3 Star Reviews on Broadway Baby

As has been the custom for the last few years, Frinton Summer Theatre shrugs off the confines of McGrigor Hall and closes with a musical in the Big Top near the shoreline. It’s a wonderful summer event, and this year’s choice of Guys & Dolls is a firm audience favourite.Directed by multi-award winner Janie Dee (including two Oliviers), expectations were high for this production. Unfortunately, the show fell a little flat on opening night, needing much more energy to fill such a large space, and hampered by consistent head mic problems – either switched off or too low. This is not to say that the company cannot achieve greatness during the run, but I can only review the performance I witnessed. And it was a nervy first night.There are many positives: Lenny Turner belts it out as Sky Masterson, Isabella Gervais grows into Sarah Brown after a nervous start, and Fabian Soto Pacheco makes a strong Nathan Detroit, capturing his mood swings well. Josephina Ortiz Lewis, however, is still finding her Miss Adelaide. She might benefit from a more flamboyant approach, and diction was sometimes unclear – though mic issues played their part.The ensemble works hard. Outstanding turns include Jack McCann as Nicely Nicely Johnson, who leads the show-stopping Sit Down, You’re Rocking the Boat with real verve. Yet even here the number was angled mainly towards one section of the auditorium. As the song is reprised, I felt there was a missed opportunity to reset the chairs and play it out to the whole audience. Sorcha Corcoran’s excellent set of larger-than-life dice and chips allows the action to flow, and Tracy Collier’s choreography makes good use of the space.The band is excellent, and the choir add depth and lift to the big numbers. It is in those show-stopping tunes that the energy lies – and that energy needs to infuse the rest of the production. Even allowing for a late start, at over three hours it’s a show that needs to, and surely will, pick up pace.

Venus 2.0 has an ambitious goal: to portray a complex tapestry of historical change and political evolution through dance. The performance focuses on the life of Mary Richardson, a suffragette activist turned fascist. It starts with an exposition-heavy introduction which feels slightly strained, if rather charismatically delivered, but at least explains why.In their words, "Contemporary dance and narrative clarity are not always best of friends," and with that in mind some latitude is certainly earned.The choreography is well tuned and the cast deliver it ably. There is a distinct undercurrent of emotion and flair throughout, which remains impressive. The dance itself is great, and the silhouette work occasionally employed is particularly striking. It is especially impactful during the forced feeding sequence depicting Richardson's imprisonment and hunger strike.Unfortunately, at times the performance loses its sombre tone. The depiction of Filippo Tommaso Marinetti as a comedic figure feels jarring and difficult to reconcile with the broader piece. Later, it becomes clearer that the contrast was meant to align with a contemporary figure who has inserted themselves into politics. Regrettably, this connection is not fully realised, so it feels forced rather than earned. I also struggled to connect with Mary Richardson as a character; her fall to fascism is not adequately explored, and the narrative feels rushed.The most unsettling and ultimately redeeming part of the performance are the speeches from Oswald Mosley. The bombastic gesturing and dance from a deliberately ethnic minority performer wearing a white mask, overlaid with the penultimate British fascist’s words, is arresting and troubling in an extremely well-handled episode.

As the blurb on the Edfringe site suggests, you need some pre-drinks to appreciate this one. Watch Me Die! is theatre produced with the attitude of packing a suitcase by stuffing in clothes any old how and jumping on the lid to get it shut.Written by Jake Smith, the play is a fever dream of a contemporary Wars of the Roses, combined with a bisexual version of Othello where everyone is shagging each other.The stage is taken by Miles John, playing Benedict Masters, a soldier under the command of Colonel Olivia. However, the acting/narration is supplemented by the Dead Fool Society team with animations, filmed sequences, written text, sound effects and a puppet.Giving a summary makes it appear more put together than it is. It's a ragbag of jokes – many of them aren’t funny – but the quantity makes up for the quality, so that at least one member of the audience is laughing or squeaking at any one time. (And there are a few good puns thrown in.)There’s no character depth, no proper structure, no analysis of anything. John, as Masters, and the show as a whole, have the sole aim of grabbing and entertaining the audience by any means necessary. It’s not that the fourth wall is broken, but that there don’t appear to be any walls.I can’t recommend it as theatre, but if you want a late-night show that is held together by bits of string but is eager to entertain you, then this is worth a punt.

Seattle-based Suitcase Dance Theatre returns to the Fringe with another original dance piece featuring a talented ensemble of dancers of mixed ages. pAges is presented as a series of vignettes pulled from a journal chronicling a dancer’s life – from childhood, through dance school, career, love and family, to later life and bittersweet memories. Loosely based on the experiences of director and choreographer Veronica Mendoca (who also performs), it is a compelling yet slight performance that hints at a deeper, more powerful piece yet to be staged.The cast of ten are mostly dressed in white costumes painted to make them seem like living sketches. It’s a striking visual and works well to convey that we’re watching journaled memories unfold before us. A standout moment sees some of the cast don dark flowing tops with long sleeves, used to create a cat’s cradle that entangles another dancer. It’s beautiful and sinister at the same time. Other sections, however, feel a little on the nose: three dancers are tormented by others in T-shirts labelled ‘fear’, ‘angst’ and ‘self-doubt’; another moment has a barre become literal bars to imprison a dancer. By contrast, routines left open to interpretation feel stronger. I found myself veering between intrigue and disappointment.The choreography makes good use of the small stage, although it’s a shame that the seating layout means I rarely saw the dancers’ feet, especially during the tap sequences. Dance loses something when you can’t see the feet. Still, there are many beautiful moments in pAges: the choreography is tight and dynamic, the dancers know when to be characterful and when to let movement speak, and the music choices are fabulous – I could imagine making a Spotify playlist based on this show. Criticism aside, this is a talented troupe and the beginnings of a strong production. If you’re a fan of dance that mixes classic and modern styles while telling a story that’s easy to follow, you can’t go wrong with pAges.

The composer, Huang Ruo, and director/designer Basil Twist relate four ancient Chinese myths in a hybrid of music concert and puppet drama in Book of Mountains and Seas at the Lyceum.The production has an atmosphere of ancient ritual – the resources used are spare and primal. The puppetry uses natural or ageless materials: driftwood, silk, Chinese lanterns. The musical resources are primeval – a choir of twelve and two percussionists, conducted by Miles Lallemant. The libretto (written by Ruo) is in Mandarin, but also uses invented words. This approach adds to the sensation of witnessing a mysterious, profound ritual.The overall message of the stories is mankind’s insignificance when compared to Nature. This humility is a valuable message and, in the broader context, completely true. The choir and percussionists perform with superb clarity and control. The puppetry effects are gorgeous and striking: for example, the sea of silk, or the giant puppet of the last tale. The lighting (designed by Ayumu ‘Poe’ Saegusa) is ingenious and highly effective – adding to the storytelling and beauty of the stage, while being discreet enough to maintain the sparse, elemental tone.The problem is the sparseness becomes wearing. The episodes go on for too long, and it’s frustrating that more is not done with the outstanding resources – the musicians, the giant puppet.Ultimately, the show falls between two stools: too varied to be hypnotic or contemplative, but not modulated enough to maintain excitement or interest.

Gaudeamus Artistic Company’s stated intention is to offer the Italian community in Scotland the means to reconnect with or discover Italian culture through theatre. Indeed, the excellent cast symbolise the cultural links between Scotland and Italy, not to mention the iconic and charming venue Valvona & Crolla, a visit being highly recommended at any time of the year. The set immediately suggests literary endeavours, with piles of books everywhere, some immediately identifiable as Italian classics.We meet Domenico Serino, Erika Boetto and Eva D’Amico (also the director), who are due to perform imminently at Edinburgh Festival Fringe. They playfully debate the merits of different ideas, in essence performing a series of vignettes, as they decide on the format upon which they will settle. Among those debated and, in some instances, discarded, are works by Venetian playwright Carlo Goldoni, the noted children’s writer Gianni Rodari, Rosso di San Secondo, Alessandro Baricco, Eduardo De Filippo, and last, but hardly least, the influential literary figure of Luigi Pirandello. Serino intermittently tries and, spoiler alert, fails to convince the others to embrace Alessandro Manzoni’s The Betrothed, derided as a “student’s nightmare”. These scenes are delivered in Italian, with English surtitles, ensuring that the array of English and Italian speakers can all enjoy the proceedings. It is a fusion of drama, comedy, physical theatre, storytelling and song. The highlight is perhaps their performance of Achille Campanile’s La Quercia Del Tasso (Tasso’s Oak), in which the many different meanings of the word ‘tasso’ blend together comically and at rapid-fire pace.As is generally the case with vignettes, some land more easily than others; however, the joy of the show lies in the cast’s charming chemistry.So why is the title No Shakespeare? The production leans into the idea that you can find the Bard everywhere at Edinburgh; but here, on the other hand, they will serve up some lesser-known Italian cultural gems. A worthy ideal indeed.But the last word lies with the message of Domenico Modugno’s Three Bandits and Three Donkeys: if someone is willing to listen, literature and art will always live on. We’re listening.

Matty Jagiello’s and Aurelio Lova’s comedy split-hour might be the gayest show at the Fringe. Quite the claim, but they may just take the coveted title – and not just because of the name.The Prolapse: The Boys Open Up is part of PBH’s Free Fringe and marks Jagiello’s and Lova’s first time at the festival. On day two of their four-day foray, there are still some initial nerves, but they quickly get us onside, which, indeed, helps the boys open up.Jagiello and Lova guide us through grim Grindr accounts, the burden of bottoming – Jagiello has a helpful sports analogy for what turns out to be an overwhelmingly straight audience to explain the concept of “tops” and “bottoms” – and “Adam fucking Sandler.”In a cosy room early in the afternoon, we’re a small crowd, but the boys have us in hysterics, earning multiple applause breaks. They each charm in their own way: Lova, on the surface, a measured storyteller who catches you off guard with a dark misdirect; Jagiello, a strutting, caustic menace who delights in painting pictures in explicit detail.The joke-per-minute rate is impressive for a debut, showing a lot of work has gone into honing the show. Some punchlines get lost, as each seems keen to stick to the script or be time-conscious. It is a credit to their writing that they get an intimate crowd erupting over content that would usually work best in an evening timeslot. It would have been nice to let the laughter die down and play with the audience a little more before rushing on to the next bit.The Prolapse is doing a criminally short run, so you only have until 17 August to catch this defiantly queer, delightfully naughty show.

In the Bushes is not so much “Nature, red in tooth and claw” as Nature, pink, with shits and giggles.Apparently, there’s a handout explaining that choreographer Léa Tirabasso’s inspirations for this show are Guy Debord’s work and Henry Gee’s critique of “human exceptionalism” (I confess I completely missed these references when I went). But it’s less bemusing to know a key theme is the animal reality that underlies human culture. The resulting show is surprisingly cheerful, warm, and funny.The dancers are like toddlers in a play group who have raided the dressing-up box. The girls giggle incessantly (and infectiously), the boys are more sensitive and nervous. They dance in sync as a group, or, increasingly as the show continues, one of them has an amusing idea which others copy. Like toddlers, they like a bit of anarchy, and they like to laugh (a lot). They like to show off to each other – and to members of the audience. Their combination of vulnerability and simple enjoyment wins the audience over from the get-go.We see a sort of random development: they discover singing and practical jokes, explore sensations such as cuddling, slapping bottoms, kissing and nudity, develop rituals for the dead, and finally learn to pretend.The performers are superb in clowning, physical theatre, dancing, and sheer energy. I can’t imagine how they can even smile for such a length of time.It’s a show full of absurdity, silliness, and fun. Weirdly, you feel there’s also a lot of truth.

Step behind the scenes into the world of dance with Bolero as it explores the painstaking, arduous backstage process of putting together a dance show.On entering the space, the dancers are already on stage, warming up in their colourful joggers and white vests. A man steps on stage, loudly talking on the phone. He’s the director of this fictional dance company.In this play-within-a-play, dark-comedy combo, audiences soon discover they are attending a rehearsal for a brand-new show. The director loudly and obnoxiously critiques the piece, giving notes and making the dancers repeat sections multiple times. His absurd requests and over-the-top commentary keep the audience laughing, even as the dancers push themselves to their limits.The routine blends acrobatics, floor work, and contemporary dance with strong partner work, all phenomenally executed by the two performers. Technically skilled and soulfully delivered, the choreography is captivating to watch. The show’s simple set design, minimal props, and straightforward storyline allow not only the dance, but its focus, to shine through.As the piece is performed several times, Bolero becomes an exploration of how music transforms movement. From metallic tones to primal percussion, the same choreography feels entirely different with each iteration. Layered with the director’s evolving notes, the performance subtly shifts before the audience’s eyes. Whether these changes improve the piece is left for each viewer to decide.Beyond physical demands, Bolero examines the psychological pressures dancers face – their personal lives shaped by the demands of the company. Funny yet painful, exaggerated yet truthful, Bolero offers a revealing glimpse into the creative labour behind performance, illuminating a process often hidden in a truly imaginative and beautifully crafted work.

Sensitive and evocative, A Journey of Flight, created in Shetland, is about the migration of birds. Choreographed by Kathryn Gordon and danced by herself and Jorja Follina, it is full of birdsong, images of birds, wings and shadows, with flickering light suggesting wings.Animated film by Alison Piper of seabirds is projected on the walls and on white sheets hanging from washing lines. The material is underlay for wind turbines – a hint that blades and birds are not good friends? Sliding across the floor or leaping and dipping, the dancers suggest flight. Shirts held out become wings. Hands cross, casting shadows on the sheets, but there is nothing so unsubtle as arms flapping. The choreography is simple, the two endlessly circling the space – perhaps too simple – but it allows the audience to imagine the vast distances birds traverse.The soundscape by Jenny Sturgeon is one of the delights of the show. Birdsong recorded in Shetland, including the strange churring of storm petrels at night on Mousa, is mixed with electronic weirdness and live vocals: a song in Shetlandic, a poem by Kathleen Jamie and the traditional song Mullalyo among them, accompanied by a mountain dulcimer, a guitar and the rattling of limpet shells.Towards the end, there are voiceovers from locals about the need to leave and the need to return home. More could be made of the human parallels in the choreography itself, but there is much to recommend in this charming show.

Ontroerend Goed’s latest arrives at ZOO Southside with a disarming premise: make your audience the subject of your theatre. Turn the lens of your drama – literally – onto the people who traditionally consume it, and turn them into the source of the performance instead. It makes for a tasteful, low-pressure, audience-centred experiment with its heart in the right place.Directed by Alexander Devriendt and performed by Karolien De Bleser, Charlotte De Bruyne, Patricia Kargbo and Leonore Spee, Thanks for Being Here trains a roaming camera on the crowd and folds the live feed into the action. Recorded messages from earlier audiences are woven through, and the quartet guides a few gentle, low-stakes moments the whole room can share. You can keep your head down if you wish; the piece doesn’t strong-arm anyone.The execution is tasteful and tidy. The video reads as portraiture rather than surveillance, and the performers handle the room with care – soft cues, clean timing, no smugness. There is a quietly lovely sequence where fragments from past audiences seem to stitch us to other nights; another finds feeling in a slow pan that becomes a group portrait. The show’s heart is unmistakably in the right place: it is trying to honour the act of gathering, and there is a fine communal spirit throughout.That said, the balance between creativity and novelty is not always right. The central conceit – “the audience is the artwork” – is clever, but the machinery around it can feel like neat packaging for a fairly slim idea. What begins as a generous invitation could, for some, slide towards gimmick: thoughtful window-dressing on a concept that doesn’t quite evolve.The piece does raise the etiquette of filming without scolding, and it nudges a room of strangers towards a brief sense of belonging. I admired that restraint. I also missed a stronger emotional arc. The closing gesture is tasteful and unforced, but I left thinking more about the polish of the method than the charge of the encounter.There is enough craft here to recommend, especially if you are curious about audience-centred work and allergic to being put on the spot. But the performance never fully escapes its own frame. It lands as a considered, well-made experience that is easier to admire and enjoy than it is to love.

It can be hard to imagine an afterlife where a punk from the 2000s and a girlie-girl from the 90s are forced into limbo together, but Perfect Dead Girls, by Elizabeth Robbins and Chelsea Grace, brings to life a dead world built on those oppositional ideas.Perfect Dead Girls follows two unnamed dead girls in their afterlife – exploring what makes them tick and the events that defined their lives. The two are complete opposites, yet form an odd friendship despite their circumstances. Robbins and Grace bring these characters to life – or death – perfectly. The world is shaped by their contrasting styles and personalities. It is a thrill to watch them in short but impactful scenes with seamless transitions between each other, keeping the audience captivated even in the gaps.While the concept is intriguing, some questions remain unanswered. The world created through character work and set design is compelling, yet the story could have been more driven. For every moment that lands like a punch to the gut, there are equally many I wished had been explored further.This is a play worth seeing. Despite areas that feel too open, the chemistry between the two actors and the imaginative world they build makes it compelling. The piece is both comical and heartbreaking in its approach, which many will appreciate.

Nowhere, Khalid Abdalla’s solo “anti-biography”, directed with cool care by Omar Elerian, maps a life across turbulent histories: from Glasgow in the 80s, to Egypt’s 2011 uprising, Britain’s “citizens of nowhere” rhetoric, and today’s war in Gaza. The form is deliberately collage-like – spoken testimony, phone footage, an old-school slide carousel, precise light and sound, bursts of movement, even a quick, creative audience task. The shifting vocabulary is as much the argument as the content: complexity doesn’t tidy up.Abdalla’s presence anchors it all – warm, lucid, principled, and generous with doubt. The design team create a handsome, nimble media environment that elevates the essay into theatre without sanding away its edges. When the threads align, the show crackles: a fervent Gaza passage where testimony and image finally run on a single emotional line; a sly physical sequence where the body says what speech can’t; and the audience-drawing beat that quietly reframes spectators as co-witnesses. These moments feel genuinely civic – poignant, resilient, now-here.Yet the collage sometimes sprawls. The piece cycles through lecture, confession and rally so frequently that focus blurs; it explains, then re-explains, as if unwilling to trust what’s already landed. A few autobiographical detours feel tangential rather than cumulative, and the 90–100 minutes without an interval begin to tell – the final third in particular would benefit from a firmer edit. The sensory hits (haze, strobe, loud sound) add atmosphere, but occasionally play as punctuation where cutting would be cleaner.The result is a compelling, intellectually alive act of witness: provocative and humane, formally rich if not uniformly tight. If you prize ambition and political clarity, you’ll feel its charge. If coherence is your north star, the overstuffing may nag.

Natalie Slaiman depicts a true-to-life mental breakdown in her one-woman show How to Escape. This dark comedy is troublingly familiar to anyone who has spent a little too much time around a campfire at a festival or who has ever got stuck in a cycle at a party they grew to regret. While the production values are a little light, there is a heart of gold here, and you will laugh nervously as much as belly chuckle.After graduating, Slaiman apparently wasn’t ready for a real-person job, so ran away to the Fringe to flyer. Having survived crowd rejection, Edinburgh’s streets and continually running into artists, she wanted one last hurrah before going into the world of work. What follows is a comedic telling of the downward spiral that ensued. Slaiman’s vocal range and clownish comedy style come together for some excellent laughs which often seem to have an edge to them, and it becomes clear something is awry early on.The show feels raw and emotionally available, but at times a little repetitive. While some voices – like the worst New York fun-aunt you can imagine – are amusing, others feel grating and misplaced. I repeatedly got the sense that the show didn’t know if it was a comedy or a dark comedy. Either could have been compelling, but trying to have both ruins the chance for either to truly grip.There’s a gnawing awareness throughout that it would be all too easy to fall into this land of make-believe and never claw your way out. It makes for a disquieting darkness which I personally feel Slaiman should lean towards.

Jenny Tian asks the sold-out room at Assembly George Square’s Studio Two if anyone has done “a big move”. No one answers at first, then Tian acknowledges that the space makes it look as if she is “about to give a boring lecture”. This elicits some titters that relax the room, so when she asks again, a few people pipe up.Tian’s “big move” has taken her from Australia to London, with the next stop being America – “I know, an unpopular opinion,” she says. While her travels only cover three countries, Jenny’s Travels also loosely refers to a “growth journey” that Tian – and, she later realises, her mum – have been on.This is a guesstimation, as the set is pretty light fare. Tian covers some of the cultural and generational differences between her and her mum, dating and Home Alone 2. There are some fun moments of physicality and a couple of sharp quips, but nothing that particularly shakes the table.It is a safe set and a fine way to spend an hour, helped by Tian’s Aussie affability. Her diciest material comes when she compares the parallels of signs of autism with “just being Chinese”. There is clearly more to be mined if Tian truly wants to break out from TikTok star to fully fledged comedian.

Wendy Houstoun has never shied away from complex subjects. There aren’t many more slippery than the theme of this show. There is sometimes ridiculous talk of a performer being “brave” – but this show is genuinely brave.Houstoun warms us up with a train-of-thought run-through of social history through the 80s and 90s. It’s very funny, and she’s very charming.Houstoun needs all her charm for the rest of the performance, where she is portrayed as the sole contestant in a gameshow called Watch it!. She gets three strikes for offences against “woke” – after that she’s cancelled.Animations and video clips punctuate the performance, along with plenty of jokes. She discusses her multiracial background; there are light-relief asides that transform into ambiguous metaphors of privilege or appropriation.There’s a powerful sequence dramatising social media’s dark undercurrent of paranoia, with the fear of hostility and the implication of physical violence.The show faces up to the anxiety of causing offence – of failing to keep up with whichever topic is the new sensitivity, or the latest nuance of language. There’s fear of youth.But does giving credence to these anxieties simply feed the hysteria of what is actually an exaggerated problem? Maybe Houstoun is turning a bit gammon? Or maybe I’m guilty of being a bit too woke?Houstoun knows she is pushing uncomfortable buttons – on a tightrope without a safety net of common agreement.The slippery nature of the topic is why it induces paranoia. I’m not entirely convinced by Houstoun’s gameshow – but isn’t that her point?

I really enjoyed Heading Into Night – it felt exactly the sort of farce that sits well at the Fringe. Daniel Passer gives an excellent performance as the principal clown in the production. He strikes just the right tone: harmless, sympathetic, and entirely watchable as he rolls through a series of increasingly bizarre situations that only ever seem to beset a sad clown on a bad day. His depiction doesn’t push too hard in any direction, keeping the character likeable and engaging.You want to root for him, and you're only too eager to find out what’s inside the many, many boxes on stage, which he rootles through with real mastery.Unfortunately, this is a very good clown in a not-quite-finished production. The clowning is great, while the routine itself feels looser – padded out in places. I also felt at least one of the other cast members could have been cut, particularly given he only plays the same riff on the guitar a couple of times. Again and again, I felt like the performance wasn’t really going anywhere – and I really wanted it to.If you’re going to commit to silence, I think you really ought to commit to it. In the final minutes, Passer speaks – and slightly undermines the persona he’s so diligently built over the past 50 minutes.All of that said, I’ll be going back to this performance in six months or a year. There are glimmers of greatness here, and it’s world-class clowning that just needs that final layer of polish to become something truly outstanding.

Tim Kenneth Kicks the Bucket is a philosophical comedy that is equal parts silly and highbrow satire in the vernacular of Whit Stillman and Dead Poets Society. In many respects, this fusion of easy, self-aware fun-poking – mainly rooted in one of the characters’ low intelligence and lack of self-awareness – and philosophically minded irony works. We are presented with three totally distinct characters: the titular Tim, a philosophy professor at Rutgers University (where much of the play’s action unfolds), and two students whose incongruous personalities drive much of the play’s conflict and comedy.Pencil, an archetypal nerd who idolises Professor Kenneth and is written expertly in the ear-splittingly privileged East Coast argot of The Secret History, does not seem like he would get along with the archetypal slacker Scooter, who, like an early Richard Linklater subject, detests education and everything about it. When Scooter pranks Tim Kenneth on the worst day he could possibly have been pranked, it is the final straw: Kenneth finds himself plummeting into a helpless existential spiral befitting a professor of philosophy. Together, Pencil and Scooter aim to rescue Professor Kenneth and, in doing so, discover things about themselves and each other.On paper, it is a tried-and-tested premise with a familiar setting and vibe, but there are moments of brilliance and authenticity sprinkled throughout this hidden gem: think The Holdovers meets Falling Down, where the power dynamics are shifted and the vulnerability of the teacher or authority figure is brought to the limelight. Tim Kenneth Kicks the Bucket poses questions about education but also makes very important points about self-perception, masculinity, and privacy, all communicated with predominantly slick dialogue, smooth direction, and some gut-wrenchingly funny gags. The audience did not stop laughing for the play’s duration. The unique personalities of the two central students were also acted with nuance and fully realised characterisation; the differences between the characters’ physicality were well observed in particular.That said, the play suffers from a typical case of losing momentum around the halfway point, once we have got to know the characters and they had decided to help their professor in the most absurd way possible. After this, what began as a tightly structured and compelling scenario devolved into far too much randomness and unfocused chaos, which, while driven by the clashing personalities of the central duo, felt far too incongruous with the style of comedy the play had established in its first half. In fact, so much of the second half seemed to come out of nowhere that the production felt more like a set of distinct sketches rather than the one-act drama the exceptional first part established.Tim Kenneth Kicks the Bucket is a play with real heart, wit, and wisdom, performed by a magnetic ensemble, but it falls victim to a loss of narrative drive and seemingly does not quite know what it wants to be.

What an absolutely brilliant production this is, surrounded as it is by the knowledge that such a wonderful experience and opportunity is being given to younger performers. Talentz is a Kent-based musical theatre company providing golden starts in theatre to young people aged 4–21, including this chance to star at the Edinburgh Fringe. These are five-star opportunities from a five-star theatre company, and we should salute their endeavours.In this production, we see the traditional story of The Wizard Of Oz (and if you don’t know it, you are banned from the Fringe) played out with elegant, colourful costumes masking minimal set and props, which seems a sensible, practical decision for a touring youth company. The show is double-cast, which is an excellent way of giving more opportunities to young people. Although this production features the Emerald cast, the lead parts are clearly matched up, and it is evident that there are many talented actors in both casts. For example, Milo Brown plays Hunk here with such great stage presence and energy that we know he will make a fine Scarecrow when the Ruby cast take to the stage. Similarly, Sully Toms handles the cameo of the Professor with plenty of colour and should portray an excellent Wizard.In this production, however, it is the Emerald cast who play out the famous story very enchantingly. The aptly named Leo Banfield gives the standout performance as the Cowardly Lion in a well-judged orange suit. His Lion is gentle, affable, lovely, and he handles both songs well, with a charming King Of The Forest. Scarlet Watson offers a very motherly Glinda, with a bubble-making machine to die for. I am secretly hoping they are on sale in the foyer. Ellie Pascall’s Dorothy has an excellent singing voice and holds the familiar tale together well in her pivotal role. The idea of a human Toto is interesting and effective in this production, where it is intelligently handled by Coco Rose. Izzie Kemp is the smiliest Scarecrow you could ever see, and the sunflower in her dungarees brilliantly captures that. Henry Pye gives us a very sorrowful Tin Man, clearly troubled by his oily squeaks. And who could blame him? Daisy Spear as the Wicked Witch and Rebecca Moreschi as the Wizard complete the list of principals, each delivering a sound performance. The wider company provides enthusiastic support, and particularly strong moments come from the apple-throwing Talking Trees and the Jitterbug dance, where the five travellers work together to great effect. The singing is strong throughout.We’re off to see the Fringe! In this production, Talentz are enriching the Fringe too, with sunny charm, gentle warmth, and a marvellous opportunity for young people.

