with me and we spoke for about two hours initially where he spoke about everything to do with the case involving the priest from my hometown and his own charity organisation OneInFour which specifically helps victims of child sexual abuse, and he gave such passionate insight into the whole situation. I felt truly grateful and honoured to have had that conversation with someone who has been at the forefront of this cause for so many years. Their leadership over the past three decades has been remarkable, and their ability to transform such a negative experience into something so powerfully positive was truly inspiring.

Italian director and performer Alessia Siniscalchi's Garden Party – Truman Capote’s Black and White Celebration, at this year's Edinburgh Fringe, is an immersive theatrical experience evoking the spirit of a man with an overriding determination to champion the queer and challenge social hypocrisy. In this interview she explains why the spirit of Capote matters as much today as it did in the USA of the 1950s and 60s.Capote was a sharp critic of 60s New York society — who were his targets?Capote’s targets were the very people who once celebrated him. He was embraced by the glamorous social elite — the “Swans,” the powerful, the wealthy — but he saw through the illusions. His writing, especially in Answered Prayers, exposed the vanity, cruelty, and emptiness beneath the surface. These were people addicted to their own image, desperate to maintain appearances while living in a web of betrayal and insecurity. With Garden Party, we dive into this world — seductive and dangerous — and explore what happens when someone dares tell the truth in a system built on lies.How important was Capote for queer identity and visibility?Capote was radical simply by existing. In the 1950s and 60s, being openly gay — let alone flamboyant, sharp-tongued, and unapologetically different — was an act of defiance. He never tried to fit into the norms of masculinity or silence his voice to make others comfortable. In a time when queerness was criminalised or hidden, Capote made it visible, glamorous, and confrontational. He didn’t lead a political movement, but his life was a form of cultural resistance. In Garden Party, we honour that — not just through his words, but by celebrating the queer joy, rage, and vulnerability he embodied.Your show focuses on social hypocrisy — is that still relevant today?More than ever. The forms of hypocrisy have changed, but the core remains. Today we talk about inclusivity, diversity, and progressiveness — but often it’s performative. Institutions use queer imagery in marketing while silencing real queer voices. Governments speak about freedom while passing laws that target trans and nonconforming people. Garden Party asks: what do we celebrate, and what do we silence? Who gets invited to the party — and who gets thrown out once they speak too loudly or shine too brightly? These questions are just as urgent now as they were in Capote’s time.Are you afraid that society is becoming more repressive again?Yes — and I think many artists, especially queer artists, feel this. We’re seeing new forms of censorship, often disguised as “protecting the public” or “preserving tradition.” There’s a growing backlash against queer and minorities, against migrants, and women against anyone who doesn’t fit neatly into established norms. There’s fear — fear of difference, fear of change. Capote fought, in his own way, for the celebration of difference, eccentricity, contradiction. With Garden Party, we’re trying to keep that spirit alive. We need to create spaces where otherness isn’t just tolerated — it’s essential.How effective can the performing arts be in confronting social hypocrisy?Theatre has always had the power to reveal — to show what society tries to hide. It doesn’t preach or explain; it makes people feel. That’s where transformation begins. In Garden Party, we’re not aiming for comfort — we want to seduce, disturb, delight, and provoke. Theatre can mirror society, but it can also distort it, break it open, make space for what’s been erased. Especially in a moment when truth feels increasingly fragile, live performance can still cut through the noise and speak to something visceral.Are new models and approaches to performance needed to make that possible?Definitely. Traditional theatre can feel distant, polite, and locked in hierarchy — artist vs audience, message vs receiver. But the world we’re living in calls for rupture. With Garden Party, we’re experimenting with form: it’s not just a play, it’s a happening, a queer ritual, a party with ghosts. The audience is invited inside — not just as spectators, but as witnesses, participants, even collaborators. We mix languages, disciplines, aesthetics. This is where theatre becomes alive again — when it breaks the rules and dares to be unpredictable.Garden Party is not just about Capote — it’s about now. About power and exclusion,love and rivalry, about beauty and danger, about the thrill of being different and the costof refusing to conform. It’s a celebration and a warning. Art has to be different. It asksus: What are we willing to sacrifice for belonging? And what might we discover if westop trying to belong at all?

We spoke to conceiver and director Guillaume Pigé as Theatre Re returns to the Edinburgh Fringe after a sell-out international run with its hit show, The Nature of Forgetting. Guillaume, The Nature of Forgetting revolves around the character of Tom. What’s his situation?Tom is a middle-aged father living with early-onset dementia. He is being looked after by his daughter, Sophie. His condition is fairly advanced, in the sense that reconstructing memories is becoming increasingly difficult. He is able to realise that he is forgetting, and that realisation creates a growing sense of frustration.But in your hands, this story is presented in a highly imaginative manner, which is at the heart of Theatre Re’s methodology and style of theatre.Memory works visually. Our hippocampus, a small region located at the centre of the brain, acts a little like a workshop where memories are constructed. For instance, if we try to remember our first kiss at school, the space — the classroom — is the first thing that gets constructed in our hippocampus. Then, that space is filled with more details, such as wooden school desks, for example, and then with people — other children, the teacher, and so on. The actual event — the kiss — comes last.Portraying forgetting, for us, became about deconstructing and/or misconstructing memories, as well as getting all the memory threads to interfere with each other — sometimes even breaking, making it impossible to retrieve a whole sequence of events. These discoveries lend themselves particularly well to our medium of physical and visual theatre, with objects and characters appearing in the wrong place at the wrong time. This extends to the use of voice, sound, music, and light, all contributing to making visible the nature of forgetting.You've worked with Neuroscience Professor Kate Jeffery and the Alzheimer’s Society on this piece. How important were those collaborations and what have they brought to the work?Our collaboration with Professor Kate Jeffery was key to the development of our performance language. At first, we focused on the technicalities of what happens in the brain when we forget: what is affected, what the impact is, and how it works.The journey of Tom was also informed by interviews conducted with people living with dementia and their carers. Our aim was not to collect personal stories but to explore the special bond that exists between music and memory. Music seems to use parts of our brain designed for purposes other than memory, which is why people living with dementia continue to respond to it. This led us to understand that memories do not disappear; they just become inaccessible. This was crucial for us because it means that it’s all still there, and that changes everything.How can this manifest itself?Common experience tells us that we forget far more than we remember, and research confirms that the brain selects which memory traces will be retained and which will be discarded. We are, therefore, as much a product of our forgetting as we are of our memories.Surprisingly, much of what we think we have lost in the mists of time returns with the onset of memory decline, as if forgetting, for a moment, offers the possibility to retrieve the past. Neurobiologists do not yet know why, but I find it absolutely fascinating. This is something I noticed as well during my interviews: long-term or childhood memories appeared to be more vivid than ever before.What would you like audiences to take away from this production?If there is one takeaway for me from the past 10 years of making, touring, refining, and breathing new life into The Nature of Forgetting, it’s to remind myself to be present, in the moment, and realise life as I live it. So, if every audience member is able to lose themselves in our world and, for a moment, not be distracted by everything else that is happening in their lives, then I think we will have done our job. 

Fresh from its London debut at Riverside Studios, we spoke to writer/creator Samantha Ipema about the background to her award-winning play, Dear Annie, I Hate You.Sam, you were diagnosed with a brain aneurysm at the age of 20. Can you explain that and the consequences?Yes, of course. A brain aneurysm is essentially a small bubble of blood that stems from a vessel or artery inside your head. They’re often called ‘silent killers’ because most people won’t find out about them until they rupture, as there are no obvious symptoms. I was very lucky and found mine by accident when I was playing football with a couple of college friends and decided to go in after being hit in the head.It had a major effect on my life at the time because once it was discovered, I was given a choice to make: live with the brain aneurysm (essentially a fatal ticking bomb, with no one knowing when or whether it would go off), or have brain surgery. My first question back to the surgeon at the time — being a directionless, fun-loving university student — was: "Can I still go on Spring Break?" As the play details, I ultimately opted for surgery because I was young and agile and assumed I would recover quickly, with the problem ‘fixed’. Unfortunately, my path to recovery was quite brutal, as I relate in the show — relearning how to walk, talk, and recover with almost no pain medication at all. Since then, however, I’ve made pretty much a full recovery.How has the experience affected you?It’s shifted my perspective on everything regarding the world and my role within it. After my surgery, I was told they’d found another aneurysm while operating, but it was inside the artery, rendering it inoperable. This is extraordinarily rare and, decidedly, quite bad luck, particularly post-surgery. For quite some time, this news pretty much consumed me — I felt I’d been given a life sentence before ever having the chance to begin. However, after years of ups and downs, I’ve reached acceptance and even an appreciation for it. It’s given me my entire life — changed it completely — and offered an immense shift in the way I see the world. So, it’s affected me entirely, but more for good, which I find surprising, even to myself. Ultimately, it’s brought me here, making visceral stories about it, and I can’t think of a better place to be.What was your motivation for compiling the show?This is an excellent question and one that I still ponder. I’m keen for this iteration, in particular, to ask it on stage. As the person who lived through it, originally it was simply because I needed to have it witnessed — a documentation showing, recognising, and puzzling out what I’d been through. But once I’d done a draft of that, I very quickly realised that the piece had something important to offer the world: a discussion about identity crises and running towards them, rather than away from them.The most important thing I can say here, though, is that while the show uses my diagnosis and may widely speak to other life-altering conditions and the prejudices and difficulties of those experiences, those are vessels and side-effects to attack the crux of the piece — which is a question about why we are constantly trying to perform just to survive. Then we have to ask: what happens when that performance mask ultimately slips, and you can no longer maintain it?I’ve never been interested in the show being an ‘autobiography’ or ‘trauma play’, though it often gets pushed towards and categorised as such. But I have a visceral distaste for that kind of work, personally, as an artist, because I’m not sure that it has any universal ignition or gain for the general public until you’ve found what the universal experience is hiding beneath it for every member in attendance.I’ve also always resented the idea that my life post-aneurysm would have to revolve around being a ‘survivor’ or about my brain aneurysm. The same applies to the play. What I find least interesting is the actual diagnosis and trauma of the event. What I find eternally interesting is what those things prompted me to discover in life. Interestingly, almost every person with conditions like mine who has seen the play has told me the same: it’s not about the diagnosis, physical ailments, or repercussions in recovery that’s the hardest — it’s the shift in the way the world sees you, the way you see yourself, and your inability to play by the rules of that game anymore. And just on the other side of that realisation is where freedom lies. Now, that is something worth talking about.And you do so through a multimedia format. Can you explain why you adopted that approach?The multimedia format came from my desire to set the piece inside the brain. It felt right, since we’re not only talking about operating on it and the literal repercussions of that, but also because it seemed like the best way to discuss what I was after in terms of communicating a visceral identity crisis — both internally and externally.It’s my favourite part of the play: the way that we feel inside of it, watching life unfold inside and outside of it, and how all of it — the lights, sounds, videos, actors — all respond to one another as part of the same living organism.The multimedia aspect, in particular, is representative of the way the brain sees and perceives memories. It never felt right to have the other characters played by actual actors, but it also never felt right for them to simply be unseen voices in the abyss. I just feel that our brains are basically these little screens that pop up visceral moments and memories here and there as we’re narrating our lives. So, that’s how I always heard and saw it when writing — the lines and dialogue sort of topple over one another and are sometimes ear-piercingly clean and, other times, garbled underwater.What would you like audiences to take away from the show?I want audiences to take away the courage to change their lives — whether prompted by a life-altering diagnosis or not. Like I’ve said (probably too many times at this point!), the piece traverses an identity crisis. So, I hope those who have been through one, via their own life-altering experience, feel seen and witnessed in a way that allows them to process the events of their lives and hopefully move on in the same way the protagonist finds the courage to.But for those who haven’t yet had that experience or identity shift, I hope it either asks them a question about whether they’re doing the same thing in life that Sam is, and that this piece can be the inciting incident for them to ask what they’d like to change about themselves and their lives, or I hope it provides them with empathy for what their peers and others around them are going through. Because we all go through one; it’s really just a matter of when, isn’t it? I just hope most people don’t have to get brain surgery in order to find a reason to do it!

Danish magician Martin Brock cheats at cards – and shows the audience how to do it as part of his Edinburgh Fringe show. We asked him a few questions about his art and his efforts to make magic shows fun for a modern audience.What’s wrong with the traditional show - surely everyone loves a dinner-suited magician sawing his glamorous assistant in half and pulling rabbits from top hats?For me it’s the challenge, almost like a game, to put something unique onto the stage. Steve Martin once said that if someone wants to be in entertainment but can’t do anything, they can always do magic. There’s a bit of truth to that. Magic can be the easiest artform because you can literally buy tricks and perform pre-made routines. But if you’re creating everything yourself and trying to do something original, it quickly becomes one of the hardest. I literally write and construct all my routines and tricks from scratch - sometimes this takes years, but I think it pays off in the end. Magic - with notable exceptions - seems much less popular than in the 1990s and earlier. What happened, and how can it be revived?Good question. For years, especially through the '90s, magic had a big presence on television - and the whole family would sit down to watch. Now, with social media, attention spans have shortened and magic has been reduced to ten second clips. But live magic still has something special about it - that atmosphere and real-time connection can’t be replicated online. That’s the future of magic, I think. Live shows are hard to replace.You entertain worldwide - what are audiences looking for in a modern magic show like the one you’re bringing to the Edinburgh Fringe?The one thing that always cuts through is quality. Style, costume, tone - those can all vary. But if the material is strong, it will always stand out. We have thousands of shows at the Fringe, which really drives me to create something people genuinely haven’t seen before. I’m obsessive with detail. Everything - from the tricks to the props - is something I’ve made from scratch. Even the music this year is original, composed and recorded specifically for the show.Have TV and films, where the unbelievable is everywhere, made it harder for stage magicians to impress live audiences?Yes, but that’s also the challenge I love. Onscreen, you can edit things, control the angles, add effects. I try to create things that look and feel like they could only be done with computer-generated imagery, but are happening right in front of you. It’s not always easy, but If I didn’t have to compete with what people see on their phones, I would maybe have taken the shortcut. And now, I get to see and hear reactions I otherwise wouldn’t have. What’s not to love?How much of a successful modern magic show is about the tricks, and how much about the performer and their rapport with the audience?Magic is the hook - it gets people through the door. But without story, music, humour and atmosphere the audience lose interest. The tricks are important, but they’re part of something bigger. It’s about the whole experience - taking people somewhere unexpected and giving them something to feel, not just something to figure out.You take great pride in designing your own tricks - why, and what does it involve?To me, performing someone else’s routine without reworking it completely or simply creating something original, is like doing karaoke instead of writing your own song. There’s no formula for creating new magic - it often starts with a blank sheet of paper (which, incidentally, is the whole plot of the final routine in the show). Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t. Occasionally, I spend months on something only to scrap it entirely. But when it does work - when you perform something you’ve spent years developing - it’s the best feeling in the world.You're an expert in the sleight of hand used by the card cheats of the Wild West - so would it be unwise to play poker with you for money?There’s a section in the show where I demonstrate some fairly complex card cheating techniques, and actually show how it’s done - stuff that’s incredibly difficult and rarely seen live. But truthfully, I’m a terrible poker player. So yes, feel free to challenge me after the show - if you can get me to play, you’d probably win. However, that’s exactly what a skilled poker player would want you to think...

Seeing Bugs Bunny play Liszt in Rhapsody Rabbit was a big moment for Jeremy Rafal. His Edinburgh Fringe show, The Boy from Bantay, follows his life, career and love of cartoons from his boyhood in a small town in the Philippines, via Hawaii, to becoming an international classical pianist and multi-hyphenate artist as an actor, musician, writer, director, and educator based in New York City.What was life like in your boyhood home in the Philippines?Bantay is a small town. Our house was surrounded by rice fields. My family kept goats and pigs in the backyard to sell at the local market. Beyond the rice fields were dense forests with snakes, giant lizards, and wild pigs. It was tropical – hot or rainy. Yet music was everywhere. We had the radio, sure, and American media trickled down to us, like a couple years late. Everybody made their own music. The guitar was the go-to instrument. Adults would show up at each other’s houses to serenade one another during special occasions. At parties, especially big fiestas, the neighbourhood would gather to sing together. For anything more 'city' you had to go to Vigan, a 20-minute tricycle ride away. The children’s choir there was a huge deal, and my friends and I were all in it. I saw friends taking piano lessons too. In the first grade I jumpedin to join them.What changed things for you - and why did the music from cartoons inspire you?I’ve always been super aware of the music around me. One of my earliest memories was my mom carrying me around while the Blue Danube Waltz by Johann Strauss played on the record player. Apparently, I was so fascinated that I ended up wrecking half her record collection trying to make them play music again. When we finally got our first colour TV, seeing all those colourful images paired with music was so exciting. Cartoons especially — I’d watch them over and over and become obsessed with the soundtracks. I wanted to know what those pieces were and how to play them. Since we got foreign shows way later in the Philippines, a lot of what I grew up watching was already old. We had a lot of Looney Tunes and Tom & Jerry. Some of my favourite episodes were The Waltz of the Geese with the Blue Danube Waltz, and Pigs in a Polka, which used Brahms’s Hungarian Dances — I would laugh at the part where one of the pigs sticks out its tongue. Most had big orchestral pieces, so I couldn’t recreate them exactly on one lone piano. But when I saw Bugs Bunny in Rhapsody Rabbit playing Liszt’s Hungarian Rhapsody No. 2, I was happy to finally play — at least the easy parts – and have it sound like how it did on TV.There was a family tragedy - how did this affect your family?My brother died in an accident when I was 10. When you go through a family tragedy as a kid, it hits you in a different way than when you’re an adult. I remember all the adults breaking down and crying. I was aware why everyone was sad — I was sad too — but I thought the best way to handle it was to not let it get to me. I thought I needed to be 'strong' for everyone else. Mom told me to stay home from school as long as I needed. But I wanted to go, do well, and keep moving forward. That’s what I did. I feel like I’ve been doing that for most of my adult life. But it catches up with you. Always. Usually at the worst possible moment. Training to be a concert pianist meant spending hours alone in a practice room, just me and the music. Most of the time, that was enough. But you’re also alone with your thoughts. That’s when the stuff you push away creeps back. One of my favourite quotes about grief is that it's like the ocean. Sometimes the water is calm. Sometimes the waves are overwhelming. Trying to control the waves is futile. All we can do is learn to swim with it.Who helped you on your way to a career in classical music?A lot of 'characters' helped shape me. One was my high school piano teacher in Hawaii. She made me decide to pursue classical piano as a career — because she told me not to. She understood my family history and immigrant background. She wanted me to choose something more practical, to make money and help out my single mom. But I’m a Taurus. If someone tells me I can’t do something, sometimes I go do the complete opposite.Did you experience racism?There’s always this issue — for some people — when they see someone from a differentculture or ethnicity dive into something outside of their own background. Here I am, from a small town in the Philippines, someone who studied music written by a bunch of dead European guys. A friend once joked that “you have to be Italian to cook good Italian food”. Does that mean I have to be German to play Brahms well? Most teachers and colleagues have been super supportive. But there are people who believe in stereotypes. Take Asians — there’s that stereotype that we’re machines, obsessed with technique, and end up playing like robots. So, there’s this quiet, unspoken prejudice in the classical music world that Asians might be technically perfect but musically empty.I’ve felt that in some circles. Funny thing is, I don’t fit that stereotype. Sometimes I wish I did. I have to work super hard to get things near-perfect technically, but I always play with my heart. I like to think my musicality shines through. That’s probably why I’ve been more and more drawn to acting, where you’re encouraged to let your emotions flow.You wrote an opera about US race riots in which Filipino workers were persecuted - tell us something about that.Standing Above Pajaro is an opera I created with San Francisco-based playwright Conrad Panganiban. The story centres on the Watsonville riots of the 1930s, when violence erupted against Filipino migrant workers. Filipino men were dancing with white women in a taxi dance hall, and the white men didn’t like that. The violence went on for almost a week, with white men roaming the town, beating up Filipino workers. The story and libretto come from Conrad’s play. Musically, I drew from 20th-century American opera composers like Jake Heggie and Gian Carlo Menotti, plus 1930s dance hall music, and of course, Filipino genres like the kundiman — the traditional Filipino love song.When did you decide to create the show you are bringing to the Fringe?The idea was planted in my mind when a good friend of mine told me to go see her friend’s solo show — it was about being an Asian actress in New York City. It left a lasting impression on me. I was still thinking about it days later — I thought, “Hey, I didn’t think I had anything in common with the actress, but I see some of myself in her!” That’s what theatre should be: to see ourselves in someone else’s story. It makes us more empathetic, more kind. Maybe I’m naive, but I believe a lot of the world’s problems could be solved by being kinder. Most people probably have no idea where Bantay is — most Filipinos have to look it up. But if just one person connects with something from my show I have done my job.If you could be any cartoon character who would it be?I have a soft spot for shapeshifters. I’ve always wanted to be able to do a bunch of things — be a scientist, athlete, historian, musician. Maybe that’s why I’m an actor now too – actors are real-life shapeshifters. I’m biased toward the Wonder Twins. I would be Zan. I’m sure I could use his powers way better than he did.

Tom Bailey talks about his new show, Wild Thing! the sequel to his 2019 production Vigil which explored the issue of extinction and specifically the loss of species listed on the Red List of the International Union for Conservation of Nature (IUCN). Tom, what's changed since 2019 that prompted you to make another show?The pandemic naturally ground live theatre to a halt. We lost a lot of tour dates for Vigil in 2020-2021, and alike to many theatre companies, things went on hold for two to three years. On coming back to tour Vigil, post-pandemic, we realised that the list on which it was based had doubled from 26,000 to almost 48,000 in just a few years. We were moved to make a new sequel show, based on Vigil’s DNA, to respond to this astonishing fact. Furthermore, so many things have changed, post-pandemic, in the context of global biodiversity - we’ve now got a Revenge Trump in office, AI is booming, the world is heating up and things seem to be getting worse and not better. The new show responds to the more urgent and more absurd situation with compassion, laughter and sadness.I understand the research for this took you on an amazing journey?There’s quite a lot of theatre industry interest in ‘green touring’ now. So I wanted to personally explore the question - can we be inspired to tour work by the way nature moves and travels? It so happened that we picked up a tour date for this show in Scandinavia, so (in short) I ended up walking and sailing for two months through Scotland and Norway, exploring the theme of tree and forest migration. But it also turned into a kind of artistic pilgrimage, I guess, for extinction. I walked with a 16-metre-long sheet with the 48,000 species currently extinct/endangered printed on it, laying this out in the landscape at various points where I walked. We wanted to find a way to make this journey fit within the fabric of the show, so it forms part of the show’s denouement - providing a theatrical space for expansion and reflection on the themes.To put your material into a one-hour show you’re collaborating with sound artist Xavier Velastin. What has that brought to this production?Xavier is a brilliant sound artist and creative technologist who I’ve collaborated with over a few years now. We have a good complicity in creating work, so this has brought a way more playful audio world to the show, and interactivity between body and sound. It also allows us to sink deeper into questions around immersive technology in the show - can technology play a role in helping us connect with disappearing species or vanishing nature (e.g. VR experiences), or is this a capitalist myth?Presentations of climate material and data can be potentially dry, but you see humour as one way of delivering the message?Climate change can generally be a boring, apocalyptic or tragic subject for many people. There is quite a lot to be hopeless about, and those messages get looped around social media to create a lot of climate anxiety. The show doesn’t lie - there is no easy way out of this mess, and we’re no experts to propose a solution. The show provides a space for meditation on the scale of extinction, with compassion and acceptance, laughter and poignancy. It’s a tragic and absurd time that we’re living through. For me, laughter is a part of finding some sort of hope, imagination or way through this mess. When I explored the IUCN Red List of extinct species, I was astonished at the number of comic species names there were - a Darth Vader Giant Pill Millipede, or a Problematic Flasher (a fish). Punning on some of these names - and the fact that I personally have no idea what these animals look like - became a gentle way into exploring a heavy topic. It starts funny but goes into a tragic place. I think that dynamic really worked for audiences in Vigil.What would you like audiences to take away from the show?We’re keen to take audiences to a heartspace that both looks at the sheer scale of extinction, and what species there are actually on the list. We make a mini epic out of a list of names. We want people to be moved by this, into a reflective and bittersweet state. In the words of author Donna Harraway, it’s about ‘staying with the trouble’ - and finding small points of hope through imagination, community and mindful awareness of the natural world on this planet.Link to Tom's blog and photo essay - https://mechanimal.co.uk/project/journey-of-a-lost-hunter-gatherer/

On a recent visit to Wilton's Music Hall, I met Oliver Moriarty who was in the rehearsed reading of Mark Ravenhill’s new ten-play cycle, Run at it Laughing, produced in collaboration with Charlie MacGechan's company Run At It Shouting. His story is probably very similar to that of other young actors, but it highlights that getting into theatre is not always plain sailing.Where does your story begin?I grew up in Peterborough, Ontario. Aged three, I went with my mom to pick up my cousin from dance class. Let’s Get Loud by Jennifer Lopez was playing. I was taken by the joyful energy in the room, barged in, and decided to take classes. I became hugely influenced by my dance teacher, Robyn Carter, who continues to support me. The studio became my second home and by the age of 12, I was spending 40-50 hours a week helping with costumes, admin, and anything else I could.What sort of place is Peterborough and did it give you the opportunity to develop?It’s a small commuter city about two hours from Toronto. It has a lot of charm and a pretty big arts scene, so I was exposed to a lot of artists growing up. Although I had no one close to me pursuing a career in performing arts I was passionate about it and by the time I was 14, I realised I needed to access classes in Toronto. I managed to convince my parents I should drop out of high school and complete my diploma online. They raised some concerns, but let me go ahead and I developed a routine: get up early, take the bus two and a half hours into Toronto, take two dance classes and then come back for my evening dance classes with Robyn.That certainly shows commitment.And it paid off. After two years I was accepted for the Ailey School Summer Program, and then they invited me to join the year-round program.And I assume that went well?Absolutely. It was a lucky break I was determined to take advantage of. I studied ballet and modern dance with some of the world’s most notable practitioners - an incredible experience with the added bonus of living in New York City, where I found my love for Musical Theatre. Every night I would enter the Broadway lotteries. I ended up seeing over 60 shows, including Wicked (28 times) and Kinky Boots (15 times). After finishing my program, I went to Oakville, outside Toronto for a four-year Bachelors in Music Theatre.How big a comedown was leaving New York?It was a huge adjustment, but I’d often felt fairly isolated and pretty lonely in New York. I lived alone in a small room, with a bed that was about five inches too short for me, but on my MT course I was surrounded by 40 high-energy, musical loving, emotional theatre nerds and I was right at home!How did that course go?There were a few hiccups, starting with a six-month teachers’ strike during my first year. Our classes were canceled and we missed a huge part of our education, but the next two years were incredibly busy and rewarding. I was in the first year of a ‘new’ program structure they were trying out. The courses and training were amazing, however there was always tension between students and the administration who were very poor at communicating. Any student questions or concerns were often met with a “Why don’t you trust us?” The more vocal students were often failed in the majority of their classes or even removed from the program.Then, in the final semester of my third year, the pandemic hit and our fourth year was mostly online with very little support. At the same time a lot of racism and abuse came to light through an Instagram post from the school. Four out of five heads of faculty were removed and the structure of the program came under review.Teachers would threaten or imply that they had sway in whether or not you get hired after graduating. In a small professional theatre community, that can be very intimidating and deeply traumatising to growing artists who are meant to ask questions and challenge ideas. The irony was that the people abusing their power and using these tactics were also the people stating how much was “wrong” with the industry. They would condemn the very system they were perpetuating.But despite all that, I’d been introduced to acting and I felt committed to a future in theatre, but there was not much work for young MT performers in Canada, so in 2021, I moved to the UK for an MA in Acting at the Academy of Live and Recorded Arts.Which must have been a very exciting prospect, but hearing ALRA mentioned I fear another setback awaits.Yes, it was. And you’re right about the next bump on the road. Three terms in, ALRA went bankrupt. and although Rose Bruford took on most students, I decided to leave the program due to the uncertainty of what they would provide. Fortunately, I was able to stay in the UK on a different visa.And how’s that going?So far I’ve had the pleasure of being Joe Pasquale’s backing singer in the Snow White panto at the Theatre Royal Nottingham; Clip-Clop, the dancing horse in the Wizard of Oz Panto in Kettering and Daisy the Cow in Jack and the Beanstalk at Cliffs Pavilion in Southend on Sea.I’ve also been part of various projects and cabarets with Sad Girl Productions, been involved in workshops for the Stratford Festival in Canada and made appearances at various kids parties dressed as Pikachu and Sky from Paw Patrol, haha!Through Run At It Shouting I’ve been to countless workshops with casting directors, writers and industry professionals that have really helped me get to know the theatre scene in the UK and build connections that otherwise would’ve been impossible. It’s an amazing company to get involved with.Currently, I’m working on directing/choreographing a dance short film called Hedgehog, and other self-produced projects.Do you have further long-term plans?I’m hoping to start a class for professional dancers that focuses on the joy of dance. I think many professional dancers are so focused on comparison and success, that it robs them of the joy that exists in dance.I want to enable dancers to fall back in love with the moment through classes inspired by the work of my dance heroes like Alvin Ailey, Katherine Dunham, and many more.We wish you all the very best with that. Thanks for sharing your story.

Brighton Open Air Theatre, affectionately known as BOAT, burst back onto the Brighton scene post-lockdown with a celebration of local artists at the end of July. Since then, they've been taking advantage of the summer to present a jam-packed season of live performances, attracting stand up stars such as Shappi Khorsandi, Al Murray and Tim Vine, as well as improv from Mischief Theatre, Shakespeare adaptations and much more. With new COVID measures in place, we asked Will Mytum, BOAT General Manager, what to expect from an outdoor performance in 2020.BB: What did you do during lockdown? WM: Planned for reopening! It was actually very busy here during lockdown, as it hit just as we were ramping up for our season. Rescheduling, extending the season, introducing Covid-secure measures. Everything we could to get ready for reopening.BB: What are some of the COVID measures you’ve introduced?WM: Distanced queues, each bubble personally seated by a volunteer, a one-way system for the toilets, hand sanitiser, no cash. Being outdoors helps a lot too!BB: You have a policy of continuing come rain or shine (except for extreme weather), what’s your advice to audiences battling the elements?WM: We all know what the British weather can do, so be prepared! Sun cream and raincoats, umbrellas and picnic blankets. Check the forecast on the morning of the show you're coming to, and bring whatever you think you might need.BB: Who are you most looking forward to welcoming back to BOAT? WM: We're spoilt this year with an amazing array of companies, but we did really miss out on Shakespeare's Globe, which is normally such a seasonal highlight. We really hope they're able to return next year.BB: What show would you love to see at BOAT in the future? WM: The dream would be to commission an original piece that's written specifically for us. And all I'll say on that is ... watch this space!

Up and coming comedian has found success on the circuit by uniting vegan comedians for his compilation show Viva Las Vegans. However, his first solo tour, Here Comes Your Man, is about falling in love, romance and awkward sex. We talk to him about what would be on his Valentine's playlist, how to book a tour after Edinburgh Fringe and what to get a vegan for Valentine's Day.BB: Tell us about your show, Here Comes Your Man.MH: Here Comes Your Man is my debut stand-up comedy hour about the last year in my love life. It’s a storytelling show talking about the first time I fell in (and out) love, and the subsequent the highs and lows from that experience. It’s a personable, relatable show from an endearingly intense man. Ultimately, it’s a positive show about growth and finding yourself through adversity.BB: What advice would you give to someone looking to tour their show after Edinburgh?MH: One of the biggest things I struggled with the tour is to remember the full show. It really stressed me out. So refresh your material every so often, just so that you remember how to perform each joke. You will naturally remember it onstage, but make sure you do your prep!I would also recommend looking at timing to book the tour. I am also writing my new show, and have several previews whilst the tour is undergoing - don’t do that. My head is full of content and its unnecessary stress, so plan your time better than I did.My final, and most significant piece of advice, is that you should just do it. I am far from famous and haven’t got an agent. But I do have fans (and many wonderful people who take a risk on me), so just set-up your own tour. I love the punk/DIY vibe of my tour and it adds an extra element to each of the shows. I think people can see how much I care for the show, and it pays off. So don’t be afraid to do it! There is literally no one stopping you.BB: would be on your Valentine’s playlist?MH: WHAT. A. QUESTION. In my show, I extensively talk about a playlist I made for my love interest and I was tempted to make you a bespoke playlist, but instead, I’ll just give you my top 7 Valentine’s songs!Neko Case – This Tornado Loves YouVan Morrison – Into The MysticQueen - Somebody To LoveLaura Veirs – July FlameChris Farren – Human BeingJeff Rosenstock – 9/10The Beatles – Golden Slumber/Carry That Weight/ The End(Also listen to the entirety of Jeff Rosenstock’s WORRY. album!)BB: You’re well known for having hosted Viva Las Vegans. If a box of Dairy Milk is out the window as a gift on Valentine’s Day for vegans, what would you recommend instead?MH: Just take your lover out for a KFC vegan burger or a Greggs vegan steak bake. Who says romance is dead? Joking aside, a box of vegan chocolates would always go down a treat. Vegan sweets are always a sure way to win me over. Failing that, LUSH products are a nice touch if you don’t have a sweet tooth.BB: What’s your advice for anyone single this Valentine’s Day?MH: Valentine's Day doesn't matter. I understand if you are feeling upset (this time last year, I wrote a song called Flowers Die (Like Your Love For Me) because a girl dumped me a week before). You are wonderful and perfect that way you are. If you don’t feel that way, you can do some small things to change your life and feel happier in your day-to-day life. I was so lonely for the majority of my adult life; I yearned achingly for companionship. In the last year, however, I learned to love myself and really enjoy my own company and that has led me to more fulfilment and happiness that I can never have imagined. It always gets better.Who makes you laugh?So many people! The people I could watch easily day-in, day-out are: Pappy’s (their weekly podcast is exquisite), Bec Hill, Carl Donnelly, Chris Stokes, Laura Lexx, Josh Pugh, Alice Fraser, Joz Norris, Michael Legge, Mark Thomas and Richard Herring. There are too many people to list though!What are you working on next?I’m working on a new podcast called CASTIVAL, which I ask a selection of top acts to pitch their dream music festival line-up. It’s a music appreciation podcast, with festival anecdotes and a sentimental look at the music we love. Our first live date is on 31st May at Camden Comedy Club.I am also currently working on my second Edinburgh Fringe hour: Hossanova. It’s a show about modern morality, crude environmentalism and tests whether you can be happy in a burning world. I’m going to previewing the show madly from April onwards and be at the Edinburgh Fringe for the month.Matt Hoss is currently touring the UK and brings his show to Brighton on 23rd February at the Caroline of Brunswick.

Comedian Catherine Bohart, star of 8 out of 10 Cats and The Mash Report, talks to us about ways to keep smiling despite the news, how to make your run at Edinburgh Fringe a success, and her favourite restaurants in Brighton.BB: Tell us about your new show, Lemon.CB: The show is largely about love, sex, relationships and people’s perceptions of queer women. It was born from a reaction to something that happened at my first show, Immaculate, which was about growing up as the bisexual daughter of a Catholic deacon. A woman came to that show and left very annoyed, declaring that I was disgusting for talking about my sex life on stage. It’s actually not what I did in that show, but I think it’s fascinating about how people react to queer people talking about their queerness, and so I wanted to have a show that celebrated it. I also thought it was funny that anybody could go to a show at the Edinburgh Fringe and be surprised that they’re listening to a queer person.BB: Is there anything you’d never want to talk about on stage, or do you consider it all to be fair game?CB: There are things I think require more than one person’s perspective to have the kind of nuance they deserve – but those are very few and far between in my mind. There’s some elements in terms of trauma I don’t trust an audience with, and also I can’t make funny enough. I think it’s all fair game, but I only talk about things that I’m comfortable talking about after the show – people will ask questions! You never know how a show is going to be received, but you can inadvertently end up become a spokesperson for a matter if you’re not careful.BB: You’ve talked about building trust with your audience and a key part of being a comedian is reading the room – how do you deal with managing your audience?CB: That’s one of my favourite parts of the job. I think the main thing I have to do is be aware of the people who are enjoying it. As a comic it’s really easy to focus on the one person who is hating you, so reminding yourself of everyone around you who’s enjoying it is very important. I try not to over think it – often somebody is just listening and they just happen to have a particularly dour face.BB: You’re well known for your work on The Mash Report – what’s your top tip to help people keep smiling even when the news cycle seems relentless?CB: It seems so lame, but I studied history and I try to remind myself that things move in cycles and that as bad as the world can seem it will be good again. Also, instead of your enemies, focus on people you like and care about. People are who are good people to yourself and remind yourself that the world’s not all bad.I like to think that when I’m most frustrated in the world that there’s got to be more people like me who are also frustrated. It’s comforting to know there has to be enough of us who think “this isn’t how the world should work”. I love that The Mash Report exists because we need more comedy that holds people in power to a higher standard and reminds them that they’re being observed. But of course it is hard so I would say that chocolate is also an option!BB: Do you have any advice for up-and-coming comedians?CB: Gig as much as possible. It’s said a lot but there’s nothing that will account for face time. Decide to get something out of a gig if it’s not paid. In your early career it can take a good while before you get paid, so decide what you want out of the gig as ‘payment’. For example, you can think “I want to try talking to an audience member tonight” or “I want to try creating a different energy.” Whatever it is focus on that. It can be a bit soulless to go to gigs and not get paid five nights a week and doing just five minutes where no one cares about what you’re saying, so you need to get something out of it for yourself. And there’ll be so many Megabuses. Megabuses for days!Another thing is to experiment as much as possible. I know when you start out it’s really tempting to stick with your five [minutes] or 10 [minutes], but if you’re doing new acts and open mics then keep changing your set because it’s just so important to keep challenging yourself every night and not get stuck.BB: You’ve performed at Edinburgh Fringe many times now – do you have any advice for not long surviving the Fringe but making it a success too?CB: When you’re doing Edinburgh you need to set achievable goals that aren’t in the hands of someone else. It’s impossible to go to Edinburgh and not come out a better comic if you gig a lot. Because you’re doing the same show each day in Edinburgh you can give yourself personal goals for the show. For example, “I want to get in more audience interaction”, or “I want to try to do that bit differently”. That way you can get better at everything because you’re doing it every day.In terms of general advice, don’t debut until you’re ready and try not to go there alone. The reality is that shows in good rooms with good PR can be seen by more people; whether or not that’s fair I wouldn’t like to say. You can’t be too ready to do a show at the Fringe but you can definitely be underprepared and it’s a lot to do alone. Oh, advice 101: go to the Fringe before you do the Fringe. My first Fringe I’d started comedy in the April and I went that August and I did 50 gigs, I flyered for two shows and I teched another show. So I got the sense of it as a comic doing gigs, as an audience member and I got a sense of it as a flyerer and a technician: it taught me so much. I’m strongly in favour of going and witnessing the horror before you agree to participate in it!BB: You mentioned that when going to Edinburgh it’s important not to do it alone. Previously you’d done a show with Cally Beaton (Cat Call) and obviously you’ve worked with your partner Sarah Keyworth a lot. Is there anything you prefer about doing your own show over working with someone else? CB: When it’s just you, you can make a mistake and it doesn’t affect anybody else. You can also do things further ahead and think “Ok I’ll remedy that” without having to telepathically try and communicate with someone about what you’re trying to do. It’s also easier to be sensitive to the alone. You can go “they’re not feeling this, I need to change something” and you’re in charge of that. There are some times I need to cut 10 minutes because something happened in the room and I started to talk to somebody, or something that worked in previews isn’t working now. You can be quite savage with your own work in a way that maybe you can’t do with other people and you’re not tempering for anybody else’s view, which can be a good thing. Doing stuff alone really makes you aware of what your voice is rather than what you are reacting to.BB: Who makes you laugh?CB: Sarah [Keyworth] always makes me laugh – she makes me laugh at home and on stage. She’s very funny and she is the silliest person I know. I’m really lucky that she is such a goofball. You’ll see her just looking seriously out a window and then you’ll turn back a minute later and she’ll have her bum out. I also think she’s a phenomenal stand up, she’s hilarious.There are so many other great stand ups that make me laugh: Sara Pascoe, Katherine Ryan, Sophie Duker, Helen Bauer. Ivo Graham is excellent and Rose Matafeo; there are just so many great stand ups at the moment. Most times when I go to gigs I see a stand up when I think “fucking hell you’re good”. I know people talk about there being too many stand ups, but I think that the fact that there are so many means people have to be bloody brilliant to make a living.BB: Do you have any favourite spots in Brighton? CB: I love the Komedia – that big room is just glorious. Everyone wants to have a nice time and it’s an amazing room.BB: What do you like to do when you’re down in Brighton? CB: Eat! Eat everything, it’s all so delicious. Food for Friends is spectacular and Dough for breakfast. Just eat your way around town!Catherine Bohart is currently touring her new show Lemon across the UK. You can catch her in at the Komedia in Brighton on 8th February.