The experience of being a girl in her 20s and living through a global pandemic is both unique and universal. Fruitcake manages to make this a true statement. While not everyone was a girl during the pandemic, everyone can find a part of themselves in this play.Fruitcake is a brand-new play by Dulcie Johnson and Tildy Poisner. They capture the weirdness of living through a global pandemic and still feeling that life needs to keep moving, as presented by five girls living in one home together. Through the ups and downs, I grew increasingly connected to these girls. Their comedic timing is brilliant, and their chemistry is off the charts. The whole play is simply a charming and fun time.The poetry interspersed throughout is as well written as the straight scenes, though it sometimes feels a little disjointed from the main portions of the play. At times, I wanted more from the scenes themselves. It does not feel as if there are many stakes for the girls, and the conflict could be stronger. While the plot did not always draw me in, the chemistry of the cast and the wittiness of the writing did. I always found it comedic, even if, just as often, the play’s drive seemed lacking.Fruitcake is worth seeing for its fun atmosphere and creative writing. It might not be the most action-filled play – but it is a worthwhile experience – especially for girls who lived through a pandemic.

Ben Jonson famously said of his contemporary that Shakespeare was “not for an age, but for all time,” and in this new piece from the Cross-Gartered Players, we see how his Illyrian characters might fare if translated to modern London.Billed as 'Twelfth Night meets The Thick of It', Yellow takes place in a shabby law firm where Malvolio is lying low after his fall from grace in the employ of Olivia (now a governmental minister). We meet plenty of recognisable characters: the young idealists, the dodgy overgrown public schoolboy, the newbie desperate to make a difference, and the damaged soul lurking in the corner – Malvolio.The piece is very well-staged in the airy Niddry Lower. If you like your Shakespeare, there are plenty of references to his life and works that will tickle your palate. And if you are of a more political bent, the machinations and moral capriciousness bowl along steadily, asking the audience to question their own ethical stability.If you are unfamiliar with the source material, it doesn’t matter. Yorgos Filippakis as ‘Mal’ conjures the reimagined awfulness of his downfall with sensitivity and sincerity, while Heli Pärna plays his confidante Rosie with a generosity that allows the bigger characters to shine. As befits a setting in the machine room for plots being laid and inductions dangerous, the writing is never tempted to create characters that are too sympathetic. We are treated to the three-dimensionality of humanity without seeking to excuse it. A brave choice, and one which reflects the original most effectively.

Produced by TuFlamenco, Flamenkids is just under an hour long and features one host, two dancers, and three musicians, all of whom work to explain the purpose behind flamenco dance and teach the audience a few moves. All the performers are highly skilled, particularly the host, who is an engaging presence throughout, helped by a microphone that ensures she can be heard over the usual chaos of an audience full of small children.The show uses a framing device, with the host reading a book about a girl named Carmen who lives in Scotland, with Spanish parents. Carmen’s love of flamenco dance inspires her to share it with her Scottish classmates. While the story is sweet, the reading takes far too long. With an audience of children mostly under the age of seven, it’s problematic that so much of the first half of the show resembles classroom story time rather than a flamenco performance. A more effective version of this production would limit the introduction of the framing device to five or ten minutes, allowing more time for the flamenco itself to take centre stage – as that is where this show truly shines.Once the performers start to teach the audience flamenco movements and rhythms, attention spans that had wandered during the first half are sharply brought back. The front of the stage quickly fills with children giving the steps their best shot. The individual performances by the talented dancers are exhilarating, the flamenco skirts beautiful to behold, and the musicians provide spirited accompaniment to the dancing. By the end of the show, the children are invited onstage to dance alongside the performers, with smiles all around. While the first section of the show is weaker, it ends strongly, and the whole production makes for a good introduction to Hispanic culture and dance.

No Milk, No Sugar drops us into a bustling cha chaan teng – a casual Hong Kong-style diner and a convenient platform for telling stories about home.Blending cinematic martial arts styles with slapstick comedy and acrobatics, this is physical theatre that wears its Hong Kong identity proudly, performed with such physical commitment you feel sore watching it.The problem with No Milk, No Sugar is that it is all foam and no coffee. The premise never develops into a meaningful throughline beyond serving a bun to a customer. The one female cast member is expediently used when someone needs to be theatrically thrown across the stage – a missed opportunity for a deeper storyline.While the chopstick swordplay and “how many bodies does it take to change a lightbulb” gag fit the diner setting, other moments feel like pet projects parachuted in – a beatboxing alien, for instance, that is neither humorous nor relevant.Taken in isolation, some set-pieces are mesmerising, such as the bubble-balancing dance that follows one fighter’s “death”. But any effort to find meaning is hurriedly undercut when the entire cast reappears in the next scene without explanation. Despite infectious enthusiasm for the craft of clowning, it is this grab-bag approach that keeps No Milk, No Sugar from landing a fully satisfying narrative.Still, as a showcase of Hong Kong’s eclectic theatre scene – part circus, part kung fu movie, part comedy sketch show – it is vibrant, athletic and impossible to watch without a grin. You just might leave wondering if the show needed a little more story, and a little less sugar rush.

Tess Letham has genius-level comic timing and a dazzling ability for the ‘just so slightly off reality’ school of clowning. She can make adjusting a prop into a comic opera in itself.The show includes the destruction of the dance styles of all contemporary female pop stars, with video clips that should make Instagram stars give up – their jobs have been demolished.The show examines the fall from grace of media star Harmony Banks. We watch her in interviews, nights out, and celebrity appearances, and are treated to a spectacularly incoherent chat-show sequence, with references to one actor’s famously unhinged interview acrobatics.We get the inevitable early 2000s ‘celebrity apology’ and Letham’s own surreally off-kilter pop songs mixed in with familiar chart hits. The lighting design is extremely well thought-out and gives a cinematic quality to the live show.The show concludes with what would be the ‘dark night of the soul’ – if Harmony Banks has a soul – as she breaks down into a final confession of emptiness.The material is extremely well executed, but there is tension between the show’s two styles of physical and narrative theatre. The parodic videos, dramatic structure, and searching monologues set expectations that aren’t met. We don’t find out what caused her fall; and ultimately, the character is a bit of a straw woman. Are media stars really so empty of thoughts and opinions they can only exist through seeing themselves on screen? If Harmony is so empty, why should I care?Harmony has great potential, and I hope she goes to a fancy wellness retreat to return as a slightly more rounded character.

Dance Base’s in-house companies cover each end of the age spectrum: LYDC takes dancers aged 14 to 21, giving them the opportunity to work with professionals, while PRIME features dancers aged 60 and over, with one aim being to challenge age stereotypes in dance. The four pieces in the show have been developed with professional choreographers.LYDC opens with Disconnect by Abby Warrilow, which builds from a soloist to a synchronised army of dancers before breaking into small groups and individuals. Do:Not by Marc Brew features dancers mirroring rapid routines while performers recite the emotional demands Gen Z must navigate, concluding with tight formations of electric dance. These pieces showcase the young performers’ energy, fluidity, confidence and self-possession.PRIME’s pieces use physical theatre to highlight individual personalities within a framework of strong group camaraderie. Ten by Robbie Synge comedically celebrates the company’s 10th anniversary, combining dance, singing, speech – and the group’s solution to an unexpected problem.The show uses clever lighting design to emphasise different groups of dancers. This is particularly effective in On The One, by Tony Mills, where a “box of light” is created to showcase solos, or where the group uses the lighting to create surreal animated shapes or architectural patterns with arms and hands.On The One finishes with up-tempo, propulsive music driving a fast-paced synchronised dance finale.The punning title Double Take is extremely fitting – the show prompts a double-take on our expectations of youth companies and of the over-60s.

With the 20th anniversary of Hurricane Katrina fast approaching (August 29), the Willow School Theatre Department of New Orleans brings a passionate and timely production about the disaster to the Edinburgh Fringe 2025. Katrina is perhaps the most famous hurricane in modern history, a tropical cyclone that swept the Gulf Coast and New Orleans, leaving devastation in its wake. Fatalities totalled 1,392, with damages estimated at $125 billion. But as much as the hurricane itself, it is the aftermath and lack of federal response that have stayed in historical and cultural memory – nowhere more so than in New Orleans.Based on collected interviews, found text, and stories, these high school performers present a detailed account not just of the hurricane – the (lack of) preparation, the damages, accounts of entrapment and isolation – but also of the events that followed. It tackles themes of classism, systemic racism, and neglect by the US government, all of which continue to shape society twenty years on.Translating oral testimonies to the stage is a tall order, and sometimes The Katrina Project rises to the challenge, showing the quality of these young performers, all of whom have inherited the Katrina legacy. At times, though, the production falls into facts and figures, losing sight of what makes its strongest moments so effective – allowing performances and individual perspectives to breathe and turn into cries for justice.This is clearly a crucial entry in the political catalogue of this year’s Fringe, and I would recommend it to anyone wishing to learn more about Katrina’s history and political context – especially around race and class in modern America – and to experience the story told by survivors, flawed though this praiseworthy production may be.

Welcome aboard this Shakespearean play/musical/physical comedy/theatre mashup. Performed by multiple National School Theatre Award winners, this inventive production comes with a pirate twist.Opening with an energetic mise-en-scène and set in the Victorian era, Much Ado About Pirates follows Jonathan, a pirate going through a career change as he leaves the Pirate King in pursuit of becoming an actor. Just to his luck, he is cast as Benedick in the navy’s adaptation of Shakespeare’s Much Ado About Nothing. Soon, he’ll be launched into the spotlight through his talent and passion for the art form.Hosted at theSpace at Niddry Street, the theatre-in-the-round approach – with audiences surrounding the stage – allows an immersive view of all 360 degrees. Performers move dynamically in and out of scenes, on and off the stage. The set-up is lively and creative, filled with fun props, wigs and a revolving door of costume changes.In true Shakespearean fashion, Much Ado About Pirates holds all the trademarks of a great Shakespearean comedy: cross-dressing, plotting, quick wit – and even a play within a play. In many ways, this meta approach condenses the multi-hour classic into a smart, music-filled, hour-long show brimming with dance routines.While the performance is in conversation with Shakespeare's play, it also makes fun of itself unapologetically. Ingeniously, the piracy storyline leans into its own chaos, becoming a sort of good-natured piracy of Shakespeare’s work – and it works brilliantly, with much self-awareness.Much Ado About Pirates is as much about a clever interpretation of Shakespeare as it is about its young and charming performance. It’s worth highlighting the impressive and invigorating delivery of the young ensemble, who perform Shakespeare’s dialogue with great lusciousness and understanding of the plot. A truly delightful viewing of emerging talent that will undoubtedly continue to dazzle audiences in the years to come.

There is a point in every child’s life where they wish to be a slithering monster or want more than anything to fly. That’s the essence of The Unlikely Friendship of Feather Boy and Tentacle Girl. It takes two contrasting fantasies and pairs them in the duo of Sidiq Ali and Vee Smith, the creators and performers of the work. Through them we explore themes of friendship, struggle, dreams and belonging.This is a show about self-acceptance and connection. It delivers beautifully. You can tell from the outset that it’s geared towards children and, as a first introduction to circus or aerial, it is masterful. There is a great deal of accessible dialogue, delivered with a childlike enthusiasm and earnestness that is quite heartening. It paints the picture of two dramatically different ideals, portrayed by two very different-looking people, and delivers the message that it’s quite all right to enjoy and aspire to anything. It lands more as a storytelling piece than upper-echelon circus.The aerial work is gorgeous, principally on Chinese pole, though it isn’t necessarily the most eye-catching. It is impressive and emphasises joyful trust between the performers. Their performance is incredibly characterful and left me feeling like I was watching two children at play. That said, it seemed slowed so a younger audience could appreciate it. Ali and Smith are veteran circus performers – I know they’re capable of something tighter and more rigorous. That said, I understand entirely why they made this creative choice. It leaves this as accessible and inspiring circus for the next generation, rather than the masterclass they are capable of. A little tightening and this could easily be a four-star – or higher – show for all.

If the phrase “Cornelia est laeta quod iam est in villa” is as engraved upon your scholastic heart as it is on mine – then this is the show for you. Even if it’s just a dim and distant memory which simultaneously conjures the heady days of stapling your index finger just for something to do, blu-tacking your fingernails, and layering Copydex on yourself just so you could peel it off – then this charming little piece is sure to tickle your humerus.For the uninitiated, Cornelia’s unbridled joy in pottering around her summer villa is a phrase from the Latin textbook Ecce Romani. This 1971 blockbuster is the rollicking read of the Cornelii family and their adventures with wolves, carriages, unruly children and senators in Ancient Rome. A reading programme designed to familiarise students with the linguistic and cultural principles of the Roman age, Ecce Romani was as much a staple of the groaning 1980s satchel as a dog-eared copy of Tricolore and a packet of Smoky Bacon. I’ve no idea whether it is still deployed as a teaching aid. All I know is that if it isn’t, today’s Latin scholars are missing out on a full appreciation of how to learn through sheer, ungilded slog. “Is that it?” one of the chirpy cast continually asks. Yes love, it is. (Was). It really was.Nostalgia, as my dad never tires of telling me, is not what it used to be. But in this affectionate and witty homage, there is much to evoke those long-lost times when our biggest worry was who we would sit by at lunch.Shoestring Theatre bring their unique brand of storytelling magic to the book – and it is a funny, well-drilled jaunt through all twenty-seven chapters. There is some innovative physical theatre, modern questioning of certain material, and clever nods to the repetitious structure of the book. The cast are bright and breezy, working extremely hard to involve and engage their audience in a performance which is aptly brought to life by the very teens that Ecce Romani was designed for.The premise is perhaps a little niche – but the execution will prove delightful even for those unaware of the original source material. The eager and enthusiastic cast are definitely worth a look and deserve a solid audience.

Three Can Keep A Secret is piece of comedy drama with a twist: there is frequent audience interaction to influence the plot, making it a cross between drama and the ‘choose your own adventure’ genre. A boys’ poker night is the setting. The host, Mason, is expecting various party guests and with his wife, Denise, safely out of town, it promises to be raucous. Sonny and Moose arrive, yet…they don’t especially seem to be cordial with one another – are they in fact friends at all? While Moose distracts Mason, Sonny murders him, the first of many plot twists. It transpires that Mason owed an unpleasant organisation a large sum of money and the others were here to collect, under cover of a poker game. However, rather unexpectedly Mason’s wife and inebriated friend Julia return, having missed their flight to Vegas, Julia eventually being bundled into an Uber. None of the five characters emerge with any great ethical credit. Mason inferentially has a gambling addiction and has brought his household to the verge of bankruptcy. Sonny is self-absorbed and unpleasant, even for a hitman. Moose, also a hitman, is having an affair with a married woman. Denise takes a string of lovers, while Julia tries to seduce a married pilot, causing them to miss their flight. The plot now ebbs and flows, as the characters seek to achieve various goals. Will they get away with murder? Who will get the money? Will the women prove to be collateral damage? A constituent component of this ebb and flow are various action freezes, with Mason asking the audience to influence the plot with votes. Yet, this is where the premise somewhat fell down on the production today, as the choices turned out to be temporary with the plot resuming a seemingly predetermined course. This may in fairness have been an exception, as there a plethora of plot decisions and shows will rarely be repeated. While the performances are also a little uneven and unlayered, the standouts being Denise and Mason, this is nonetheless an entertaining and amusing Fringe hour.

Finding a USP at the Fringe is haaard. No matter how original your brand, there will almost always be a couple of other shows queuing up to nab half your audience. But if you came to Scotland this year with your heart set on seeing a comedy harpist, you were destined to stumble across Scarlett Smith – and destined to love her.From the moment she stepped out on stage in her endearing pyjama-like boiler suit, welcoming the room into her intimate world, she captivated. This only grew once she took to her equally striking harp, deftly tapping away at a sound effects box with her feet as she launched into an opening of The Weeknd’s Blinding Lights.Smith more than earns her label of “electroacoustic harpist”, weaving in and out of genres and moods as she takes the audience on a whirlwind journey through pop and classical snippets in between anecdotes and observations. Her script is well written, striking a neat balance between music and speech, and her character is infectious and engaging – though the delivery of some lines felt a little rehearsed. Her persona leans more towards theatrical character than the relaxed, polished raconteur of most comedians, and it feels as though this is what she is striving toward. With a year on the standup circuit to sharpen her skills, Smith’s show could very well be pushing for media attention in future Fringes.The songs are perfectly chosen for fun and flair: snippets of the Jurassic Park theme, two Taylor Swift numbers (coincidentally, this reviewer’s favourite and least favourite), and a couple of earworms that will have audiences humming down the Royal Mile for days. There were a handful of big laughs, but more than anything expect to find a smile transfixed to your face for the full hour, from the saucier material through to the highbrow voting game, and capped off with the best burp I’ve ever heard from a performer.

After several years working within the National Health Service, Dr Jeannie Jones was startled to discover a shocking find from a 2019 British Medical Journal study: British people were having less sex. Could the solution be found in expensive surgeries? Perhaps more consumption of chocolate and avocados? Nope, says Jones – an unbiased education blended with unabashed sex jokes is what she will prescribe. With her own therapeutic brand of comedy, Jones comes in with a fresh perspective about the oft-feared killer of long-term relationships and stagnation within the bedroom, attending to the need for sexual intimacy and desires on separate wavelengths against a backdrop of incessant puns and body positivity.To enter Jones’ headspace, we need remind ourselves that we are all on very different respective sexual journeys, as one may on a throwaway glance feel like Aphrodisiac appeals only to a repressed middle-aged crowd. The lack of men able to find the clitoris; the elderly mother’s stern warnings that boys are only interested in one thing. It’s a familiar story, but a convincing one that is remodelled with crisper insight into the human body and its needs – bridging the gap between improved sex education and the embarrassment of messy sexual encounters. With fun anecdotes that include Anusol mishaps, painful mix-ups on the meaning of CBT, and debating whether sperm is gluten-free, Jones casts a far-reaching net that also considers the importance of self-love and care. Puns are an abundant source that Jones mines in high quantities: some she melds well into her comedic crucible whilst others end up on the slag heap (pun unintended), but her inclusion of props – with real suction-action penis pump – are a firm pleaser (also unintended) and serve her well in setting up the lengthier, almost at-times long-winded, jokes.The interactive side of the show, which instructs the audience to draw the female genitalia, is clever but not executed as smoothly as one would hope. Certainly, having the pens and paper on tables beforehand would eliminate the need to hand them out mid-show – which dents the momentum and leaves Jones to fill the awkward silence left in the wake of audience members struggling to visualise what a clitoris looks like as she cheerily reads out slang vaginal phrases as though she’s discovered Urban Dictionary. Still, the payoff is worth it in the end, with the winning entry forgoing anatomy to present a caricature of the US president that allows Jones to show off her formidable improv with a mic drop moment on pussy-grabbing.In many respects, Jones’ appreciation and impromptu communication with her audience is by far the highlight of the act – a consequence stemming from her years of helping a broad array of clients as a GP – and eclipses some of the clunkier set pieces. Double entendres are the act’s cornerstone, but sometimes reveal an uneven surface to work from, where the show’s tempo can be dislodged by the odd misfired pun. She shoots her shot on the likes of her stark criticisms of medical misogyny and porn addiction, but is she packing high calibre? Perhaps not with the blanks fired on the cringey sexual sat nav gag that almost drives the show off the road.Is Aphrodisiac a wonderfully silly piece? Oh yes indeed, as much as one would hope for in handling the delicate and oft-misunderstood realms of carnal desire, and it does this without prejudicing its larger message: that laughter in the face of our most shame-ridden subjects is truly the best medicine.

The Legend of Shanhai is based on ancient Chinese mythology and follows Beiming, a young boy who dreams of escaping the island he calls home. He embarks on an adventure with Kun – a fish who wants to be a bird (played by two actors). Together, they brave the ocean, and Beiming learns that growing up does not mean escaping his parents and home, but rather growing in wisdom and understanding of the lessons his parents have taught him and who he wants to be – a charming moral to a simple story.All the young actors are very focused and almost professional, handling any mishaps or costume malfunctions well. The show is well rehearsed, the performers’ movements are evidently practised, and their lines are learned. There are some strong voices within the cast, particularly the two actors playing Kun. The costumes also deserve mention, as the majority are striking and sparkle beneath the stage lights. However, at times it is hard to make out what the actors are saying. The theatre at C-Arts Aurora is rather large, and the actors’ lungs are small, so something in the way of a microphone would have been useful.Like many adults now working around theatre, I was once part of an amateur troupe as a child, so I can easily imagine how exciting – and perhaps intimidating – it must be to perform in front of so many. I wish these young performers all the best and hope they enjoy the rest of their time at the Edinburgh Festival Fringe.

This is a fresh take on the Dracula story, focusing on secondary characters from the original: Robert Renfield (the lunatic of the title) and Lucy Westenra (the vampire's victim). Rather than explaining their behaviour as simple “evil magic”, Lewis Mullan's fascinating play explores the psychology of the victims. Did they have personality weaknesses to exploit? Did the vampire – in this production, the Countess – arrive at the perfect moment to use their insecurities and (sexual) frustrations?Here, the role of the vampire is almost secondary. In many scenes it is unclear in what sense she is present – in the victim’s imagination, by telepathy, or physically there.Despite the unusual emphasis of the play, Dracula’s predatory character is nevertheless fully fleshed out. For example, when Renfield arrives at Dracula’s castle, we watch her probe for character weaknesses and explore ways to gain psychological dominance.The young company impresses. Lewis Mullan (actor and author) shines as Renfield. Gothic madmen can easily become one-note shouting or mere quirkiness, but Mullan always maintains the humanity beneath the lunacy.Dracula is played by Arzaneira Deepsri with an unsettling blend of sinister and sensual. Her vampire has a Bela Lugosi accent and a slight dominatrix vibe.The four roles are completed with Lucy (Elliot Shaw) – conflicted and frustrated both intellectually and sexually – and Dr Seward (Aydan Macdonald), who, as seems de rigueur in modern Dracula tales, is given the character of rather a prat.With a bit more polish, this production could compete with anybody’s.

A trampoline hangs midair above the audience, and a spring mat is laid out centre stage; the afternoon promises acrobatic entertainment. Welcome to The Ruckus, starring Canadian circus artist and clown Arielle Lauzon as Nancy, our hostess for the matinee.A little dishevelled and with rollers still in her hair, Nancy is getting ready to go out. Where? Audiences may find out – or not – as she also gets unready. Along the way, our fabulous hostess enlists the help of the audience and her four friends to make it to the night.Draped in a sparkling pink suit, Lauzon charms as Nancy, drawing the audience in and encouraging them to take part in the fun. In true pre-going-out fashion, her comedic routines involve multiple outfit changes, showcasing her physical comedy and effortless clowning. Lauzon’s high energy and determination carry the show through a whirlwind of colourful costumes.Her four friends can be likened to the Spice Girls of the circus, each with a distinct personality and talent that shines in their acts. Expect giant balloons, hula-hooping, roller skates, acrobatics, aerials and gymnastics – all met with cheers from all ages.For circus connoisseurs, The Ruckus channels an absurdist circus style – chaotic yet always in control. It exists because it is and indeed it is a joy to watch, though its storyline feels more like a loose thread than a clear arc, leaning into pure entertainment.Nevertheless, tying it all together is Nancy’s humour and favourite singer – a certain world-renowned Canadian superstar whose name remains unspoken here for the surprise. Audiences can prepare for an impromptu karaoke session to top off this wild ride.

In Who We Become Part 2: Breakfast at the Track / A Poster of the Cosmos, we find the second set of Lanford Wilson’s one-act plays, selected by New York-based theatre company Deep Flight Productions for performance at the Edinburgh Fringe this year. Admittedly, following The Moonshot Tape in this two-part series’ first instalment – especially Margaret Curry’s powerful solo turn as an abuse victim shaping the narrative of her past – is a tall order. The Moonshot Tape displays some of the greatest literary and dramatic flair of the late Pulitzer prize-winner’s deep cuts: a fiercely felt and emotionally vast piece of writing, elegantly mustered and executed by Curry, who also serves as executive producer of Deep Flight Productions.The second part of the Who We Become series is performed on alternating days to the first, on the same stage at the theSpace @ Surgeons’ Hall, with an equally minimalist approach to scenic design. In The Moonshot Tape, this stripped-back layout allowed greater emphasis on Wilson’s cutting language, enabling the words to fill the intimate space, as well as Curry’s calculated movements throughout. The benefits of minimalist staging in this second part – particularly in A Poster of the Cosmos – are less clear. There is an oppressive emphasis on stasis in this monologue’s staging, an explicit directorial decision that is initially appreciated but later, once the monologue moves between scenes, situations and interactions, feels ambivalent. There is an essential lack of clarity in A Poster of the Cosmos, which, while orbiting the central setup of an interrogation seat, could have benefited from greater movement to communicate more effectively its narrative and psychology – both of which are complex.While The Moonshot Tape contains moments of comedy despite its harrowing subject matter, A Poster of the Cosmos contains none. On the other hand, Breakfast at the Track, the other short play presented in this part of Who We Become, is packed full of absurdist circularities and meaningless repetitions that highlight – in a vaguely humorous way – the lack of meaningful feelings in the central relationship of a married couple. This, coupled with A Poster of the Cosmos, a drama about homosexuality and the Aids epidemic, creates an aggressive tonal shift across the pieces, which feels too stark to justify the pairing. Where the first part shines as an isolated one-act play, this second part does not work on the same level – as a Fringe show, but also as drama – since neither play presented here is as effective a piece of writing as The Moonshot Tape.That said, the second part contains brief glimpses of beauty, emotional nuance and genuinely terrific acting. I will be recommending Deep Flight Productions and this innovative two-part Lanford Wilson series as one of the lesser-spotted gems and welcome surprises of this year’s festival.

Los Angeles-based Eagle Rock Theatre Company has brought a distinctively different piece of theatre, billed as musical comedy, to this year’s Fringe in Daughter Daddy at Paradise in the Vault.Daddy Matt Braaten directs and is joined on stage by his 11-year-old daughter and co-writer, Lily Braaten. Together they explore the musical eras of her life so far. He sings and plays guitar; she sings and generally entertains, inviting people to join in various refrains and dances.Lily exudes confidence and speaks eloquently, having starred in over 25 Disney Princess Club episodes. She also features on the official Disney Kids YouTube channel. Matt happily strums away and we sing a jingle each time he needs to check his guitar is in tune.Daughter Daddy is a light-hearted, family-friendly musical entertainment featuring original songs as well as some of Lily’s favourites from Frozen, Matilda and Wicked. Pop tunes from Taylor Swift, Dua Lipa, Coldplay, The Proclaimers and others are included, along with a devised 007 scene featuring the famous James Bond.It’s a very relaxed, informal and delightful diversion for adults with young children aged eight and over.