Alternative and experimental performances have always been at the heart of Fringe, but in a time when Brighton Fringe is home to slick productions such as perennial favourite Ladyboys of Bangkok and seasoned shows that return year after year to build an audience of loyal fans, is there still space for something a little more unpredictable?Enter Harry Clayton-Wright. Whereas many perform in lowkey venues with the hope of one day reaching stardom, Clayton-Wright has moved in a different direction and translated internet success into compelling live performances. Describing himself as an entertainer, performance artist and international mischief maker, this Brighton Fringe his new work, The Fortnight, has seen him perform for eight hours every day in The Spire, a beautiful deconsecrated church turned arts creative space in Kemptown, Brighton. Every day of The Fortnight you can expect to encounter something completely different. So far performances have included an all-day Madonna rave and a life drawing session. Wander in at any point and you’ll be encouraged to participate as much as you want to, giving you the opportunity to make new friends and experience something completely new. We caught up with Harry as he approaches his final performances to discover his favourite moments so far and what we can expect next.Where did the concept for The Fortnight come from?The Fortnight consists of 14 brand new eight hour performances consecutively premiered over 14 days. It was born from a love of durational performance, making new work and the want to challenge myself. I’d been in conversations with The Spire - the venue where the performance is taking place and also the commissioners of the work - about making something new and I just loved the idea of creating something that could change each day, which would not only allow me to explore lots of new concepts and ideas but give the audiences a chance to see something new each time they visited.How do you find inspiration for the theme of each day?The Fortnight is a show about show business. A series of performances about performance itself. The work is inspired by growing up in Blackpool, working class entertainment and my career as a professional performer. A month before The Fortnight opened, I got to spend time with the incredible performance artist Melanie Jame Wolf, developing ideas and structuring them as a two week experience. Alongside that, Ryan Dawson Laight, ridiculously brilliant set designer, created this really epic, multi-layered and spectacular world for the project to exist within. It elevated the themes within the work to feel really tangible. He’s a genius. That teamed with Simon Booth’s incredible lighting design, I just have scope to play. It’s a joy.What’s been your favourite moment so far?I loved performing Liza Minnelli’s album Results in full as a 45 minute lip sync piece, on loop for eight hours. And I love that one person stayed with me for four hours that day. It’s one of their favourite albums, as it is mine. At one point when it was just us in the space together, they asked if I needed anything from the petrol station and bought me a bottle of Lucozade. I got tattooed with George Michael, while listening to George Michael, by my favourite artist @straightthingsareboringthings this week. They also encouraged me to tattoo myself which I did on my kneecaps with a tribute to my mum. And rather nicely, we turned the space into an apocalypse shelter and I served hot Ribena while we all did a jigsaw puzzle. Plus, I threw an eight hour Madonna dance party which was quite transcendental as well as lots of fun. Listening to Like A Prayer in a church was just everything.What do you hope visitors will take away from The Fortnight?I hope, for people who may have never seen queer durational performance art before, they have their eyes opened to a different style of performance. I hope anyone who comes feels inspired to push themselves too. I hope they leave feeling better about life. I hope they’re both challenged and entertained.You’re from Blackpool - how does Brighton compare?I just love Blackpool and Brighton. I’m obsessed with the seaside. They’re obviously wildly different in terms of background, politics, economy and cultural ecology, but they both have such a sense of camp that run through their veins. Blackpool has better charity shops, while Brighton’s vintage clothing stores are second to none. I’ll be taking The Fortnight to Blackpool for a second cycle of shows (14 other brand new performances - I’m making 28 this year) in the autumn. I can’t wait to debut this work to a home crowd.What it’s like working in The Spire? The Spire is a gorgeous arts centre set in an amazing deconsecrated grade two listed church. It’s a spectacular space that has just given such grandeur to the work and Ryan Dawson Laight’s stunning set looks incredible in the venue. They’ve been so supportive in making The Fortnight happen, I couldn’t be more grateful and proud to be performing there.Any hints as to what people can expect in the last few days?A weird striptease from a beloved figure from my childhood. An eight hour lip sync marathon. They’re going to push me to the brink, I can already feel it.You can see The Fortnight at The Spire 16th-18th May, 13:00-21:00

Feed is a thought-provoking, relevant, and timely production thrusting the ‘attention economy’ modern social media facilitates into the spotlight. In this day and age, many of us are plugged into social media networks. Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, Snapchat… the list goes on. For many of us, our lives may feel like an endless scroll - our brains are constantly stimulated. Feed exposes the (sometimes harsh) reality that this is not always a positive thing. After speaking with Ailin Conant (director) and Eve Leigh and Erin Judge (contributing playwrights), I was able to get a better insight into the production and how it evolved into the show that is going up at the Fringe.For Erin, the concept for the story was born while she was looking at her phone one evening, feeling increasingly low as she continued. She wondered aloud, “why do I feel so bad?” Her husband’s casual response of “that’s by design” sparked the concept for Feed in her mind; the emotional roller coasters we experience while scrolling through our news feeds are no accident. Social media is engineered to captivate our attention, playing on our most primal emotions such as anger, fear, and jealousy. According to Erin, Feed thrusts this reality onto the stage in the hope of forcing the audience to reflect on how vulnerable to emotional manipulation they are by social media.Of course, putting such an abstract concept into a gripping, evocative production is a challenge – one that Ailin has directly tackled as Feed’s director. According to her, the largest challenge was avoiding overly simplistic emotional arousal since that narrative is exactly what the team aimed to expose. Ailin says the team had to “be on top of both general and specialist knowledge, all while finding a way to apply theatre to bridging the gap between the two in a poetic and engaging way.”Feed aims to expose our relationships with social media and how we are manipulated by it in a funny, nightmarish, uncomfortable way. If the show in fact achieves what the team behind it set out to do, its audience will leave the venue seriously reflecting on their relationships with social media – and may find themselves in favour of a detox. Feed runs at Pleasance Dome Venue 23 from August 4th-24th (except 15th) at 14:00.

Serena Flynn discovered that her boyfriend was cheating on her with webcam girls. They broke up and Prune was born. A grotesque, anarchic on-stage alter ego that allows her to parody gender performance and ridicule her own heartbreak through bouffon. Acerbic and raw, Prune is wild and terrifying. Serena on the other hand? We decided to talk to her and find out. At what point did you think your own heartbreak was good inspiration for a show?Actually at the time I thought it was a probably a terrible idea, but it was something I felt I had to make. The show’s been through loads of phases of development though and started out as something much more earnest. For an early version of the show I used verbatim recordings of me and my friend interviewing my ex about why we broke up. The show ended with my friend asking "was Serena enough?" There was this long, pregnant pause before he finally just said "no". I thought it was going to be this big sympathetic moment but the entire audience fell about laughing. I learnt a lot about the relationship between tension and humour in that moment and I think that was the moment I decided to make a comedy about my heartbreak. When performing your show, how much do you feel as though you are performing a character?I am performing as Prune who is definitely a character, she’s pretty grotesque but she’s also fragile. There are bits of me in her, bits that I would never normally be brave enough to reveal in public. Unless I’ve had a lot of gin. You’re Lecoq trained – what does being a bouffon mean to your performance?Despite spending two years terrified and mute (my French is totally merde) the training at Lecoq, particularly in bouffon, unleashed something in me. The bouffon's role is to mock society, and push whatever they are mocking to its absolute extreme. It’s physically really exhausting, especially wearing a padded ‘body’ but it’s also liberating and exciting to perform. I leave a lot of space for improvisation and audience interaction in the show so it’s different every night.Prune is based around your ex cheating on you with webcam girls. How do you think the internet has affected our relationships?That’s a huge question! Perhaps controversially, I don’t actually believe the internet is affecting our relationships in as radical ways as people fear. I don’t think our human needs or desires have been changed by the internet, I just think that the internet means that they’re now being performed and explored in different ways. Online interactions such as webcam sites have forced us to redefine infidelity and what ‘counts’ as cheating. A guy in a bar once tried to tell me that I hadn’t been cheated on because my partner hadn’t touched anyone, but I absolutely felt that he had been unfaithful. Who is your comedic hero?My dad's a comedy fan and brought me up with Blackadder, Red Dwarf and Monty Python, I loved them all and I think they've all influenced me but I also struggled to see myself in them; comedy felt like a boys game. At a certain point I sought out female comedic voices and I love French and Saunders, Victoria Wood and Sue White in Green Wing. Silly women are my absolute favourite.What are you looking forward to most in Brighton?I was a student in Brighton so pulling into Brighton station in the sunshine always feels like coming home. Brighton audiences are incredible - generous, open-minded and up for anything so I'm really excited to share the madness of Prune with them.Prune is liberated from social restrictions – what unspoken social rule do you wish never existed?I wish adults could all just play with each other a bit more and not do boring small talk that nobody really wants to do. I either want to get stuck in talking about something really meaningful or play around like a fool.

Do you ever find yourself singing The Bare Necessities? Or breathily repeating David Attenborough’s iconic narration? If so, the Ensonglopedia of Animals is the show for you. Promising fun for the entire family, songwriter John Hinton leads you through a host of brilliant original tunes inspired by all of the amusing and remarkable wonders of the animal kingdom. Sure to make you laugh and learn in equal measure, you’ll be amazed at how easily he’ll get your kids to be fully engrossed in evolutionary history.We caught up with him to discover why he decided to combine science, music and animals.What inspired the Ensonglopedia of Animals?This is the sequel to last year's Ensonglopedia of Science. Science is quite a broad topic, so I thought I'd pick something a little narrower. Well, that was the idea. I wasn't aware at that stage quite how many millions of species of animals there are (two-ish, is the answer, in case you're wondering) and how much fascinating stuff there is to say about them.What’s your favourite creature and why?It's always been the duckbilled platypus, perhaps because I identify with its collage nature - beak of a duck, foot of an otter, tail of a beaver, venomous spurs like some kind of snake, plus it lays eggs. I'm a bit of a collage myself – part-Swede part-Brit, part-thesp part-science-nerd, though I'm largely lacking in venom and I don't lay eggs. I've never met one. My new favourite animal since researching the show, which I have met in the flesh, is another Australian – the quokka.How have you found the Brighton Fringe to be so far?It's the don. It's home territory for me – I've lived most of my life either in or near Brighton – so the audiences tend to be really friendly and supportive of my latest crazy ideas for shows. The venue staff are great, the other shows I've seen so far have been great, the weather's been great, and hey, it's Brighton, what's not to love?Which scientist do you admire the most?Got to be Charles Darwin. Had to assemble so much data, from such a broad range of species, and had to battle against so much prejudice and received wisdom, firstly to figure out the bare bones of how evolution works, then to dare to publish his theory in the face of so much objection, and then to continue defending his vision against all the naysayers for the rest of his life. He changed everything, as far as I'm concerned.What’s the weirdest animal fact you’ve come across? Humans and elephants are the only animals who have chins.What do you hope your audience will take away from your show? A free pencil that says "Ensonglopedia" on it. Yes, really. Please take them away. I have far too many.What is the hardest word you’ve had to rhyme? Well, I did some research into what it actually means to be an animal. And one of the key technical differences between animals and all other types of living thing is that animal cells form a sphere called a "blastula". So I had to rhyme with that. And it wasn't easy.Give us a taste of your rhymes?Here's one that pretty much sums up the whole show:I'm putting ignorance to rest one species at a timeIn the only way that I know how – and that's rhyme.John loves science. He’s also a trained theatre maker, who studied at the Jacques Lecoq school in Paris. It’s his unique combination of the two that led to the creation of his 'Scientrilogy' of musical comedies. Playing scientists as varied as Charles Darwin, Albert Einstein and Marie Curie, his shows have all toured internationally and won awards at Edinburgh, Brighton and Adelaide Fringe Festivals, and at London's Offies.

Arriving at Brighton Fringe for the first time is Caitlin. Raucous, outrageous, regularly drunk and yet also talented and wildly underappreciated, Caitlin made her name... but only as Dylan Thomas' wife. Christine Kempell, star of this one woman show, tells us more about this wild child of the 1930's.Tell us a little about your show, Caitlin.Caitlin is a one-woman play by Mike Kenny about Dylan Thomas and his wife's tempestuous life together, written entirely from her point of view. He was a wonderful poet and she was a talented dancer, but while his career soared, her's failed to reach the heights she always felt it should have. She describes their first romantic meeting in a pub in Soho, and charts their lives together through poverty, alcoholism, children, the War and infidelities on both sides to his untimely death in New York at the age of 39.What interested you most about Caitlin Macnamara Thomas?I actually saw the play performed a few years ago and thought at the time that Caitlin was a challenge I may be prepared to undertake at some point! It's written for an older woman and unfortunately meaty roles for older women are not that easy to find, so this is a gift. I am Welsh and lived a few miles from Laugharne so I've been brought up to feel very proud of Dylan Thomas and his achievements. I was in a production of Under Milk Wood and love the characters he describes and the language he uses in the play. It was only later that I discovered Caitlin and her story when I read Leftover Life To Kill.How do you get into character when playing Caitlin?Well, I will not be drinking copious amounts of whisky that's for sure! Not until after opening night anyway.Many brilliant women successful in their own right are still defined by their husbands by the media today, such as Amal Clooney. What do you think we still need to do to make this change?Unfortunately, women on the whole still have to put a pause on their careers for the sake of their partners, especially when they are bringing up a family, but when their achievements are equal to or exceed their husband's we need to champion these achievements and tell their stories. George gets enough attention anyway. Caitlin was known as a rebel and a bohemian. Do you see any of Caitlin in yourself?I see a lot of Caitlin in myself. I have done my share of rebelling in the past and I love dancing and music and the occasional G and T! My career has also taken a back seat for a number of years due to the restrictions of family life added with the complication of moving countries. And I don't mean from Wales to England. What are the challenges of performing in a one woman show?Learning the lines and not having a rest backstage while someone else talks. Is there anything you're excited to see this Brighton Fringe?There are so many things I want to see. I have my eye on One Woman Alien, Space Doctor and After. Plus hanging out in the Speigeltent. If Caitlin came to Brighton today, where do you think she would frequent?I think she'd like the Neptune in Hove and Paris House. Or maybe that's just me. I think we'd have a lot in common.See Caitlin make her Brighton Fringe debut at the Rialto Theatre (13th-16th May, 20:00).

Daphne is a coming-of-age movie about a 28, sorry, 31-year-old woman who witnesses a stabbing in a corner shop. Forced to confront her own mortality, she must reevaluate her own life, including her opinion of her mother's way of dealing with terminal cancer and her attitude towards love which, after Freud, she believes is a psychosis. Broadway Baby’s James T. Harding met screenwriter Nico Mensinga at the UK premiere of Daphne in Edinburgh to talk about Buddhism, film development, and random acts of kindness.Nico Mensinga laughed when he heard my potted summary of the film. “I find it a nightmare, when people ask me what the film's about. I don't know how to talk about it without going into depth,” he explained. This isn’t a matter of great concern for him, “If you can't summarise your film in a pithy sentence, it doesn't lessen it.” But “I pity the marketing people that have to do it.”At the start of her story, Daphne uses Žižek and Freud as armour to repel intimacy. One of the most striking scenes involves Daphne pouring her heart put to a stranger on the bus, having run away from her therapist. And later, she finds solace simply by sitting in silence with her therapist. Naturally I wanted to know more about Mensinga’s attitude towards this intersection between philosophy, therapy, and real human emotion.“My mum's a psychotherapist,” said Mensinga with a wide smile. “A sip of wine might help me. One second.” He was in a celebratory mood when we met, having just heard he’s won Best Screenplay at the Malta film festival.“I don't actually have a disagreement with Freud per se – I never thought I'd say that sentence – it’s more a character device for someone who thinks too much. If you're intelligent, you can see through everything. An analytical mind can find the flaws in things and then think, because they're clever…"...they alienate themselves from living.“Exactly. Reading Žižek and Freud is a symptom. Daphne keeps people at arms length – she views this as Yeah, but I prefer my own company and most people are dicks. On a first date she can already see everything that's wrong with that person before she's even given it a chance to see what could develop between them in the present. She might not be able to see it anymore, but that behaviour is not helpful for her because it's isolating.“I'm a practicing Buddhist, and this is an image from my practice: often we in the West are like massive heads on a snake's body. We've overdeveloped our intellects and underdeveloped our connection to our bodies.“The pivotal scene for me is when the shop assistant's been stabbed and he wants to hold Daphne’s hand, but she can't do it. She is self-conscious in that moment. You are one step removed from your experience if you have a narrative of your experience while you're in your experience.”Is that where the silence in the therapy session comes from? “I feel like, in that moment, she's genuinely feeling something without needing to analyse it. She's trying to allow that to be felt without trying to immediately mask it or take the piss out of it.”“You know the scene you picked up on with her on the bus? Sometimes it's easier to be yourself with someone you don't know and who you'll never see again than it is to be yourself with your mother or old friends. The town can be comforting or claustrophobic because everyone knows you; the city can be alienating or comforting because no-one knows you. In London, or any major city, you can brush up against intimacy in a way that can be both dangerous (violence, crime) or fleetingly connective. There are weird kindnesses in the city. I hope that comes across.”Nico Mensinga met director Peter Mackie Burns though their mutual agent. They worked on a different feature project which didn’t take off, so Burns asked Mensinga if he had any short scripts “just so he could make something”.The resulting short film, Happy Birthday to Me, stars Emily Beecham. Mensinga calls it “Daphne in prototype. When Peter sent it to me, I got really inspired by it. A lot to do with Emily's performance.”Mensinga wrote first draft of Daphne of spec. “Although it was my own script, I was trying to imbibe what she did as an actress, the character she and Peter developed in the short film.” Screenwriting “is such a nebulous job. Having something concrete like an actress, I found it really helpful.”The project found development at The Bureau with Beecham attached. “I couldn't imagine anyone else, because I wrote it for her!”Mensinga has an intuitive, perhaps chaotic, approach to writing. “So far, I have not outlined what I've written. Often, I start with an inciting incident and then I don't know how it's going to end as I'm writing. I'm trying to discover it in the writing.”“Sometimes it's not very good.”Daphne went through around six major drafts. The early notes rarely discussed the overall structure of the film. Mensinga remembers producer Valentina Brazzini “talking really early on about having to rigorously look at everything in the script and strive not to be cliched. There was nothing to start with about making it more tense in Act II, or adding something to make it more commercial. We were always like, What can we do, on the level of scenes, to bring out the richness of her character?”The writing in the finished film certainly feels acutely observational, but the brutally short scenes (“a scene just runs out of juice for me, and then I end it”) are highly structured. The stabbing and Daphne’s connection with a stranger on the bus, for example, occur pretty much exactly across each other from the midpoint.This structure work occurred in the late stages of development. “We were analysing sequences, we were doing the screenwriting stuff of strands and arcs. Trying to make sure that it was all working in synthesis. That is the beauty and wonder of screenwriting: it's both an art, intuitive, while also being rigorously scientific.“John-Henry Butterworth once said to me, it's interesting when you're working – particularly for Hollywood – they really want a rigorous outline and to know everything about the structure. They talk in terms of turning points and acts and all that. That's OK, but that's like the architectural blueprint of the house. Really my job as a writer – this is him talking – it to make sure that house is haunted.”Daphne appears in cinemas from today.

Meik Wiking is the CEO of the Happiness Research Institute in Copenhagen and author of The Little Book of Hygge. The Danish word hygge is difficult to translate, but it loosely means comfort, warmth and togetherness. It’s cozy nights by the fire and enjoying a long meal with friends. Meik attributes Denmark’s perpetual ranking as one of the world’s happiest countries in part to their love of hygge. Features Writer Carly Brown sat down with him after his event at the Edinburgh International Book Festival to discuss why he thinks hygge has become a global trend, how social media affects our happiness and what we can expect from his new book.Meik’s research examines happiness, subjective well-being and quality of life around the world. He travelled extensively to research his new book, The Little Book of Lykke: The Danish Search for the World’s Happiest People, and we began by discussing his travels.‘I travel a lot with work – the USA, Canada, Morocco, South Korea. I enjoy travel more when I can talk with people and get input on what I’m trying to understand: Why are some people happier than others? The new book focuses on the six factors that we know matter for why some people are happier, [for example] togetherness, trust, and health. Then we try to find great cases within these six domains. So the first book was about a key concept in Danish culture, but now I wanted to see what works in other places and what we can learn from each other. I think one of the key messages of the new book is that yes, Denmark does a lot of things right in terms of [creating] a happy society, but Denmark doesn’t have a monopoly on happiness.’‘I think I’ve been to forty countries around the world in my day. But it’s my first time in Scotland. I’ve been saving the best for last. With all the rain, it feels like home [in Copenhagen].’We then talked about hygge, whichwas the subject of Meik’s first book, as well as various other books published recently. I asked why he thought this Danish concept resonated with so many people worldwide.‘I think it was because it was something that people were, to some extent, already doing. But the book helped them appreciate it in a new way. It gave them a language, a context and additional ideas of what to do. I think a lot of people felt seen.’‘[The reaction] overall has been overwhelming. I’ve had an avalanche of kind letters. I received a letter from a British primary school teacher. She’s been incorporating hygge in the classroom, reading out stories to the kids and putting up fairy lights. She wrote: I don’t know how you can measure the effect of that, but their smiling faces in enough.’I asked him if he saw any links between hygge and self-care, or other ways of taking care of one’s mental health. ‘Hygge has this focus on being present, connected, feeling warm, understood and secure. Those ingredients are also vital to our mental health and that’s why I think a lot of people see links. I hear a lot of people asking about the link between hygge and mindfulness. To us Danes, we haven’t seen it that way because we see mindfulness as a trend and hygge is something that has been going on for a long time in our culture. But with the focus on presence and the slowness of both concepts, I understand why people would see them as similar.’I mentioned that one of the links between hygge and practicing mindfulness seemed to be a detachment from technology and focus on the present surroundings. I asked him what he thought about social media’s impact on our happiness.‘It’s still something we need to figure out how to use in a better way. It’s constantly in the back of our minds. It can be a mental interruption and also a bombardment of great news for everybody else. Part of our life satisfaction is how we feel compared to others, so that can be a negative aspect. That said, there are also some good things to say about social media. It keeps many grandparents connected with their grandkids and allows them to follow their lives. But right now we’re struggling with how we should use these things.’We then spoke about how his next book would have a similar tone and style to the first book – full of cozy photos and anecdotal stories from Meik’s own life combined with his research.‘I like to keep it conversational. When I write, I imagine that I’m sitting across from somebody, having dinner and trying to explain what it is I do and see. When I do presentations, I try to combine [data and anecdotes]. We need the data and the evidence, but people don’t remember the data. They remember the stories.’Because he has been on the road so much for work, I asked him if he thought travelling itself had any impact on our happiness and wellbeing.‘I think it does. There’s a great sense of belonging with the human race and understanding that we are the same. Also, just experiencing a bit of adventure, seeing the world, learning things that work and trying to import them back home. One of the questions I often get is: Where should we emigrate? Which are the happiest places in the world? But I think that’s the wrong perception of it all. I would rather think about what works in different places and then incorporate them into our lives.’Meik Wiking’s new book, The Little Book of Lykke: The Danish Search for the World’s Happiest People, will be released by Penguin Random House on September 7, 2017.

Australian comedians Michelle Brasier and Laura Frew made their duo debut at this year’s Fringe as Double Denim, having previously performed as part of Backpack Anorak. Michelle and Laura met Broadway Baby’s Sarah Virgo over lunch to talk about their show this year, the first time they’ve worked as a duo and why Edinburgh is the only place to be as a comedian in August.Sarah: So, this is your first show working together as a double act, what’s that been like compared to previous group and individual work?Michelle: It’s really different… this is the first time that it’s just us. It’s been more relaxing, less people is always a bit easier.Laura: We’re really good friends, I know a few double acts that aren’t friends anymore… but we’re very honest with each other.Michelle: We’re like sisters. We’re opposite humans and we’re very, very different.Sarah: Double Denim is on at 11.45pm, and the two of you showcase a lot of energy in your performances; how do you keep yourself and the audience’s energy levels and interest up?Laura: Every now and then you do have to work a little bit harder: on a Wednesday night or a Sunday night it’s always particularly hard [to keep up the energy in the room]. But, as soon as our house music comes on we just sort of [*enthusiastic dancing from Laura*].Michelle: I feel really passionately about this. A lot of comics yell and get mad at their audience and I hate that so much. I think you just have to look at them and be like, What is it that you want?, try different things on them, and then find what works for them. That’s so exciting for us in our show because we can do that. And if there is one pocket that’s more tired than the other, you have to revisit them, be gentle with them… it’s about communicating and negotiating. It’s not about throwing something at them. [The show] is just an invitation to come and play with us, it’s not a demand. We’re not having a good time at your expense and I think that’s really important.Sarah: How did you come up with the concept of a sketch show that is also a big party on stage?Laura: I call it a sketch show with a loose narrative.Michelle: It’s a kid party for grown-ups! A lot of the time we just improvise and see what happens.Laura: Yeah, we came up with that little high five we do on each other’s armpit, we came up with that–Michelle: –when we were drunk on a tram.Sarah: What do you enjoy about the Edinburgh Fringe Festival?Laura: It’s amazing. There are so many opportunities to meet other artists from different places and you create these amazing friendships. It’s a home away from home, a family you have for a month.Broadway Baby’s review: http://broadwaybaby.com/shows/double-denim/722503

Songmaker Kirsty Law, author Kirsty Logan and harpist Esther Swift came together at the Edinburgh International Book Festival to perform their dark fairytale reimagining, Lord Fox. Part of the Book Festival’s Playing with Books series, Lord Fox combines storytelling, composition and song. Broadway Baby’s Carly Brown met the team to talk about the rehearsal process, creative collaboration and why you probably don’t want ‘a fairytale wedding’.Carly Brown: Could you tell us a little bit about the rehearsal process for Lord Fox?Kirsty Logan: I would say that all our fingerprints are on every second of the show. It was completely collaborative in every possible way, which was really nice. I think possibly people’s expectations were that I would write a story and then there would be breaks in it for music, or that there would be music and I would write words to go around it. But it wasn’t like that at all. So if there was a song that Kirsty Law sang in the show, then I wrote some of the lyrics, she wrote some, and Esther wrote some.Carly: Had any of you worked in this way before?Kirsty Law: I’ve actually worked like this a lot. I’ve done a couple of different collaborations with storytelling, music and a song element. So that element didn’t feel new to me. What was exciting about this one was that we all locked into the themes in quite a strong way. I felt that we were all very attached to what we wanted to say with the story. I think we are all quite good at knowing each other’s strengths. Also, we were quite happy to call each other out on things and to score stuff out. Nobody’s egos got in the way. We started from a place of mutual respect for each other and each other’s work. That meant a smooth process. We’ve not worked as a trio before and we gave ourselves four days to write it. If it hadn’t worked out, we would have been in trouble.Carly: And how did you all come together to work on this project as a group?Law: Kirsty [Logan] and I decided that we wanted to work together after being on a particular line-up for Rally & Broad. Then we figured out what kind of idea we wanted to do. We are two wordy people. I’m much more of a songwriter than I am a musician. I play the keyboard to accompany my singing. So I immediately thought of Esther as someone to bring in as a composer who could bring in a really interesting dynamic and pull off the bits that I couldn’t. Esther was the right choice because she’s not a conventional harpist. She takes it to a different place. So we were able to get that fairytale aesthetic, which is what the harp does, and then Esther could turn that very sound on its head.Logan: I kind of like to do that as well [in my writing]. I take a very sweet story and turn it upside down so you can see the bugs underneath.Esther Swift: I like how both of you guys used really beautiful language: at times floral and pretty, but also really dark.Carly: It’s interesting how well you guys are firing off ideas and building on each other’s statements now even.Swift: The thing that I really liked about the rehearsal process, that intense four days, was that we talked non-stop. We covered a lot of feminist subjects over dinner, which I think fed into it.Law: We never left that headspace and that was really important. If one of us had gone away to do a reading or a gig in the evening time and then come back the next morning, it wouldn’t have been the same. We would have had to recalibrate.Logan: Yes, absolutely everything we did during that week fed into the show.Carly: Kirsty Logan, as an author, did you find that your writing shifted throughout that process?Logan: Yes, it was completely different from the writing that I usually do because I’m usually trying to construct a full narrative. When you write a book, all you have is the words on the page, but with this there was so much at our disposal because it was a performance piece as well. So not only do we have words, music and those combined, but we could also use silence, gesture and the physical space that we were occupying. So it was really nice to play with all of that.Carly: One of the things that you mentioned during the Q and A after the show was that you wanted to create a piece that sounded like ‘one voice’. I thought that really came across. I wondered if at any point you considered having different characters? Or did you always want to prioritize that single narrative voice?Law: We wanted it to be an exploration of ideas. We didn’t really talk much about whether there should be other characters because we were all on the same track when it came to the ideas that we were exploring. We definitely felt that Lady Mary’s character was the woman in the tale that we wanted to explore.Logan: Thematically we thought it was important that we have three women on stage, telling a story, while everyone is silent and listening. We should play with that. Quite often women are silenced. Nobody wants to hear their stories. Everybody talks over them. But everyone is silent and listening to us. We should come together in unison to tell this story.Swift: We also wanted to imply the power of speaking versus physical strength or other types of strength. We wanted to come across as unified for that.Logan: Which is why the voice reaches a crescendo at the end with all of our voices together to destroy Lord Fox.Carly: In the Q and A, you also mentioned you were drawn to the heroine in Lord Fox because she’s not a traditional fairytale princess. For example, she has many lovers.Swift: We really liked her independence in general. She wants to be curious and follow Lord Fox into the woods.Law: A massive part of this show is about female sexuality and how fairy tales influence that from a young age with the imagery of this virginal princess or lady. [The princess is] often like a child and she’s going to marry an older experienced man. We wanted to turn that around a bit.Logan: I think a very worrying phrase that crops up a lot on the internet is a ‘fairy-tale wedding.’ What fairy tale are you talking about? Are you talking about Sleeping Beauty where she’s unconscious and someone kisses her without her consent? Are you talking about Beauty and the Beast where he’s basically an abuser? Which fairy tale do you want to have your wedding like?Carly: Speaking of fairy tales, are there any that you might want to tackle next as a group?Logan: I would love to do some Scottish myths, some selkies or kelpies maybe. I think that would be really fun and we could do a lot with that.More from Kirsty Logan: http://www.kirstylogan.com/Kirsty Law: http://www.kirstylaw.com/and Esther Swift: https://www.estherswift.co.uk/

In his Fringe show Two Little Ducks, UK spoken-word artist and activist Matt Abbott uses poetry to explore contemporary politics. Native to a city that voted 66% Leave, Abbott delves into the socio-economic climate which led many traditionally working-class communities to vote for Brexit, as well as his experiences volunteering at the Calais Jungle. Broadway Baby’s Carly Brown sat down with him to discuss how he created the show and what he’s learned from performing at the Fringe.Tell us a little bit about your show.The show has three key strands: the working-class Leave vote in the EU Referendum, my time volunteering at the Calais Jungle last summer, and a fictionalized story based on a character called Maria, which sort of ties them all together.How did you come to the decision to include those three stands and link them in the show?I came into a little bit of money in September and had the opportunity to do a show. I thought, What can I write about? I’m a political and social activist and that’s always been in my poetry. So I thought it would be a little bit of a betrayal of my art form if I didn’t talk about what’s happening right now.Obviously I wanted to talk about Calais because I was there last year. Also, I’ve noticed that a lot of people dismiss anybody who voted Leave as a racist, small minded, ignorant, and idiotic. The campaign itself was definitely very xenophobic at the top level towards the end, which was horrible, and I campaigned against it strongly, but I can understand why a lot of people from working-class communities like mine chose to vote for Brexit. And I thought, There’s no point in coming to Edinburgh and preaching to the converted. So I’ll do something that maybe challenges preconceptions.But at the same time, I don’t want people to think that I’m defending all elements of the Brexit campaign. So by talking about Calais, it’s very much challenging people’s views towards refugees because unfortunately there are a lot of people who have a lot of hostility towards refugees, which is awful. So that’s why I talk about those two things.For the Maria strand, I just wanted something that was a different flavor. Something that was fictionalized and that sort of linked in, but was its own standalone thread. I’ve been writing that character for nine years so it just slotted in naturally.Everything that I’m talking about in that show is really personal to me and I think that’s important with a poetry show.One of the things that I thought was really effective in your writing was the closely observed details of the various settings – from the seagulls in Calais to the quality of the light while riding the Megabus. Do you take notes or observations when you’re going around? How do those details come into your writing?It’s all from memory: I had no intention of writing about Calais when I was there. When you’re listening to a poem, I think it’s really important that the poet shows you. If I mention stuff like the seagulls, the smells, it gives you a sense of being there. So I just try to visualize it, take myself back there, and describe it in as sensory a way as possible.As far as the staging goes, you utilized a few props – the flag, the canister and, to an extent, the chair. How did you settle on those?Because it’s three strands, I wanted it to be clear which one I was talking about, without having to explain it every time. The CS gas canister seemed stupid not to bring up with me because it is genuinely a CS gas canister from The Jungle.All the way through the show I’m talking about the Union Flag. The flag represents so many different things to different people. Sometimes, it represents the government and the state. Sometimes it represents nationalism or patriotism. It can be a religious thing. It can be all sorts of stuff.Two Little Ducks is not your first show at the Fringe, but your second.Yes, this is the second, but the first one that I did, two years ago, was essentially just a well-crafted set list of my best poems. I sort of weaved it together at the start and the end, but it wasn’t a show. Whereas this, I would like to think, is an actual show.Were there any lessons you took from that first experience performing at the Fringe that you utilized this time around?The reason I did that first week was to get an idea of the flavor [of the Fringe], because Edinburgh is so crazy, so intense and such unforgiving hard work. It’s amazing, don’t get me wrong. I’m so glad that I did that first show because it prepares you for the flyering and the highs and the lows with ticket sales.As a poet, it’s difficult coming to the festival because you’re put under so much pressure to do a show that is essentially a piece of theatre. The way I’ve done it is sort of half theatre, half not. You’ve got to play to your strengths and do what’s in your comfort zone. I think a lot of poets are put under pressure to conform to what they feel like they should do, but you should just do whatever works well for your art form because you know yourself better than anyone else. When you’re actually on stage, on your own, miles away from home, begging people to come in, you need to feel comfortable with what you’re doing. You’ve just got to do what you’re happiest with.

Ever since their debut in 2015 with Weekend Rockstars Middle Child Theatre have been rewriting what musical theatre can be with their distinctive gig-theatre genre. Their new show, All We Ever Wanted Was Everything, has been met with rave reviews and a coveted Bobby Award from Broadway Baby. Liam Rees caught up with playwright, Luke Barnes, and composer, James Frewer, to discuss the creative process and the benefits of culture outside of the capital.Liam: Middle Child have been doing gig-theatre for a while now, how did this develop?James Frewer [composer]: So they always knew music was something they wanted to work with and tried lots of different things. We stumbled across a novel we wanted to do called Saturday Night and Sunday Morning by Alan Sillitoe [adapted for the stage by Amanda Whittington] and we thought it’d be cool to do a full underscore in a film way. And we thought This is cool. Then we wanted to do it ourselves and that’s where Luke [Barnes] came in, with an amazing Northern voice that’s real. When we’re in Hull you can’t make stuff that’s pretentious, nor do we want to, because we’re going after a different audience, people who don’t normally go to the theatre. We wrote Weekend Rockstars, which was our first piece of gig-theatre, but it was set up more as a gig with a band.Luke Barnes [writer]: Instead of trying to find a new form of gig-theatre, that [Weekend Rockstars] was closer to a gig. I was really proud of it but it felt like the seeds for this [All We Ever Wanted Was Everything]. The gig-theatre thing comes from a fundamental question: How can we make this [theatre] relevant? in content and form to an audience of non-traditional theatregoers. Edinburgh isn’t necessarily the audience we’re trying to find but the fundamental thing is to get people who don’t normally like theatre and we hope that people who do like theatre will also like this.James: ‘Theatre’’s almost a dirty word for a lot of people. You know, you might associate it with panto but often you’re told off for going on your phone, rattling your sweets and all that, and that makes people feel really alienated. Also, you got so many options since the Internet. Live performance is a real luxury. You’ve got to give people something that they want to do.Luke: We’re competing against staying in and watching the entirety of Breaking Bad – why would you go to the theatre? As a person who wasn’t introduced to theatre at a young age, why would you do it as a normal thing? So it has to be bigger than a play, it has to be a social event.James: The original show was very different to the one you just saw. It was in a nightclub and the audience were all standing and it was more of a spectacle. Hull’s got a really big music scene and we got bands every night, so it was in three acts and we’d get bands to play sets at the start, before the show, and in between acts. And it changed every night and it was cool as hell. We got to know the nightclub manager quite well and one night there was a really laddy-lads-lads [kind of] band taking the piss out of theatre in the toilets, [but] by the end they were weeping their eyes out.Liam: When you’re making a piece of gig-theatre what’s the writer/composer relationship like?Luke: The key is Paul Smith [director of All We Ever Wanted Was Everything and Artistic Director of Middle Child Theatre].James: We have an amazing middle-man. He is an amazing human who is very good at teasing work out of people. So we came up with a concept and I came in later. Fundamentally you need to get the script right and then put the music on top. In my head, it’s absolutely pointless writing a bunch of songs that Luke has to work around.Luke: I think you’re doing yourself an injustice by saying ‘put the music on top’. They’re absolutely intertwined. They have to work in synergy for the music to articulate the emotional narrative of the story.James: It has to intertwine [so] you don’t notice the music and then suddenly it punches you in the face. But you also need to get the dramaturgy right.Luke: What it’s not is a short scene followed by some songs followed by a short scene: that’s a play with music. And it’s not a gig that’s directed by a theatre director. Gig-theatre is words and music in synergy, all the time, in complete equality.Liam: How much has it changed since the beginning?James: It’s changed in every production, the ‘Live your life, I fucking dare you’ line at the end was very bleak [in a club setting] so in rehearsals we thought No one’s going to want to stay and drink after that so we added a Billy Bragg inspired anthem that worked in that context. But here [at the Roundabout in Edinburgh] that didn’t feel appropriate. We worked on it for a long time, about two years.Luke: At the start of the process, I didn’t just write a play and give it to them. We spent a week together with the actors, a music-festival organiser and a club manager to work out the common ground, what we wanted. Also theatre happens in the process of rehearsal. I love directors, I love actors and I‘m not clever enough – no one is clever enough – to sit at their desk and say What I’ve written is genius, that’s perfect. If they do, send them home, theatre’s made in that [rehearsal] space and lived in performance.Liam: What was the process like for composing the music?James: Really fun. You’ve got a lot of eras to play with, which was really cool. You get to rip the hell out of the 80s tunes at the beginning. And it was a dream adding in all the apocalyptic stuff at the end. One important person in this mix is Ed Clarke, our sound designer. It is an absolute nightmare to put a show like this together sound-wise, it requires such detailed sound work: when to push, when to come back. He just gets music.Liam: Could any of the actors play instruments at the beginning of rehearsals?James: Some of them had never picked up a bass guitar in their life. Josh [Meredith] is a drummer in a local Hull band but it’s just teaching them how to do it. If you give them the confidence, anyone can turn up and do it.Liam: What do you feel is next?James: For me and Luke, we have so many questions about how to change ‘musical theatre’ and what that means. I’m really interested in changing it. I’m fed up of watching people imitating [Jason] Robert Brown. It’s nice but it’s not new.Luke: The last thing I’d like to talk about is [Hull] City of Culture. I think the lesson I’ve learned this Fringe is: if you invest properly in people who have shown commitment to something, look at the rewards they reap. Look at this whole generation of artists to come out of [a] city that was low on confidence, low on culture. You’ve got NPO backing, Fringe Firsts all because someone gave them a platform and some backing. You saw the same thing in Liverpool, culture reinvented the city. It’s a fantastic thing that Arts Council England is moving money out of the capital because art is for everyone.