Normally, if an Edinburgh Fringe show gets announced late in the game, it’s a challenge to get the word out in time. It’s a testament, then, to host and producer Paul Savage that his compilation, The Big Naked Comedy Show, added after the festival began, performed to a packed yurt – perhaps aided by the fact that he and his lineup of four comedians delivered their sets… you guessed it… in the nude.Savage is a strong and experienced host who controls the room to ensure it is respectful and supportive. He is the perfect anchorman, creating the right atmosphere for the comedians to bare all, while delivering his typically high-quality material and links.Opener Dave Chawner pulled in some decent laughs. The novel setting affords the opportunity to adapt performances for the environment, but Chawner kept his set mostly as it would have been delivered at a normal mixed-bill night.Stacey, the only female on the bill, did adapt her set, creating a fun guessing game that wouldn’t work when dressed. This really took advantage of the format and demonstrated how memorable moments can be created. She also briefly invited members of the mostly male audience to join the performers in their state of undress, but nobody had the cojones.The penultimate act was Pat Hargreaves, who started slowly but pulled the audience back onside with a funny insight into his living arrangements, followed by headliner Alex Camp. Camp got the best response with some fun, short songs on the guitar, despite being devastated at not getting an applause for his bottom.The format of the show was very ‘Ed Fringe’: bold, commercial, inventive and inclusive. All the acts were decent, but in a festival full of high-level performers willing to try things outside their comfort zone, including experienced physical comedians who are likelier to have routines with nudity already in their arsenal, we could have hoped for a stronger lineup on the day. That said, no audience will leave without a dose of nudity, and I have faith that the format can pick up steam and continue creating empowering atmospheres and memorable moments for many Fringes to come.

The setting is a Shakespearean gaol, furnished with period props. Iago sits alone in his cell. Enter the gaoler, stage left. He’s one of the Identikit minor characters that inhabit Shakespeare’s plays – usually a clown – ill-educated and a bit dim. True to type, the gaoler treats us to some decent physical clowning and a bunch of jokes that are much funnier than Shakespeare’s tend to be.The gaoler is troubled that he has no memories other than the daily routine of tending to Iago and a hazy recall of a few events from Shakespeare’s plays. And he’s very bored. He wants a purpose: a drama.The gaoler quotes Iago’s last line from Othello: “From this time forth I never will speak word.” Can the gaoler’s babbling drive Iago to such distraction that he speaks?At more than an hour, the play could benefit from a little trimming – there are moments where the material feels stretched too thin. It is obviously reminiscent of Stoppard's Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead, but it lacks the equivalent meditations on eternity, infinity, and death. On the other hand, it does feature exciting fight choreography.The actors’ accents (Skye Brandon as Iago and Joshua Beaudry as the gaoler) sometimes drift between “Shakespearean” and modern Canadian, and some of the phrases used sound jarringly contemporary. In the context of this play, these aspects are important.Interestingly, in a key area, the gaoler has greater perception than the “evil genius” Iago. We know there is going to be a denouement, but who will win?

King Arthur’s Body feels like Arthurian fan fiction brought to the stage. As anyone who has read fan fiction will tell you, that means it is hot, gay and full of political remarks. They have clearly found their audience, and the crowd lapped it up – especially the quip about JK being “She Who Must Not Be Named”.The performance imagines what might have happened if two old queens – Merlin and his owl Archimedes – were responsible for raising the once and future king Arthur. It is camp, funny and never takes itself too seriously. Arthur is played first as a mere babe and then a Gigachad (his words). Lancelot is an exuberant twink caught between bisexual urges (who hasn’t been there), while Guinevere is all sex appeal and magic.This is a very loose retelling of a small portion of the Arthurian story. It leans more towards fanfic in the way it plays like a horny tryst superimposed on recognisable characters. And that’s okay – I’m as here for the ménage à trois as anyone.Unfortunately, they are trying to fit a lot into an hour-long show, and what suffers is the interplay. Sequences feel forced, some pseudo-spiritual-sexual handwaving is a little odd, and they end up being very on the nose about what they are up to. If they cut much of the first third, they could focus on what much of the audience is clearly here to see: medieval polyamory in action.

A musical about a post-apocalyptic touring burlesque cabaret inspiring audiences to get busy with repopulating the world is certainly an original premise. With a book by Andy Colpitts and music by Michael Wookey, The Family Copoli wears its influences on its fabulously designed sleeves (costume by Ana Mocklar and Julia Schanen). There are hints of Cabaret, Moulin Rouge, and maybe even Shock Treatment, with a heavy serving of Mad Max where the grotesque sits alongside the beautiful. The real plot of the story is less about the show, leaning heavily on the familial in-fighting that drives it. The set design allows the cast to effortlessly take us from stage to backstage, as this is where the real drama is played out.The titular family is fracturing. As disagreements about setlists and casting choices grow into arguments about the morality of their mission, Justin Lee’s patriarch attempts to keep everyone in line. There are stand-out performances from Oscar Llodra as the Emcee-like Frolino, and Jack Henigan and Cece Wagner as the twins, Pickin and Grassaline.The songs are where this musical shines; there’s not a weak number in the show, from the Weimar-esque opening Old Gold to the heartfelt Triangles in Space. Unfortunately, the direction is inconsistent. The cast smoothly transition between scenes and there’s always lots of business going on in the background, but there are several moments where cast members are speaking lines upstage – sometimes while crouching and digging through suitcases and boxes – which makes dialogue difficult to hear, especially when the band is playing. I must also raise that the ending feels weak; there is an Act 3 revelation that is meant to shock, but the exact same subject matter is the punchline of a comedy number earlier in the show. It’s a mixed message, and the show ends with no real resolution.The Family Copoli is an ambitious new musical from a talented team and features an excellent cast. I hope that this show continues to develop – there’s definitely more story to tell about this complicated family dynamic, and I would love to see it.

The 11th Hater's Ball brings true chaos energy to the Fringe’s only late-night improv show, taking audience prompts and throwing them to a rotating nightly guest cast of four comedians, each brought on to hate whatever the host selects. The trick? Say the unsayable – without being racist.Darius Davies is a charismatic host who balances antagonism and humour with ease – an essential skill, given the show's premise. Something is going to get hated on.On this occasion, the show seemed to suffer slightly from a mismatch of comic styles, from Adam Greene’s dry British wit to Kate Boyle’s peppy Irish charm. Boyle, to her credit, even admitted at one point that she didn’t want to be mean – an understandable sentiment, if one that’s slightly at odds with the brief. With guest performers changing nightly, your mileage may vary. But Daniel Delby and Joey Delgarno delivered confident, hilarious sets laced with running gags and shared jokes that built steadily with the audience.The show had occasional pacing issues – likely owing to Boyle being a last-minute stand-in – and a few fumbled lighting and sound cues added some unwanted stutter.In the end, the show landed in an odd spot for me. I had a great time, but it didn’t quite earn a full four stars. If a 3.5 rating were an option, it would fit perfectly. That said, the head-to-head between Daniel Delby and Joey Delgarno alone made the ticket price worthwhile. It’s no small feat to see someone comedically defend paedophiles without losing the audience. As I said – your mileage may vary. This is not a show for the faint of heart or, in Darius’s words, “anyone with blue hair.”

A heartfelt exploration of Taiwan’s 500-year history, the intentions of Formosa Viva are deftly articulated by the exceptional dancers who bring this production to life. ‘Formosa’, meaning ‘beautiful island’, was a name first coined for the verdant island by Portuguese sailors who marvelled at the lush landscape. The name stuck and was commonly used in Western literature until the 20th century. In the context of this production, ‘Formosa’ references the complex history of Taiwan as it passes through time as a land of strategic geopolitical importance and colonial pursuit.The performance opens with the soundscape of crashing waves, and dim blue lights beam down on the ensemble dancers, who flow gently, arms wrapped around one another, mimicking the push and pull of the ocean that surrounds Taiwan. While delicate and thoughtfully rendered, it is a slow and methodical start that drags on slightly too long. From here, the piece quickly grows in pace and complexity. Split into a careful curation of energetic ensemble numbers and slower-paced solos, there has been obvious thought surrounding intention and narration through movement.Unfortunately, the performance loses some of its merit through the overuse of a distracting visual display that detracts from the talent and effectiveness of the dancers. The stage features two large projection screens at the back. While I understood the motivation for adding visual cues for audience members unfamiliar with Taiwanese history, these were relied upon too heavily and lacked imaginative flair. The decision to present a moving written body of text to explain elements of Taiwan’s historical timeline was useful, but needed to be executed differently. I found myself spending a lot of time watching the screen above my head rather than the dancers, who should have been the focal point of my attention.Formosa Viva has the potential to be an exceptional piece of performance art, and I applaud the ambitious nature of the cast and crew. While the piece does need some polishing, it is still worth seeing for the aptitude and commitment of the dancers. Likewise, it importantly gives voice to a nation failing to be recognised to the extent it deserves on the global stage.

Audiences coming for the “immersive experience” of A.I. Campfire are given a free marshmallow on a stick; alas, the flames projected onto the wall of the Harry Younger Hall (just off the Canongate) naturally lack the heat to toast them. Which is either a fundamental drawback or an ironic take on the potential limits of so-called artificial intelligence.Modestly self-described as “one of the Fringe’s first official A.I.-based shows”, A.I. Campfire is a return to humanity’s oral storytelling traditions – albeit now with an A.I. database as narrator, “born from the lost Green Men who conjure memories of Scotland’s spirits, like Selkies and Kelpies, while using a mix of software, animated classical art and film”.How varied the stories and their telling are from one performance to the next will only be clear to those attending more than once. From this individual experience, the narrator “Symbiolene” comes across as a rather crass storyteller, all too ready to underscore the moral of “her” tale at the end. Do we really need to be told that the traditional story of a Selkie, trapped in her human form by a selfish fisherman, is an environmental allegory about the dangers of taking from the sea without giving anything back? (And there was I thinking it was "about" social captivity, independence and the resilience of women.)That said, relaxing on beanbags in semi-darkness, surrounded by soothing music and narration, this is undoubtedly a gentle way to "come wind down" after a busy day on the Fringe.

Fleetwood Mac are a band that will not go away. After 50 years, their songs still haunt the charts, TikTok and the minds of millions. A key reason for this enduring success is that their music documents personal upheavals between band members – most famously the tempestuous relationship between Stevie Nicks and Lindsey Buckingham.This play is their origin story, leading up to their recruitment to the band. Written and performed by Georgie Banks and Jake Byrom, and using material from published interviews with Nicks and Buckingham, it’s an inspired idea. The period it covers includes the recording of their commercially unsuccessful album Buckingham Nicks, which, in the great tradition of Fleetwood Mac, documents their mutual love and loathing.The talent of Banks and Byrom shines throughout. The musical virtuosity of Nicks and Buckingham is a tough yardstick, but the performers’ singing and guitar playing is excellent.The play is constructed with real flair. Unlike many musician biopics, where incidents feel clumsily created to insert songs, here the songs and action fit together naturally – even inevitably.Most impressive is how the play shows the couple’s ambition as both a superpower and a curse. It drives them apart yet chains them together. Buckingham’s ambition – and related selfishness – is intolerable, yet gets things done. Nicks holds down three jobs while still finding time to record. Whenever she is broken and defeated, her first response is to sit down and write a song.They must split up, but need each other for their music. At the finale, Buckingham risks his own ambitions to help Nicks – but is this selflessness, or just another kind of selfishness?Despite some wavering accents and underdeveloped dramatic impact in a few scenes, this is a strong recommendation for fans of Fleetwood Mac – or of cursed relationships.

Lolo (Lauren O’Brien) is on stage – this is her boyfriend show… or is it?The opening depicts a conversation with a loving boyfriend. They’re making plans and this looks like the real deal. She then circles back to her beginnings and recounts her backstory.As a child, she failed to read the popularity room, effectively marginalising herself. She is far from immune to cultural influences, however, and realises that she can reposition herself socially in a more accessible vein. A new approach meets with the desired outcome as she lands a sporty boyfriend. He moves away for career progression, the first of many short-term and unfulfilling relationships.She moves in with a man who has left his wife to be with her. She soon feels trapped and guilt tripped. She self-harms – a cry for help. There is the narcissistic actor, with whom she shares a deeply unsatisfying encounter, but she is still upset when he dumps her. We learn of the yogi who manipulates and robs her.Lolo attends a love and sex addict 12-step programme, but ends up being assaulted by one of the group, who wants to pimp her out. Despite her fear and the red flags, she is sad because he seemed nice.A tendency to self-destruction now evident, she is traumatised. She finds solace in songwriting and begins to create music.Lolo displays faulty pattern recognition, seeks approval and validation, before we get to the relationship with her mother. While hopelessly naïve, she at heart wants to be loved.Her sense of self-worth gets a boost with her burgeoning performance path, hitting heights at the New York City Fringe. She now has a filter and her own voice, demonstrated in the valedictory denouement.The show is a blend of music, comedy, storytelling and character work, but at its core is O’Brien’s charming and bold performance, exposing Lolo’s flaws and soul to the world.This is no longer Lolo’s boyfriend show: it’s centred on her. In her own words: “This is exactly where I need to be”.

Jack Docherty has found a character that works for him, and he is sticking with it. After success on Scot Squad, he reprises the role of the Chief of Scotland’s Police Force in an often bumbling caricature of public service. This works reasonably well, though it does feel a little middle of the road. On the one hand, he can touch on Scottish areas that feel familiar, but he has to go so broad that it becomes the sort of comedy that would do well on a Christmas afternoon when you put the TV on for the in-laws.Everyone will get it – and that means that very few will be truly satisfied.With a performance that feels very by the numbers, Docherty does not disappoint. He knows what works and is able to get through the hour well enough. Unfortunately, he leans into jokes from Scot Squad that we have all seen before. There is little fresh about the performance, and at times it comes perilously close to dog-whistling on subjects like gender. That said, there is no sense of malice – rather, it feels like a way to please his older crowd about “wokeness gone mad” without actually saying anything unkind. Particularly about police dogs.It was an hour well enough spent, and worth seeing if you are a local with family in town.

Telling the untold story of Juana I of Castille, The Queen is Mad is an ambitious musical depicting the ever-evolving confinement and oppression of a woman seeking freedom in all its forms.Though there is a lot of ground to cover in recounting her tumultuous life, the production feels a little sluggish. At points, significant chunks of exposition, told directly by the protagonist, slow the pace, especially when paired with songs that cover much the same ground. The acting from all three performers is incredibly strong, but there are moments that feel stilted, as the dialogue leaves little room for the cast or audience to explore the unsaid.Clever use of costume and stage allows for fluid storytelling between the trio, proving the old adage of ‘small but mighty’. Vocally, it delivers – most notably Maria Coyne, who moves from jubilant to utterly sorrowful with undeniable ease.With Sondheim and SIX listed as comparable musicals, the production’s PR feels a little disconnected from the performance itself. While there is the fast-paced lyricism of Sondheim, alongside overlapping melodies, there is not the same razor-sharp quality of his much-loved work. This piece has a strong score in its own right, and the comparison may do more to hinder than help when it comes to audience expectation.The Queen is Mad is a solid work weighed down somewhat by an exposition-heavy book. With the songs able to do much of the heavy lifting, the heavy-handed first-person ‘tell’ moments dull the score’s shine. It is still an enjoyable hour with wonderfully talented performers and, with a tighter plot and more focused dialogue, could be something really special.

We all have things passed down to us. Some are inherited genetically, and others are items bequeathed. A piano often falls into the category of a burdensome gift, one that can carry a great deal of emotional baggage and necessitates finding a home for it when you’d much rather smash it up. But, oh, the guilt!Piano Smashers, at theSpace at Surgeons Hall, is a solo play featuring Rob Thompson, co-written with Rupert Page, that has moments both amusing and moving. A mother hands down her piano to her children in her will, but they really want neither the instrument nor the memories it contains. Reluctantly, they accept their fate and take what they’re given. Inspired by the plays of Tim Crouch and the theories of Peter Brook and Bertolt Brecht, this is intended as a metaphor responding to what one generation passes on to another in terms of the environment, global economics and political culture.The piece opens with Thompson delivering a couple of poor gags as a warm-up in a flamboyant, multi-coloured striped jacket. With that cast off, he begins in a softly relaxed manner to describe the set, which is an imaginary country home with three pictures in the hallway. The equally imaginary piano has to be brought in from outside, requiring the help of three members of the audience to mime its entrance.Audience participation is a key element of the show, as Thompson takes time to issue scripts to volunteers to read sections of dialogue discussing various issues. Interspersed through narrative passages, we hear the sound of pianos being smashed, far in excess of the one that was inherited. The passages relate around the central theme but never quite achieve a sense of coherence.Then, when we think it might all be over, there is a rather charming epilogue in which we are invited to reflect, in a period of silence, on an object, characteristic or quality we have inherited. Those who wish may then share their feelings with the rest of us.It’s just one more section in a rather disjointed work that nevertheless has a certain charm.

Bluebeard’s Castle is a haunting one-act chamber opera for two voices and piano, set in the atmospheric Old St Paul’s Church. Béla Bartók’s work, which premiered in Budapest in 1918 to a libretto by Béla Balázs, offers a chilling glimpse into the darkest corners of the human psyche.The plot follows Duke Bluebeard, who brings his new wife Judith to his shadowy castle, where seven locked doors conceal symbolic secrets. One by one, she opens them: a torture chamber, armoury, treasury, garden, vast domain, and a lake of tears – each stained with blood. Behind the final door stand Bluebeard’s former wives in silent horror as Judith joins them.Symbolically, the doors reveal layers of Bluebeard’s inner life: his secrets, vulnerabilities and traumas. Judith’s determination to see them all reflects the human desire for complete intimacy, while the blood-stained visions suggest the cost of knowing too much.Old St Paul’s proves an inspired venue: its soaring columns and shadows evoke the oppressive weight of Bluebeard’s castle, with a chill that seeps into the audience. James Corrigan’s baritone as Bluebeard is rich and authoritative, balancing power with vulnerability. Mezzo-soprano Catherine Backhouse as Judith moves convincingly from fierce curiosity to tragic resignation.However, Bartók’s music is best experienced with a full orchestra. Despite Lliam Paterson’s mastery at the piano, the accompaniment cannot always achieve the necessary legato and variety. Using the church organ at a key moment heightens the gothic atmosphere, so it could have been utilised more.Minimal staging leaves much to the imagination. Perhaps too much, as even the crucial seven doors are only hinted at. In the church’s resonant acoustics, the text sometimes blurs, making the plot harder to follow for newcomers. The result is beautiful, unsettling yet emotionally distant.

Artifacts dangle from a spinning wheel that sits atop a pole and dominates the stage in Exhausted Paint: The Death of Van Gogh, by experimental US playwright Justin Maxwell at theSpace@Surgeons’ Hall and is the key to the structure of the solo show, directed by Penny Cole.The opening and closing sections of the script are fixed. Between these, segments correspond to each hanging object, but they are not necessarily the same each day. The order of the passages is determined by Drew Stroud’s spin of the wheel. He then unhooks the prop and tells the related story.In his own words, what follows is a “tilt-a-whirl, unrelenting dash through the life of Vincent.” The debate surrounding the artist’s mental condition comes through not just in the show’s content but also in Stroud’s performance. At times he is sane, rational and able to explain his feelings about life, art and the people he meets. In contrast, he can seem to be in a very different world. Van Gogh experienced at least eight major episodes characterised by anxiety, memory loss, partial paralysis and hallucinations. He was frequently hospitalised and famously cut off part of his left ear after a major disagreement with fellow artist Paul Gauguin – all part of several tumultuous relationships he had with artists in the avant-garde community he helped create. The show imparts a good measure of historical material.Stroud animatedly romps through these events, also including Van Gogh’s problematic dealings with women, ranging from glamorous socialites to whores in brothels and sexually transmitted diseases. As Van Gogh wrote in an 1887 letter to his sister, “For my part, I still continually have the most impossible and highly unsuitable love affairs from which, as a rule, I emerge only with shame and disgrace.” Fortunately, he had the devotion of his brother to sustain him.There is tremendous pace and abundant energy in this show – perhaps too much at times. Moments of quieter, calmer introspection would provide more variety in delivery for a performance that currently exists at a continuously frenetic level.

According to performer Rachel McKay Steele, “Shiva for Anne Frank started as an ill-conceived, one-off bit in a comedy show in 2018." It has since evolved "into an exploration of girlhood, growing up Jewish in the American South and collective grief.”Those elements and many more are present in the show that, sometimes rather uncomfortably, wraps her own story around that of Anne Frank. On stage a cloth covers a hand mirror on the occasional table, reminding us of the rules of shiva, which, although centred around a deceased person, is actually designed to help people with the grieving process.Screen projections assist the passage of the show and the telling of Anne’s story, with visuals that include anticipated images of Anne Frank, her family and the Holocaust, but also others that illustrate her wide-ranging tangential material. Steele is at pains to point out the side of Anne that goes beyond the innocent, speculative girl in the attic keeping a diary of everyday events, highlighting passages that provide insight into her sexuality and feelings.It is the abundant other material that often feels incongruous, and in the midst of it we might well wonder how we got here. Steele’s personal story of girlhood, Bat Mitzvah, a nose job, an obsession with Paul Rudd and coming to terms with Jewish identity and bisexuality is a launch pad for diversions, of which there are many. In no particular order, we somehow manage to cover ICE raids, Springsteen, menstruation, female anatomy (illustrated), October 7th, interfaith marriage, anal sex (with more anatomical illustrations), drug-taking, chlamydia and bulimia, among many others. These cannot all be remnants of the ‘ill-conceived’ 2018 show.Although a comedian, her attempts in that area fall rather flat. There is some humour and a display of her limited tap-dancing abilities. By the end, with the Israel/Gaza situation looming large, Steele has become so emotionally involved in the material that she is holding back tears. It is certainly shiva with a difference.

At least in some earlier promotional material, The Cyclops was promoted as a new (even “hilarious”) adaptation of Homer’s Odyssey, which details the ten-year journey home by the Greek king Odysseus and his ships following the conclusion of the Trojan War. Coming upon an island, his desperate crew’s hopes of finding helpful locals and fresh supplies are smashed – literally – by a murderous one-eyed monster (the titular Cyclops) and a band of rakish immortals.At a push, this version, set in a storm-lashed public house on the Isle of Mull, at least retains the spirit of the chaotic Greek pantheon that played with the fate of Odysseus and his crew. But here, we’re talking about six estranged young men in their twenties, coming together to mark the first anniversary of the death of one of their peers. Several switches to the ancient tragedy notwithstanding, the real meat of the show lies in the unspoken secrets and truths between the six men – at least until the alcohol starts loosening tongues.Devised by the cast, it’s arguable that each of the six actors on stage – an increasing rarity in these cash-strapped times – ensures they play to their strengths: Liam McCafferty gives particular value as the emotionally explosive Chris (who also doubles as Odysseus), while no one glowers quite as effectively as Derek Coyle. Yet the rest of the cast – Harrison Burnside, James Forrest, Thomas A Ross and Charles Robertson – have impact too, under the excellent direction of Frankie Regalia.

Krista Scott gives a gushing performance as the glamorous and legendary Victorian actress and socialite Lillie Langtry in Wilde Women at Greenside @ George Street.Her solo show celebrates Oscar Wilde’s most powerful women. She dramatically enters through the theatre door wearing a stunning deep purple bustle dress. It’s 1900 and we’re in her dressing room at the Royal Lyceum Theatre, Edinburgh, where she is playing the lead in Sydney Grundy’s The Degenerates. The furniture and trinkets are redolent of the period, transporting us to a bygone age.She is awaiting the arrival of a crucial telegram from her dearest friend Oscar Wilde, who has resided in Paris since his release from Reading Gaol, having served his prison sentence for gross indecency. She has in mind a play that presents all his most illustrious female characters – Cecily, Salomé, Mrs Cheveley, Lady Windermere and, of course, Lady Bracknell – but she cannot proceed without his approval and cooperation. She sees it as an opportunity to make amends for, like the rest of society, she had distanced herself from him at the time of his arrest. She believes it will restore his reputation and, equally importantly, revive her own fading stardom.The plays are stacked on an occasional table and for the rest of the show she works her way through them, explaining the importance of the female characters, taking on their roles and performing extracts from their most important monologues. We are also given a good measure of historical context, with references to the famous theatrical names of the day, and we learn of Wilde’s importance in establishing strong, independent women as protagonists, and his influence.The play is rich in content and perhaps overflowing. Scott rattles through the performance repertoire at considerable speed, giving classic interpretations, although there are times when it has the tones of a lecture. Overall, however, it’s a wonderful opportunity to hear the great speeches and revel in the world of Wilde.

Some German Jews managed to escape the Nazis. Clare Fraenkel’s grandfather Heinz was one of them.Heinz Fraenkel was at a Berlin cinema on 27 February 1933. This proved to be a momentous night historically, as the Nazis burned down the Reichstag, effectively bulldozing German democracy a mere four weeks after Hitler had come to power. While the second world war was still some time off, persecution was already rife in Germany. The film he went to see was interrupted by stormtroopers, complaining about the heritage of one of the actors. Later, at a party, a well-wisher tipped him off that the Gestapo awaited his return to his apartment, advising him to flee immediately for Paris. Clearly blessed with strong instincts for self-preservation, he carried his passport and simply boarded the night train to Paris, and onward to England. He had his German citizenship revoked by the Nazis.England was not entirely a safe haven. As the Nazis conquered much of Europe, the UK narrowly avoided the same fate. As a Jew and a journalist, Heinz would have been a marked man. The British government interned many German nationals in what were effectively concentration camps, Heinz duly swept up as an “enemy alien”. He was relatively fortunate to be placed on the Isle of Man, rather than running the U-boat gauntlet of being transported to Australia.After the war ended, he returned to Berlin as a war correspondent, only to be arrested in Soviet-controlled East Berlin. Upon release, he settled back in the UK, raising a family – which brings us to Clare’s part of the story.Despite being born and bred in the UK, Clare feels a disconnect in the wake of the Brexit vote. It has created a jarring sense of loss of roots. She and her brother decide to apply for German citizenship. As part of post-Nazi restitution, Article 116 II of the German legal system permits citizenship for those who lost it under Nazi persecution, and as direct grandchildren this permission is inherited. The revocation of citizenship is, of course, chillingly echoed in today’s geopolitical landscape.Clare is an engaging and likeable performer, weaving storytelling, shadowplay and song elegantly. Some of the staging and characterisation choices did not entirely land; nonetheless, this is an interesting insight into our recent history.Why did Heinz wait until the end of the party before fleeing to Paris, every second potentially crucial to escape? Like his granddaughter, perhaps he wanted to take control of his own path.