Graeme Macrae Burnet’s literary thriller, His Bloody Project, explores a brutal triple murder in the Scottish Highlands in 1869 through a variety of different, at times conflicting, accounts. It won the Saltire Society Fiction Book of the Year Award, and was shortlisted for the LA Times Book Awards and the Man Booker Prize. This year the Edinburgh International Book Festival, in a co-production with Royal Lyceum Theatre, presented a theatrical exploration of the novel as part of their Playing with Books series. Features Writer Carly Brown met with Graeme to talk about the rehearsal process, the challenges of writing historical fiction and what’s in store with his next novel.Can you tell us a little bit about what the rehearsal process was like for this theatrical exploration?Watching the director Paul [Brotherston] interacting with the actors, and what the actors brought to it with their thoughtfulness and the understanding, I was so impressed. It was three days of real education about how people go about doing this: the care, the looks, the physical movements, the delivery of the lines and the actors bringing their own thoughts to it. And they’re performing something I’ve written. You can imagine how rewarding that is. I felt they really did it justice.How much input and suggestions did you bring to that process?I said at the beginning, ‘Don’t feel obliged to have me along.’ But everyone seemed keen to have me there. It was a new experience for me and I didn’t know the etiquette. I went in with the attitude that I would just sit back and say nothing. I pictured it all taking place in a theatre and I would be back in the shadows, probably puffing a cigar. I’m fairly opinionated, but I did try to keep my comments to a minimum and tried to address myself to Paul [Brotherston], so there was some kind of hierarchy. Obviously I know the book, and I sort-of know the characters, but how someone else feels about the characters is also valid.I think I could illuminate some of the motivations of the characters and I think actors seem to like to talk about this stuff. I kept completely away from saying, ‘Oh say this line like that’, because that is not my job. I think let the actors do their work. Let the director do their work. They’re really, really good. I don’t know how to do that stuff and it was really nice to be involved. I’ve had an amazing year. I’ve been all over the place, and that was the highlight. That’s because it’s nice to work with lovely people and see your words performed. It was incredible.One of the things I thought was particularly effective was that the piece referenced the challenges and opportunities of performing scenes from your book onstage. Certain scenes are replayed, for example, so that we get two different versions of events.Absolutely, that came very much from Paul. I met him last week for a drink and he said that he wanted it not to be a reverential reading of some scenes, but to reflect the experience of reading the book, which is that you get a version of events and then it’s kind of challenged later. So that was very much the idea about replaying scenes.The challenge for an actor, if you play everything in a linear way, is you have to make a decision about: Is [the character] horrible and aggressive? Or is he an awkward young man who doesn’t know how to behave with the opposite sex? So I thought that worked really well.It mimicked the structure of the book as well. It was a bit jokey at the beginning, but then at the end it became more immersive and emotional, as the book does.I wanted to ask you about the book itself. This form – the layers of documents, the different unreliable narrators – is such a nineteenth-century structure, like Wilkie Collins or The Private Memoirs and Confessions of a Justified Sinner. What drew you to that particular way to frame a story?I definitely wanted to present a story in a way that the reader has to make up his or her own mind about what’s happened. So you are presented with different viewpoints. Part of the inspiration was this French case where there was a memoir and the book also contained these witness statements that were wildly contradictory, just as they were in His Bloody Project. Carmina Smoke [a character in the book] says that [Roddy’s] a polite and courteous young man and then the minister says that he’s a malevolent good-for-nothing. So immediately you are presented with: Who is this character? What are the motivations for the people speaking? So I think that structure brings the reader in, in a very active way. You’re not presenting a version of the truth and the book doesn’t ever give you a definitive answer. It’s for the readers to come to their own conclusions. That’s what I like as a reader. It does reflect a view of the difficulty of ascertaining the truth of even very recent events. All you have are conflicting accounts. Nothing is complete. Everything is partial and biased. If you’re writing in the first person, it’s always unreliable.You also have a new book coming out, The Accident on the A35. Can you tell us a little bit about it?It’s a sequel to my first book [The Disappearance of Adèle Bedeau], which was set in a small town in France. It’s going to be a trilogy and this is the second one. In the first book, I pretended that I only translated the book and it was written by a fictional French author called Raymond Bruni, which of course confused people greatly. It was a bit of a lesson, because when that book came out, people thought it was a French novel, which I was a bit embarrassed about because I didn’t want to fool anybody, but people felt fooled. So for this, I’m writing in the persona of Raymond Bruni who is trapped in this small town. It’s quite an interesting exercise. [It has] that sort of meta-textual playfulness.Has anybody thought that His Bloody Project was non-fiction?Frequently. There was a review in The List magazine that reviewed it as a true-crime book. It’s often been said that it’s ‘based on a true case.’ When I go to book groups, the first question is always, ‘It is real, isn’t it?’ But it’s a compliment to the book that people can read a book like that and it feels real. That’s what you try to do in fiction.I think that’s a particular feat given the historical setting.It’s a challenge with the first-person to get the language right, to sustain it and make it convincing. That was the most difficult thing about writing the book. It’s a question of convincing the reader and using some of the historical language, the construction of the sentences, and making sure you don’t use vocabulary that is too modern. You work with an editor as well. We took care over that stuff and that’s why it feels real.Graeme Macrae Burnet’s new book, The Accident on the A35, is forthcoming from Saraband Books in October 2017.

Having received rave reviews for The Secret Life of Humans as well as supporting dozens of other theatre companies at the Fringe and beyond, the New Diorama Theatre has made a name for itself as one of the new powerhouses of British theatre. Broadway Baby’s Theatre Editor, Liam Rees, caught up with artistic director David Byrne to discuss the challenges of devising and how theatres can support emerging and established companies.Hello David, it’s lovely to meet you. The New Diorama has exploded onto the scene recently having won a whole bunch of awards, would you like to talk about the work you’ve been doing?So we opened in 2010 with the idea of being a companies’ theatre – in the same way the Royal Court looks after and supports writers, we wanted to be an organisation that supports ensembles and groups. And the big question is: how do you do that?When you’re looking after an individual artist you can tell what they need, but groups have different needs. To sustain a group making work is much more expensive and you not only need artistic knowledge but also that entrepreneurial background of how to make that work.How did The Secret Life of Humans come about?I’d read Yuval Harari’s Sapiens [and] all the other books [I’d read] had a story or characters, a very easy way of getting in, but this book had nothing – no plot, no through-line, no anything. So this would be a very exciting thing to try, so we went away for a week and worked on it and we came back and didn’t really have anything. I remember spending most of my time actually thinking about how I could get out of doing this. Can we give the money back? Can we not do this? I don’t know how to do this!And slowly in rehearsals we started to find a bit of a language that worked. It was almost a mirror language: something wouldn’t work so surely if we did the opposite it would work. So for example, the walking on walls came from wanting to stage the movement from the agricultural revolution to the industrial revolution and someone in the room said it’d be amazing if they could just walk up the wall because that’s how different it felt. And we tried to lift people but physical theatre didn’t work and slowly we found our way.And how do you balance creating your own work with supporting so many other artists and companies?Really poorly. It’s really hard. The work I make for the theatre tends to be devised work so there’s generally an 18-month gestation period from beginning to end – so I can spread it out, which is really useful.It’s addictive supporting other people’s work, and up here at the festival I have got more excited about companies we’re supporting’s good reviews and more angry about their bad reviews than I have to our own. I think if I saw it as a distraction from my own work I don’t think it’d be a very fulfilling job but it’s absolutely the highlight, making sure they’re going from strength to strength.Do you have provocations or ideas for other theatres?[We provide] interest-free cash flow loans for theatre companies. We’ve got [close to] 15 grand on loan just for this Fringe to help that gap between people getting here and getting their box office back, for personal development when it’s unaffordable.I think theatres can be more generous to their companies. I think there’s a lot of stigma around the term ‘emerging company’ because theatres use it it means they don’t need to pay them very much if at all. And when you’re starting out in your career trying to make you reputation, that’s when you need the most support. We try to cajole some of our partners and co-producers from around the UK to do that. And it isn’t difficult – it just takes a lot of listening, willpower and generosity of spirit, which is fun to embrace.And you’ve recently announced the NDT First Devised Show Award. Could you tell us about about that?We’re looking for theatre companies who have put on their first devised show, because making devised theatre is so hard. [In] the last few years, [the Fringe has become] a much more professional showcase, and people are a lot harder on these small groups who are making work. So we thought it’d be good to find work that is promising and has a glint of something special and give them some money to invest in themselves and say, We think what you’re doing is excellent. We want to see more of your work.And what are some of qualities you’re looking for?Essentially we’re looking for a group of people making work over an extended period of time that only they could create. So it’s the flavour of that group working together, and that varies radically from company to company. I could see each of our companies’ work and tell who it’s by. So we’re not looking for a company that’s ‘like’ one we’ve got we want them doing their own thing with their own distinct voice. We’re not prescriptive in terms of form or content, just good company work.What’s amazing about Edinburgh is it’s kind of like tapas: you get to try so many different flavours in one day. It’s a challenge as a programmer because there are certain shows that work so well in Edinburgh but the question I’ve also got is, What is going to be able to come back to London and sustain a whole evening?Do you have any words of wisdom for anyone starting out making devised work?Ultimately it’s about doing everything you can to get whatever’s onstage in the best state it can be. A lot of companies get stuck on setting up as a business or designing a logo or having a company name but none of that really matters. All that’s important is presenting the best possible work, and then you shout about it and get people to come see it.I always say you’re not doing it right unless there’s a range of opinions. You’re not here to make Pizza Express art to try and please everyone, you’re making really distinctive and exciting stuff that some people will love and others won’t. This festival embraces all of it.@newdiorama

Binge Culture are a performance-art group of five that originated in Wellington, New Zealand. They’re always thinking about how to get the audience involved in their work and playing with forms outside of traditional theatre. The group have three highly contrasting shows to this year’s Fringe – Whales, Break Up: We Need to Talk and Ancient Shrines and Half Truths. Sarah Virgo met two of the team, Fiona McNamara and Ralph Upton, to learn a bit more about the inspiration and thinking behind each of them.Binge Culture have brought three shows, all with varying levels of audience participation and different quirks, to this year’s festival. The oldest one is Whales, which goes back to 2011. Inspired by whale strandings, the group ask audience members to participate in the show: they act as the whales, and the general public help save them. It’s a highly interactive piece about bringing the community together to help do something special. Ralph explains it as, ‘making people believe, in a straight-forward kind of way.’Talking about Whales, Fi and Ralph say that it has been weirder bringing the show overseas. In New Zealand, whale strandings are a common event, everyone knows what they are. However, at an international festival like Edinburgh, it’s been a bit more difficult to explain to people what they’re doing. I asked Fi what it’s like to direct and get people involved in these performances. ‘We’re wearing wetsuits and we lie on the ground and people [the audience] are sent to fill buckets of water and lay the wet sheets on the whales backs. People sing to the whales and talk to the whales and keep them calm and relaxed before we send them back to the sea.’Break Up: We Need to Talk is another older performance that Binge Collective have brought to the festival this year. The format of the show has changed over the eight years they’ve been performing it, so it is one of their better known works in New Zealand. The show, now, is a completely improvised five-hour show that follows a conversation between two characters and the breakdown of their relationship. My most pressing question was ‘Why five hours?’ And what happens when one of the cast needs a break?‘We wanted to give ourselves as many restrictions [as possible],’ Ralph explains. The concept behind Break Up is that the intensity and restrictive nature of the production creates and leads to better conversations. They do give each other breaks sometimes though, Fi tells me, ‘Once, in Auckland, I really needed to go to the bathroom and I could see there was at least one audience member who hadn’t left at all and I was like, If he doesn’t leave, I can’t leave!’The show is‘a weird chaotic blender’ and ‘an exploration of character and relationships and what makes a relationship.’ The format allows all of the cast to feel, at one point, like the victim. It’s an intense, emotional experience to watch – it feels intimate and a bit odd to watch such a personal conversation, the break-up talk. Fi points out that at some times you do just wonder why everyone keeps yelling at you, and then you remind yourself, you’re acting… The Kiwi group’s interactive, app-based, Ancient Shrines and Half Truths is a debut this Fringe. The team give the audience devices and headphones with a pre-made application and they take you on an ‘alternative’ tour of Edinburgh – which is full of lies. Ralph tells me they were inspired by the AirBnB slogan ‘belong anywhere’. The AirBnB market has changed how we visit countries, we now expect the ‘local’ experience, to see things no other tourist has seen, and Ancient Shrines takes the mick out of that. Binge Collective take the ridiculous part about visiting overseas, all of the expectation and assumptions that you will get the ‘authentic’ experience – and turn it into something absurd. ‘It’s a satirical guide that is disguised as a tourist experience.’The team were excited to debut the show in Edinburgh, because they believe the festival gives them a unique opportunity to really roadtest an idea and performance. ‘If it works here it’s going to work anywhere. The luxury of taking something and to both present it and figure it out over a month is a special thing you can do in Edinburgh,’ Ralph said.I didn’t need to ask the guys if they’re coming back for another Fringe: I know they are excited to come back here in the future. Both Fi and Ralph say they’re excited to come back with new or reworked shows in the future. Compared to Wellington, Edinburgh gives them the opportunity to do these shows multiple times and get different experiences and reactions each time, particularly for audience-dependent shows like Whales and Shrines.They were heading off to fly home just after we met, exhausted by the festival and, Fi told me, with a suitcase full of wetsuits.

In nineteenth-century Holland, a leading neuroscientist tries to ‘civilise’ a wild girl who was raised by lions in the heart of Borneo. Broadway Baby’s Theatre Editor, Liam Rees, met some of the creators of Sisters Grimm’s latest show, Lilith: The Jungle Girl – Ash Flanders, Candy Bowers and Declan Greene – to talk about queerness, colonialism and the differences between Australian and British audiences.Liam: The show’s just finished, how are you feeling?Candy: It’s such an interesting work. You can’t really ever think you’ve got it completely under your belt because there’s still moments where you could slip and break your head.Ash: That’s not a metaphor. There’s literal danger.Candy: So much relies on the crowd, that’s what I’ve noticed in Edinburgh. You can almost feel the crowd’s sensibilities: with you, against you, coming to something with you. I can see people spasm sometimes when they’re laughing so hard, they’re hooked on one little thing and they can’t get over it. The show moves pretty fast, so like suddenly we’re lions or something.Ash: The theatrical ketamine kicks in!Candy: But yeah it’s very tiring, very high-energy.Liam: What was the rehearsal process like?Declan: The dramaturg on this show is Nakkiah Lui and she is a Gamilaroi/Torres Strait Islander woman, so she’s indigenous Australian, and she was one of the people who was really important in the shaping of this work. She’s a phenomenal playwright but also a real political provocateur in Australia, so she was a great sounding board for some of the politics in the work on the matters of colonialism and trauma.Ash: And it’s a very delicate balance because the literal mess of the stage [design] means the show[‘s structure and dramaturgy] has to appear tight and taught because if that becomes sloppy or messy then it actually does look like a slimy mess.Liam: In Britain we don’t really engage with our colonial past so have you noticed a difference between British and Australian audiences?Candy: In Australia, I always bring my friends and colleagues [who are] involved in black feminism and they have their reading of it about colonialism, but the queer folks have their reading of the outsider. Because I’m a South African playing a Dutchman is very interesting for me, [with Dutch and British colonists] having played such a strong part in South Africa and the similarities with Australia are huge. So then you get back here [in Edinburgh] and you go Is there any unpacking of that? because in South African work there definitely is among Dutch Afrikaner artists. Which is interesting, because here I’ve seen a lot, we just saw salt. today, Woke and The Fall so you see that positionality of the slave or the colonised but, other than this work, I haven’t seen the other perspective.Declan: Australia is still grappling with its colonial legacy and there’s a huge conversation around Australia Day, our national holiday which celebrates the birth of White Australia, so there’s equivalences in Australian politics where the First Nations say You wouldn’t expect Jewish people to celebrate the Holocaust.Ash: Also same-sex marriage is facing a lot of backlash.Declan: So Australia’s definitely at a political crossroads at the moment – which is the cauldron that the body of this work grew out of. So Lilith isn’t supposed to be a figure that stands in for one particular kind of oppression, she’s an intersection of different kinds of otherness.Ash: Yeah, all the symbols are scrambled and we did that to make the audience reevaluate what they’re looking at and think critically, hopefully in an entertaining way, about what might be the meaning behind all this. And it’s interesting that some audiences really get behind that and go that journey with it and some still want to be passive.Liam: But the absurd comedy means it's never too heavy, it helps sneak in the politics.Ash: That’s such a touchstone here [in the UK]: the refusal to actually commit, like doing ridiculous voices and costumes that do not make sense. We try to balance the jokes. It probably seems like there’s a lot of stupid jokes but there’s actually a lot more [deeper meanings]. Sisters Grimm, which is me and Declan, have always found our own audience that are typically non-average theatregoers, showing them that theatre can be live and stupid and funny and smart and grossly immature at the same time.Candy: It’s funny to think that theatre has to fit in some kind of box. I mean this zeitgeist of conservatism is upon us as a world but if we can’t screw with people, if we can’t make people go How do I feel? and in the piece there are these expectations, even in the flyer, that Ash is going to look like that hot drag queen in the picture. So you’ve got loads of queers who think they’re non-conforming yearning to see that pretty lady, that Caitlyn Jenner. And in this whole festival there’s this dramaturgy of what it is to be a man or a woman. I think this work does something very interesting.Declan: That’s what’s felt nice about this whole Trav Festival, it does feel like there’s a major conversation occurring in this building, and beyond that there’s this tipping point crossing over from academia and activism and is moving over to theatre that has momentum and real purpose. It really feels like that’s really intertwined with excellence as well, so shows like Hot Brown Honey, salt. but it’s not just good politics, it’s also exceptional shows and I think the radicalism and activism is intertwined in the craft.

Having made their Fringe debut last year with The Life and Times of Lionel, theatre company Forget About The Dog are back with their new show, 100 Ways to Tie a Shoelace. Kat has had an accident and has trouble remembering things. The show presents her journey and relationships with her mind and her family. This group have so far gone from strength to strength using their own style of charming physicality. Actors Leanne Stenson and Joshua Ling spoke to Chris Quilietti. Photo Credit: Forget About the Dog

Behind every tyrannical leader is a complicit partner rolling their eyes, and in this new show from comedian Catriona Knox they get a voice. Catriona Knox: Adorable Deplorable delves into the peripheries of power and the minds of the people who know our world leaders the best. Chris Quilietti met Catriona to talk about character comedy, the perils of audience participation and the unique properties of Fringe shows.

In Sarah Kendall: One-Seventeen, Fringe stalwart Sarah Kendall breaks down what we mean when we talk about good and bad luck. In her own inimitable style she takes the audience to her past in order to discover how she reasons with the chaos and uncertainty of modern life. Chris Quilietti from Broadway Baby Radio caught up with her to talk about the influence of space on stand-up, forgiving latecomers, and more. Find listings information and read our five-star review of Sarah Kendall: One-Seventeen here: http://broadwaybaby.com/shows/sarah-kendall-one-seventeen/719917 @Sarah_Kendall

Betrayal, money, power, politics and love. All thing you find in a standard Shakespeare play. And modern politics. Macblair, written by Charlie Duprè, Bard-ifies the rise and fall of Tony Blair with rap, verse and tongue firmly in cheek. Chris Quilietti spoke to Charlie about the piece. Our Macblair review and listing: http://broadwaybaby.com/shows/macblair/723125 http://www.charliedupre.com/ @CharlieDupre

Holly Smale is the author of Geek Girl, a teen book series that follows the comic adventures of a high-school girl turned high-fashion model. Smale – herself a former model – returns to the Edinburgh International Book Festival this year for the release of Forever Geek, the final book in the series. Broadway Baby’s Carly Brown sat down with her to discuss travel, writing from a teenage perspective and why teen books are so important.The Geek Girl series has sold over a million copies and connected with readers around the world. When asked about how she writes from a compelling teenage point of view, Smale explains, ‘There is a part of me that is still very young at heart. So I don’t find it that hard to remember what it was like to be fifteen. Some days it’s too easy and I’m concerned for my thirty five year-old self! But it’s about remembering those emotions, how fresh and heightened everything is, how raw. It’s terrifying and exciting in equal measure. Everything is momentous. Everything matters when you’re that age.’One place Smale won’t be turning to as a source of inspiration are her own teenage diaries. They ‘are excruciating. I think some people are under the impression that I’ve just gone and published diaries from when I was fifteen. I really wish that was true. I’d be a lot less work. They basically were so utterly dramatic. Every day was the end of the world.’One of the main features of the Geek Girl series is travel. Throughout the books, the protagonist, Harriet Manners, leaves her home in England and travels to various foreign destinations – New York, Japan, Morocco – through her modeling. Smale herself has travelled extensively and, for her, travel is central to the series. ‘At the start of the books, [Harriet’s] life is quite limited. Travel, as well as modeling, opened her eyes. It forced her to meet other characters that she wouldn’t meet otherwise. It also forced her to experience new things and understand how small her position in the world really was. For me, that’s what happened with travelling. As cliché as it sounds, travel really does put things in perspective. It’s exciting, interesting, and adventurous. It’s also really fun to write about. And I want to encourage girls to get out there and be adventurous. So travel was pivotal and it will remain pivotal in my writing.’Another element of the books is Harriet’s frequent recitation of facts (‘Humans have 70,000 thoughts per day.’ ‘Caterpillars have four thousand muscles.’) Smale talked about how she went about researching and utilizing these facts in her books. ‘When I started writing Harriet, one of the key points of her narrative voice from the start was this use of facts. Facts are how Harriet sees the world and how she makes sense of it. Sometimes they are metaphors. There are always reasons for them. They’re never just thrown in – that would be pointless and boring. Sometimes, before I started to write, I would go through fact books, dictionaries, documentaries and encyclopedias. Anything that I could get my hands on. I’d read a fact and think, That’s going to be used to express Harriet’s embarrassment or her anger. Then I saved them up.’‘I think some people thought that I just wrote the book and then dropped the facts in, but it wouldn’t have worked like that. It just wouldn’t have been a narrative voice. It wouldn’t have been smooth and it wouldn’t have been funny.’Geek Girl’s fact-reciting heroine is brainy, academic and a self-professed ‘geek’. Smale wanted the books to be a ‘defense of smart girls’. ‘I was super smart and academic at school. I was ashamed of it, because I was made to feel ashamed of it.’ With Geek Girl, she wanted to celebrate ‘girls who have opinions and who aren’t prepared to just be quiet about them.’This is Smale’s first series and her next book will also be for teenagers. ‘For me, teen books will always be the most important books and I will defend them to my last breath.’ She believes books are a powerful force in shaping the lives of teenagers. ‘It’s easy to get lost as a teenager because you don’t have the guidance of experience. There’s so many confusions and identity issues. You’re working out so many things from scratch. So it’s an incredibly important time. There’s never a time where you can have so much influence on the reader and provide so much inspiration. Teenagers are desperate to find anything that can comfort them, that can tell them they’re doing something right, or that there are people like them and they’re not alone. And if [books] can help them in any way – even small ways, like laughing when they’re sad – or help them find confidence, strength, purpose and inspiration, that’s a massive privilege for me. If you can write books that mean something to a teenager, they are going to love them for the rest of their lives.’Photo: HarperCollins Children’s Books

Improv is as big as it’s ever been at the Fringe, with well over a hundred shows for you to choose from. Chris Quilietti leads a panel discussion with improvisors from some of the festival’s most popular shows: Will Naameh (Spontaneous Sherlock/Men With Coconuts) Steve Hartil (Murder She Didn’t Write), and Sean McCann (Showstopper! The Improvised Musical/Rhapsodes). Topics include new trends in improv, rehearsing to improvise, the nature of the troupe, and the Edinburgh energy. Will Naameh Spontaneous Sherlock: http://broadwaybaby.com/shows/spontaneous-sherlock/719606 Men With Coconuts: http://broadwaybaby.com/shows/men-with-coconuts/721756 Steve Hartill Murder She Didn’t Write: http://broadwaybaby.com/shows/murder-she-didnt-write-the/719990   Sean McCann Showstopper! The Improvised Musical: http://broadwaybaby.com/shows/showstopper-the-improvised-musical/717977 Rhapsodes: http://broadwaybaby.com/shows/rhapsodes/719900 Photo: Murder She Didn’t Write @TheShowstoppers @DegreesOfError @willnaameh

Meow Meow is an international actress, singer, and dancer. She’s performed her works with The London Philharmonic Orchestra, played Titania in A Midsummer Night’s Dream at Shakespeare’s Globe and toured her own work around the world. She returns to the Edinburgh International Festival for the European Premiere of Meow Meow’s Little Mermaid, a playful cabaret reimagining of Hans Christian Andersen’s fairytale. Features Writer Carly Brown spoke with her about the original fairytale, creating her show and why she likes performing in Edinburgh.Tell us about your show.It’s based on Hans Christian Andersen’s fairytale from 1837 and it follows it very closely. I’ve actually stuck pretty closely to the story, although some people don’t see the resemblance. It also uses that fairytale as a springboard, but then goes more deeply into concepts of salvation, perfection, true love and happiness – all of those things that make the world tick.What themes from Anderson’s fairytale did you want bring out in this version?Well Hans Christian Andersen is a very interesting person. He had a lot of issues with development, social anxiety, sexuality – he’s a fascinating person. So there are lots of ways that you could read the original story. A fear of growing up? A fear of adult sexuality? Literally splitting to get two legs – is that a frightening thing or is that a necessary rite of passage? Is the loss of voice a loss of self? Or is it a development to another place?I think the thing that really struck me about the original was the pain that [the little mermaid] feels with every footstep, the degrees that she goes to, even when there’s no guarantee of true love.The pain of her walking on land is described as like knives, right?Yes, so I wanted to heal a little bit of that wounding, I suppose, in this version. But at the same time, I think the show is very contemporary in terms of its images of beauty, romantic love, and happiness. Is it a loss of self to give something up or is it a liberation? Is it abandonment or is it being set free? Those are some of the questions that I’m looking at – but in a world of speed dating!The ending of the original fairy tale has a tragic, or at least an ambiguous, ending, whereas your version offers up the possibility of happiness for the mermaid at the end. Is that something you wanted the audience to take away from the show?I think so. I think there’s relentless optimism, but I also try to imbue that last piece with a lot of ambiguity. [The ending] is very open for people and they will project their own reflections of the world on it, whether that is tragic, or comic, or both.So it retains some of the ambiguity of the original ending?I think so. Those last lines of Hotel Amor, the song that I wrote with Thomas Lauderdale, are: ‘love is everywhere.’ Sometimes that’s the happiest thing in the word and other times it’s not for me.Also, why do we always put love on to one person when we have friends around us? When we have community? On stage, I have the songwriters that I worked with – Amanda Palmer, Kate Miller-Heidke, Megan Washington and Thomas [Lauderdale]. They are really good friends of mine. So we’re writing specifically for the show, but at the same time they know me really well. It’s a beautiful thing to be surrounded by my friends on stage, even though they’re not completely there.The show is like a manifestation of the love and camaraderie of the people who created it.That’s right, very much. I’m about to do two shows tonight and half the crew is sick. And the band – two of them are sick! It’s just like, ‘Oh, here we go!’ But I want to tell that story, so I guess it’s about presenting as much entertainment and ambiguity for people to enjoy. It’s interesting how people respond to it differently – what they’ll find funny, what they’ll find moving.It is such an interactive show. Since you’ve performed all over the world, do you ever notice different audience reactions in different environments?Oh yes, absolutely. Culturally, you sort of shift it depending on where you are. An audience is not a single beast either.I think The Hub in Edinburgh looks pretty gorgeous. We’ve done the show in a circus tent and in a huge theatre. It works really well in both of those spaces. I think The Hub is sort of somewhere in between. No matter where you are performing, you’ve just got to be as genuine as possible. What I like about Edinburgh audiences is that they’re up for adventure. That’s great. It’s a kind of prerequisite for walking into any show. There’s a great excitement about that month in Edinburgh where everything is happening. There’s an amazing energy in the city.The theatre itself is quite a big part of the show – you talk onstage about the tech and request certain effects like bubbles. There’s an emphasis on the theatrical space in an almost Brechtian way. Why was that such an important element of Little Mermaid?Well I’m very influenced by Brecht and I think it’s sort of dishonest to pretend that there isn’t an audience there and that you’re not relating directly to them. I was performing as Titania at The Globe. What I liked about performing at The Globe was you are so directly relating to an audience. You’re not pretending there’s a fourth wall. You’re having a direct conversation. That’s what I love about this open art form. It allows for the show – even though it’s tightly made in terms of comedy, dramaturgy and the rhythm of it – to let the audience be what they are on that night. I can’t help referencing the artifice, the magic. We know what the mechanics are yet still it has the possibility of transporting us. I love that.

Architect Rob can't find his Rotoring mechanical pencil. A small event, perhaps, but the early onset dementia it heralds will challenge Rob and his wife Cathy's relationship to its very core. This is a new production of Descent at the Gilded Balloon. Broadway Baby’s James T. Harding met Scottish playwright and actor Linda Duncan McLaughlin to discuss the play, the Scottish new-writing scene, and the twin creative-writing courses of Glasgow.The play was first performed at Òran Mór's A Play, A Pie and a Pint strand in 2015. What was the development process like?I got a New Playwright's Award from Playwright Studio Scotland to develop the play in the first place. Because it had been developed under their umbrella, they were instrumental in encouraging me to submit to to Òran Mór. It had a reading before that: as part of the award there was a public professional reading at the Tron. At that time Elaine C. Smith, Barrie Hunter and Kirstin McLean read it. And then I took it back to the page, if you like, and developed it further to the version that went on at A Play, Pie and a Pint.What was the biggest change that was made the script at that time?I had originally envisaged it as a two hander, just Rob and Cathy, but Nicola became a much stronger character in the reading. We only had a day's development in the Tron, but because the actor who was playing Nicola, Kirstin McLean, was so strong, it was possible for me to say: tell me the questions you want to ask, tell me the things you want to talk about. I was writing monologues for her on the hoof.When we got to Òran Mór, I had to cut it again to the 45-minute length that Òran Mór needed. That helped to hone the thinking process as well.I know you've interviewed many people with experiences of dementia in their family. Was there anything surprising or particularly memorable that came out of that?It wasn't actually personal interviews. I was given access to a database of letters and emails from carers who had responded to a guy called Tommy Whitelaw. He invited carers to come to his roadshow and to write to him, and he undertook to present all that information to Nicola Sturgeon who was then Health Minister. I introduced myself to Tommy who asked me if I wanted to read the letters and emails. So he left me in a room for two days with these box files.The overwhelming thing that came out of that was all the love. It was heartbreaking. There was a lot of rage and frustration and even sometimes hate in them, but underlying it all was that people loved who they cared for and still saw that person, no matter why they were on the dementia track. That's what I wanted to reflect in the play.The show employs quite a lot of direct monologue, a technique which is practically a taboo in television, which is another medium you write in. What led to your emphasis on that technique for this play?I felt it was a way to get into the real thinking in character's heads. Sometimes it can be hokey in theatre, as we know. For Rob, it was a way into his head which we might not otherwise have got just by presenting him from the outside. He's the character who suffers from dementia. It's really hard to portray that in drama without a lot of technical wizardry. At one point I wanted to do a lot of digital graphics to be the inside of Rob's head, to represent what he was going through, feeling, but it wasn't possible to do that – mostly for budget reasons.It doesn't get done on television very often, but look at the impact of something like Fleabag where we do have direct address. It's not the same, we don't get long monologues, but she turns to camera and speaks. House of Cards, same thing. When Frank speaks to camera it's exciting.Pretty much every interview I've done this Fringe someone has mentioned Phoebe Waller-Bridge.Really? No wonder. I thought it was so bold to have a character who was essentially unlikable, but you could understand why she was the way she was. Her monologues didn't attempt to make her nicer.Rob is quite unlikable as well: he's extremely controlling of his own life and the people around him. I like the fact you see that as a character trait to begin with, but in a way it could have been a coping mechanism for his memory slipping.They are a marriage of equals. Cathy's up to his weight, you know. There's plenty of give and take in their relationship, but Rob's need to be precise, his need to control things in his work, translates into a need to control the things around him in his life as his disease develops. It twists along the way, so it's a negative thing, whereas in his work, before, it's been a corollary of being a high-functioning architect.A lot of people bring plays to the Fringe in the hopes of launching a tour afterwards, but you've already done a tour. So what was it that motivated you to bring this particular play to the Fringe?I wanted to move it beyond Scotland. I'm really interested in touring the rest of the UK and internationally.The audience hang around afterwards and want to talk about it. They don't want to talk about the process of putting the play together; some do, but most want to share their own experiences. When we did the tour, I did workshops in post shows. I only had enough money in the tour budget to do five in our 17-day tour. The first one we didn't do a workshop on, the audience had their own spontaneous post-show discussion. So I thought: I have to go to every venue that I can.This is something that people really do need to talk about. We've thought about this a lot as a company -– the effect is has on us, and the effect that we were having on the audience. And I'm not claiming to be the only thing that makes it possible for people to talk about this, but it's one way for art to address it, and I think it's really important that we do. The Fringe is a big comedy festival now, but it's a way to make it available to more people.I certainly didn't bring it to make money.You were an actor in the very first A Play, A Pie and a Pint. How was A Play, A Pie and a Pint changed in all the years that you've been going to it?I remember David MacLennan phoning me up, 'It might work. It might not work. Do you fancy doing this?' I was like, 'Who's gonna pay ten pounds for a lunchtime play? That's never gonna work!’But it took off and in the very first week it was full. Now it has a dedicated following, people come every single week to see theatre in Òran Mór and the other venues. They will forgive things that don't think are so good, and will celebrate things that they do, and everyone has different views. It's employing actors, directors, writers, technical staff… I don't think David thought it would become such an institution.There are problems because of the budgetary constraints. You have two weeks’ rehearsal and with the harder-hitting drama that's sometimes hard to do, but it's a great platform, a way to put something together that can then go on to a full production.Do you think that A Play, A Pie and Pint has had quite a dominating influence on the type of new writing that is made in Scotland? It feels like it's the only platform for new writing in Scotland unless you're a very established writer.I think that's a fair point. We have the Traverse, the Tron to an extent, but they certainly can't commission twelve new plays a season!Sometimes it's good to write under constraints, but it does push people along that line. And because it's there, maybe it takes some of the pressure off the other producing theatres, the ones that we do have. We know each other through the MA in Television Writing at Glasgow Caledonian University. I know you have the MLit from the University of Glasgow too. I wonder what the primary differences are between them – apart from the obvious that one is about scripts and one is mostly about novels. What differences in attitude to the courses have? What was the most useful thing from each for you?The MLit was a chance to expand, if you like. At the time I was there, Michael Schmidt was the head of the course. He’s a well known poet. It was a way to open up the imagery in my writing, which I hadn't thought about before.When I started writing, I expected I would write drama because I was an actor, but I found it really difficult to do. I was too close to it at the time. So taking the time out just to expand my head a little bit – there was more space to breathe with the MLit. By the end of my two years I had a novel underway and my writing had changed, definitely.Then going to do the MATV – I'm a masters junkie, obviously – that was more careers focused. The MLit was more opening up my head, exploring the corners of my writing talent, developing my voice. The MATV did that as well, but it was focused on producing product, if you like, which I think it should be. The MLit has a lot of peer workshops where you critique each others' work. On the MATV the crit came from professional writers who were running the course.You and I were on earlier renditions of the course. I've kept in touch with them – I do occasional guest lectures – and I know it's more practice focused that it was even when I was there.Descent is on at the Gilded Balloon. Read our five-star review and find ticket information here: http://broadwaybaby.com/shows/descent/722345

Broadway Baby’s Gordon Douglas met Angel Cohn Castle, the host of Pollyanna to talk about the outrageous, late-night queer cabaret that’s on everybody’s minds.As well as directing and hosting Pollyanna, Castle is the director of Edinburgh Artists’ Moving Image Festival, an annual festival for the celebration of moving image. In recognition of her efforts in both of these, Castle won The Creative Edinburgh Leadership Award in 2016. Having experienced Pollyanna last year, Gordon was eager to return to the cabaret once again. The morning after the show, Gordon and Angel discuss: the draw for performers to share their work in a social, cabaret format; how to provide space and opportunity for an audience to communally exercise their political anxieties; and the origins of Pollyanna’s host Pollyfilla. Gordon Douglas (GD): Hello, my name’s Gordon Douglas and I’m thrilled to be joined by Angel Cohn Castle, who as her alter-ego, Pollyfilla, is the star and host to the marvellous Pollyanna which takes place at Paradise Palms from 11pm every night Sundays-Thursdays for the rest of the Fringe. Angel, thank you very much for joining me today. Angel Cohn Castle (ACC): Thanks for having me. GD: Not at all, I guess a good way to start would be for you to maybe introduce our readers to the show. ACC: So, I host a show called Pollyanna. It’s a late night cabaret, hosted by Pollyfilla, a character that I become for the night. Pollyfilla is a feral, drag, queer creature. There’s lots of PVC, skin, smeared makeup, and messiness that is reflected in what is always a messy, sweaty, trashy kind of night. Each night is a different host of acts: drag, queer performance, performance art, a bit of comedy. It happens in Paradise Palms which has a very relaxed vibe, rather than a sit-down-and-watch-five-acts-for-an-hour theatre. It’s more like having a drink, and every while you’ll be assaulted by something on stage. GD: You’ll be forced to get out your seats, or forced to dance around as Diane Chorley stands on a commandeered table in the middle of the floor. You say at the beginning of the night, that it is the ‘queeriest, trashiest night’, and you certainly live up to those expectations. It was outrageous at points and totally great. Let’s talk first about the programme. Last night, we had Georgia Tasda, Night Bus, Jezza Bellend, Desert Storm and Diane Chorley. ACC: And Theresa May too. GD: Ah yes Theresa. There was a really great, guest appearance by our wonderful Prime Minister, we’ll get to her in a bit. Before that though, you say the programme differs from night to night. How does that programme come together? ACC: I know you expressed before we started the interview that you had this hope that I’d met these characters in seedy bars. Unfortunately Gordon, putting together a trashy cabaret is actually a very organised process. It’s produced by Annlouise Butt, with assistant production from Carrie Alderton, and then I direct and host it. It’s a mixture of people replying to our open call, or us getting on contacts which acts we find in the Fringe brochure or from shows we have seen. Some acts in the Fringe say that the spaces they get to perform in can be quite sterile (lecture theatres that are re-appropriated, or bunker-type spaces) and they come to us and say that this is the kind of space that they want to perform in, a social space distinct from the more typical theatre conventions. We’re hosted by Paradise Palms which is a lovely venue, and has much more of a cabaret feel. I always imagine cabaret is first and foremost a night out where performance happens amidst the confusion of drinks and partying. A lot of the performers really gel with that vibe. GD: I think the Fringe theatre format could potentially be quite limiting to some of those performances. In the case of Pollyanna at Paradise Palms, the host and the variety add to the already spectacular environment that the audience create. From a people-watching perspective, it’s great, because other people in the crowd are just amazing too. You said the programme can be quite flexible to people coming to Edinburgh for a month that sees the city transform into such a nexus for a whole variety of different performers. Either people are traveling through with a show; or up to see a show; or with friends; it makes sense to work with that. Obviously, the programme changes each night depending on who is in town and which works sit well with each other, but one thing that recurs each night is a segment called Theresa: the Musical. Maybe you can talk a little about the musical format in the context of the programme you put together. ACC: Well last year we had Brexit: The Musical… and of all the people to rip us off, this year a lawyer has produced Brexit the Musical! GD: I know! I totally I saw posters for that this year and I thought ‘maybe Angel’s trying something different this year.’ [both laugh] ACC: It’s written by someone called Chris Bryant, who’s a Brexit lawyer. I’m sure the musical is very good, and I’m definitely wanting to see it. In the context of Pollyanna, the musical segment we create almost became a little bit of a joke. It feels like all the shows that are on at the Fringe are Northern male comedians and things like ‘x’ the Musical, so I thought I’d put on Brexit: the Musical last year. I mean its not really a musical, its just a couple of songs that I have changed some of the lyrics too... And that’s what counts as a musical in Pollyanna! I don’t want to give away too many spoilers for this year’s Theresa: the Musical, but we get people on the stage to play the parts of political characters. There’s some quite stupid things related to political events that involve things going in the various genitalia of Pollyfilla. The idea of that, is firstly that it’s stupid and it’s funny, but it’s also an opportunity to be cathartic. We’re playing with political events and allowing them to be a communal release. It certainly sits within the history of queer performance which is so much about the body, and sites of pleasure in the body becoming more playful and not hidden or frightening. I think there’s something in this idea of queer performance that is silly and fun, but it’s also something that clearly has a politics in it. Having a space where people can get together and enjoy slightly ridiculous queer, trashy things alongside trying to release about our communal, political strife, is really important. GD: I get the feeling during it, that the audience feel like they’re communally subverting the system– seeing the same anxieties in other people’s faces, and having a platform to let it all out. There was a group in America during the Great Depression, that identified with this method called The Living Newspaper. The only way they could deal with their economic and political fear was by playing out stories in the newspaper everyday in an attempt to digest the absolute tragedy they were living through. There’s a lot of parallels between that and this kind of communal, queer, political performance that drag and queer artists are able to approach with such comedy. Let’s talk for a moment about the host, Pollyfilla. What is the origin of Pollyfilla, how did Pollyfilla come to be? ACC: In the beginning, the show, Pollyanna started out as quite different to what it is now. I set it up with another artist Emma Finn, and it was a monthly performance night where people could try out what they wanted. The character then was not as together as it is now, it wasn’t Pollyfilla. Things snowballed, and we ended up being hosted by Paradise Palms, a venue with an already inbuilt, cabaret feel. We decided to call our night a cabaret, because we liked the mixture of acts, the word conjured. I hadn’t come up with a name, and I thought for a long time about it. My original idea was to be called Fridge and I sometimes regret that, because Fridge is a really great name. And then I came up with this other name, Pollyfilla, something that represented the filler for the night, filling the gaps in between the performances. It’s sort of suggestive, and it’s also just sort of practical – I like this contrast. This was really important to the feeling of the night, we love hosting performers who have characters with an interesting concept and stories to tell. And I think there should be some element of politics to each act too, whether it’s explicit in stating it’s politics, or by discomforting the norms of gender or sexuality. My character is not really a she or a he, it’s just a drag creature, associated with a different kind of drag, a creature who’s been ‘dragged through the dirt’ just before the show, here for you. GD: Of course, one element of drag that has been popularised through television is the lip-sync. The night I was there was a lip-sync extravaganza – It’s not something I see a lot of in Edinburgh outside the Fringe. ACC: About two years ago, there was just Dive Cabaret who were doing stuff, and then Pollyanna started, and then Such a Drag started. There are a few nights now, Alice Rabbit does a show once a week at CC Blooms, lots of drag stuff there. There’s definitely more things beginning, but there’s definitely still a lack. I wish sometimes that we still did our shows monthly throughout the year, but somehow it just didn’t happen. It takes a very different kind of energy to do something monthly, rather than every day for a month. They’re equally hard in different ways. GD: There’s a maintenance that needs to be in place to sustain something over that year long cycle. The endurance of Pollyanna during the Fringe is totally applaudable, and thank you so much for taking time out of that schedule to speak to me. Just to reiterate, Pollyanna takes place from Sundays - Thursdays, from 11pm at Paradise Palms. ACC: And it’s free. GD: And it’s free! Thanks Angel, ACC: Thank you.