There's no shortage of shows that tackle the plight of soldiers sent to the front to fight for their country, and Michael Hughes found his niche in The Last Bantam at Greenside @ George Street.Patrick Michael Wolfe, a teacher from Dublin, made many attempts to join the army at recruiting offices in Ireland and England, but was always rejected because he was below the regulation height. His motive for enlisting was to secure Irish Home Rule, a promise that was made to Irish recruits who joined up. He heard that a unique regiment had been formed by Alfred Bigland, the MP for Birkenhead, Cheshire. Bigland believed that shorter healthy men, many of whom worked in mines, could make a valuable contribution to the war effort. He wrote to the Secretary of State for War, Lord Kitchener, who agreed to the idea but refused to fund it. Undeterred, he formed Bigland's Birkenhead Bantams, who took the aggressive fowl as their emblem and later became 15th Battalion, 1st Birkenhead, The Cheshire Regiment. The 30,000 men were all between 4’10’’ and 5’3’’ (147–160 cm).Clad in an authentic replica uniform and bustling with personal equipment, Hughes tells the remarkable story of these men and highlights the contribution of Irish recruits to the war effort and the attitudes they encountered among the ranks. It is a story of patriotism, prejudice, courage and betrayal, the action ranging from the city of Dublin to the horrors of the Western Front, with the Easter Rising carefully noted.Handling a topic that might easily become heavy, Hughes ensures there are light moments, with humorous tales and even a tune or two within the narrative of war, all delivered in the lyrical tones of his homeland.The show is for anyone who enjoys a well-told story, and even more so for those with an interest in WWI history who want to understand it from a personal perspective.

Don’t be put off by the three-star rating – Annmarie Cullen’s vulnerable one-woman show may not be for everyone, but it soars when it hits the high notes. Remember That Time? A Musical begins with Annmarie standing in El Prat airport in Barcelona – a one-way ticket to Dublin in her hand. Having recently been broken up with by her wife, she is returning to her hometown after living abroad in LA and Spain for 25 years. This story about starting over doesn’t quite emerge unscathed in its attempt to blend humour and sincerity, but for Annmarie’s crystal-clear voice and songwriting ability alone, it is well worth a watch.Remember That Time? premiered at the International Dublin Gay Theatre Festival in 2024, where it won Best Performance – and it’s no wonder. Annmarie has written for iCarly, Drake and Josh and the Twilight film series, and her songwriting credentials shine through in this feelgood one-woman musical. Combining Patti Smith’s rawness with the vulnerable singer-songwriter style of Taylor Swift, you should prepare for goosebumps when she reaches the falsetto.The script is delivered in a constant Disney Channel-style voiceover, complete with pauses and punchlines that feel oddly reminiscent of Anthony Bourdain. The narrative style is fun but doesn’t always match up with the show’s raw vulnerability, and you feel somewhat relieved when Annmarie steps away from the mic and speaks more frankly to the audience. The story also tries a little too hard to package itself into a tidy success-story arc, and its LA-tinged sincerity feels slightly out of place at the Edinburgh Fringe. Annmarie talks about hiring a mental fitness trainer and shows weight-loss pictures without the heavy dose of self-satire one might expect at the festival. But Remember That Time? isn’t trying to be a wry, self-deprecating comedy set – it is a retrospective and heartwarming story about one woman redefining success and finding herself. In this respect, it does exactly what it says on the tin – a perfect pre-lunch show for any fans of Eat, Pray, Love.The minimal staging suits the frank intimacy of Remember That Time? and MTV-style projected footage of Saucy Monky playing live transports you straight to their early 2000s heyday. However, the show’s multimedia experimentation isn’t always so effective. Annmarie’s mocked-up Zoom duets, featuring cameos from Naimee Coleman and comedian Gearóid Farrelly, could be humorously gimmicky but leave the audience uncertain whether to laugh or try to keep a straight face. If feelgood musicals and multimedia experimentation turn you off, this might not be the show for you – but fans of high-quality confessional songwriting and early 00s indie rock, or simply anyone going through a crisis in life, are sure to enjoy this one-woman musical.

It’s always a pleasure to see what bonkers piece of theatre Offie-nominated Square Pegs – Macready Theatre Young Actors’ Company – will come up with next. They’re at C Arts Aquila again, this time with 8-bit Dream, directed by Tim Coker and written by Ben Grant, a co-artistic director at Electrick Village Theatre Company, who also directs at the Identity School of Acting.This year’s show takes a sideways look at modern culture in an absurd and quirky comedy packed with physicality, movement sequences and a good measure of sound and music. It takes us back to an analogue age when telephones had wires and handsets, and television had only a few channels. In a modern world where so much is fake, their fast-paced, fun-filled storytelling plies us with time-travelling tales of nostalgia and a search for meaning. The cast look spectacular in their uniforms of brilliant white dungarees and vivid plain T-shirts in three colours – orange, blue and yellow – divided between the troupe.This year’s company comprises: Amelia Barton; Toby Davies; Daisy Donne; Celia Duffy; Elsa Melia; Maggie Poszewiecka; Lily-Rose Pitcher; Albie Tuckwell; and Billy Wright-Evans, with movement by Ellen Finlay. The ensemble includes artists from Poland, the Netherlands, Ireland and the UK. Regulars from previous years have now moved on, but this new group continues the tradition of providing sparkling entertainment, although this year’s offering is less crazy than usual.It still makes for a fun-filled 45 minutes, and it’s always great to see such an enthusiastic and well-rehearsed group of young people making energetic theatre – and clearly enjoying every minute of it.

The social science of economics is not widely understood and is largely underappreciated. It examines macro decision-making – such as interest rates – and micro – for instance, at what price point a consumer may switch from high street to supermarket-brand butter. Ever wonder how a local authority decides whether to install a streetlight? Chances are, there’s been a study using economic data; the Value of a Statistical Life is frequently employed, giving rise to the idea of an economic value assigned to human life.All of which brings us to Pique Theatre’s Gross Domestic Product (GDP).GDP, incidentally, is one measure of national economic activity… so why is there a man in a suit tied to an office chair with a hood over his head?Finlay (Aker Okoye) has been abducted and is now in a UK government office. A young civil servant, Rodney (Ioannis Fanis), enters – but he’s the antithesis of threatening, in fact proving to be rather accommodating. The arrival of his boss, Aisling (Emdiane Smith), heightens his anxiety and raises the stakes.The civil service has a supercomputer, UGEN, that can allegedly calculate enhancements to GDP from micro events. In this case, GDP would increase by 10% if Finlay were to commit suicide – and the pair cajole him to play ball.What follows is a series of events over a number of days, during which the situations of all three characters deteriorate as UGEN delivers fresh commands.The influences on Gross Domestic Product have many political, economic and literary roots: Stalin’s Five Year Plan, AI economic modelling, the Post Office scandal, Nazi Germany, Brexit, Black Mirror and Big Brother – both the novel and the reality television show – to name a few.While at times an absurdist piece of new black comedy writing, the smorgasbord of ideas and twists proves jarring, and the demand to suspend disbelief becomes too onerous. The writing and directing could use rework. The performances are largely promising, though, with Smith’s composure being a highlight.However, the overriding message of the production is to signpost human indifference to violence – which, sadly, never seems to go out of fashion.

Little Shop of Horrors is a true classic of musical theatre – making it hard to decide whether to see it or not. This production makes that a harder question to answer. While the wheel does not need to be reinvented every time a theatre stages Little Shop of Horrors, there are some expectations of the show that were – and were not – met.Rhys Crawford as Seymour blew me away from his first appearance on stage. He was certainly a standout performer and one of the best parts of the whole production. From vocal quality to physical performance, he had me from the beginning. While the rest of the cast and ensemble held their own, I did not feel as gripped by their performances as I was by Crawford. Additionally, it’s worth noting that two actors play Seymour across the run – creating a whole new viewing experience depending on which show you attend.Technical theatre is an integral part of any production – especially this one. While the Audrey II puppet had me feeling like I was in the same room as a man-eating plant, little else did. There were several things that stuck out – odd costuming, makeup choices and awkward blackouts. These strange elements, mixed with the power of the puppet, made for a mixed viewing experience.Ultimately, this production has its ups and downs – like any show might. If Little Shop of Horrors is one of your favourite musicals, this is a production worth seeing for Crawford’s performance alone. But if it’s a show you’re not especially drawn to, this one might be one to miss.

Chicago-based Orchard Theatre Company makes its Fringe debut with an intense exploration of ethnic and religious identity in The Lost Priest at theSpace Surgeons' Hall. The show is jointly directed by Julia Grace Kelley and Gabe Seplow, who also serves as the writer and performer of this solo journey.Gabe approaches the table and lights the Shabbat candle. "Baruch atah Adonai, Eloheinu Melech ha-olam, asher kid'shanu b'mitzvotav v'tzivanu l'hadlik ner shel Shabbat." They speak the language, were brought up in the tradition, though somehow managed to talk their way out of their bar mitzvah. The questioning emerged even when they were a child, and as the years passed, it became more critical, more central to their existence, and more profound. They became increasingly aware of the complex situations in which Jews have existed throughout history—beneficiaries of the sympathy that followed the Holocaust, who now have leaders in a land where their ancestors once lived, leading a genocidal Zionist state.Seplow gives a tormented, anguished performance through fragmented reflections, grappling with familial history, the weight of antisemitism, the search for meaning in religious rituals that once felt familiar, and a conflicted relationship with their heritage. Yet there is humour within all that soul-searching. As such, the play becomes an agonised meditation on the complexities of identity and the longing for connection.Though not officially a work in progress, it is, like so many Fringe shows, a piece with considerable potential for further development, yet one that is already a rewarding drama.

The newly written Thin Walls: Men(tal) Health comes from the theatre class of Wabash College Professor Heidi Winters Vogel, in Crawfordsville, Indiana. The project began in January, and all aspects of its devising and production have consumed her students through to its opening at Greenside @ George Street.The class – Sean Bledsoe, Eamon Colglazier, Alejandro Cruz, Brody Frey, Tyler Horton, Dane Market, Preston Parker, Alex Schmidt, Gabrien Smith and Carson Wirtz – all contributed to the writing, and each has a part in the end product, including stage manager Xavier Cienfuegos. They chose the title to emphasise the work’s central theme: that men are often separated from each other by only a thin veneer of masculinity, which they use to hide the choices they make in their lives.Speaking about the work, Professor Vogel says the themes emerged from the students’ own life experiences. “They are experimenting with what a new masculinity might look like,” she said. “Through devised performances, this show unearths the pressures, contradictions, and vulnerabilities that shape the male experience … asking men if they are willing to be vulnerable and honest, and enter relationships in a less combative way.” And vulnerability is exactly what the students have exposed themselves to – not only in opening up, but in pushing themselves to create and perform, as only a few had experience on stage before this project.The exploration of cultural masculinity is set in the context of the relationship between three brothers immediately after their stereotypically masculine father has died, interwoven with aspects of college life that range over issues of depression, loneliness, peer pressure and violence.Thin Walls: Men(tal) Health is a classic piece of student ensemble theatre, featuring a wide range of performance abilities.

For those who like their burlesque queer, chaotic and dappled in green lighting, Swamplesque delivers. Unofficial and unapproved it may be, but this Shrek-inspired fever dream is now in its third year at the Fringe – and if the raucous, packed-out Assembly Hall crowd is anything to go by, its cult status is well and truly locked in.Cut-price Shrek is the show’s centrepiece, smeared in green facepaint, gurning and rollicking around the stage in varying degrees of undress, alongside a tattooed Lord Farquaad, vocally talented Fiona and impeccably dressed drag Dragon.Shrek’s graceful solo choreography is often undercut by salacious slut drops and whirling nipple tassels, earning hollered hysteria from the crowd. Taking turns, the cast mimes along to movie soundbites before erupting into semi-relevant pop hits – some mimed, some mic-ed – all featuring a fair amount of strutting, stripping and gyrating from scene to scene.Some transitions are clunky, with recorded soundbites butting awkwardly into Top 40 bangers, but moments of inspired nonsense make for a highly entertaining evening. The Gingerbread Man’s gumdrop tease, backed by the Pussycat Dolls’ Buttons, is a personal highlight, while the Mirror Man’s aerial rope work is a dazzling treat, even if it serves more as shiny filler than theatrical storytelling.The show’s commitment to queer joy, body confidence and all-out expression is where its real heart lies. There is something undeniably powerful about the whole messy package. Still, after being urged by Shrek to fuck Trump and free Palestine, you realise Swamplesque wants to be more than a drag-strip spoof. Whether it earns its political mic drop moment is up for debate.Having upgraded to a venue as massive as Assembly Hall for this year’s Fringe, it’s hard not to wonder whether a smaller, sweatier space might better suit the show’s swampy weirdness. But despite any misgivings, its current popularity cannot be contained.Is Swamplesque getting a little stagnant? Maybe. But trying to critique it feels a bit like protesting nudity at a Magic Mike concert. It’s not exactly deep – but I’m probably the only one taking notes.

A classical piano awaits us. And… a feather coat. The stage alludes to something left field, and we are not disappointed as Valentina Tóth sweeps the stage with a shock of red hair.She says that she is “very good at playing the piano.” Well, in the words of Muhammad Ali, it’s not bragging if you can back it up. She is, in fact, a former child prodigy. However, Fatal Flower is not a classical concert – far from it. It is a series of vignettes, all on the theme of ‘hysterical women’. We’ll come back to that later.Tóth introduces different characters performing in different styles: an exuberant song about genitalia, a Spanish soap opera with comedic simultaneous translation, a formidable piano teacher, a teenager aspiring to lose her virginity, a woman on a hen do (bachelorette party), a Medusa-inspired creation, and the denouement, in which Tóth boldly unravels body image.Female rage is never far from proceedings. Tóth tells of a Dutch television presenter who inserted a candle into an inebriated and unconscious teenager, laughing about it later on national television. Then there’s the Dutch childcare benefits scandal, in which computer errors led to arrests, bankruptcies, and suicides, its parallels with our own Post Office scandal obvious.The scenes are a fusion of piano, cabaret, song, comedy, physical theatre, and spectacular operatic singing. The highlight is perhaps the bride-to-be performing a song called I Will Kill Her about her friend who slept with her fiancé.Her talent as a performer is not in question; however, the smorgasbord of ideas in this production is a little too broad and uneven, and some of the comedy just does not quite land. However, the message of gender inequality is piercing.The label ‘hysterical’ is applied wantonly by men as a control technique. These women? While exaggerated for comic effect, they are normal human beings with fears, neuroses, and aspirations. They don’t need to be pigeonholed, especially by men. Valentina Tóth’s remarkable and visceral hour will not easily be forgotten.

Skank Sinatra is the sort of flaming-hot queen you’d want to take on Ol’ Blue Eyes’ mantle. They manage to flirt with their gimmick without leaning too hard into it, while at the same time showing a genuine love affair with drag culture without labouring the point. What we get instead is a standout drag performance that feels polished, professional and positively popping with personality.Jens Radda takes the role of Skank Sinatra to guide the audience through a series of big band classics – but make them queer. The lyrics have been reworked in places for a performance that feels flirtatious and at times filthy, but some slight changes in intonation achieve the same effect quite handily. A slight head tilt at the lyrics of The Lady is a Tramp, after all, and you’re most of the way into a flamboyant drag performance already.If you’re a fan of drag acts, queer culture or, frankly, a bombastic good time, then this show is well worth attending. It doesn’t break the mould, but it doesn’t need to. Skank drizzles southern hemisphere charm and gay decadence over every aspect of this show. I wish there were something truly eye-catching in there, but this is still a great night out at the Fringe.

Gaël Le Cornec, fresh from winning the inaugural Guimarães Rosa Institute Award, plants herself amid Summerhall’s former gents' locker-room brickwork and broadcasts her bid for UK citizenship to a virtual crowd while deeply real voices of Brazil’s forgotten past elbow onto the stage. Over seventy minutes she leaps between comic commentary on the disturbingly creepy Europeans who first laid claim to Brazil and searing vignettes of colonisation, slave revolts and environmental pillage, summoning mothers, aunties and half-remembered warriors with little more than shifts in posture and the occasional, slight costume adjustment.The breadth is exhilarating. One moment we’re laughing at the menu choices of a cannibal; the next we’re chilled by the anguished cry of a pregnant former slave’s desperate journey through an untamed forest. Le Cornec’s physical dexterity and impressive linguistic fluidity give these shifts emotional bite, and her motif of “filling the gaps” in silenced histories lands with genuine pathos. Yet the very density that makes Amazons feel urgent also leaves it gasping for cohesion. Story strands pile up – citizenship oaths, climate grief, social-media satire – and the transitions don’t always earn their gear-changes. A late chorus of ancestral names should thunder; instead, it feels wedged in after an earlier, lighter gag about creepy conquistadors.Still, the performer’s sheer charisma steadies the ride. She wields humour like a machete, hacking space for heavier reflections, and the meta-live-stream conceit offers deft commentary on who gets to speak and who is merely buffered. Trim twenty minutes or let a director impose clearer architecture, and Amazons could roar. As it stands, it’s a passionate, idea-rich solo that dazzles in flashes but flickers in focus.

“Well, what the hell are you going to write about that?” asked a friend who went into Barnie Duncan: Oooky Pooky with me. I could only reply: “I really have no idea.”Being weird at the Fringe doesn’t necessarily make a bad show – in fact, sometimes it makes a terrific one. At times Oooky Pooky is terrific, but it leans heavily towards the bizarre and creeps close to the line more often than not. Duncan’s background is in physical comedy, but here he allegedly plays himself in a caricature-ish performance that borrows much from clowning. As he says: “Clowns are meant to get away with shit.”I really don’t know what to think of this act, which may itself betray a kind of brilliance in the mania. On the one hand he is genuinely engaging from the start; on the other, about halfway through it begins to feel a little like watching a car crash. It’s like waiting to hear when that one teacher is going to face career-ending allegations – and nobody will be surprised. It’s a bit oooky pooky, a bit grubby, and may leave you uneasy. Especially as he wonders aloud about kissing audience members.Still, there are moments of sincerely excellent clowning. If you are comfortable with uncomfortable comedy – as though Ricky Gervais and Noel Fielding had been combined – this is the show for you. If you like teabagging (literally) and bukkake (less literally), then this is perfect for you.

In white club-kid clown makeup and rhinestoned lederhosen, Goody Prostate is ready to debut a new performance – only to be suddenly called upon to headline a local library’s reading hour for children and their parents. This sends them spiralling, prompting a philosophical unraveling about childhood, the politics of parenting and societal expectations.The premise is rich, and the performance begins with promise, especially when combined with a lip-sync to Lady Gaga’s Scheiße. However, once it’s revealed that the character will be performing for children, their existential exposition stretches a little long, dragging down the pace and undoing the initial bang of the opening.The reflective moments on growing up are tender and sincere, and the underlying commentary about delayed adult realities and the claustrophobia of social norms resonates. However, some choices verge on the predictable: when a traumatic memory surfaces, it’s met with a swell of poignant music. While the philosophical musings are timely and often thought-provoking, they sometimes arrive without clear dramatic provocation. The work would benefit from more stage action and plot points to ground these emotional and intellectual outbursts.There is, however, something undeniably compelling in Stewart’s performance. At times echoing Cabaret’s MC, their physicality and stylised delivery are mesmeric, and feel most alive when the piece leans into vaudeville and drag-inflected theatricality – especially in contrast with their Germanic roots and references to the far right. More lip-syncing, clowning and performative play might allow Stewart’s exaggerated style to land more impactfully than the current swings towards naturalistic monologue.The highlight comes in a fascinating sequence exploring the legacy of Magnus Hirschfeld, LGBTQ+ rights pioneer and defender of queer literature, which cleverly ties back to the show’s premise. It’s moments like these where the thematic and narrative threads feel most aligned.Culminating in an alphabetical lip-sync and a revamped, child-friendly clown costume that is endearing, camp and visually satisfying, Goody Prostate showcases Stewart’s clear talent and potential. With further dramaturgical development, this could evolve into something truly compelling. As it stands, it’s a thoughtful and earnest piece that doesn’t quite hit the sweet spot – but still lingers in the mind.

Relationship management. No, this is not corporate jargon – this is more serious: just how does she get her boyfriend to take the rubbish out?Unusually for the Edinburgh fringe, Clean Slate is staged in a traverse setting – in other words, audience members sit in rows on either side of a catwalk-style stage. The set initially is a kitchen island, with our protagonist, Louisa Marshall, cleaning vigorously. The set, incidentally, proves to be ingeniously mobile.The reason for the traverse staging becomes clear as Marshall’s tale begins. This layout facilitates a more intimate atmosphere, and more importantly, it provides a platform for significant audience participation.Alesha Dixon’s The Boy Does Nothing seems an appropriate introduction once Marshall shines a light on her relationship with her boyfriend. She describes her immediate attraction, heightened when she visits his pristinely clean flat. This proves to be the domestic high-water mark, though, as he reverts to type once they cohabit – his domestic incompetence being either indolence or, more disconcertingly, even strategic. Marshall ends up performing all the household tasks, including cooking for her own surprise birthday party, while he slips off to the pub.The audience are immersively involved in this unfolding narrative – a bold choice that appears to pay off, as they unreservedly revel in the antics. Marshall struts the space, bending even the hesitant to her will. They participate, witness, observe and become the fall guys for cleverly set-up jokes. Her playful style belies an impressive performance ability: when they go to couple’s counselling, she conveys a visceral yet measured rage; when she falls silent, it is deafening.There is a message of female empowerment somewhere here, but it does not quite land in the melee. Louisa Marshall’s intense, energetic and powerful performance, however, promises much for the future.

Summarising the action of this show is like relating one of those hazy dreams where the details constantly shift. It opens with the magician’s assistant, Marie (or is it Mamoru?), performing the bullet trick. She’s the assistant, but also the magician. The settings alternate between the stage and the dressing room, with a mirror-image dressing room and alternate stage. Mamoru mimes to recorded speech, but usually speaks in her own voice. She changes from a woman to a more gender-ambiguous figure, and finally a man – perhaps.As a performer, Mamoru has a charming air of uncertainty. At first, the performance appears a little amateur and ramshackle, a random collection of absurdist jokes. But as it progresses, underlying themes emerge. There is even a narrative structure.On one level, Marie/Mamoru is a comedy character who could have appeared on Vic Reeves Big Night Out (for those old enough to remember that series). On another, the show could be David Lynch on drugs.The striking thing is the sense of fluidity – Marie’s body is fluid in gender and its physical components. Identity also shifts: is it Marie or Mamoru? Is the mirror Mamoru the same as the first Mamoru? Is that audience member the magician or the assistant?How powerful these images are, and how long they will stay with you, is open to question.Why is it called Painkillers? I have no idea.

5 Mistakes Which Changed World History is a nerd's love letter to history and its many mishaps. Paul Coulter is the self-described nerd, and he’s known it from an early age. The show opens with some touching photos of a ten-year-old or so Paul in Parliamentarian costume, taken when he was asked to dress up as one of his heroes. It's a fitting start, as this show is a hoot for the entire family.Paul weaves together stories of mistakes, often with a ring of irony and an eye-roll at the folly of mankind, while tipping his hat to modern happenings to draw out the punchline. The premise is sound, even if the quips are fairly middle-of-the-road. In fact, I’d describe this as an incredibly middle-of-the-road performance – and I don’t mean that as a negative. You can take anyone to this show comfortably, from six-year-olds to your nan.It’s family-friendly fun that uses history as a roadmap to laughter, and the crowd was very generous with their approval. As I left, I heard one father commenting to his son, “He was like a really fun teacher who you want to learn more from.” I couldn’t agree more.Go to 5 Mistakes Which Changed World History if you want some easy laughter for a broad audience. Don’t go if you’re looking for anything risqué or too off-the-wall.

Cirque Kalabanté: WOW (World of Words) is a great show that features a vivid African soundscape and an ensemble cast which will delight families – especially those with younger children.The titular World of Words features relatively few words, but makes up for it with traditional music that resonates strongly throughout the performance. If anything, this feels more like a dance show than a series of circus acts.Yamoussa Bangoura takes centre stage as the presenter-come-storyteller, and he plays well to the crowd with his personable delivery of call and response, as well as the few lines of dialogue or introduction. I found the call and response became a little repetitive, but families will love this element – the entire crowd was happily clapping along and getting involved to the rich beats of the drum.Personally, I found there wasn’t quite enough variety for a show billed as a cirque. The cast leans heavily towards acrobatics – impressive, yes – but there are fewer circus skills on display than I would have liked. That said, children will be wowed and families pleased with what they receive here. It reminds me heavily of Black Blues Brothers – another show at Assembly – but geared towards a less niche audience.The highlight of Cirque Kalabanté was Mohamed Ben Sylla, who blended contortionism with his acrobatics, especially in a memorable rope act. He brought humour and dazzling feats that truly set him apart from the rest of the cast.

Do you know how to spot a stealth Muslim? Can you remember daily prayers by your five-a-day veggies? These are just some of the handy “Muslim life hacks” served up by Aisha Amanduri and Hasan Al Habib, back in Edinburgh with their sequel show 2 Muslim 2 Furious 2: Go Halal or Go Home.Hasan, an award-winning standup from Birmingham with Iraqi heritage, brings confident delivery, a knack for storytelling and an easy rapport with the audience. Aisha, from Kazakhstan (yes, the Borat puns make an appearance), offers a vibrant counterpoint, her observations laced with sharp wit and the occasional sucker punch of poignancy.The premise is simple but effective: two Muslim comedians navigating the contradictions, stereotypes and absurdities of life in Britain. The show blends laid-back banter with solo spots and audience participation game shows, such as Who Wants to Be a Muslim Heir. These segments are fun in concept but still need polishing; the pacing sometimes dips, and transitions can feel improvised rather than intentional.The chemistry between Amanduri and Al Habib, or “Antwar and Dec ina”, is undeniable, as they bounce off each other like a long-running double act. What stands out most is the warmth: these are not two furious comedians railing against the world, but two confident, happy young performers who have found their place in modern British society. Questioning your roots, religion and heritage is essentially British, so they pass the citizenship test with flying colours.2 Muslim 2 Furious 2 is a funny, stereotype-smashing hour of afternoon standup. With pay-what-you-can tickets and a portion of proceeds going to Medical Aid for Palestinians, the show is as generous in spirit as it is in laughs.

Walking into the room at the start of Biff to the Future is a wondrous thing. The set is beautiful, with little corners of the stage dedicated to various locations from the trilogy, most notably the central clock, while 80s bangers play as the audience enter.The show begins with writer and performer Joseph Maudsley bounding on stage and introducing himself as Biff. He’s definitely got Biff’s energy, and can’t be blamed for not bearing much physical resemblance to him, but Maudsley doesn’t try hard enough to embody his voice or mannerisms. From the outset it’s clear the show can’t reach its potential, because no matter what happens over the next hour, the audience aren’t going to feel close enough to watching the real Biff.Biff opens with a fun Power of Love parody that sets the scene well, before we launch into an overview of the trilogy from our antagonist-turned-protagonist’s perspective. It’s a great idea, reframing what we think we know about the franchise in a similar way to how Wicked adds extra lore to The Wizard of Oz through Elphaba’s eyes.From an aesthetic perspective, the show is triumphant. The sound and lighting are strong, with some top-notch sight gags, tongue-in-cheek quips pointing out flaws in the films, and plenty of enjoyable exposition. The action is fast paced and covers a lot of ground, mostly focusing on the first two films, with interludes paying tribute to the final entry in the trilogy. There’s good audience involvement, with members invited up to help out – including driving a remote control DeLorean. But the key to the show’s success lies in its central performance. Not only does Maudsley not fully embody his primary character, he also takes on Marty and Doc in equally underwhelming style.The show relies on its audience having seen the whole trilogy. While it’s accessible without that knowledge, you’ll be playing catch-up. It’s family friendly, though there are a couple of references you might need to explain to younger children afterwards. The premise has all the ingredients for a smash hit – Biff seeking a sympathetic redemption arc – but without a more refined stage persona there’s little grounding for an emotional response.If you’re a fan of the trilogy (and let’s face it, who isn’t?) I’d still recommend it. So if you feel like taking a punt, make like a leaf and go and watch Biff to the Future.