Writer and actor Milly Thomas is best known in the theatre world for her 2016 play Clickbait and for writing an episode of Clique on BBC Three. This Fringe she is presenting two plays of her own penning: Dust at Underbelly – which she also stars in – and Brutal Cessation at Assembly. James T. Harding met her to talk about the process behind the two plays, her duty of care to the audience, and how best to support emerging, diverse writers.‘My first Fringe was in 2007,’ says Thomas, ‘and I've been coming up every year as a performer but I've never had my own writing up here before. Everyone always assumed I had. I said, "It would be nice to finally take something to the Fringe." And everyone said, "OMG really have you not yet?”‘It’s such a right of passage but also, as my dad loves to remind me, it's the single largest trade fair for our profession in the whole world – and I'd not taken my wares, as it were.’‘It never occurred to me that I was taking two until about April. I was developing them both separately. I do feel like I'm jumping in the deep end.’Thomas’s two shows are on at conflicting times so, when I met her, she hadn’t had a chance to see Brutal Cessation since previews. ‘People are wanting to have a conversation about the play but I have no idea what it looks like now.’DustDust is a play about Alice, whose body is lying on a mortuary slab. We learn she committed suicide, we learn why, and we see how the consequences of this are beyond her control - and not really what she expected.Thomas wrote and performs in Dust, but the two roles are quite separate in her mind. ‘I know when I'm an actor and the writer's in the room I never relax, ever. No matter how lovely they are, you're always thinking is this what they want?Thomas has to play multiple characters in the show, quickly switching back and forward between them. ‘When we meet Alice first, she's not a reliable narrator and it's only when you see the experiences of the others that you're able to put Alice's experiences in context.’ When rehearsals began, ‘I was suddenly very aware that I'd not done any acting in forever.’Thomas didn’t have the headspace to think about changing the script at the same time as developing her performance. ‘I feel like I'm driving a car and someone asks you to get something from the back seat. Absolutely not! I need to keep my eyes on the road or I'll crash.’Instead, Sara Joyce (Dust director) and Jules Haworth (Soho Theatre) acted as dramaturges during the week’s rehearsals. ‘Both of them have such a brilliant eye,’ said Thomas with enthusiasm. ‘We were cutting; we added nothing. (It was running at an hour and twenty…) I wasn't generating anything in the room other than performance. That was important just for my own sanity.’Dust features quite a lot of sex, post pre- and post- humous. ‘There's something about Alice being able to see these people who she thought she knew inside out, and who thought they knew her, in this position. All of the sex in the play is a moment of discovery. It's when we're at our rawest and most vulnerable.’‘I am very unapologetic for the sex in it, because it's important to me to present Alice as high functioning. Myself and so many other people exist on this plane where we're able to get up and do things every day – it doesn't effect our jobs. That's a blessing and a curse. Who's going to say Stop when you're presenting as fine? I was keen to show someone who was flawed, isn't easy to eulogise, a human being; but also someone who has wants and desires like anyone else. ‘There's the sex you enjoy because it's enjoyable, and then there's the sex that, as a young woman you feel… not that you have to endure, but there's something that's expected of you.’Brutal CessationDespite its ghostly premise, Dust is a fairly traditionally told story. Brutal Cessation is more of a concept play: a couple teeter on the verge of breaking up, violence lurks in the background, and then the scenes are repeated in reverse but with the roles reversed.‘I've wanted to do something swapping gender for a long time. In 2015 I took a case of assault to trial. What happens when you press charges is you're entered into a system – there are hundreds of you. I was referred to for the entirety of the trial and the built up to it as “the victim”. I accepted it immediately, because there's something about authority, and internalised it. But months later I thought That was scary. If I'd been a man would I have internalised that so easily?’The experience of watching Brutal can be challenging at times, because it confronts the audience with its own internalised sexism. ‘In rehearsals, something rears it's head and I think Oh my god, I thought I'd banished that from myself!’Thomas and director Bethany Pitts were keen to develop the two characters in the play as distinct individuals, rather than gender stereotypes. ‘When they swap they're playing the same characteristics,’ almost like characters without gender. ‘I wrote the play with really specific people in mind, two friends of mine who are not actors. They're not a couple. They don't even know each other. So I know who those people are.’ Then in rehearsal ‘we spent a long time in rehearsal workshopping who each of them were,’ a process which involved mood boards and much discussion of what would be on the character’s iPods. ‘Those characters have an arc and a keel. You think you can predict what they're going to do. And then it's when a character does something different that you're surprised, rather than it being haphazard.’‘The very point of the play is that it's your bodies which are talking, the body provides the context; which is terrifying really.’One of the clearest examples of this involves one of the characters trying to get the other to lick an open wound. When the woman does this to the man, it is unnerving; when the man does it to the woman, it’s horrific. ‘We've worked very hard to make sure those moments are strategic and not gratuitous.’‘In the original read-through we did a coin toss to see who played which part first. Alan [Mahon] went first playing the more aggressive character. It was hugely unbearable to the point where me and Beth nearly asked him to stop – bless Alan, he did exactly what we wanted him to do. We finished the read-through and we all felt so drained. But Beth was energised because we found something interesting to play around with.’ ‘To put that first read-through on a stage would have been irresponsible, boring, and utterly careless. I'm very aware that there's a huge duty of care to audiences with both shows, but I also don't want to shy away from reality.’Supporting New WritersAlthough Thomas has only been writing since 2013, she has completed an unusually large number of writing courses, mentoring schemes, and development initiatives. ‘I was in a unique position because I had my first play produced before I'd done any courses. I realised, Oh I know jack-shit about structure.’She is full of praise for her various tutors but ‘just the idea that someone is taking you seriously is all you need sometimes – your work and your voice are legitimate. It's someone who owes you nothing saying You're good and I believe in you.’For example, ‘I didn't own a copy of Final Draft when I got the Clique job. I remember freaking out thinking, I don't know how to use this software how am I meant to write?’Dave Evans and Bryan Elsley of Balloon Entertainment ‘were like, Chill out. We think you've got something and can bring your voice to this. They were so, so kind. I adore people who work in development – they're all as hungry and angry as me.’I asked what barriers still exist for writers like Thomas. ‘I remember seeing a woman reading the news when I was about six. I remember it like a lightening bolt – Oh! A woman can read the news! I was only little but I'd assumed men in suits ran the world. Unless you see’ other people like you doing it, where does that spark that makes you want to be a news reader in the first place come from?’‘The only reason I was able to do Dust this year is other people have spoken so candidly about their mental health and made work about it in years gone by. People have paved the way before me and gone though enormous amounts of shit so that I've gone though less.’‘It's a pass-it-on type deal.’You can see Milly Thomas in Dust at the Underbelly. Our review and the listings information are here: http://broadwaybaby.com/shows/dust/719872Brutal Cessation is running at Assembly. Our review and listings: http://broadwaybaby.com/shows/brutal-cessation/719799

Leyla Josephine is a performance artist and writer from Glasgow. She’s the former UK Spoken Word Slam Champion and her poem ‘I Think She Was a She’ went viral in 2014. This year, she brings her show Hopeless to the Edinburgh Fringe. Hopeless has been Longlisted for the Freedom of Expression Award from Amnesty International. Features Writer Carly Brown sat down with her to discuss creating a solo show, her work with refugees and how we might find hope in turbulent times.Tell us about your show.It’s a one-woman show. It’s spoken word fused with my theatre background. It’s got lots of different themes coming through it. It talks a bit about refugees, walking, travelling, about moving on with your life and moving forward. It’s also about the news, how that can make us feel really hopeless and how it’s really important that we acknowledge the suffering and the joy within life. So it’s got so much in it.Prior to Hopeless, you’ve won a lot of poetry slams and done a lot of feature sets. Is this the first solo show that you’ve created?No it’s not – my graduation piece [from The Royal Conservatoire of Scotland] was called What a fanny. It was a spoken word and theatre show I did when I graduated. But that was 2013, so quite a while ago. I did that for two nights in The Arches and then one night in York University. So it isn’t my first, but it’s definitely my first professional one.Was there anything that you learned from doing that first solo show that you brought to writing Hopeless?Yeah, I think I’ve grown up a lot and my poetry has grown up a lot. I definitely felt like that first show was kind of like: ‘Here’s all my issues. Here’s all my dramas.’ And I think Hopeless is much more considered and crafted actually. I’ve really thought about what I want the audience to feel, whereas the first one was just kind of giving everything that I had to it. The beautiful naiveté of doing your first show. That was the first time I’d written poetry as well. I think having four years to craft my practice has made it very different.One of the theatrical elements that I noticed immediately in your show was your use of props – or, prop – with the duvet. I was wondering how you came about using that as a central part of the show?I think that comes from my theatre background, knowing what an image means. The semiotics of what you see and what you read into that. I thought the duvet was a really easy way of being like, ‘I’m in my bed. I feel sad.’ That comfort that we look for. With the duvet, I had to spend a lot of time to get comfortable moving it.Someone said to me yesterday, ‘I hated how you kept going back to your bed. I just wanted you to do something.’ But that’s what it’s about. That’s how you’re meant to feel.The show weaves together autobiographical elements. One of the things that you discuss is working at a refugee camp in Athens. How did this experience impact your writing and what you wanted to get across in your show?When I went, I wasn’t thinking about writing. Quite a big theme of the show is wanting to do something so you feel like you have purpose. That complicated thing when you want to do good, but are you wanting to do good for other people? Or do you want to do good for yourself?I wrote maybe ten stories based on people I met out there. That was going to be a show at one point. But then I felt like, as a white woman, there was something really complex about me doing those stories. When I started writing Hopeless, I didn’t have any intention of putting those pieces in. But I realised that it was fundamental to my story. And I have to really trust that that was the right story to tell. I do have complicated questions like: Does that mean I’m exploiting their stories? Does that mean I can’t? But who is going to tell it? I just had to be so aware of that. It’s interesting and it’s complex. I wonder: What would they think if they saw it? But I have a friend, Amal Azzudin, who was one of the original Glasgow Girls. When she came to see it, she really loved it. That was a relief. That was almost a permission. Since that point, I’ve been able to go with it and not feel so guilty about it.Even though the show deals with difficult themes, it has a lot of moments of levity and humor as well.It has to. Otherwise people would be really upset when they left.So was it important to get the balance right?Definitely. I think it’s really important. A big part of the show is that joy is defiant. It doesn’t matter how shit things are, because there is always going to be joy. It was really important to give the audience a little bit of humour.One of the things that you grapple with in the show overall is how do we deal with things and have agency when things do feel really hopeless. What do you want to leave the audience with at the end of the show, to carry with them, if anything?I would love for them to feel hopeful. But I don’t think that I can, for everyone. I can just offer what I have and hopefully it will plant a seed somewhere. But I think admitting something is powerful. Admitting that everyone feels sad. Admitting that sometimes everyone does feel hopeless, actually that’s what connects us. That’s a really powerful thing, that people are aware they are not the only one feeling those struggles and pains. So I hope that they leave feeling a little bit more connected to the world around them.

In 2011, Neil Hilborn’s poetry slam team placed first in the US College Poetry Slam. Since then he has toured with Button Poetry and published two collections of poetry, Clatter and Our Numbered Days. Freddie Alexander met him to chat about self care, the show, Neil Hilborn – Live Poetry, and the differences between the UK and US scenes.Have you enjoyed your first Edinburgh Fringe?I’ve had so much fun. It is less overwhelming than I thought it was going to be. My show is pretty late, so I spend a lot of my day doing tourist stuff. I see occasional shows, and try not to get too worn out.You have described yourself as an introverted person. What do you do to look after yourself while on tour?I intentionally make time to sit around and watch garbage TV, or go for a walk in a part of town that I know is going to be quiet. Something in which I don’t have to have feelings, because I have feelings professionally.It is funny, usually I am by myself while on tour. In America I tour a lot of colleges, so I’m driving eight or nine hours a day by myself, which I love. However, this time I brought my friend and tour manager with me, and he is filming a travelogue that we are going to turn into a DVD. As such I have to intentionally take time to be by myself.It is just about intentionally doing things that aren’t travelling, doing a show, or drinking.Many of your fans have a strong emotional reaction to your poetry. What is your method of dealing with that?When I was a kid I did a lot of a japanese martial art called aikido. Aikido is about taking the other person’s energy and redirecting it, while applying as little of your own energy as possible. I try to do that in my own life.I know so many people have an intense visceral reaction to my poetry. I try to notice that energy, acknowledge it, thank it and the person, and move the energy somewhere new without attaching to it myself. I have heard thousands of really traumatic stories, and if I attached to each one I would die. I try to take care of myself in that way.What is the best piece of criticism you have ever received?I started doing spoken word about nine years ago. A few years into it I was on a competitive team, and we were going to the college national poetry slam. I had a coach who sat me down and said, ‘Neil, these poems are good, but I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. Cut the bullshit, say what is really going on.’Something there just clicked, and I started to write about my personal story. I then wrote about a whole load of really traumatic experiences, and shit got really dark for a year. Now I’m back in a place where I feel that I can be authentic.What would you say are the major differences between UK and US slam poetry?American spoken word is really focussed on narrative, telling a story and then unlocking the lyricism. A lot of UK spoken word does this the other way around. UK poets will open with two or three really dope lines, and unravel the narrative as the poem goes on. That is really cool.I’ve seen a Scottish group called the Loud Poets, and they do that really well. They will set up tone, give an image set, and let you figure out what the emotion is going to be for the whole poem. Then they will gradually drop in narrative pieces and settings. It is a really cool, subtle way to do poems. Most of the time I will spend the first 20 seconds saying ‘I’m sad and this is why, now here’s some good writing.’The trajectory of a spoken-word show either seems to be towards a showcase, a collection of poems, or a theatre piece with a connecting narrative. Is there one that you feel particularly drawn towards?My show is much more like a showcase. I read my poems, and between them I will do some storytelling or comedy. When I started doing spoken word and going to poetry slams, that was the first time I had ever performed. I had no performative background before poems. I’ve always loved comedy and storytellers, I guess I wanted to do that too.I think people aren’t trying to have strong feelings for an hour straight, so I try to break it up with a bit of humour and levity. I try to let people into my internal life. I’m envious of someone who can put together an hour long cohesive set, because I just can’t.I think it was Springsteen who said that ‘Artists write the same song over and over, just with different chords.’ Is there a particular story, or feeling, that you feel you keep returning to with your work?Definitely. It goes in about one or two year cycles, after I publish a new book. Looking back on those books, it is interesting to see what I was dealing with at that time.I have just finished up my next book. Looking back at it, I realised I was dealing with how to be honest in an interpersonal relationship, suicidal ideation, and what it is to travel for a living. Those are the main themes I keep writing around, trying to find what is at the centre. It is so hard to be honest with yourself.You can follow Neil Hilborn on Twitter at @neilicorn. Full listing for Neil Hilborn’s show at the Edinburgh Fringe can be found here: http://broadwaybaby.com/shows/neil-hilborn-live-poetry/722374

Underbelly Untapped Award-winner Prom Kween is a high-energy comedy musical about Matthew Crisson, the first non-binary person to win a prom queen title in a US high school. Features Editor James T. Harding met writer and actor Rebecca Humphries, winner of two Musical Comedy Awards, best known at the Fringe for her 2014 hit Dizzy Rascals.Prom Kween was inspired by another Fringe musical, How To Win Against History, which won a Bobby Award last year. Rebecca explains, ‘Last year at the Fringe I saw a lot of musicals. A lot of it was vague, sexist.’ But How To Win Against History ‘was so fantastic. That was the only one I thought, Yes, this is actually what musical theatre is all about.’Rebecca feels strongly that an audience ‘deserves better than just having musical numbers thrown at them.’ She wanted ‘to find a story that's actually worth writing about. On Facebook I found this story about Matthew – who had won prom queen about a month before. There's so many high-school genre musicals and movies that I love. (I’m thirty years old and I still love watching films about high school.)’ But ‘none of them have a centralised queer character. None of them are representing the LGBTQI community.’‘Prom Kween isn't an LGBTQI musical, in the same way I don't think How To Win Against History is: it’s a great musical about a human being. I'm this straight white girl, which a lot of these high-school movies are about, and it's like, how many problems can you actually have, you know? I didn't have that many, but I did know what it felt like to be different and to feel like nobody really understood me. That's what Prom Kween is about.’The connection with How To Win Against History goes further than mere inspiration. Its producer, Áine Flanagan, was involved in Prom Kween from the off. ‘She and I got hooked up after the Fringe because I was such a fan of her work. We went, Shall we just apply for the VAULT Festival and see what happens? And then we've got a deadline and we have to write it. Go on then. I regretted it almost instantly.’‘I underestimated how difficult it would be to write, direct and act in something. It's a very big ask and now I understand why people usually only have one job.’‘We didn't get any funding. It looked like it cost five quid, which it did; it was the most ratchet thing you've ever seen in your life, but that sort-of became its charm. Someone tweeted, It looks like it was made in someone's basement, in the best possible way. And it does, and will continue to do.’One of the most charming and memorable things about the show is that Matthew is played by four different cast members – two men, and two women. ‘Truthfully, it was a big happy accident.’ In the initial script, Matthew was played by one actor in the usual way. But one of Rebecca’s friends in the cast had to pull out for financial reasons. ‘So I had a breakdown. How could we get this on? It was two days before we started rehearsing. I went to the script… I thought, we're all going to play Matthew! I figured out [the logistics] and the more I thought about it, it doesn't make any sense for a non-binary character to be played by a guy or a girl. It should be at least two of us that alternate.’Rebecca is particularly pleased with the song Feel the Fear. ‘I feel like that song says something now about what it is to have different facets of you, whether that's as a non-binary person or as a straight person who doesn't really know who they are at the moment. Gender doesn't have to be serious, it can be fun. Regardless of their orientation, people watch a show, see someone put a hat on, and just accept – Oh, they're that character now. That goes back to the lo-fi aspect of the show.’The scratch run at VAULT Festival was clearly a success. ‘On the first night Underbelly came running up to us and said, we want to give you the Untapped Award.’ And here we are at the Fringe a few months later.Based in London, Rebecca works as an actor and writer in theatre and television. She prefers theatre ‘and I always have, because I enjoy the collaboration of it in a way that television doesn't have – unless you're a star. There are some amazing people out there, women like Phoebe Waller-Bridge. But as an actor who just plays a role, you don't have that control.’If BBC Three came crawling and begged Rebecca to do a Waller-Bridge and adapt her show for them, what would she say? ‘I don't feel Prom Kween would work on telly. We've got four people playing Matthew, running around being daft, sudden dance breaks for no apparent reason.’ She’d have to write an original pilot.‘I'm interested in theatre that is made for theatre. I don't like watching stuff on stage which is transparently someone's pilot – this is the sitcom you wish you were making, so why am I watching it on stage?‘It's not necessarily something I look down on,’ but people who aim to use theatre as a stepping stone to television are being ‘slightly insulting to people who really want to make theatre. It's using theatre as something which is easy, but if theatre it's good it's not easy. It shouldn't be easy. It should be interesting, challenging and fun. It's a form in its own right.‘I get passionate about this sort of thing because I love it. Theatre is the best. I love the Fringe so much.’You can hear Rebecca and fellow cast member Sam Swan being passionate about theatre on their podcast, Theatre Legends: https://soundcloud.com/theatrelegendsProm Kween is playing at the Underbelly. Listings information: http://broadwaybaby.com/shows/prom-kween/719745