Ruxandra Cantir’s cabaret show isn’t about vegetables. It is performed by vegetables. The show will appeal to those with a taste for the very silly. Cantir is a superb clown – her faces, comedy voices and movements generate roars of laughter and completely win the audience to her side.She uses costumes, masks and puppetry to appear as a lonesome pickled tomato who feels she has come down in the world, a lounge-singer potato, a lovestruck and pretentious performance poet onion (my favourite), an overproud mother with her baby carrot, and a gherkin.Expect terrific audience engagement, outrageous puns, songs and a touch of the grotesque.Unfortunately, after the deliciously funny sequence of the first bunch of sketches, the material starts to wilt. Repetition or shouting – or even the goodwill of the audience – is not enough to save the increasingly ropey quality of the final section.Midday might not be the best timeslot for this show, but it has the advantage of allowing any young teenagers who are fans of the absurd to go along.Hilarious and fresh in the first part, it starts to go off in the second.

The Copenhagen Collective was formed in 2024 to provide a Danish base for 16 international artists to develop their performance skills in contemporary circus and acrobatics. In this, their first ever show, we see the product of their labours. There is an ever-changing acrobatics display, reflecting modern circus skills and collaborative working. This is accompanied by an original soundscape comprising classical violin, piano, and other acoustic instruments.There is a lot of walking around, which may be a commentary on being in Edinburgh during the Fringe, but when the acrobatics start, they are without question spectacular. We are left in no doubt whatsoever that there is consummate skill involved. Towers three and four persons high are made, with performers backflipping and springing into the high positions from every conceivable angle. Supporting this is a succession of richly choreographed movement pieces that are elegant, well coordinated, and beautiful. We particularly enjoy a smooth opening piece where the collective walks the stage together, slowly losing members until the stage is scattered with performers – it is quite a moment. The movement is well supported by powerful lighting in varieties of deep blue.So far, so impressive. However, it is difficult to see what story lies behind these acrobatics. It does not seem to add up to anything much. There is certainly huge trust between performers, which is something of a story in itself, but other than this, it is not really clear what tale is unfolding. Genesis implies beginnings, but this theme is never really explored. In short, there is stunning agility and spectacular acrobatics but no real story, no direction or journey to drive forward the movement and achieve progression.The Copenhagen Collective will clearly be back and have much to offer the Fringe. Many in this audience spring up in the increasingly hackneyed standing ovation. But with a stronger storyline, their second offering could be something truly extraordinary.

With K Mak at the Planetarium, Brisbane musician Kathryn McKee (K Mak herself) sweeps into Summerhall’s Demonstration Room alongside a cellist, violinist, drummer, and a small battalion of synths and other sound-processing gizmos. Together, they perform a range of songs against a backdrop of projected visuals, which range from biological and botanical to intergalactic psychedelia.When it clicks, the effect is gloriously transportive: for a few minutes, you’re cocooned in a pocket galaxy where Björk-ish vocal shards dance with Reich-like ostinatos, and the peeling paint overhead feels less like neglect than industrial chic. When it doesn't, the performance falls a little flatter, and the relationship between sound and visuals feels decorative rather than symbiotic. It’s striking to look at, just not always meaningful.However, throughout it all, McKee’s performance craft remains admirable, and her assembled musicians all give powerful performances. She has a stage presence that feels both precise and warmly informal, and her vocal processing (pitch-shifts, granular frays) adds welcome unpredictability. Still, one occasionally longs for deeper narrative threads.There’s undeniable pleasure in surrendering to K Mak’s lush sonic waveforms, and on a purely sensory level, the hour rarely bores. But ambition alone can’t bridge every gap between sight and sound: the stars glitter, the room reverberates, and somewhere in the middle, a good idea hovers, half-resolved.

Can Bacchic frenzy really be conjured by a single body? Ewan Downie’s solo Bacchae, guided by director Ian Spink, answers mostly yes. The performer delivers a stripped-back act of storytelling, physical theatre and ancient song that’s potent and precise, if sometimes tonally unadventurous.Downie slips between Dionysos, Pentheus and Agave, voice and stance clicking cleanly into each new mask. The staging is utilitarian – tilted strip lights in cages, a couple of symbolic props – and it suits the intent: no distractions, just a performer bending an ancient myth into a tight 55-minute arc. The sound world hums, the movement vocabulary is disciplined rather than madcap, and the ritual frame is well delivered.Yet the production’s fidelity is both virtue and limit. Contemporary resonances – gender flux, the human/animal blur, the slippage between victim and perpetrator – are present but rarely pressed; we sense them rather than grapple with them. Tonally, the show leans into solemnity, a near-unbroken chant of repression and release that can feel a little gruelling as it proceeds. You long, just once or twice, for irreverent bite or Dionysian swagger to roughen the ritual.The solo form, boldly chosen, trims away the power offered by a chorus’s tumult. Downie narrates the story with clarity and control, but without bodies to tear and witness, frenzy becomes an imagined weather rather than a visceral storm. Still, there are some passages that contain real force – those ancient songs carry a raw resonance.Overall, it’s a skilful, immersive, musically alive retelling that honours Euripides with care and craft. Some will find it satisfyingly classical; others may wish it took bigger risks and let the god off the leash.

Are you looking after a young baby? Does no one understand what you are going through? Then go and see The Madonna – she understands…The human animal has the disadvantage of a mind. Motherhood is the prime example where the animal’s demands clash with the mind’s needs. In a riotous comedy musical, Marie Hamilton explores this conflict in excruciating detail.Nobody expects to live up to the ideal of the Madonna and Child but the everyday gap between societal expectations and lonely reality is brutal. Hamilton has a double whammy: she is a stay-at-home mother (‘When are you thinking of going back to work?’) and an actor (‘Been in anything recently?’). What makes it worse is that she can’t stand her mother (who, in turn, couldn’t stand her mother).Full of all-too-believable embarrassments and characters, Hamilton acts out a story that eventually becomes how she came to write the show we’re watching.The show is perfect for intimate fringe venues. Hamilton creates a direct, humorous connection with audience members so that, despite the artifice of songs and props, it feels like chatting with a witty friend in a café. For a show that’s essentially forty minutes of complaining, her comedy and self-awareness ensure it never feels like a self-indulgent whinge.The show’s concluding reconciliation with her mother feels artificial and forced – although the ultimate message that fulfillment can be found through mutual help is strong.So, to any partners of mothers reading this – go on, take a shift of babysitting and let her go.

The Truth About Trees follows Alfie, a young boy who, thanks to his grandfather, discovers a book written by a tree and is inspired to protect the stories of the trees in the woods surrounding his home. The story is told by three actors, who also make use of some impressive puppetry to enhance the tale – the shadow puppetry in particular is almost enchanting.The show has a solid concept, but sadly does not focus on it as much as it perhaps should. A stronger version would place greater emphasis on the actual stories told by the tree and make more extensive use of the charming shadow puppetry. Instead, the focus is often on Alfie’s life – his school, his mother, his teachers – and in doing so the relatively short runtime becomes clogged with content that does little to enhance the central message.In addition, the production’s conclusion inadvertently suggests that activism will do nothing. Several drawn-out scenes underline the fact that people either ignore or openly mock Alfie’s efforts to save the trees. As a result, despite his grandfather’s claim at the end that the trees were inspired to band together and protect themselves because of Alfie’s actions, the audience is left to doubt this – and, in fact, the implication seems to be that environmental activism is unnecessary because trees can simply save themselves.Nonetheless, the show is fairly well assembled. The actors are engaging and friendly, happily chatting with audience members before the performance begins. While the environmental message is unlikely to be new to any older child who has been in primary school for more than a few years, the narrative’s concept remains an interesting one – and it may yet result in a few parents finding bathtubs clogged with toothpaste and twigs.

There’s a genuinely rough “work in progress” feel to Steve Whiteley’s A Mind Full, not least when he’s bantering with his tech guy over missed cues or missing picture files.Given Whiteley’s relatively recent diagnosis of ADHD, this doesn’t necessarily come as either a surprise or an issue; in fact, it feels appropriate, given his relatively early “morning after the night before” time slot and his location in what feels like the attic of one of the Old Town’s most atmospheric venues.A Mind Full is part stand-up, part confessional. Time and again Whiteley holds onto his microphone with both hands – like a singer emoting a ballad – as he explains how he’s tried down the years to fill the void he’s long felt inside.Coping mechanisms over the years have included drugs, money, music and film production, therapy, meditation and even (believe it or not) performing stand-up in order to find some validation and emotional stability. Some of these worked for a time, others were less successful – a few were frankly just embarrassing. (Comedy is not one of those: if you don’t laugh in Whiteley’s company, there’s little hope for you.)In terms of the show’s narrative arc, Whiteley is now much more self-aware than he used to be: understanding his intimacy problems and their root cause. He’s now more often in “rest and digest” mode than “fight or flight”, which may be odd for a stand-up, but is a valuable lesson nonetheless – not all laughs have to come from a stressed place.

What a piece of work is Hamlet. How infinite in possibilities. In form and movement, how agile. Yet in truth, it is also poorly stitched together, enigmatic, and full of holes. The plot has flaws everywhere, and much is left unanswered or unexplained in the text. That is its richness. Shakespeare’s Hamlet emerged between 1599 and 1601 and is probably a patched-up version of the original Ur-Hamlet, perhaps by Kyd, with a slightly more credible ghost and some elegant soliloquies to boot. Matching its characters, the play’s flaws create its enigmatic genius. Is there another Shakespeare play to match it?The Fringe has long enjoyed exploring the versatility of Hamlet, from this year’s wonderful New York Circus trapeze performance to a memorable musical version now many years old. In this production, Sam Blythe presents a new one-man interpretation. Here, an aged actor in a nursing home (also called Sam Blythe) finds trinkets that slowly remind him of his days playing Hamlet. One of these is a red clown nose, which, once donned, draws him back into the role. The play then shifts between a troubled real world – full of lyrical Welsh accents, words of Dylan Thomas seemingly spoken by Richard Burton, and Wlad Fy Nhadau – and Elsinore, where we hear predominantly Hamlet’s lines.At the epilogue, Sam Blythe (junior) movingly describes the show as a tribute to his father, whom he describes as a wonderful actor who never got the chance to speak Shakespeare in his own accent. Surely Sam Blythe is a perpetual, walking tribute to his father every time he steps on stage. He is a magnetic actor of phenomenal intensity and power, inventive, charming, and full of skill. He can turn on a knife-edge between comedy and pathos. I had the privilege of watching his breathtaking Animal Farm, showing daily at 13.00, and both shows are remarkable (and unmissable) solo efforts. If Sam Blythe’s performance prowess is inherited, that is already quite a legacy, and all his performances are, to my mind, fine tributes to his genes.Tribute aside, speaking dispassionately, there are probably better things that Sam Blythe can do with Hamlet than this. The concept doesn’t fully leap from the stage. The decision to use a clown nose to denote Hamlet is problematic, as we hear the lyric beauty of Shakespeare’s verse spoken through a pinched nose. It might have been better to place the clown nose on the real-world persona, leaving Hamlet’s lines to be spoken more clearly. The best moments come when Blythe uses his wickedly inventive character skills to create the Ghost and the Player King. A one-man Hamlet in the style of his Animal Farm would surely be sensational, perhaps still sitting within the wider concept of “an aged actor remembers.”As a stand-alone show, this is an interesting concept that needs further work. As a tribute, it is deeply moving, and succeeds in Blythe’s attempt to “rage, rage against the dying of the light.”

We file into our seats around a single woman, Maria Teresa Creasey, taped up and face down on the ground. We’ve had weirder weekends. I was expecting a jab that never came from Creasey about me being a little too comfortable with taking duct tape off women.My role as a reviewer is often to make sense of what a show is like or about for our readers, but Degenerate actively resists the process of sense making. The show hops genres at milliseconds' notice – horror, drag-esque lip syncing, stream of consciousness, character comedy, stand-up, prop comedy, and tap dance. It somehow avoids feeling fractured through the sheer hutzpah of Creasey, who rolls us through the tonal whiplash.The very loose storyline involves Creasey coming to terms with aging, as a woman and what that means regarding the roles she is now expected to play. What is Hollywood’s obsession with younger and younger women? In these flashes, Creasey speaks directly to me, as someone who has completely forgotten what age they are – I am post-30, and I stopped being an actor after becoming sick of constantly being asked to read for love interest, mother, or hag, and that’s it. Her response is to embrace the idea of an eternally young and sexy vampire.The show has a shotgun approach to audience interaction. You might be able to avoid the blast by curling up really tight in the back, but everyone is getting hit at some point. Throughout the piece, Creasey talks to members of the audience as if they are fellow performers in the show or goes for more traditional stand-up crowd work.The bits that worked least for me were the moments where Creasey imitated and lip synced along to extracts from women in horror films. Some of these were stronger than others. In good drag, it doesn’t matter that you’re lip syncing because you are also ascending or cracking jokes about the source material. Here, it felt these moments were played a bit too straight. They were a good chance for Creasey to flex her acting muscles, but they took chunks of time away from the fascinating performance surrounding them. I wanted more in the room than some quick references.Creasey is a masterful MC of her own strange, satirical horror-variety act. I will keep the description light to avoid spoilers, but the finale is surprisingly affirming.

Think of all the songs you love to sing along to – not just the new ones, but the ones that get everyone on their feet. Britney’s Baby One More Time, Flo Rida’s Low, through to modern hits like Chappelle Roan’s Hot To Go. Now put them on the accordion, with a remarkably confident man with splendid hair leading the way.This is the essence of Accordion Ryan’s Pop Bangers – songs that get your grandma dancing at a wedding with all the enthusiasm of an 18th birthday party. The whole point is to hand out licences to let loose, have a great time and maybe get a little wet.Yes, Accordion Ryan even provides his own scooshie guns, which come into their own on key songs.Accordion Ryan’s Pop Bangers isn’t so much a performance as an experience. You need a good crowd to make it work, and midway through we lost some oomph – with the room just over half full – but it remained fun throughout. I also kept gently expecting Ryan to do more with his performance, but it stayed consistent from start to finish. It’s a show that does exactly what it promises.Ryan himself brings an earnest enthusiasm that’s endearing. He feels like a slightly intense but exceedingly positive music teacher who insists you will have a good time. It feels like this could be a recurring late-nighter for many Fringes to come – and I’m very glad to see it.Obviously, we closed on Queen – but what else did you expect?

Aidan Monks’ Playing Love follows a seminary love triangle full of wicked desire and scandalous secrets. The concept holds promise, and the writing offers moments of intelligent, refreshing dialogue.However, despite its strong foundation, the show struggles to fully deliver. The script sometimes feels overly dense and chaotic, rushing into hysteria and arguments before we’ve had a chance to connect with the characters. This makes it hard to invest emotionally or for moments of climax to deliver the way they are intended. The philosophising sprinkled throughout is thoughtful, but ultimately feels unresolved and leaves the audience wanting more closure, especially when the characters ultimately settle on leaving their fates to chance.While the humour lands here and there, inconsistent delivery and overly self-aware performances undercut many of the jokes. Direction feels unfocused and largely informed by a stereotypical view of the farce genre, leaning into exaggeration that often overwhelms rather than enhances the narrative.There’s definitely potential here, and flashes of brilliance, but the overall execution misses the mark. With tighter direction and more nuanced performances, this mischievous comedy could become a hidden gem.

Dressed in shirt, tie and shorts – somewhat ironically looking like a schoolboy coming home after sports – Will Owen is really difficult to dislike. In fact, the only real criticism that can be levelled against him after nearly an hour’s worth of engaging comic banter is that his set actually has very little to do with the titular “Looking Fab at Fifty”.Mind you, he’s only 26. Most of Owen’s material focuses on how he’s never quite fitted in with the so-called gay scene, once he discovered it, and how, even though Grindr can help him find the man of his dreams, he’ll likely take a dive after the first date.The unexpected strength of Owen’s set is his audience interaction, despite him seemingly being terrified. On the night of this review, the audience happened to include half a dozen gay men, some of whom were in long-term relationships. Owen seemed genuinely pleased by this turn of fate and ticketing, asking about how they met and how they knew they’d met “the one”. All of which he then went on to use as an effective distorted reflection of his own experiences of dating and relationship building.Owen isn’t an in-your-face comedian: frankly, the voice and personality which ensured he never had to “come out” to family and friends certainly goes against that. Much of his material is sharply observed and delivered, but equally there’s a sense that he’s still holding back on us. A fault, but one that makes him all the more endearing.

Dangerous Goods is intersectional feminist cabaret which wears its heart on its sleeve from the start. The central conceit is that we are in a dangerous workplace and toxic chemicals are afoot. Unfortunately, the acts that follow stray wildly from this theme, so the show feels a little disjointed. The real connective tissue becomes a strong feminist message, which plays well with the crowd.God, I want to love this cabaret. It is exactly the sort of in-your-face bold feminist messaging that I adore. The routines at times feel a little underwhelming, as though the performers believe they are breaking dangerous ground when they are not quite doing so. I kept waiting to be wowed. Then we’d reach a moment where it seemed to be building, only for it to peter out. The line-up had everything you’d expect in good cabaret – fire, aerial, cyr wheel, powerful vocals, provocative humour – and I loved Hot Brown Honey. It just feels like a show that almost got there but didn’t quite, especially given a few flawed executions and missed opportunities.That said, the cast do occasionally deliver. Leah Shelton’s burlesque act is one of the best I’ve seen in the last year and deserves exceptionally high praise. I was a little frustrated that the show didn’t trust the audience to understand the latex-clad performer was a sex doll, so they emblazoned it on her back. This perhaps sums up the whole issue with Dangerous Goods: there is a lot of telling and not always enough showing. That minor gripe aside, Shelton’s act was powerful, well conceived, expertly choreographed, and exactly the kind of out-there burlesque I’d like to see more of.I did enjoy myself. This is a good show and some of the acts were standout – Bridie Hooper’s straps and hand balancing were powerful and evocative, for instance. I just feel that if you’re going to call yourself rebellious, claim you’re going to shift paradigms and blow minds, then you ought to do that. Dangerous Goods is good cabaret that could be great cabaret, with a gorgeous message. It just needs some polish.

Brendan Tran will make you laugh through the tears. Perhaps more accurately, this show will make you cackle through your trauma.Brendan Tran’s Hole in the Wall L’Hopital is one man’s journey through grief after the passing of a father with whom he had a difficult relationship. It contains some quite funny queer comedy in an American style to get the audience comfortable before delving into its main subject matter. If you go into this show well aware of what you’re walking into, then it feels raw and self-aware. It is personally moving in how it makes light of an all-too-familiar tragedy.If this were in the theatre listings, it would have rave reviews and glowing praise. It grapples with a deeply complicated struggle with heaps of humanity, levity, and outlandish gay audacity. Brendan feels like an inappropriate laugh at a funeral, or perhaps an over-the-top coming out at a wake. He is a hot mess brimming with vulnerability and soul.The gut-wrenching lurches between laughter and loss make it a stand-out Fringe performance. Brace for whiplash.

I previously saw Improbotics 18 months ago at Brighton Fringe and marvelled at the creative concept, plundering AI and combining it seamlessly with improvisational comedy. Some shows come up with a novel and groundbreaking idea before the competition starts springing up but settle on it without fully exploiting the potential. Not so Improbotics, which has a wide range of technological advances for entertainment purposes that translate really well to a stage show. The main criticism I had first time around was that the improv element just didn’t carry any weight, and I hoped that with a year and a half to polish this and let the performers hone their craft, it might be pushing towards the giddy heights of ‘unmissable content’. Sadly, the improvements since then are imperceptible, and this remains a five-star format with four-star tech and two-star performances.The show kicks off with our intro to the charismatic robot Alex, whose monotone delivery of AI- and human-generated concepts is endearing and promising. By contrast, the overly drawn-out intro from Piotr, the creative mind behind the show, loses all momentum. Some auteurs appreciate that their skill set doesn’t extend beyond conceptualisation, and while Piotr is perfectly able to speak on the mic, and hearing from the passionate producer briefly is atmosphere-enhancing for a period, it’s over-indulgent and might be better delivered in the hands of one of his more capable teammates.The small stage is overpopulated with nine poor-to-average improvisers, which feels unnecessary when the USP of the show is the tech element. Some of them look like they could be brand new to improv, and I’ve seen more adept performances from entry-level improvisers. While the format pivots on the robot and other technological components, it still requires better-than-amateur improv to justify the efforts and premise. The AI is the true star, and it’s a shame that large proportions of the show use it minimally. The highlights are when Alex is put centre stage, and the long-form piece superimposing three improvisers’ faces into an audience member’s to reenact three multiverse versions of herself, had she made different life-changing decisions at various junctions.The gimmicks are great, and despite a couple of apparent technical hiccups that didn’t really interrupt the flow of the show, Piotr and his team still have the makings of a five-star experience. In their hands, though, it can’t be long before a more able team of performers sneaks in to fill this burgeoning gap in the market. If you like the sound of the show, it’s still a proper fringe experience and will provide memories and talking points, but if you’re here for quality improv, then you’ll want to look elsewhere.

Laser Kiwi is an entertaining sketch comedy performance with circus elements that do just enough to keep it fresh.The show feels like the lovechild of Richard Ayoade and a circus tent – leaning more towards its at-times stilted, stop–start style rather than tricks.Laser Kiwi often makes a performance out of drawing out a bit until it is stone dead on the floor. If you enjoy dysfunction and awkward silences, this is the show for you. Fans of their iconic “Mmmmm olive.” routine will know what I mean. It doesn’t return, but it might as well.That said, there are genuine chuckles, and the jokes land well in this polished performance. The pay-off in the end is just about worth it, and the circus we do see is well executed. The aerial rope work from Imogen feels solid, and the long-pass juggling from the lads is technically adept. I just wish there were more of those moments, as I kept waiting to be dazzled. I want more from these folks – and I think they can deliver it.

Dear flamenco lovers – this one’s for you. LOLA: A Flamenco Love Story tells the story of Lola, a woman who moves to London, fleeing a traumatic past in 1960s Spain and leaving her young child in the care of family. We meet her as she arrives at the train station and follow her journey of discovering life in London.Through contemporary flamenco – blended with touches of Latin pop and jazz – Lola’s story is told through dance, movement, music and pre-recorded voiceovers rather than through dialogue. English translations of the lyrics are displayed on screen for most of the show to help audiences follow along.At its core, Lola’s story is one of the hardships of moving to a new country while still reckoning with the ghosts of a past she wishes to forget but cannot. Luckily, she finds a welcoming community of expats in London who take her in and provide a safe space for healing. It is as much a story about friendship, community and love as it is about finding inner courage – though its slow build resolves quickly, leaving the audience wishing for more.The dancing and live music are the showstoppers here. Featuring a mix of contemporary flamenco with the rousing rhythms of Latin pop and jazz, this performance will have audiences dancing in their seats. In particular, the male solo is a standout highlight. One of the defining features of flamenco is the multilayered voices at play – from the guitar to the heartfelt singing with its beautifully melodic, nostalgic and melancholic sound, accompanied by percussion, all matched by the dancers’ resounding footwork and interpretative movement.Among the show’s many highlights, the costumes stand out, with luscious embroidery, flowing fabrics, tassels and ruffles. LOLA: A Flamenco Love Story is a feast for the eyes and a delight for dance lovers.

Jessie Nixon’s performance comes across as a little unpolished – but in a way that works for her. Her larger-than-life persona is messy in the way your best mate might be, and we love her for it. She seems like the sort of person you’d want to go for two pints with – but any more than that, and you’ve no idea where your night might end up.The early musical numbers are genuinely outstanding. These range from sultry, velvet-toned poetry that reels you in, to a Bucky Kentuckey retelling of a DM story that has you clapping along... even through the chemical burns. Her more prepared material feels solid and well rehearsed.Unfortunately, it’s the more ad-libbed elements of her performance that let her down. The second half feels a little repetitive, with the same punchline to every other joke: herself and her weight. There are only so many ways you can say you’re overweight but stunning before it begins to feel a little played out. The same goes for the abrupt crowd shouting that accompanies most rejections or impositions by the opposite sex.This has the makings of a great show, but for now its rougher edges are showing. Jessie Nixon is overflowing with character and is one to watch. She has serious comedy chops when delivering prepared material, and there’s no doubt she’ll find her feet as she grows into her own and gets off the notes.

From take-off, Air Heart delivers a human-sized peek into the private life of Amelia Earhart, the American aviation pioneer. This solo theatre piece offers a feminist interpretation, exploring mixed feelings of ambition and fragility. There’s a refreshing refusal to elevate Earhart into superhero status.Amelia Earhart, who vanished in 1937, was the first woman to fly solo across the Atlantic and an early champion of women’s rights, notably founding the Ninety-Nines pilot group. “You don’t fly a plane with a penis,” she remarks with characteristic bluntness.This is no postcard-perfect portrayal. Instead, Earhart is shown navigating the expectations, pressures and contradictions of her era. Living at a time when “men have adventures, women responsibilities” left a distinctive mark on the defiant aviator.In Air Heart, writer–performer Irena Huljak inhabits Earhart so deeply that, at times, it feels as though we are eavesdropping on private thoughts rather than watching a show. Her emotional honesty is moving, and her expressive performance often borders on modern dance. The stripped-back setting lets the words do the work, leaving the rest to the viewer’s imagination.Where Air Heart falters is in navigation. With only one performer covering all roles and perspectives, the shifts in time, tone and voice can be hard to follow – particularly for those not fully familiar with Earhart’s life. In aviation terms: at times it feels like being airborne without clear coordinates. Artistic, yes – but slightly turbulent.

This surreal dark comedy is sure to ring true for anyone who has ever questioned what they actually do in the office all day. Almost like a J. G. Ballard novel made into a musical, Jack Parris uncovers the absurdity behind corporate jargon and the blind desire for promotion in this new production, with a few catchy songs thrown into the mix. From presentations about wellbeing to KPIs and corporate jargon, The Unstoppable Rise of Ben Manager satirises the emptiness of office culture with irreverence and sharp wit.Just before he attends an interview for a big company, Ben Weaver sees a dead man outside the building. After taking the man’s lanyard, he transforms into Ben Manager and immediately gets the job. What follows is a dizzyingly Kafkaesque journey as Ben lands increasingly absurd promotions, mentally deteriorating as he progresses up the corporate ladder.The Unstoppable Rise of Ben Manager cleverly literalises the idea of joining a corporate family and the office worker’s helpless vulnerability to the demands of their superiors, as Ben finds himself aggressively infantilised by his cheerfully sadistic CEO. The clinical CEO is played by Teele Uustani, who doubles as the puppetress for Ben’s sinister co-worker Derp. Parris is also supported by musicians Michael Coxhead, who plays guitar and uses a vocoder to voice other characters, and Adam Boothroyd, who creates the show’s vivid electronica soundtrack.Despite a whole song dedicated to the corporate phrase ‘gaining traction’, the piece loses traction itself at times, getting caught up in its own absurdity and losing the keen-eyed satire of the elements more grounded in reality. The Unstoppable Rise of Ben Manager is a clever satire that exposes the emptiness at the heart of the corporate world. However, it lacks the humanity of The Office and you leave the theatre with the sense that this has been done before but better, whether by Kafka or more recent television shows like Severance and Industry.

At the birthday party of a couple whom the audience will never meet, two strangers are seated together at the far end of the table. Mavis (Izzy Radford) is affronted and stand-offish, insisting she deserves a better seat as a childhood friend of the birthday girl.Her only companion is David (George Airey), a seemingly laid-back and personable young man who grows increasingly frustrated by her antics – especially when he reveals he’s in a relationship, crushing Mavis’s hopes of meeting an eligible bachelor. Mavis is Bridget Jones on steroids: spitting wine, lying about her job, and even faking a collapse to gain attention. David tries to remain polite, but the evening ends in anger.A year later, the roles have reversed. David, now drunk and obnoxious, has lost his job at the Office for National Statistics and is spiralling. Mavis, meanwhile, has matured and vaguely references a new relationship. She's not thrilled to be once again paired with David, who is itching for another argument. There's a noticeable jump in Mavis's characterisation between their first and second meeting, and the causes for this are only partially explained, with some details left to the audience’s imagination.Seating Plan is a romcom of right place, wrong time… and wrong time again, as the two continue to cross paths over the years. This is a charming, engaging show with fantastically charismatic performances from Radford and Airey. It leans into the romcom formula with such sincerity that a few subversions feel almost disheartening. Still, with sharp banter, clever staging and delightful costumes, Seating Plan is a fun and feelgood experience.

Matt Hale is becoming known as the party hypnotist for the Fringe, and this year his show is all about the party decade that was the 1990s. Before the show starts, we’re welcomed in with a mood-setting playlist of some of the decade’s bangers. He opens the show shirking a traditional suave suit in favour of his own now-traditional colourful jumpsuit and sets the scene with some party moves and singalongs that get us in the mood.After briefly discussing the nature of trance and running a quick suggestibility test on the audience, he invites us up. Twenty volunteers go up and I’m among the half who do not succumb to his quick induction, a couple of the instructions of which I found a little unclear. But he had nine of my counterparts comfortably under his spell – a couple of whom showed potential to become memorable, but standout moments were scarce.The next 30 to 40 minutes gave us a journey through the 90s with plenty of dancing, instruments and random escapades and… wait, no, actually it was pretty much all dancing. Don’t get me wrong, there’s a lot to dance to in the 90s and nothing felt out of place, but there’s also a lot of other things to take advantage of within the decade, and hypnosis gives Hale complete creative control to demonstrate the range of phenomena achievable under trance.He promises, and delivers, a 90s party, yet it felt like a wasted opportunity to have more than half of it focused on something any extrovert would do even if not induced. I prefer my hypnotists to prove to their audience that the volunteers are truly under the spell with at least a couple of skits that can only be achieved under trance. As an example, one man who became Liam Gallagher was given the suggestion to get the crowd singing along with Wonderwall and get angry at anyone who didn’t participate. Hale got the singalong, but the volunteer never showed any negative emotions to his crowd, and wasn’t reminded to do so.My highlight was having girl talk in Scatman language, culminating in her scatting to the Fresh Prince theme – finally, a standout Fringe moment.There’s no doubt that the audience loved it, and may have even preferred the party atmosphere to a more varied display of references or psychological exploration. If you want a fun, upbeat hypnosis show then this is going to be the one for you – it’s just a shame that the volunteers aren’t given the opportunity to demonstrate the full extent of what their depth of trance could really attain.

Blaze FM explores life on a Hackney council estate from the early 2000s to the mid-2010s through the lens of a pirate radio station founded by local resident Hughbert (performed by an excellent Andrew Brown), and later sustained by his two children and the wider community.The show features fantastic live performances and charts the evolution from grime to drill in response to the complex social changes of the era. The community’s resilience is depicted in their responses to events such as the 2005 London bombings, a dubious reinvestigation of the Broadwater Farm riot, and a surge in youth violence.The production is smart, lively and highly engaging. It provides a compelling exploration of the UK’s social evolution, with particular focus on the effects of gentrification in London and the strained relationship between Black communities and law enforcement, especially the Metropolitan police.Original music broadcast through the station becomes a powerful outlet for characters to express defiance, joy, rage and love, with the community calling in and responding at the other end of the line.At the heart of the story are Hughbert, his family and the community united through the radio waves. Through years of professional success, unimaginable grief and everything in between, each character becomes shaped by the world around them.

Fag Packet are a London-based cabaret duo making their Edinburgh Festival Fringe debut. Their act features two American, repressed housewife types, living their best lives at the centre of a pyramid scheme, with the audience cast as their lucky new potential recruits. They can’t wait to tell you all about the DYKE System.The show draws heavily on drag traditions in terms of characterisation, comedy style and cabaret interludes. However, they bring something original to the scene, taking existing tropes in a unique direction. Much of the audience was in complete hysterics as they moved through ever-increasingly high-camp sequences, all while dressed in the most fabulous matching business blazers you’re likely to see. The final sequence of the show is a joy to behold – one of the most hilarious moments of the entire festival. It is, however, notable that this humour will likely not be for everyone: it is loud, crass and heavily reliant on outdated lesbian stereotypes. In this regard it is very one tone throughout so, if this doesn’t sound like your thing, it probably won’t be; but if it does, you certainly won’t be alone. As a production this show teeters right on the edge between celebrating lesbians and mocking them. Where you feel it falls is ultimately up to you.The two performers exude an untamable amount of energy and create an effortless rapport with the crowd. Every line, every movement and every bit of intense eye contact feels precision-engineered for maximum comic effect – they are masters of character detail. The theme reinforces this, with the characters’ sexual repression providing the perfect backdrop for some of the most ridiculous gags. Although we can’t be sure exactly what the Dynamic, Young, Knowledgeable Entrepreneurs are selling, it’s clear that there will be no shortage of people eager to buy it.

Smita Russell’s one-woman show Odds Are takes us through the impacting story of her desperate attempt to find meaning in the inexplicable, by way of “myth, maths, medicine and memory.”Russell holds court in the intimate Roxyboxy at Assembly Roxy, slowly stripping away items of clothing as she recounts how she has been pregnant nine times but experienced seven losses. She suffers from excessive nausea “like Kate Middleton” and during one pregnancy, doctors discover she has a chorionic haematoma, like her downstairs neighbour – but their babies survive and Russell’s do not. Two years in a row, she loses two babies on the same date: New Year’s Eve. “What are the odds?”Her medical diagnosis of “just bad luck” does not hold weight for someone who so values maths and science. Russell consults specialists and mathematicians as she grapples with the question “why me?” She even emails astrophysicist Neil deGrasse Tyson, who replies, but she never answers him. “I ghosted Neil deGrasse Tyson ‘cause I was an asshole,” she quips.Russell’s ability to inject humour into Odds Are is admirable, but it remains a heady hour, heavy with subject matter, statistics, science, and Greek mythology. She shares how writing her story has helped, as has making peace with myth and science coexisting. She ends by asking if hers is a story “of bad luck or good?” We are still not sure, but it is a deeply moving one nonetheless.

As I went on a Friday it was a relaxed performance. It’s great to see a show actually committing to a relaxed performance, as I’ve attended many that don’t change anything about the performance. As someone who is disabled but doesn’t entirely gel with relaxed performances, I’m glad nonetheless to see this one actually being so.Queer Tales for Autistic Folk takes place in three parts: it begins with a standup introduction before we get into the game proper, and ends with a funding-mandated thought-provoking coda.There is a sheer self-deprecating core to Cerys Bradley’s performance that is endlessly engaging. The show is based around Bradley predicting the audience prompts to the adventure book, something they admit on stage as an autistic person is a real struggle. This means the improvisation is not as polished as the prepared sections, but that gives the show its undeniable charm.The game at the core is a legally distinct Choose Your Own Story (not a Choose Your Own Adventure book), and the cultural touchstones in the set are equally nostalgic: going to Blockbuster and renting VHS tapes, that kind of thing. We start our adventure going to work, and the internal monologue narration of the storybook allows Bradley to crack jokes at neurotypical life from the perspective of someone outside it. We didn’t have as many instant deaths as I was expecting from the genre, and I have endless respect for the audience member who chose to die rather than play zip-zap-boing.The show is heavy on audience interaction: if you’re looking for something in which you can blend into the background, this is not it. The biggest laughs of the night are about diagnosing parents and aimed at the Arts Council. It was clear I was among my neurodiverse community.I absolutely loved a moment featuring VHS tape covers, and longed for more reveals like that. They were each a work of art. If you’re reading from the Arts Council, this show has a thought-provoking and challenging ending that resonated deeply with me, particularly as someone on a 15-year waiting list for an ADHD diagnosis. Bradley speaks truth to power when they state that diagnosis matters until it doesn’t. We all have our queer adventures to live.The real gift of the show is Bradley’s ability to engage as a storyteller and highlight the importance of shared joy, taking part together and sharing our silly stories.

God can be found in the unlikeliest of places for Cecilia Gentili. This wild, (semi-)autobiographical romp charts the coming of age of a young trans girl in 1970s Argentina through the unexpected lens of her personal relationship with God. Cecilia Gentili’s Red Ink is divided into a dozen unapologetic, hilarious short stories recounting Gentili’s early life and the community that helped shape her. However, this celebratory depiction of growing up as a trans woman in America is ultimately outdone by its strong source material.Originally premiering in New York in 2023 as Red Ink, the autobiographical show was loosely based on Gentili’s book Faltas: Letters to Everyone in My Hometown Who Isn't My Rapist. After Gentili tragically passed away in 2024, Breaking the Binary Theatre’s founder, George Strus, decided to keep her memory alive by bringing the show to an international audience. Red Ink was condensed from 90 to 60 minutes for the Fringe, and Chiquita – a Brooklyn nightlife performer and drag artist – was cast as Gentili.A retelling of a retelling of a retelling, the authenticity of the original story can sometimes feel lost in this new version of the show, which lacks the narrative flow you can imagine the original might have had. Chiquita brings an undeniable dynamism and charismatic energy to the role of Gentili. However, while she is evidently a proficient performer, Chiquita lacks the theatrical experience to bring the myriad community of Gentili’s childhood convincingly to life.Brought to the Fringe in honour of Cecilia Gentili, this refreshingly joyful story of generations of women supporting each other is a reclamation of faith for trans women. Although this new performance loses some of the authenticity and frankness of its original, it is still a gloriously camp and celebratory show – a fitting testament to the memory of the activist, actor and all-round queer icon Cecilia Gentili.

When Susan Edsall’s partner of 11 years died, her life fell apart. Out of the blue, something told her to walk the Camino de Santiago. She didn’t believe in voices and knew nothing about the pilgrimage route, but she followed the impulse. Buen Camino, at Gilded Balloon at Appleton Tower, is her autobiographical story of those events, combined with elements of fantasy and more mysterious voices.She carries a mantra that keeps her focused on her aims and hopes: love, grace, beauty and freedom – a far cry from the life of heavy drinking she had fallen into. She knows she has to move forward and find new meaning without Jim, when her previous purpose had simply been loving him. She now believes that with his journey a brighter future awaits, for, as she says in the other mantra that divides the scenes: “The Camino provides.”Her personal quest makes this more than just a travelogue, though names of key places are included, along with details supplied by the Weather Fairy about the conditions she will face on each section of the route. Projected images, both real and fantastical, of people and places accompany her narrative, providing a visual focus. Through various voices she creates a multitude of characters that add entertainment value and enhance the story, though there may be too many for clarity.It’s an interesting rather than gripping journey along the road and through her life. Earnestly told and well presented, it is clearly of great significance to Edsall – though it’s not one that would inspire me to embark on the Camino.

There’s an unfortunate problem with Britt Migs that we’ll get out of the way early: she’s a five-star performer in a three-star show.Dolphin Mode is a good debut hour. It opens with a video recording of Migs on the underground, practising some self-care while duplicate versions of her try to tear her down. They even ask silly questions, my favourite being, “What are eyeballs made of?” After this, Migs bounds on to the stage, admittedly in her ‘flop era’ following her divorce, but still brimming with energy. She’s more than happy being “a beacon of hope for sad married ladies,” but as a performer in front of a crowd, she’s engaging, charismatic, and electric.Lasting just over 35 minutes (the day I saw it), the show’s material is a bit hit-and-miss. When it hits, it’s really funny stuff, with great potential to go from strength to strength – and it does. When it doesn’t, it’s a bit thin and, unfortunately, propped up with “and I was like… and he was like… and I was like…” If more work went into the structure and pacing of the show, Britt Migs could have a real gem on her hands. It’s just a shame that we, as an audience, left Buttercup at Underbelly craving just a little bit more.

“Why are there potatoes there?” Not a question you usually hear before a show – even on the Fringe – but it’s an indication of the natural curiosity of a particularly young, uninhibited audience.Until, that is, the show starts with a CBeebies-style animation about Benny Shakes’ garden and his escalating slug problem. Suddenly the kids become very shy indeed. Thankfully, Benny has a child-like air that helps him relate well to under-eights – especially once he breaks the ice by throwing soft-toy vegetables at the audience and inviting us all to throw them back into a large bag acting as a symbolic compost heap: “the only time you can throw things at a disabled person,” he ad libs.Benny’s adaptability certainly comes in useful when, on this particular occasion, the multimedia elements of the show break down – ultimately requiring a full “switch off/switch on” reboot by the tech crew. That he’s able to keep the show moving, and his younger audience members engaged, is impressive. It also suggests he perhaps doesn’t always need quite so many visual bells and whistles to do his job well.Slugageddon doesn’t attempt to hide its educational remit: on-screen game Poo! Or Boo!, for example, offers audience members simple yes/no choices about what should or shouldn’t be put in a compost heap. Its most subtle lesson, though, is the least remarked upon – that we’re easily relating with somebody who happens to have cerebral palsy.(As for the potatoes? They’re part of a musical instrument. Obviously.)

“People need to know what is going on and what they need to do.” A mission statement of morality laid out by Genie Chance when she finds herself at the centre of coordinating a public safety effort following the historic, devastating Great Alaskan Earthquake of 1964. This sets a division between her and a military general who believes in a more controlled approach to sharing information. When the stakes get higher and saving lives becomes a question of ethics that ultimately comes down to Chance, what is the right path to choose?An incredibly exciting aspect of this piece is the opportunity it affords an audience to explore a niche bit of history. It reveals the human side of the logistics behind disaster response, and offers a fascinating character study of Chance – the local radio broadcaster determined to do the right thing. On Good Friday 1964, Alaska experienced a 9.2-magnitude earthquake; to this day it remains the most powerful earthquake ever recorded in North America and the second-largest globally. Most people, however, will not know of the remarkable story of the people affected that day in Anchorage – a story of resilience and human connection.Maybe You Like It, Pleasance associate artists, bring this remarkable story to life at this year’s festival. Ellie Cooper and Robert Merriam cycle through a range of characters to present the Anchorage residents, deftly delineating between the various citizens through costume, voice and physicality. This makes for fun and engaging storytelling, though at times it perhaps lacks the range demonstrated by the most accomplished performers in this style of multi-rolling.The use of sound is also distinct in this production, incorporating a range of on-stage microphones as well as complex soundscapes and prerecorded effects. This is a play with so much warmth and heart that it is impossible not to be charmed.This is a show that is thoughtful in its themes, gentle with its characters, and provides just the right amount of humour to balance the truly terrifying stakes – a glimpse into the lives of ordinary people who can so easily be forgotten by history.

Level Up!, with its youthful cast and high-level concept, feels like a rookie player tackling hard mode – all ambition and big ideas, but lacking the prowess.“Life: the video game” sees three friends – Jo, Raff and Bobby – sucked into a games console where each must forge their own path through a surreal, challenge-filled virtual version of Life: Jo hacks the game’s coin system, Raff flings herself into the quest of saving the world, and Bobby becomes a conceptual artist after losing his purpose.Along the way – passing a dizzying parade of musical songs – we leap from climate collapse to crypto profiteering, with even a dedicated number about Satoshi Nakamoto, the mysterious creator of Bitcoin. To give credit where it’s due: it’s probably the clearest (and catchiest) explanation of crypto-mining you’ll ever hear.Guiding the three mates through ‘Life’ is a trio of game assistants – a cheesy, toe-tapping chorus who act as both commentators and chaos agents. Their presence is pure panto, and it works, in a knowingly silly way. But the show’s shifting tone is hard to keep up with – one moment earnestly rhyming about the state of the planet, the next leaning into market crash explainers, then suddenly breaking into a Texan-themed line dance.The cast as singers are vocally impressive, though lack the full-bodied commitment required for the show to level up, unsure – like us – whether they’re in a brilliant cringe-embracing satire or a slightly cloying student revue.There’s no doubting the ambition here – it’s an elaborate mash-up of musical theatre, gamer culture and economics lesson. The LED screens were a neat investment, but its young, inexperienced cast, already overstretched with a full album of concept songs – seems ready to buckle under the weight.Still, if you’re up for a meta-musical with a crypto crash course, a climate change cautionary tale, and a musical dance break or two – Level Up!’s creators may inspire you to press “continue”.

Rob Auton’s CAN opens with a cute introduction voiced by his parents, asking the audience to switch off phones and dispose of crisp packets. I suspected this was foreshadowing a narrative thread with callbacks to the novel approach to opening the show, but it wasn’t to be. Early in the show, Auton drops the best simile I’ve ever heard in a comedy show and tells a great story about kettle bells with an epic payoff, laying the groundwork for the narrative thread that would run through his hour-long story. His delivery is understated and quirky, his script littered with fun observations and quippy asides.CAN is a motivational speaker with a goal: to change people’s lives without them being aware of his impact. It’s an enjoyable listen with plenty of peaks and troughs but missing a magic touch. Auton’s ad libs are great while they last, but often lead to him losing his train of thought and having to break character to get back on track. At one point, someone opens a can – he has a great interaction with them (though misses the can/CAN connection you’d hope a high-level pro could capitalise on) – and struggles to jump back into things. Were this a show with a neurodivergence thread running through, that might enhance it, but here, where it doesn’t get a mention, it puts a barrier between performer and audience. At times, this really felt like a well-polished work in progress rather than a sellout run. Or perhaps that’s just his brand. The show was fine, and I’d completely understand how some audience members or reviewers could find it a five-star experience, but I’ve seen many better shows by more impressive acts in much smaller and emptier rooms.Towards the end, I noticed the woman to my right had nodded off, and across the aisle, another was close behind her. Contrastingly, about 10% of the audience gave an instant standing ovation, and the roar of approval he gained during the bow is something only heard in response to seeing your heroes. I can understand how Auton has amassed a following, but his performance and writing style is clearly a crowd-splitter.

Caroline McEvoy had a great start to life. She was Mum and Dad's favourite, had an innocent charm, and managed to survive The Troubles. Never mind that the Good Friday Agreement was signed mere months after she was born.That was until her brother Jonathon was born.McEvoy gives a comedic retelling of her upbringing, which seamlessly connects to her life today, and it lands extremely well. The jokes are laced with millennial references, self-aware nods, and a series of lists to keep things organised. She is, after all, the eldest child, and that comes with expectations. Or, as McEvoy puts it: "It means unpaid labour and responsibilities."Although it can be inferred early on, McEvoy doesn't acknowledge that her brother is autistic until nearly halfway through. You can hardly blame her, given the stories of episodes and tantrums that made her early life a struggle. They are all delivered with excellent punchlines, but also a certain soreness that feels deeply real.The material spans a wide variety of topics: from disability to questioning sexuality, Ireland's troubled past to having your dreams shattered. It feels deeply personal, and McEvoy manages to navigate through it all without getting bogged down. The only sections that felt particularly close to the bone also revealed a righteous protectiveness of her little brother.Caroline McEvoy is witty, clever, and cutting to just the right degree, and Train Man is well worth seeing.

Light-hearted theatre is often an element of the Fringe festival that does not get its due attention, with the focus more often landing on dark dramas asking difficult questions or big stand-up shows from up-and-coming comics. So it is a delight to see a romcom like Big Sofa Theatre’s Eggs Aren’t That Easy to Make, a piece of new writing that offers a welcome reprieve to a packed Fringe schedule while still covering salient topics in an engaging way.Eggs Aren’t That Easy to Make follows lesbian couple Lou and Claire as they prepare to have their first child, and how one drunken promise made years ago between Claire and her best friend Dan led to Dan becoming the sperm donor. The charisma between the three is genuinely heartwarming, with Lou and Claire’s romance feeling domestic yet sincere, while the friendship between Dan and Claire seems as old and strong as the best of them, even without the plot showing the passage of time.It is the strength of these relationships that carries the show. The plot, while simple, feels authentic and naturalistic enough for the sillier elements of the romcom setting to shine through. At times, though, this wit and silliness takes precedence over any tension within the story, as certain arguments and flashpoints feel a little too polite, not reaching the dramatic peak that the narrative suggests.Romcoms are always a little silly, and that silliness is often the strength of Eggs Aren’t That Easy to Make. Performances across the board are delightful, with relationships feeling authentic and human without losing comic potential. The script is tight, with its simple story brimming with potential, and despite moments when the tension on stage does not fully match the tension in the script, the result is a fun, engaging show well worth watching.

When shows are assigned to an early slot, they need to be punchy, engaging and well paced. Brits Abroad: Banned delivered on all these counts – blowing away any cobwebs and keeping me laughing in my seat.Set in the depths of fiery hell, where the Brits have been banished after nowhere else will take them for their summer holidays, the devil becomes increasingly frustrated that whatever horrible situation he throws at them, they continue to have a good time. We meet a selection of stereotypical British holidaymakers, all equally as insufferable as the next. While this could have become a breeding ground for clichés and tired jokes, it was largely avoided thanks to a competent scriptwriter who knew when to take the foot off the gas.I love tongue-in-cheek comedy and found a lot of the jokes jam-packed into Brits Abroad: Banned hit the sweet spot between wit and shock factor. With the protests across Europe against British tourists’ prominence in our media at the moment, the narrative felt incredibly timely. The ability to respond to contemporary social and cultural narratives was left a little dated, however, when it came to some of the jokes embedded into the show. I love a bit of Tory bashing as much as the next person, but it did feel a tad off the pulse. If this were a year or so ago, it would potentially have felt more relevant.Brits Abroad: Banned embodies what all Fringe shows are trying to achieve – keeping their audience entertained. This show does that in abundance. Boring people, avoid this; it will not be for you.

Charlie Chaplin is perhaps the greatest physical comedian of all time. But he was so much more than that. Smile: The Story of Charlie Chaplin shines a light on some of his life.Born in South London poverty, he was sent to a workhouse aged just seven. Anyone familiar with his later tramp-pathos work will not have to look far for the inspiration. He later lands work at a circus, which tours to Vaudeville, USA. He is spotted by Max Sennett of Keystone Studios, signed up, and by 1918 is perhaps the most famous man on the planet. He co-founded United Artists, giving him artistic and distribution control over his work.Chaplin wrote, directed, and produced his own material, even down to composing music, including Smile, the title of this production.Aficionados of Singin’ in the Rain will know the pivotal moment for the film industry when talkies became fashionable. Chaplin resisted this for some considerable time, producing City Lights and Modern Times without dialogue. He relented with The Great Dictator, satirising Hitler.He fell under the gaze of the House Committee on Un-American Activities. His friend Hanns Eisler was deported for being a communist, and Chaplin was forced to relocate to Switzerland, returning many years later to receive a lifetime achievement Academy Award.He was married four times and fathered 11 children, his last wife being the daughter of playwright Eugene O’Neill. A life less ordinary indeed.Marcel Cole tells Chaplin’s story using clowning, mime, narrative, silent-movie-style backdrops, and significant audience participation. He is clearly a skilled artist, with almost balletic movement.Cole’s show came to Edinburgh in the wake of various five-star reviews and accolades. Audience participation can be a hit-or-miss affair, and on this occasion, it was decidedly the latter, undermining the show. The narrow and raked space gave the performer a hill to climb. He scampers through already claustrophobic rows of seats with audience members hastily grabbing drinks and bags, encountering reluctant or simply inadequate participants. I doubt the audience-scripted dialogue was audible beyond the first rows, and the giant balloon-comedy bit simply does not work in this environment, clattering into one of the Fresnel lights. A shame, because the story and performer are definitely interesting.

C Theatre’s breakfast institution – now pleasing crowds since the early ’90s – returns with the Sittingbourne All Stars, a panto-honed posse determined to squeeze every last giggle from Macbeth before most of us have finished our first latte. The recipe is familiar but undeniably appetising: a free croissant and choice of tea, coffee, or fruit juice as you go in, followed by a 50-minute gallop through one of Shakespeare’s gloomier tragedies before you go out.Performance-first values are on bold display as the troupe workshop their way through The Scottish Play. The cast attacks the material with gusto, ricocheting between light-hearted banter, jaunty song-and-dance breaks, and a witch-fronted cooking show that would make Nigella reach for the broomstick. A noir-tinged détour en français, complete with berets and smoky voiceovers, adds some madcap bravado, and it's all frightfully nice and usually a lot of fun.Yet for every inspired flourish, another gag lands with a politely baffled thud. The sanitised approach to Macbeth’s darker beats keeps things croissant-friendly, but a lot of it is fun rather than funny. It's absolutely fine, but without treachery’s grit, the comedy occasionally feels bubble-wrapped.Still, credit where it’s due: this is an ensemble that radiates early-morning warmth, and their knockabout camaraderie papers over any structural cracks. Families, school groups, and hung-over festivalgoers will leave caffeinated, sugared, and gently entertained – if not profoundly moved. Solid, slightly uneven, but delivered with verve, Shakespeare for Breakfast offers a cheerful start to the Fringe day that proves even a blood-lite Macbeth can raise a smile before noon.

Nancy Medina’s slick direction and the cast’s poised energy give The Beautiful Future Is Coming a sumptuous sheen as we glide between Flora Wilson Brown’s three timelines: Eunice Foote’s 1850s laboratory, a sweltering summer in 2027 London, and a storm-lashed agricultural research hub on Svalbard in 2100. Scene changes are deft, performances are assured, and the script’s hopscotch structure clicks smoothly together – it’s an altogether polished production.Yet polish can’t entirely mask an undernourished core. While each of the three narratives promises a distinct slant on climate chaos, none really digs very deep. Eunice’s pioneering CO₂ experiments spark interest, only to stall in exposition about male gatekeepers. Claire’s office-romance thread circles a predictable workplace meltdown, the unlikely climax leaving both romance and rhetoric lukewarm. Future scientist Ana’s quest for flood-proof crops certainly carries high stakes, yet her scenes drown in didactic monologues while the world’s storms rage conveniently offstage. The men who orbit these women – from the mildly irksome Dan to the spectacularly grating Malcolm – feel like walking symbols rather than catalysts, so conflicts resolve more by authorial decree than dramatic combustion.Each era highlights a different flavour of institutional inertia: Victorian dismissal of “lady scientists,” 2020s corporate greenwashing that drapes crisis in PR spin, and a later-century scramble where mitigation arrives decades too late. The thematic through-line is sound – action deferred becomes disaster compounded – but the play rarely lets these pressures collide with real urgency. Instead of hard choices and systemic pushback we get thumbnail sketches of complacency; the stakes feel discussed rather than lived.There is genuine craft here: crisp pacing, a visually smart production, and actors squeezing every drop of nuance from lean dialogue. Alas, without richer stakes or sharper insight, the show’s promises evaporate like puddles in a heatwave.