Jack Rooke's career was launched by his 2015 Fringe meditation on loss and mourning, Good Grief, which took him on a national tour, sold out at the Soho Theatre in London, and saw him present his own BBC documentary last year. Now he's back where it all started, in Edinburgh, with another frank, honest comedy show dedicated to a friend who took his own life. Henry St Leger sits down with the writer, performer, and mental-health campaigner to talk about his latest Fringe offering, Jack Rooke: Happy Hour.Talk to me about Happy Hour. What is it? Why is it here?Well, it's not really what I thought it was going to be about. It was meant to be a continuation of grief, and how you're affected when someone, you know, [kills] themselves. But it became way more about friendship, and about life, and the importance of people who could so easily not give a shit about you.Really it's a comedy-theatre-documentary-show about male friendships, and how different they are now to how mainstream culture has portrayed them for the past few decades.And what is it about groups of young men that are misrepresented?You have these masculine stereotypes of men all functioning as one identical group. But my friendship group is made up of all these men, these young boys, with loads of different character attributes, that all come together in a way you don't see on television.I'm 23, so I'm a lot younger than a lot of writers, and this is me saying that our new generation of male friendships groups are quite different to those that are seven, eight, ten years older than us.What's changed in the way that men bond together?I don't think you're as defined by your interests, if that makes sense? I feel like friends are more coincidental now. At university, I was coming out in a very heterosexual male friendship group, across the scale from more open-minded straight guys to the real laddy types – and even they didn't give a shit that I was gay. It didn't matter. That I think is the theme of the show as well: me accepting, in quite a comical way, being gay and the ups and downs of it.And for talking about sexuality or mental health, is it getting easier for men today to be open?I definitely think it is. I'm quite outspoken on where the mental-health conversation is going. I've worked with CALM [a UK mental health charity] for about five years now, and we've had this big zeitgeist campaign for people to open up – and men are, but they're not necessarily opening up to the right people, or to people who are really aware of how to support them.We're not educating people enough on how to recognise the symptoms and behaviour patterns of depression, or how to give people a toolkit to deal with that aside from going to their GP – because those facilities aren't really there.So is culture the best way to get across the message, that education?Obviously the arts makes an impact. But only when it's put in front of the right audience. I can do this show now at the Fringe, and build its profile, but... the real power of it will be when I take it on tour in schools, and community centres, and to universities. I really want to put it front of freshers and get it out to them. And I think Happy Hour will play its part, but it's a bit misguided to think a one-person show is going to singlehandedly change the world.But didn't Good Grief change your expectations of what you could do onstage?Good Grief did so much better than I ever could have dreamed it could do. Because I'm not trained in performance or theatre – I studied journalism. It's not a natural skill for me.I've learned a lot from working with Soho Theatre – I was part of their youth education programme when I was making it – but I'm not very interested in being a really slick, superstar performance artist. I've tried to lie before in my material to make it funnier, but it doesn't work. It just means the story that I'm telling isn't convincing.Broadway Baby’s (five-star) review and full listings information: http://broadwaybaby.com/shows/jack-rooke-happy-hour/719854

The Royal Conservatoire of Scotland and The American Music Theatre Project at Northwestern University have teamed up to bring two brand-new musicals to the Fringe. Atlantic: A Scottish Story is a haunting show set on a remote Scottish island that asks the question: what if we didn’t go on the adventure? It follows Eve, a girl who didn’t follow her heart and stays where she thinks she belongs. The second show is Atlantic: America and the Great War. During WWI, a woman searches for her sister, reported missing after serving on the front line. Leaving home for the first time, she uncovers her family’s past and a secret love. Chris speaks to various people from the shows to find out more. Review and listings information for America and the Great War: http://broadwaybaby.com/shows/atlantic-america-and-the-great-war/719547 Listings information for A Scottish Story: http://broadwaybaby.com/shows/atlantic-a-scottish-story/719546

As a course leader at The International School of Storytelling, Danyah Miller can certainly spin a good yarn. Here at the Fringe, she is turning her talents to the baffling question of why we strive so desperately for perfection, often at high costs. Her one-woman show Perfectly Imperfect Women is a fabulous and diverse performance that cleverly weaves fairytales and audience involvement into fascinating journey through Danyah’s family history. Broadway Baby’s Carla van der Sluijs met Danyah to talk about the show, the art of audience inclusion, and the inclusivity of feminism.Perfection is a theme that Danyah has carefully considered for the show, and it has led her to some insightful observations. ‘It’s very interesting how many people say “I don’t want to be perfect,”’ she says, ‘and then we start unpicking it to discover that there’s lots of traits in many people that really are about wanting to show something that is as good as it can be.’How Danyah came across storytelling is a tale in itself. Having trained in drama and dance, she went on to study physical theatre at Lecoq in Paris, but found that something was missing. ‘I always felt when I was in role as an actor that [the performance] didn’t really in work in the same way as when I tell a story. A friend of mine sent me an email with the heading “I think you’d be good at this.” It was an advertisement for a storyteller required to work in a school. I applied, and it felt like coming home really.’Danyah seems to have a real knack for getting her theatregoers involved in show discussions whilst not allowing anyone to feel pressured or singled out. How does she manage this? ‘I really feel that you can’t expect people to talk’ she tells me, ‘you have to earn the right to ask people to do things, so I think it’s a lot about trust.’ Her technique of asking people to stand up or sit down in response to statements seems effective. ‘I recognise that some people might be nervous about it but I say “I’m not going to ask you individually and I’m only going to ask you yes and no questions”.’Many may be wondering whether a show titled Perfectly Imperfect Women is a feminist show. Danyah’s answer is yes. ‘It’s a story from a woman about women. For me, feminism means that we want to respect and appreciate women equally with men.’ However, the title of the show has produced some interesting debate. ‘Men in the audience tell me the title is wrong’ she explains ‘because the theme applies to men too, but I think a show can still relate to them even if it has women in the title.’Danyah first visited the Fringe in a backstage role with the National Student theatre company in 1984. However, it wasn’t until 2009, when she’d finally discovered her love of storytelling, that she returned with her own show. For a storyteller, the Fringe holds an unusual appeal in the practice of leafleting. ‘Something that I don’t do anywhere else is flyering,’ Danyah explains, ‘so I’m meeting the public all the time and asking what they’ve been to see. I like sharing stories with people, and I like hearing other people’s stories.’Look out for Danyah next time you’re walking down the Royal Mile. She’ll be the flyerer smiling in the rain.Read our (five-star) review and see performance times here: http://broadwaybaby.com/shows/perfectly-imperfect-women/723283

As part of the Edinburgh International Festival the Royal Court was invited to present a series of rehearsed readings by playwrights from Chile, China, Cuba, Lebanon, Palestine and Ukraine under the theme of New and Now. Broadway Baby’s Theatre Editor, Liam Rees, caught up with director and curator Elyse Dodgson to discuss the Royal Court’s international work, the challenges of producing said work, and the changing face of British theatre.You are the International Director at the Royal Court. It’s a very broad term, what does it involve?It was very hard to get that term. I used to be called ‘Associate Director (International)’ and then I’ve had various titles. But what I really do is I have a small department of three people and we do international play development, taking those right up to performance all over the world.And what drew you to international work in the first place?Well I’ve been at the Royal Court for 32 years. It wasn’t so much about being drawn in, it almost happened by accident. I guess I’ve always been a nomadic, internationalist soul – because my family were immigrants to the United States and then I left and came to England, so the idea of moving and thinking of things in not just one location is built into me. But basically I started out acting and then I began to teach drama and as a result of the work I did with schools and the education program [at the Royal Court] it came into our thinking that the work we were doing with young people could be done internationally and that’s really how it started.Quite a natural progression then?Yes, it was during the 1980s when the Arts Council had cut back on a lot of funding and we all had to come up with ideas about how to extend our finances really. And actually you could’ve said it’s quite cynical, you know, the idea of expanding internationally, but it very soon became something very different, totally non-profit and really about extending the work.What was your thought process when you were curating the the New and Now season at the EIF?When the British Council first talked about it, I think it was basically that we would look at work that we’d done that embodies change, conflict and societies where things were falling apart really and trying to heal them. My first temptation was a kind of greatest-hits thing, plays that really marked changes in our time, and we could’ve chosen many, really brilliant plays that people know. And then we just thought, it’s great people know those plays, but work that’s not been seen before really excited us.And where do you find all these writers, how do these relationships develop in the first place?Well it’s a very long process. I think one of the most important principles of doing this sort of work is that it’s long term and continuous and that you build up relationships over the years. Every single writer who’s here over this week [at the EIF] has been in a previous program or even currently, in the case of China, part of a program we’re running at the moment.What are some of the challenges of producing international work?I think the biggest challenge is working in translation. No one has to speak in English to take part in our programs. [You have to] find the best translation for our audiences and sometimes there isn’t one. Maybe you need to use surtitles in order to hear the language. And with some languages we’ve been more successful than others because we’ve worked with translators who are theatre practitioners.Are there any plays that you think were real standout gamechangers?Oh yes! Right from the beginning we produced Marius von Mayenburg’s Fireface which I thought was very challenging in form and he’s one of the major playwrights in Germany now. His work has been so influential on British writers. Some of the Russian work has had an incredible impact including Vassily Sigarev and Plasticine – I’m going back to the early 2000s, all his work is incredible. I think so many of our writers are now significant writers in their own countries: Juan Mayorga, Rafael Spregelburd from Argentina. I’ve mentioned only men but there are women: Anupama Chandrasekhar from India is now the writer in residence at the National Theatre. Natal’ya [Vorozhbit], whose play [Bad Roads] we’ve seen yesterday, she started working with us in 2004. So they’re relationships. We’re doing a Syrian play by Liwaa Yazji in our new season, we’ve worked with Syrian playwrights since 2006 and we’ve seen them through so many changes.Why do you feel international work is important?Well I think it gives us a perspective that we can’t get anywhere else. Many leading journalists will say that they need us, in a way, to keep those stories alive and when we started working with the actors on Natal’ya’s play on the war in Ukraine they all said, Why don’t we know about this? Why don’t we know these stories. We need to tell them.While Bad Roads is having a full-length production, what else is there in store for the International department?Well Guillermo Calderon, who’s in this week, we’re doing his new play that he’s developed with us called B and that’s in the theatre downstairs at the end of September. The Syrian play called Goats by Liwaa Yazji will also be done in the Theatre Downstairs.Usually, if I’m honest, I’m happy to have an average of one or two international plays over the course of one year, but to have three in one season is absolutely fantastic.There does seem to be a real fan-base now for international work, especially from European theatre directors. What do you think of that?Some of them are absolutely brilliant but we’re a new-writing theatre and I wonder – I’m probably going to be quite controversial – but I wonder just how political the work really is, how insightful it is. I know it’s fabulous to watch, and sometimes they can be works of genius, but they do have that ‘genius cult’ with young people following them, which is not so much about the ideas in the play but the ‘concept’. But I am just such a new-writing person, and I really love the kind of directors who have the vision to support what the writer is trying to say but can also make it exciting.For example, John Tiffany is one of our most successful directors and he’s spent the past two days working with a young Cuban writer who’s only 25 years old. He’s just finished some major productions but will just sit at the table with that writer and find out what she wants to say. And to me that’s the most glorious experience you can have between a writer and director.And finally, what do you feel are some of the greatest challenges to British theatre currently?Well I’m very old but you can’t have that attitude of ‘I’ve seen it all before’ because it’s always different each time. We’ve reached the stage where we’re asking questions about who can make theatre and who can make certain kinds of theatre. Can you write a play about Syria if you’re not Syrian? I’ve spoken to many writers outside of this country who are sort of plagued by these questions. And of course I say ‘Of course, what is a writer [to do] if not to use their own absolute empathy and imagination’ – but how you do that with integrity and depth is the huge challenge. It’s interesting because I was talking to Marius von Mayenburg and he said, in Germany, no one seems to value playwriting anymore. Everybody is sort of telling their story but they’re not sort-of permitted to tell anyone else’s story and that can be quite worrying really. There are some incredible verbatim projects I’m proud to have been a part of like Lola’s [Arias] play, MINEFIELD which is one of the best pieces of international theatre you could see. So you need both of them, it’s not either/or.

Broadway Baby’s Gordon Douglas is joined by Scotland-based theatre-maker Clare Marcie to talk about her new show What Would Kanye Do?, part of the programme at theSpace @ Jury’s Inn. Clare Marcie grew up in Aotearoa, New Zealand, and moved to the UK to study at the Royal Conservatoire of Scotland in Glasgow. Since then, she has been a prominent and supportive member of the local scene. She is most well known for her productions The Flinching, Outside Eyes, and the series of podcasts Bill & Me, a self-described ‘smorgasbord of Shakespeare geekdom’ that adventures into her nuanced relationship with the powerful historical figure. Continuing on this research into cultures of fandom, What Would Kanye Do? introduces us to the character of Marcy, a teenage girl from Christchurch, New Zealand, whose frustration and anxiety about her life, procures language through her obsession with Kanye West. In a domestic setting perched on a dinner table, Gordon and Marcie talk through: how feelings of belonging can emerge through a globalised popular culture; the similarities between the fictional character Marcy, and the cultural character of New Zealand; and the complex legacies of colonial empire. Listings information: https://tickets.edfringe.com/whats-on/what-would-kanye-do

Could virtual reality and interactive media become a staple of the Fringe programme? Housed in Assembly Rooms on George Street, FuturePlay is an artist-led technology festival that builds on last year's EDEF (Edinburgh Digital Entertainment Festival) with a greater focus on variety, fun, and integration into the city's buzzing event schedule. Having sampled some of the games, simulations, and offerings from Pixar and Cirque du Soleil, Henry St Leger sat down with the FuturePlay producer, Josh McNorton, to talk art, technology, and the future of Edinburgh Fringe.Let's start at the top. What is FuturePlay?FuturePlay is a festival about technology – specifically artists using technology. We've rebranded since last year, and stuck to the same core ethos, with the Virtual Reality Studio and Tech Hub making a reappearance. But this time we've brought it out into George Street and made it more of a publicly accessible event. More of a festival vibe, more fun, more playful. So hopefully the content and the experience people have when they go into one of our exhibits will be reflected in that too.Do you think we'll get to a point where VR will be as normal in the Fringe catalogue as theatre or comedy?I think the Fringe is a great example of how all these different art forms are melded. You have comedy with circus arts, or one-person shows with dramatic shows, which is amazing because you can see all those things in one day. And we're just trying to add another element to that. So I might step into VR for an hour, then I'm going to see a comedy show or that circus show. And in the future I think we won't think of them as such different things.And it looks like you're trying to break out of how tech exhibitions often present themselves, as showcases for particular products or wares.You're exactly right. It's entertainment first and foremost. As interactive and playful as possible.It's not really a tech exhibition, we're not promoting any particular product at all, we're not sponsored by any product companies. We have lots of different headsets and games to try. It's all in the spirit of playfulness.But why Edinburgh Fringe? Why bring tech to an arts festival?I love festivals. I think they're one of the most important things in the world. They bring people together, show people new ideas, and it does so in such a playful and collective way.Even though something like VR, for example. We have a few experiences that aren't one-on-one, but generally it's isolated. You're in a headset wandering around this world and that's great, but that to me is not really what festivals are about. Festivals are collective experiences and about interacting with lots of people and content and performances and things. So really it's trying to meld that all together.You've also brought a number of stage performances under the FuturePlay banner.Well, obviously we're connected to Assembly, and they were being sent some amazing shows that use technology or are about technology, and they also have a great knowledge of all the acts and producers who are making work out there. Last year we did have some live performances, but they were quite separate, so this year we wanted to really embed within Assembly's programme.And what are you hoping to do with FuturePlay going forward, whether that's next year or five or ten down the line?Ideally it's something we can bring to other festivals as well. Seeing where we can take the brand internationally, along with the core ethos of what we're trying to do. I think the nice thing is that it fits into any sort of festival, so we could have it be at a big outdoor festival, at Latitude or Glastonbury, or somewhere a lot more like a conference, like TED talks or something. So ideally bringing all those different formats and ideas and mediums to other festivals and events – and certainly to London as well.And to close – what are you hoping people will take away from your programme?First and foremost I hope they have fun. Because it's meant to be fun. A lot of tech-based events can be very serious. I know last year in the VR Studio there were lots of documentaries, which is amazing, but because we're out on George Street, because we're in domes, because we're in the festival environment, we do have some of that documentary and serious stuff, but I want a lot more to be part of the playfulness in the overall programme.So we want people to have fun, we want them to be entertained, and we want people to be surprised how easy it is to play some of these games that we have.And I'm not a gamer per se, but I love tactile things. I love that anyone can play the Data Duo [a two-person music synthesiser]. They'll spend half an hour playing one of those. You'll have two people who don't know each other, playing different sounds, and that to me is what the whole festival is about. So they can walk away saying Oh, I didn't know I could actually play that, I've never played a synth, I didn't know anything about VR. If that's happened, my job's been done.FuturePlay Festival runs 2-28 August. You can find more information on their shows, exhibitions, and panels at their website: https://www.assemblyfestival.com/futureplay

Glenn Chandler, creator of the legendary Taggart, has become known at the Fringe for his plays exploring different facets of gay life. This year, Lord Dismiss Us, from the 1967 novel by Michael Campbell, is amusing audiences at theSpace @ Surgeons Hall. In conversation with Broadway Baby’s James T. Harding, Glenn talks about his process of adaptation, overcoming suicidal feelings during his schooldays in Edinburgh, and the London gay scene of the 1970s.Listings (and our five-star review): http://broadwaybaby.com/shows/lord-dismiss-us/719675

Research began with a Google Doc form with a simple prompt: ‘Talk to us about virginity.’ They shared it on Facebook, and ‘in three days,’ says Wain, ‘We got over 27000 words of response.’They took those online submissions, which they now have over 300 of, and added to them a number of longer, in-person interviews with family and friends, sex-ed teachers, priests, an elderly woman who had sex with only one person in her life, and a victim of sexual assault. They gathered comments from a subreddit where people go to help each other lose their virginity, and a series of sex-ed guidelines from the US Department of Education.Film was an important source, as well, Brett says. ‘Virginity has, in the media, been portrayed comically, in The Inbetweeners, and American Pie and things. It’s always lost in the most hilarious way possible. To contrast with darker scenes, we have actors lip syncing to some of these shows.’ If you’ve never thought about Fifty Shades of Grey’s treatment of its (initially) virginal heroine, Cherry presents a hilarious opportunity.After about four months of gathering quotes, Brett and Wain turned their sources into scenes. ‘At first we just came up with moments we were quite interested in representing,’ Wain explains, ‘So we had this Reddit scene, this scene about sex education, a religious scene.’ Brett adds. ‘Once we had the first draft of the script, we took each chunk and asked “what does this scene say in a sentence?” And we did that for the entire script and asked “Does this read as a paragraph?” If it flows, we thought, that works, because we have a through line.’The show progresses rapidly through this paragraph, rarely spending more than five minutes on a scene. One moment involves a woman being manipulated into giving, and then abused for surrendering, her virginity, delivered by a member of the cast sitting cross-legged, lit largely by the faint glow of fairy lights. Those kinds of stories are important to Brett and Wain, because they’re the ones no one likes to admit to.Both directors discuss the pressure around virginity and the losing thereof, and the way it impacts young people. Brett says ‘When I lost my virginity, I was 18. I met him that day and really didn’t like him that much, but I knew if I didn’t do it then, I might not have it done by uni.’For Wain, the gossip and discussion of sex lives got to her. ‘I was at an all girl’s school. I never felt like it bothered me, but when I was about to go to uni I felt like it was a really big deal. I know now that’s quite a universal thing.’The directors say that the pressure, guilt and resentment that can surround those labeled virgin keeps them from entering their sexual lives in a way that helps them find pleasure and fulfillment. And it’s a useless label. Brett reads from his script: ‘We’ve got a nice quote. This is my mum, hilariously. “Surely not being a virgin is about having the power and knowledge and freedom to explore sexual pleasure. No one loses their virginity. You don’t lose anything. You gain experience.”'Elliot Brett was able to talk to his mum about her experiences of virginity. Surely we can start talking to each other.Cherry runs from the 9th to the 26th in the Space @ Venue 45. Check times at: http://broadwaybaby.com/shows/cherry/721729