Yaël Farber’s hotly anticipated take on Shakespeare’s late problem play is a beautiful, haunting piece that leaves one feeling as if we have woken from a dream-like state: slumbering whilst these visions have appeared before us.Central to the plot is Leontes, King of Sicilia – a twitchy, neurotic Bertie Carvel – whose inexplicable jealousy sets in motion a chain of tragic events which decimate his own family and ripple through his court.His is a stark, monochromatic world: Soutra Gilmour’s design choices and Tim Lutkin’s lighting conjure the bleak aesthetic in which the key themes of jealousy and loss thrive. Meandering around the perimeter is the all-seeing figure of Time, a chilling Trevor Fox, whose presence in the play Farber has chopped up and sprinkled liberally throughout — the most memorable and satisfying innovation of the evening.Whilst Leontes’ accusations are perhaps rather too speedily arrived at for complete credibility, we are reminded of a similarly hirsute and hasty monarch, whose crimes against his many wives were still within living memory at the time of writing. That women in too many cultures remain at the mercy of masculine whim in the present day reminds us that Shakespeare is not of an age, but indeed for all time.Bearing the whips and scorns of her husband is Hermione – a majestic and emotionally commanding Madeleine Appiah – whose goodness and mercy pass all understanding. It’s quite the tough gig in 2025 to forgive the man who stole your reputation, sixteen years of your life, your relationship with your baby daughter, and snatched away the last breath of your young son… but Appiah goes some way to suggesting why and how this might be possible. She is ably supported by a powerhouse performance from Aïcha Kossoko as Paulina, whose appearances on stage enliven and energise an interpretation that can occasionally become so poetically monotonous that its very lifeblood is threatened by the weight of the hopelessness it has so successfully created.There is much to be applauded: some excellent work from the underused Raphael Sowole as Camillo, and a compelling Hilda Cronje as one of Hermione’s women, helping to texturise the psychological repercussions of this man-baby’s temper tantrum.But there are also some missteps, as exemplified by the visually stunning but dramatically dubious interpretative dance, and the shoehorning in of contemporary swear words — both seeming too painfully keen to bring edge to a piece that is not just strong enough without, but infinitely stronger without such GCSE distractions.And when you are already gifted with the most notorious stage direction in literature, there seems little need for inessential faffage: yet poor old Antigonus is denied his inglorious death in a lost opportunity of style over substance.Look, if there were to be an Olivier Award for most unfairly weighted dramatic moment to pull off originally yet effectively, “Exit, pursued by a bear” would be right up there for nomination with “Stella!” and “A handbag?” So any attempt is doomed to fail at least some of the people some of the time… and Farber’s take is nothing if not inventive. The lighting and sound here provide a dazzling and most welcome pop of energy, but unfortunately, relying on a silhouetted bear head to do the heavy lifting sows rather more doubt than engagement.Why is it Hermione wearing the bear head? And why does she act as the entity that wants the man — who is going to enormous lengths to save her baby — dead? Why is she so far from home whilst so physically fragile? Why — if she knows of her daughter’s rescue and journey to Bohemia — is she so amazed to see her sixteen years later? What — if it is an allegory rather than a physical representation — does it symbolise? Wandering into the interval narratively puzzled keeps one guessing, involved and hungry for more; but being dramatically puzzled is another beast entirely.The second half shifts to a warmer, looser Bohemia: characterised by reds and oranges, the enormous moon-like orb of the first half becoming a glowing sun. But it is nevertheless a land trapped by its own singularity: as wild and louche as Sicilia is uptight and repressed. As the two worlds speed towards their conciliation, secrets are shared and old grievances washed away with breathtaking ease. All is well in Sicilia and Bohemia: the collateral damage of Leontes’ hissy fit forgotten, bereaved marriages brushed aside, lost childhoods laughingly dismissed.This is a visually exquisite rendition of a play which is hard to love, and even harder to understand from our lofty twenty-first-century perspective. It is not perfect, but elegantly rendered — and an especial treat for those already familiar with the text to dissect and wonder over.

Ria Lina: Riabellion somehow blends whip–sharp intellect with feral mania in an accessible routine covering everything from motherhood to crime – two subjects that, in Ria’s view, are often interwoven.Between bemoaning her layabout teenagers and divorced husband – all of whom have the audacity to still live in her house – she delivers a self-aware and powerful performance. Her comedy chops clearly come from stand-up, and she works the room extremely well from the start.This is a solid stand-up routine: well attended, amusing, and not necessarily breaking new ground – but it doesn’t need to. It feels grounded and has room to grow.Where Ria truly shines is in a facet all boys recognise: mums are scary. Ria Lina: Riabellion is not a helicopter mum; she is a high-tech, missile-laden, covert-ops attack helicopter mother – and the best part is, she knows it.

Just before Aftertaste, I found myself in a café with two hardened Fringe veterans, chewing over the now-endless inflation of star ratings. Once upon a time, three stars meant, simply, “good – go see it”. These days anything shy of four is met with a polite grimace and the whiff of failure. Keep that in mind, because Aftertaste is a solid three-star show in the old-school sense: engaging, occasionally incisive, but rough round the edges and proudly uninterested in tidy conclusions.Juniper (heartbroken, wine-sodden, aggressively sardonic) is ricocheting through dating apps and one-night stands with the determination of a lab rat in a maze. Her best friend Mads – the sort of person who brings orange juice and tarot cards while offering unsolicited life advice – lets herself into the flat on a regular nutrition-and-nurture patrol. Around Juniper orbits a succession of men who look so uncannily alike that, until curtain call, I assumed a single über-versatile actor was hopping costumes. Discovering there were three felt like the show’s final punchline.The studio set is littered with bottles, books and emotional detritus. It’s authentically chaotic, though perhaps too literally so: several scenes devolve into careful obstacle courses as the cast thread themselves between props. The same literalism afflicts the pacing. Long, naturalistic pauses – to pour wine, fetch Scrabble boards, stare moodily at the middle distance – tip past vérité into inertia. A little underscoring, or even a decisive lighting cue, might have helped the air move.Speaking of tech, the only sound we hear is during scene changes, accompanied by a brief wash of violet lights. It’s a curious choice: for a play so interested in the throb of life after hours, the silence feels positively monastic. The effect is heightened by a script that, when it stirs, has a wickedly dry tongue. “Is it better to objectify women or to bore them?” Juniper asks, and the line keeps echoing long after the laugh has faded.Narratively, the play circles rather than travels. We begin with Juniper curled under a duvet; after an hour of awkward dates, fleeting hook-ups and well-meaning pep talks, we end in almost the same position. Slice-of-life drama is allowed to resist neat arcs, but theatre can still gift us momentum – here, the promise of commentary never quite becomes more than gesture.Yet – crucially – Aftertaste is not boring. It has voice, perspective, and flashes of honest pathos. When Juniper drops the armour for a moment of scared vulnerability, the temperature in the room shifts. There’s a sharper, keener play buried under the clutter; trim the pauses, trust the dialogue, and develop the narrative arc, and it might yet emerge.Until then, consider this a recommendation in its original three-star spirit: a good hour, imperfect but worthwhile, and proof that “not boring” is still a perfectly respectable bar to clear at the Fringe.

“Now, to students, that type of thing is probably hilarious,” quipped Caroline Aherne’s character Mrs Merton, deadpan, to Vic and Bob. That line came to mind more than once during Secret Admirers, a new musical from the Foot of the Hill Theatre Company that mixes romantic angst with a high-concept FBI surveillance comedy. It’s big, bold and faintly bonkers – and while not everything lands, there’s more than enough here to make it worth your time.The concept is knowingly ludicrous: everyone in the world is surveilled by a dedicated FBI agent, and two of these agents (Emma Henderson and Kian Standbridge) are tasked with nudging their awkwardly mismatched subjects, Lucy and Adam, into romance. As the human couple’s relationship sours and stalls, the agents begin to catch feelings themselves – all under the all-seeing eye of a mysterious Overseer, who is less than thrilled by these emotional developments.The show runs on two tracks: a comic meta-spy narrative and a more grounded romantic drama. The balance isn’t always even. The FBI sequences have energy – there are gags, conspiratorial winks and some ambitious choreography – but also a heavy whiff of drama-soc silliness. There’s fourth-wall breaking, CIA-style clipboards and a good deal of postmodern mugging that occasionally tries too hard. Judging by the laughs from the student-heavy crowd, it’s hitting its mark with its target audience, even if it doesn’t always withhold from leaning on the obvious.Where the show does shine is in the relationship between Lucy and Adam. Their story arc owes more than a little to The Last Five Years – especially in its bleaker middle stretch, when things fall apart with musical precision. There’s a better show buried just beneath the surface here: one where the central couple don’t get back together, and their unresolved emotional tangles are allowed to sit, unanswered. The “happy ending” feels unearned, as if the writers lost their nerve in the final scenes. A gutsier production might have left things unresolved – or at least less neatly tied up.Musically, there’s a lot to like. The score, by Luke Mallon, ranges from big belt numbers to more introspective pieces, and while the lighter, comic songs are serviceable, it’s the emotional ones that truly resonate. Emma Henderson as Agent Skye gives a powerhouse performance – vocally assured and emotionally rooted – and brings much of the show’s weight with her. Standbridge, as her partner-in-surveillance, is equally engaging, while Niamh Williams as Lucy gives a warm and expressive turn.Less successful is the choreography. The cast clearly aren’t natural dancers, and the early musical numbers suffer from awkward movement that feels like a holdover from traditional MT staging. Ironically, once the choreography is dropped midway through, everything relaxes: the cast look more at ease, the voices come forward, and the show begins to breathe.Technically, it’s a bit of a haze – quite literally. The haze machine is left on for the duration, meaning much of the action plays out in a kind of diffuse fog. Add to that some distractingly programmed moving-head lights and it starts to feel like the tech is trying too hard to be impressive, rather than simply supporting the story.Secret Admirers isn’t perfect – but it isn’t boring either. It has ideas, voices, ambition, and a slightly chaotic heart. With sharper direction, subtler tech and a little more trust in its quieter strengths, this could grow into something genuinely moving. For now, it’s a fun, slightly foggy and endearingly overcooked hour – with a few moments that genuinely linger.

Writer-director Luke Adamson says he's taken “a lot of creative licence” in the writing and staging of his latest play, The Unkillable Mike Malloy, at the Bridge House Theatre, Penge. However, the most remarkable thing is that it’s based on a bizarre true story.Michael Malloy (1873–1933), from Donegal, moved to New York City, where he ended up a homeless, unemployed alcoholic. It was the age of Prohibition. Five people took out a number of insurance policies on him through a corrupt agent, believing he was near death due to excessive drinking. One of the group owned a speakeasy and helped him on his way with an unlimited tab. But they underestimated Malloy’s resilience.With increasing desperation, they tried adding antifreeze to his whiskey, then turpentine, horse liniment and rat poison – and finally, wood alcohol – all to no avail. Similarly, raw oysters soaked in wood alcohol and sandwiches of rotting sardines mixed with poison and carpet tacks achieved nothing. In desperation, they drenched him in water and abandoned him outdoors on a freezing cold night. The police found him and took him to a shelter. Then they had him run over by a taxi, which only broke a few bones and hospitalised him for a few weeks. Their final idea worked, but police suspicion, a questionable death certificate and attempts to claim the insurance led to their arrest.Bryan Pilkington (Malloy) sustains a convincing drunken, folk-singing part, switching between costume and accent changes for several other characters. As a police officer, he is shocked to find the speakeasy run by a woman, Toni Marino. Stefani Ariza, however, leaves us in no doubt of her capabilities and control. Meanwhile, Will Croft narrates and plays gang member Francis Pasqua with period aplomb.Prison cell scenes bookend the play, which is staged in the style of film noir, with appropriate sound and compositions from Dan Bottomley. The trio carry the story through some 85 minutes that should really be no more than 60. The repetitive nature of the various attempts to kill Malloy is interesting only to a point – and we already know the ending, although it comes with a little twist. While there are elements of black comedy and farce, no single style fully asserts itself above being a narrative tale, albeit an absurd one.

Kismet, a double bill from Rambert, begins with the hugely disappointing Gallery of Consequence by Dutch choreographer Emma Evelein – a shame, as this was a premiere – followed by B.R.I.S.A., much more accomplished but still a curate’s egg from the legendary Johan Inger, the Swedish choreographer.Gallery of Consequence is set in an airport waiting area and progresses through various scenarios of check-in, waiting, chance encounters, boarding, etc. Robotic hip-hop movements suggest how we are controlled and alienated in that environment, and those who love hip-hop will enjoy it. But a whole piece composed of jerky movements, spasms and incomprehensible gestures becomes tedious in the extreme. Attempts at emotional expressivity are made in some solos and duets – in particular, a love duet in which a girl is dumped and reacts by plonking herself on a bench and hiding her eyes in her hands. This clichéd lack of subtlety defines the whole piece.To be honest, the Departure Board, designed by AMIANGELIKA, which morphs into silhouettes of couples, was more interesting – though its list of flights boarding at the beginning, changing to flights cancelled at the end, was another heavy-handed attempt at pathos. Evelein’s background is in music videos and dance films, and her lack of experience in contemporary dance choreography is telling.B.R.I.S.A. by Johan Inger (premiered in 2014) saved the evening. Most importantly, the expressive, complex and subtle choreography allowed the Rambert dancers to show off their magnificent technique, flexibility and athleticism.Beginning with dancers shuffling around the edge of a large carpet – alienated and isolated – they then break out into frenzied movements, only to subside into depression again. Edinburgh’s audience may remember the recent production of his Passing alongside Crystal Pite’s Frontier with Ballet BC, where his quirky sense of humour shone. It’s evident here too, as he explores the theme of liberation using an increasing number of wind-creating gadgets: electric fans, a Japanese red fan, hairdryers and – to top it all – leaf blowers, as the dancers revel in the cool breeze. (B.R.I.S.A. is inspired by the Spanish word for breeze. A coincidence that this production coincides with a heatwave in Europe.)All this is set to the soulful voice of Nina Simone, singing Black Swan, Wild Is the Wind and Sinnerman. What a joy. Unfortunately, the piece descended into some incoherent rambling at the end, which spoilt an otherwise fascinating production.

Acne Romeo opens in a noisy bar, where we are introduced to two characters: R (played by Callan Ridgwell) and J (played by Luc De Freitas). R is our titular Romeo, a trans man who appears uncomfortable in his body—nervous and shy as he surveys the room and spots the charismatic J. J is a femme man, a twink with a sharp edge—youthful, spiky, and confident in his demeanour. The immediate contrast between them sparks an attraction and a tension that is both thrilling and engrossing.Unfortunately, their unfolding relationship doesn’t quite live up to the promise of this initial tension. Holed up together for 48 hours after R calls in sick to work, their connection moves through moments of intimacy and closeness, rage and cruelty. There’s something undeniably sexy about the way the bodies are portrayed on stage—particularly the swaggering, sultry seductiveness of J, played with riveting charisma by De Freitas. However, the emotional bond between the characters feels confusing, and at times, bewildering. I was left uncertain about what kept these two together when they didn’t seem to particularly enjoy each other’s company. The undulating waves of attraction, anxiety, longing, and need became difficult to track.The sound design was loud, aggressive, and deliberately distorted. While this served as a useful metaphor for the characters’ confusion, angst, and perhaps even anguish, it often felt alienating and frequently overwhelmed the dialogue.Nods to Baz Luhrmann's Romeo + Juliet through the final costume choices added a delightful touch of humour. It was heartening to see male femininity and transmasculinity represented on stage with such sensitivity by the two young actors. Overall, Acne Romeo is a brave exploration of a rarely seen relationship dynamic.

Some performances—especially those featuring circus and juggling—can only truly work in a large space. However, Café de Profundis has at its core an intimacy, making the Beseda stage at Prague Fringe a fitting venue for this show.The stage is minimally yet intriguingly set: a small table and chairs stage right, and a glowing circular shape affixed to the backdrop. Ofelia Grey enters deliberately and strikingly. Is she stalking? Her movement evokes a flamenco style. She begins by using the glowing orb to showcase her balance and movement dexterity.In the next vignette, she abruptly shifts to puppetry and monologue, interacting with the unseen waiter, Sebastian. A coffee pot and napkin are woven together seamlessly to become a puppet—perhaps the embodiment of a childhood friend?Next, she portrays a playful woodland creature concocting a magic potion to provoke her uncongenial neighbour into dance. This is followed by a circus-style display of movement and physicality. The character’s abrasiveness begins to feel like a mask—perhaps hinting at deeper insecurity. Like the coffee pot, the fish may represent an imaginary companion.As the piece unfolds, Grey switches fluidly between characters and performance styles, showcasing an impressive range of theatrical talents: dramatic monologue, mime, physical theatre, clowning, storytelling, and juggling.The production is surreal and steeped in fantasy. Is Sebastian even real? It's difficult to discern what is reality, memory, symbolism, or pure imagination. This is where Café de Profundis doesn’t entirely land—the blend of concepts and theatrical disciplines feels overly broad, leaving some audience members unsure of what they had just witnessed.“Things fall apart all the time,” notes our protagonist. Yet the striking finale strongly contradicts that sentiment. Ofelia Grey is a talented and creative artist who will no doubt return with more startling work in the future.

There’s a moment early in Little Drops of Rain – a Taiwanese import from Bon Appétit Theatre – when you realise you’re in for something delightfully different. No dialogue, no text, and barely a nod to traditional plot structure. Just four performers, some puppets, and an arsenal of equipment that looks like it’s been borrowed from a sound engineer’s fever dream.The story, such as it is, follows a young girl navigating a parched world who stumbles upon a single drop of water. Along the way, she meets rainclouds, robots, and various other abstract weather-related phenomena. Whether or not you can follow the logic of her journey feels largely beside the point. This is less about narrative coherence and more about mood, texture, and the gentle magic of watching objects come alive.The puppetry is delicate and effective, but the real stars here are the sound artists – two performers who conjure every splash, stomp, rumble, and robotic clank live on stage. Their setup resembles a medical rig: all cables, bars, and mysterious instruments that produce astonishingly specific noises. It’s inventive, charming, and frankly impressive that they managed to ship it all the way from Taiwan.But while the show sounds gorgeous, it doesn’t quite land emotionally. The central character’s journey, while beautifully rendered, lacks the clarity or tension to fully engage – particularly for the younger children it seems to be aimed at. The atmosphere is lovely, but there’s a risk of style drifting too far ahead of substance.Still, at just 45 minutes, Little Drops of Rain is an enjoyable and gently hypnotic experience. It may not stick in the memory as a complete story, but as a piece of sensory theatre, it has moments of quiet wonder. More cohesion and a clearer emotional arc would take it further – but even as it stands, this is a show with heart, ingenuity, and a lot of beautifully timed splashing.

After last year’s wonderfully chaotic Getting Over Hugh, I made a point of catching Acting Out’s return to the Prague Fringe with Stealing Stories. I’m glad I did. While this new show hasn’t quite shaken the company’s love of a jumbled plot or sudden tonal swerves, it’s undeniably entertaining – and oddly compelling, in spite (or perhaps because) of its flaws.Billed as a sharp comedy about creative ownership and queer identity, Stealing Stories asks some big questions: who gets to tell which stories? Who owns a lived experience? And can straight, cis writers credibly portray queer lives without tipping into appropriation? These are fertile topics – though here, they’re explored in a script that veers wildly from pointed satire to melodrama to sincere debate, often within the same scene.Once again, writer/director Sean Denyer proves he’s brimming with ideas. Possibly too many. Just as the audience settles into a funny exchange – like a book launch Q&A where a character reminds us, “This is not a pantomime” – we’re suddenly plunged into an earnest subplot involving an Afghan refugee. There are also lesbian romantic triangle plays, a friendship breakdown, and more than one impassioned monologue about who can write what. If Getting Over Hugh was a “fabulous hot mess”, Stealing Stories is its slightly more mature sibling: still messy, but starting to make sense of the chaos.Some improvements are evident. Lighting transitions – a major issue in last year’s production – have been refined, though the end of each scene would still benefit from a snap fade rather than a slow drift into confusion. The acting across the board is strong and helps keep us grounded, even when the script goes off-piste.Despite its inconsistencies, Stealing Stories is a show I’d recommend. It’s fun, fast-moving and performed with infectious energy. There are great lines (“We’re all in drag, but some of us are just boring”) and more than a few laugh-out-loud moments. It also raises worthwhile questions – even if it doesn’t always answer them.Ultimately, Denyer doesn’t quite stick the landing when it comes to balancing satire with sincerity. But like last year, the show’s chaotic heart is part of its charm. And once again, I left the theatre amused, bemused, and slightly envious of the fun the cast was clearly having on stage.

If you put on a show about a man with a huge following, his devotees are almost guaranteed to turn up in droves to honour their hero - which probably explains why Marc Burrows plays to full houses with his show, The Magic of Terry Pratchett.It's likely that fans will love anything that promotes the man, his writing and his perspective on life. The test is whether people drawn by curiosity - who may know the man only by name, and who may never have read any of his many books (yes, fans, such people do exist - I’m one of them) - can find it rewarding.Burrows is aware of this, and his informal poll of the audience before the show really gets underway proves that he’s preaching to the choir. His skill lies in making the show accessible to those with no prior knowledge, and who want to know how a man of humble origins became a cult figure. Burrows lays this out clearly in a chronological presentation that is rich with projected photographs, newspaper headlines, video footage of the man himself and quotations from his speeches and books.His approach is convivial, light-hearted and earnest. His encyclopedic knowledge of the author becomes less surprising once we learn that Burrows was the first - if not the official - biographer of Pratchett, his credentials enhanced by the blessing of the Pratchett estate. He is, without doubt, an authority on the subject, fired with the zeal of a disciple and a touch of nerdiness. There is much to listen to and much to see as the presentation progresses, littered with humorous asides and witty juxtapositions.There is plenty that plays to Pratchett’s avid readers, with references to many of his works and frequent quotations. They lap it up and cheer him along, while those of us on the sidelines can delight in seeing them so thrilled - without feeling left out.

I’ve often wondered why both the rural and urban landscape is not littered with dead birds. Do Birds Hide to Die provides no answer - and the play is not about dead birds, although there is a treasured one in the small tin that Violet (Eleanor Cobb) carries in procession from the back of the theatre, accompanied by her mother, Lily (Fanny Le Pironnec). They ceremoniously bury it before the flashback ends.Lily is writing a book, but is struggling to find an ending to her story. As she sits alone at her desk, she is haunted by the recurring presence of her deceased daughter - a destructive loop of fraught emotions. She tries to push them aside, but there is no escaping the memories of the short time they spent together. Sequences of trying to keep the house tidy are repeated in her mind as she remembers how Violet messed it up with her drawings scattered around the floor. Then she recalls the game Violet played of seeing how long she could hold her breath while submerged in the bath.Violet never knew her father, but desperately wants to be told about him. For Lily, it is a painful recollection, suggested only in a brief movement sequence - a story she will never tell. She always ignores the question and changes the subject. Violet resumes her fascination with birds, and where they - and people - go when they die.Cobb beautifully captures the characteristics of a child through movement, facial expressions and vocal delivery. Le Pironnec, meanwhile, conveys the stress of a single parent: the attempts to balance caring for her daughter with trying to finish her book and keep the house tidy. That’s how life was, but now she has only trauma and memory to occupy her life of solitude.Both performances are captivating and shine above the play itself, which is complex and often confusing. Yet for those who like to speculate about meaning and weave their own experiences and emotions into a story, it is probably fertile territory.

Shame around love and sexuality remains a stultifying and challenging part of self-acceptance, especially for gay men. I've Never Met Anyone Like You Before subtly and touchingly explores this theme through the lens of a young gay man called David, who meets the charismatic Art in a club one night. Their ensuing relationship is filled with the usual ups and downs of trust issues, establishing boundaries, fragile communication and different expectations around monogamy.David Scotland as David is vulnerable and nervous, drawing immediate sympathy and warmth from us. Robert Strange as Art is sexy and seductive from the moment we first see him dancing alone in the club, confidently commanding the stage in his shorts, workman boots and skimpy vest. He is both the man and the metaphor, though the symbol is never overplayed. The two interact, cutely forming a very fast bond, but David is immediately recognisable as the weaker of the pair – more submissive and more prone to being taken advantage of.The play is structured as a delightful series of short vignettes. It is almost like a series of diary entries, letters, phone conversations and voice notes have been cobbled together to give us the sweep of David's life with Art. Through these monologues we discover he is a man in search of love who actually needed to learn how to love himself.The weakness in this structure is that it affords us ample insight into David's worldview but little into Art's, and so Art always feels more like the problem in the relationship than David, which rather undermines the ultimate message. But it is nonetheless a touching and intimate slice of gay life, which reminds us we all have permission to love ourselves a little bit more.

A tragic romance story about dementia set to the backing track of Frank Sinatra’s Fly Me to the Moon, In Other Words is a veritable tearjerker.The four-time Molière Award-winning play, written by Matthew Seager, explores the lives of married couple Arthur and Jane, as they hop through time to narrate their earliest meet-cute and subsequent years together.Even knowing little about the show beforehand, it is clear from the start that the tale is a fated one. The set design is stripped back, save for plush lounge chairs and dusky lighting that reveal hints of nostalgia, aligning with the script’s old-school romance.At first, our characters sway to Sinatra’s tune while gazing into each other's eyes. Soon, however, Arthur’s disease takes hold, our actors are thrown into strobe lighting and sound distortion, and we shift back in our seats.As each scene tracks further and further towards Arthur’s decline, the pair’s love is tested. The only levity comes from the couple’s overarching narration at critical moments. Beyond that, the script reads matter-of-fact, like the neurologist’s diagnosis, with rare moments of deeper musing. In Other Words risks becoming too dry and numbing in parts.The actors, however, keenly shake us back to life, with Matthew Seager as Arthur showcasing versatility as he battles through fear, anger and confusion, all while clinging on to his soft, self-deprecating character until, finally, he gives way to bumbling catatonia. Lydia White as Jane is equally sympathetic, in a beautifully stoic portrayal of bereavement.Should you ever see this play, make sure you take tissues.

Isaac Freeman’s Medium offers an intriguing glimpse into the fascination with Victorian spiritualism. Set in 1875, the play unfolds while preparing for a séance where two renowned mediums confront unsettling truths. Freeman’s script captures the era’s language and atmosphere with commendable authenticity, immersing us in a world where belief and deception intertwine.The production’s attention to period detail is evident, from the set design to the costuming, effectively transporting viewers to a bygone London. The addition of the smell of incense is a lovely touch. The performances are intense, with the actors delivering their roles with conviction, particularly in the more suspenseful moments, although sometimes the words spoken seem incongruent with the actions.The play is based on accounts written at the time and the people referenced in the play are all real, which adds to its fascination. It also leaves open-ended answers as to whether there is any truth to the spiritualism of the time.However, while the tension builds steadily throughout the play, the climax doesn’t quite deliver the emotional payoff one might expect. The pacing occasionally falters, and certain elements feel drawn out, leading to a conclusion that, while intriguing, leaves some questions unanswered.Medium is a commendable effort that showcases Freeman’s potential as a playwright. The production’s strengths lie in its atmospheric setting and strong performances, though the narrative’s resolution may leave some seeking a more definitive conclusion.

"Are you having a stroke?" Not exactly what inventor Jim (Paul Richards), pitching an idea to his long-term girlfriend Alison (Ruby Florence), wants to hear. But this does not transpire to be Alison’s most devastating line to Jim; it is, however, a microcosm of the personality gap between the pair.The Half A Camel (the upstairs function room of The Joker) is set with a typical domestic scene, except that Jim is miming to Queen’s We Are The Champions, as part of his morning routine before facing his fiscally necessary but seemingly unfulfilling, and perhaps daunting, office job. This is an early tell as to the sense of his functional unease and absence of social filter, further exemplified by his later appearance at a baby shower.Jim and Alison are a couple, but the differences between them are easier to observe than their similarities. He is bright, anxious, excitable, affable, yet socially immature and unaware. She is streetwise and has an inscrutable poise. Do opposites attract? This idea has been widely debunked as a myth, yet there can be an element of compensation in a relationship, in that one side can seek out in a partner that which is missing from their own skillset. Whether there is longevity to this position is questionable, of course.Alison becomes aware of the surprise in social circles of her choice of partner, giving rise to the title of the piece, a play on Joe Jackson’s classic track. In fact, music punctuates this production, cleverly weaving Elvis Costello’s Alison and Sinatra's Somethin’ Stupid into proceedings. Her friends and colleagues do not understand what she sees in him, in stark contrast to the adolescent reaction of Jim’s friends. She is conflicted, acknowledging his good qualities, but being mindful of his awkwardness. His marriage proposal serves only to fuel her discomfort and her response of "I think I need to think about this" is clearly alarming to Jim.Both performances are eloquently played, and despite their differences, the relationship is believable. Cara Hanman’s direction is assured and the production enjoyable, in spite of some inevitable noise bleed in such a central Fringe venue. There is a missing layer, however, to this iteration of the play: we wanted to hear more from the obviously conflicted Alison, reasons for her ultimate decision, and the consequences of this. Modifications to the writing could rectify this and give rise to a play with more legs.Is She Really Going Out With Jim? conveys a charming optimism, but at its core is Alison’s dilemma: will this prove to be a triumph of hope over social normalisation?

“Call me Ishmael” is one of the most recognisable opening lines in literature, and the story of Moby Dick isn’t a mystery to many people. This was both a strength and a drawback of Ross Ericson’s one-man reimagining of the tale: familiarity with the text makes it easier to enjoy, but it leaves few surprises.Pared back and relaxed, this incarnation of Moby Dick is tucked away in the corner of a tavern, the stage set with a single sail, a tankard of booze, and a projection of the sea. Ishmael, played by Ericson at an unwavering pace from start to finish, recounts the fateful and spiritual hunt for the great white whale.Condensing Moby Dick into an hour’s script is no mean feat, and Ericson delivers a solid, warm and often funny performance, switching through the cast of characters with ease. But while the world-building and character work are strong, a little more light and shade in pacing and performance to make contemplative moments more impactful would have served the highs and lows of the story well.The show could have benefited from more energy in the elements around the script too - some variation in lighting, projection or the addition of some evocative, scene-setting sound design. Any of these would have brought the story further to life and illustrated the vivid world Ericson was working hard to build.While an easy and entertaining way to spend an hour with an engaging performer, the show’s simplicity may have come at the cost of the spark needed to stand out in a crowded Fringe.

A teacher lingers between life and death and wonders what it was all for, while the Angel of Death decides his fate in a liminal waiting room, longing to realise her dream of becoming a daytime quiz show host.What follows from this unusual premise is a combination of gentle ponderings on the way we spend our lives and how we let dreams slip away, with quirky characters, audience quizzing, and an unexpected turn towards an almost psychedelic conspiracy theory at the end.James Mannion, playing the benign science teacher – also called James – has a clear talent for pairing songwriting with storytelling. The music is the enduring highlight of the piece overall, and having a live band is one of the show's main luxuries. The sound becomes quite beautiful with the support of The Sisters of Mercy (a choir more commonly known as Women of Note) providing harmonies from a heavenly balcony behind us. I'm eagerly awaiting the concept album that would be a natural follow-on from this show.Overall, the production is fun but scrappy, struggling at first with a few technical and costume glitches, with the stage looking jumbled throughout. The script is lighthearted but lacks enough focus to stitch the story, character, audience interaction and music together in a satisfying way.With a little more polish, the show's vision would have been more cohesive and effective – and it was tantalisingly close to getting there. But The Angel of Death Will See You Now is enjoyable and entertainingly anarchic, and is certainly one of the more unique, wonderfully Fringe-y shows on offer.

An actress alone on chaise reminiscing about her life suddenly becomes much more interesting at a pivotal point in the show where the penny drops as to what is going on. We meet Emily, an actress in her later years, getting ready to go to an audition for a part that has just become available because another actress has died, for which she is gleefully very sorry of course. She is star of stage and screen, starting out at Blackpool but quickly destined for the West End, then Broadway, then Hollywood. Her stories are elaborate and lovely until suddenly we are invited into hear about her life more intimately and then everything changes, as she recounts parts of her childhood and how she left home to change from Charlotte into Emily, who she holds as different personas. Here the story gets deeper and more intimate and real, including a description of a sexual assault that affects her for the rest of her life, and is acted with an authentic mixture of shame, betrayal and hindsight awareness.This is written in a really interesting way and acted with realism and genuineness. The piece also has some interesting things to say about both acting and the actors’ life: “when did it become a career instead of a calling”, and about growing older: “no-one sees you when you’re old – they just see an old person”. The parts get smaller and thinner as actors get older, they don’t want to take yet another part about dementia but of course they will because that’s all that’s being written these days. This is a lovely little show, very funny and thought provoking, and well recommended.

Anxiety. Trampolines. The Chuckle Brothers. Don’t Let Me Die Before Sunday is a witty, winding, and occasionally wayward one-person show from Skin & Blister Theatre, exploring the pitfalls of making theatre when your own mental health keeps interrupting the rehearsal process.Ella McCallum plays Aoife — and also herself — and also an actor playing Aoife — and, at times, a production team in a WhatsApp group chat. It’s a deliberately tangled web of meta-theatrical knots and McCallum keeps the whole thing buoyant through sheer force of performance. Her versatility and charm bring a sense of life and clarity to a show that at times revels in its confusion.The set-up is deceptively simple: a woman walks into A&E, convinced she’s dying. From this familiar spiral of health anxiety, we’re spun into a world where the show restarts, rewrites itself, and occasionally bounces off a trampoline. The early scenes in the hospital — brought vividly to life by McCallum’s shifts in character — are the strongest, and there’s real warmth and bite in Elspeth McColl’s writing, particularly when skewering mainstream cultural touchstones (Richard Osman’s House of Games gets a deserved mention).There’s clever use of projection to show text conversations and development texts, opening up the writing process to the audience — as if we too are sitting in a rehearsal room, slowly losing confidence in the show we’re meant to be making. This is both the show’s greatest strength and occasional downfall. While the aim is clearly to induce the disorientation of anxiety, the reset midway through – complete with trampoline – starts to pull focus. Scenes in the final third begin to drag, losing the earlier energy and clarity. Whether this is intentional or not is up for debate, but audience investment dips just as the performance becomes more chaotic.Production-wise, this felt like a work still in progress. A little more polish in the lighting and staging could elevate the already strong material, particularly in guiding the audience through the more abstract sequences.Still, Don’t Let Me Die Before Sunday is smart, self-aware, and sometimes very funny — not always an easy combination when tackling mental health. It’s powered by a performer who knows exactly what she’s doing and a script that’s brimming with heart, humour, and a mild existential crisis or two. A confident production — though it might benefit from a little less trampoline next time round.

Nicholas Collett tells a moving true story of his father, who served in the Royal Navy during the second world war, almost as an oral history encounter in this one-person show. Using models and simple props such as his sister’s dolls’ house, complete with little figurines, or a whisky bottle that later becomes a submarine, he recounts how his father first opened up about his wartime experiences.The first half of the show moves very quickly - sometimes a little too quickly - between different time periods as Collett tells an intertwined story of his childhood and his father’s life. The second half is where it comes alive, as he recounts, with palpable emotion, his father’s service on board HMS Vanessa, including a detailed retelling of a significant encounter.As a piece of theatre, this is very measured and well rehearsed. There are impactful moments of real quality, but the tempo rarely changes, giving it a slightly lecture-like quality. Collett is also quite open about his agenda to ensure these stories are remembered – a laudable aim – though the ending is clearly designed to elicit a particular emotional response.Overall, this is an interesting piece, told with true feeling, about a time that is slipping from living memory. Worth an hour of your time.

Ari Freed (Ilan Galkoff) strolls down the side aisle of the Marylebone Theatre and casually addresses us as though we were friends. He’s cheerful, endearing, even amusing, and pleased to see us. He’s also surprised at the number of people who have turned up—and welcomes us to his funeral.The drape over two versatile benches creates the image of a coffin, separating Mrs Freed, his mother (Clara Francis), at one end from his father, Dr Freed (Ben Caplan), at the other—positions symbolic of the distance between them in their marriage. Behind the lectern stands Rabbi Lev (Andrew Paul), who tries to be all things to all people. Ariel’s prominent bar mitzvah photograph cues a re-enactment of the tearful events of his coming-of-age celebration, unveiling the misery that has dominated his life and his awareness of the devastating effect that revealing his sexuality will have on his family. As the characters come to life, we move into an uneasy blend of theatrical styles.His controlling father, who has espoused Orthodox Judaism with dogmatic fervour, disowns him, while his mother, burdened with Ari’s eleven siblings, becomes complicit through her helplessness. Yet in a play that is overwritten, her part feels underwritten.For those who have been through the process of coming out to intolerant parents, especially within a strict religious family, there may well be identification with Ari and a setting that resonates, **** confirmed by a young man I met after the performance who was moved by the story and recognised many of the struggles portrayed.As a piece of theatre, however, it is less rewarding. The number of scenes necessitates frequent reorganising of David Shields’ basic and necessarily versatile set, while Nic Farman’s ever-changing lights respond accordingly. Just in case we are unclear about Ari’s real-life situation, a play within the play is constructed, based on the Jewish parable of the Prince and the Turkey (gobble, gobble).  This unnecessary and laboured pantomime-style intrusion is such a blatant allegory that it feels like an insult to the audience’s intelligence. The notorious 'clobber' passage from Leviticus 20 is recited to justify the homophobia that Ari suffers, a reminder that those obsessed with power and control are always happy to quote words that suit their agenda while ignoring their meaning in context. We also have the AIDS crisis thrown in for good measure, along with a sexual twist to Dr Freed’s story.Many of the scenes seem contrived, and it is left to Yiftach Mizrahi, as the confidante Sammy Stein and ‘daddy’ figure in Ari’s life, to bring some reality, humanity, and credibility to the story. Between them, they save the day.

Some 12 years ago, Stephen Rea contemplated the possibility of performing Krapp’s Last Tape. He says: “I had no certainty that one day I might play Krapp, but I thought it a good idea to pre-record the early tapes so that the voice quality would differ significantly from that of the older character, should the opportunity ever arise to use it."Now his day has come at the Barbican, and his foresight adds another dimension to director Vicky Featherstone's production of Samuel Beckett’s classic work. Here is the 78-year-old Rea in the role of a 69-year-old man listening to the words of his younger voice. Jamie Vartan’s spartan set places him front stage on a raised platform with just his table (that provides its own comedy) and a chair. Eoin Lennon’s lighting provides a very dimly lit space that appropriately creates the idea of the “den”, as per the script, but offers little to illuminate Rea or the business of the 55-minute play. While it scales down the enormity of the stage and auditorium, an 1,100-plus-seat theatre still feels inappropriate for such an intimate solo show.A long pause opens the play, giving time to focus on the lone man before the familiar actions are rolled out. Our curiosity is aroused as to why someone living alone would bother to lock the table drawer, when it seemingly contains nothing of value, and to ceremoniously repeat the action after each banana is removed, always fumbling for his keys. And what are bananas doing tucked away in the depths of the drawer, anyway? But these are rituals no doubt developed over years of living in isolation, in the same way that every year on his birthday he would record a review of the previous year. On this birthday, however, he has also decided to listen to a tape he made three decades ago.We hear of an intimate relationship, of love that was lost, and reflect on the hapless, empty life that ensued. Rea captures the melancholy, reflexive mood while enjoying the playfulness of Krapp's fascination with the word “spool”, providing moments of amusement. Overall, however, the measured delivery lacks the emotional depth to draw us in to feeling anything about the man or his plight.

If recent productions are anything to go by, the RSC of 2025 season will be characterised as the summer of great spectacle. And having witnessed the Danish royal family rolling to their ends in the murky depths of an unforgiving sea earlier in the year, we are now invited to watch the blinging new money of Messina dissolve social media post by social media post.On entering the auditorium, a stunning multi-media set design by Jon Bausor assaults the senses, transporting one immediately to the high-octane atmosphere of a football stadium. A huge digital screen reads MESSINA FC 1 (85’ CLAUDIO), MADRID FC 2; there is a tunnel leading towards the pitch; lockers; hangers; plunge pool; a press table replete with sponsored drinks; a PR screen; TV camera; and advertising side bars: whilst piped cheers and whoops remind us of the Covid-era Match of the Day. As the house lights fade down, the commentary fades up.It is a brave conceit by director Michael Longhurst, and whilst one which perhaps does not seem immediately commensurate with one of Shakespeare’s most beloved comedies, has sufficient textual evidence to generate a credible interpretation and illuminate some of the key themes within a more contemporary commentary. The words themselves are butchered with alacrity; but with an audacity and intelligence which actually grates far less than some of the more sly linguistic insinuations we have seen in recent shows.Toxic masculinity, Primark WAGS, strutting little men with their brains in their toes, reputational damage, jealousy, revenge porn… it’s all part of Longhurst’s vision, and it makes for a visually engrossing piece which owes a great deal to the clever and deliciously detailed projections of Tal Rosner.The action switches between the football ground and team owner Leonato’s villa, where hijinx and sexual shenanigans are the order of the day. Almost everyone is at it in this world of shabby decadence: even – perhaps especially - Leonato himself (a slimy Peter Forbes whose characterisation owes more than a little to DC’s The Penguin). Forbes creates a highly believable patriarch of a monstrously shallow dynasty: avuncular warbling of Sinatra one minute, enjoying a cheeky grope the next; superficially loving, but with a core of misogyny he cannot shake.Here, Leonato’s brother Antonio becomes his wife Antonia, which is an interesting although under-explored move which fundamentally fails to add anything to the narrative. Not that Tanya Franks - all shoulder pads and barely-contained décolletage – gives anything less than pure oomph: a dazzling audition for a Scouse concept Lady Macbeth if ever there was one. The union opens up a contrived subplot in which Leonato is seen to preach family values without adhering to them himself: his grubby little affair with groupie Margaret igniting her reasoning for involvement in the plot which threatens to collapse their gilded lives. But this then fizzles into nothing, which does beg the question: why? Unfortunately, this is an ongoing motif within the piece: characters come and go with little exposition or justification; their assumed roles within the Messina hierarchy relegated to just a footnote in the programme. Villains have no motivation, bystanders little connection to the action. The most jarring example of this is Beatrice being introduced as a sports presenter: initially somewhat convincing but soon disproved by her overt verbal warring with Benedick. Despite their personal history, would this clever, funny woman really act so unprofessionally towards the captain of a winning football team which happens to be owned by her uncle? It seems unlikely.As Beatrice, Freema Agyeman is punchy and energised, commanding the stage in a beautiful palette of greens which unfailingly pulls focus from the frothiness of the other women on stage. It is a great shame that this shrewish stridency is only ever punctuated by a frustrated sulkiness: neither of which quite allows the merry maid born under a dancing star to showcase the joie de vivre for which she is universally loved and respected. In this iteration, it is no shock that Beatrice exhorts Benedick to ‘kill Claudio’: the only surprise is that she is not rolling up her sleeves to do it herself.And as Benedick, Nick Blood gamely showcases the cockish behaviour suggested by the text rather than the roguish charm more typically demonstrated. Happily however, once he has taken a dip in the ornamental pool, he has successfully not only rearranged his tragic haircut and Estuary accent, but also his philosophy on marriage.One of the most successful performances is Daniel Adeosun as Claudio, who conjures the silly little boy whose petulance and selfishness disbar him from becoming the man he thinks he is. Within this world, it seems entirely likely that his wounded ego would react with the cruelty demanded by the script; just as it becomes possible that Hero would hitch her marital wagon to an Insta-worthy sporting star in such a preposterously short space of time. Eleanor Worthington-Cox works hard to draw the sort of silly little girl who finds her perfect match in a silly little boy. This Hero is a two-bit Barbie girl who clatters about on silver platforms and Quality-Street-wrapped inspired couture; a Hero who uploads her vocals to TikTok for likes; a Hero with all the depth of a Big Brother live audience standing in a puddle.The trouble is that the superficiality of concept makes it hard to care for any of these people. Like: really hard. Antonia is being cheated on: but she is so arch and distant that we feel neither guilt by complicity nor compassion. Claudio has been duped: but the instigator is reduced to such a cipher that we blame Claudio’s fickle credulity rather than Don John’s machinations. Margaret is as much a victim as a villain: but then again, her readiness to suck off someone else’s husband got her into this mess in the first place. You get the picture.Perhaps this is the point. These are people who think Live, Laugh, Love slogans are acceptable art. Who want their own clothing line for Zara. Who have already applied for Too Hot to Handle on Netflix. These are not people who will sit around and discuss trade tariffs and the fallout of global conflict. They have two goals in life: sex and er… well… goals. Freed from the fetters of intellect or empathy; they are living their best lives in a vulgar fever dream of never-ending karaoke and cocktails. I Did It My Way croons Leonato, and it seems that everyone else is fully subscribed to that same principle. There’s flesh. There’s flesh everywhere. The dresses are all a little too tight, the necklines a little too precarious, and the muscles a little too demonstrated. But somehow, it works. And these ridiculous people make the pantomime of the last few scenes make more sense than a more thoughtful concept might: we absolutely believe that this Hero would sack off respect and trust for a balloon arch and half a million likes on social media, and that Claudio is (in)constant enough to believe slanders about his intended, mourn her death for five minutes, and then marry a cousin alleged to look a bit like her.But living by social media brings its own unique suite of injuries: and when Hero is falsely accused of spending the night before her wedding with company, the videography and message of the piece really comes into its own. The cod-psychology of internet warriors flashes across the auditorium: some supportive, some damning. Seeing anonymised declamations such as “Been waiting for this since she turned legal” or that she ‘deserved it’ remind us that Shakespeare is for all ages, and that slut-shaming has changed little in four and a quarter centuries. It is a powerful moment: the unwanted attentions of the weighing in on a private tragedy and magnifying the fragility of female autonomy.Is it any wonder, then, that these women simper about the place barely clothed when their entire currency lies in their sexual attractiveness? This reductive trope – dangerously close to the surface in our own lives - is amplified by the perhaps deliberate lack of chemistry between both sets of lovers. For just as noble marriages were primarily business deals at the time of writing, so are they a transaction here: clicks for romance, clicks for divorce, and the only thing worse than being talked about is not being talked about.All in all, this is an engaging and occasionally thought-provoking at times version of a classic. But ultimately, it’s hard to feel sympathy for the sorts of people who use Married at First Sight as an instruction manual for finding true love.

Living with the Dead, a new play by Cosette Bolt, at Augustine Church Theatre, is Not So Nice Theatre's latest production. Kris is the ‘rookie’ at Storm Funeral Home and Crematorium. She has six bodies to prepare for their final send off. To set expectations, the play is not a ghost or horror story, but shows us episodes from the lives of the six dead characters. The five female stories have family friction in common, and frictions range from the everyday – Christmas arrangements, job interviews – to life-changing or cataclysmic events. The story of the male character takes a different turn…The effect is rather a mixed bag; there is no discernible connection between the six characters other than the mortuary, and although death is presented as the play’s key theme, three of the character tales could be lifted from ongoing TV soap operas.On the much-to-the-credit side, however, the tale of ‘Skanky Sandy’ and her mother, and her father’s arrival to witness the cremation, delivered pathos and food for thought (and debate), and the monologue by the character Katrina was intensely moving and superbly acted.Towards the conclusion, the universality of death becomes more emphasised, and the ensemble relates a chorus of disasters in multiple languages to beautiful effect. (The show’s director is Matthew Attwood.)An additional strand is Kris’s relationship with her experienced boss, Evans, and their conversations around the nature of their job. As the play develops, we get a real sense of Kris learning the role of mediating between the worlds of the dead and the living, culminating in her learning the shock of grief in her own life.So, the production moves from the dramatic plains to the dramatic heights. Not So Nice Theatre is a new company seeking to challenge audiences and nurture new talent: more plays please (but with maybe less fat).

It’s a special year for Perth Theatre as the grand old lady of Scottish theatre celebrates her 125th anniversary. Launching the season is Restless Natives: The Musical which also has something to celebrate this year, namely its birth in film version 40 years ago.Bringing Restless Natives: The Musical to the stage has been a long unstinting labour of love. It may be four decades on but the film’s original creative team has re-united, this time with book by Ninian Dunnett, Michael Hoffman and Andy Paterson. The music is by Tim Sutton and Hoffman directs.Restless Natives tells of disillusioned young lads Will and Ronnie fed up with their lack of prospects and lives in Edinburgh. They decide to head for the Highlands on a motor bike to shake off the urban gloom and become modern day highwaymen. Disguised with masks as the Wolf and Clown they hold up tourist coaches with toy weapons and jollity.Ronnie (Kyle Gardiner) and Will (Finlay McKillop) become latter day Robin Hoods, zooming about their run down neighbourhood scattering money. Gardiner and McKillop bring a convincing youthful vibe to their performances, the former as the instigator and the latter putting the brake on. Things change when Will falls for Margot (Kirsty Maclaren), a coach tour guide, and full-time criminals want in on the act. Maclaren brings a feisty determination to her role as well as a strong singing voice.The musical does not have the film’s glorious visits to the Highlands of course and unfolds within the confines of the Perth stage, losing the element of the uplifting effect of the lads’ experience of freedom on the open road. It does however have some of the music of Scots band Big Country whose contribution to the film was unforgettable. There are many songs in the musical, some back to back, to keep the cast on their toes while the band under the baton of MD Hilary Brooks never flags for a minute.Restless Natives had a number of points to make in its original iteration and the musical follows suit setting a number of hares running in all directions which means there is plenty going on. There is certainly high energy from the cast as they dash from topic to topic with music and songs for every occasion.

Conor McPherson’s latest play, which he also directs, might benefit from a more intimate setting than the Old Vic, but The Brightening Air retains an element of claustrophobia as the eight members of a feuding family in rural Ireland explore their bonds and divisions in equal measure.It’s a solid ensemble piece that enables members of the talented cast moments to shine through and reveal their abilities as character actors in this Chekhovian-style piece, that has plenty of humour amid an assortment of frustrations, regrets, displays of anger and some dreams too. Three siblings form the heart of the play. Stephen (Brian Gleeson) and Billie (Rosie Sheehy) live together. Then there is the rebellious Dermot (Chris O’Dowd), whose arrival at the house disturbs the peace. That he is accompanied by Freya (Aisling Kearns), who is rather embarrassingly many years his younger and clearly of another generation, simply fuels the flames of discord, especially as his estranged wife Lydia (Hannah Morrish) is still part of the family and present in the house.While the play is rooted in the practicalities of life it is also imbued with an air of mysticism that is reflected in Rae Smith’s set with its upstage gauzes and the moody lighting design by Mark Henderson. Lydia pays Billie to bring magical water from a distant stream that she believes will restore her marriage. Without being mentioned one feels that the leprechauns, banshees, kelpies and changelings are never far away. Pierre (Seán McGinley), the unfrocked priest on whom a miracle befalls, roams the house holding forth in a manner far removed from his catholic past. It's left to Elizabeth (Derbhle Crotty), his faithful housekeeper, to keep him in order. One more character and storyline is thrown into the melting pot with Brendan (Eimhin Fitzgerald Doherty), a simple love-sick farmhand whose yearning for Billie stands no chance of being fulfilled.The Brightening Air is well-written and a delight to watch, yet it doesn't really satisfy. There’s a lot, if not too much going on, and by the end one wonders, “What was it all for, where does it leave us and what have we learned?”

One of Shakespeare’s most problematic characters, Shylock the Jewish moneylender has undergone polarised interpretations since The Merchant of Venice was first performed. This has ranged from miserly and cruel to demonic and inhumane when the Nazis hijacked the protagonist to further fuel antisemitism and xenophobia. Ostracised from society and forced to renounce all that he holds dear, in more recent years Shylock tends to be played as a tragic figure and one who deserves our pity. In this daring reimagining of the text, it is Tracy-Ann Oberman who plays a female Shylock. She enters the stalls before the play begins, lighting Shabbat candles and welcoming the audience before taking to the stage to recite Passover prayers. At once, any preconceptions we may carry of encountering a bitter, male merchant are subverted. It’s refreshing to consider Shakespeare's character anew in the East End of London, 1936. Inspired by her Jewish grandmother who fled persecution in Belarus and resettled in Britain, Oberman does an exceptional job of portraying Shylock as tough and matriarchal, someone who lives under the shadow of fear and yet remains resolute in her convictions. Huge credit must go to Liz Cooke’s use of costume (dapper suits, silk dresses) and set design which viscerally transport us back to the period. We are reminded that fascism was an active and tangible threat in Britain under Oswald Mosley and his party: the British Union of Fascists. Some of the play’s most affecting moments are when footage of fascist marches through the streets of the East End are super-imposed behind the action. These scenes encourage us to re-think the national myth that Britain was unequivocally against far-right ideology at this time. In this production, artfully directed by Brigid Larmour, Antonio (Joseph Millson) is a member of Mosley’s Blackshirts. His unrequited love for Bassanio (Gavin Fowler) is matched by an untethered hatred of Shylock and the Jewish community. Millson is a domineering presence who brings menace to the role, only softening when he reflects on his feelings for Bassanio. Bullish and entitled, Fowler plays Bassanio as a character whose affection for Portio (Georgie Fellows) is secondary motivation to the dowry he is set to receive should he choose the correct casket and be able to marry her. As the script is significantly cut, the character of Jessica (Shylock’s daughter, played by Grainne Dromgoole) and her decision to betray her father to elope with Lorenzo (Mikhail Sen) risks coming across as underdeveloped thus making it difficult to invest in this particular storyline and connect with the shattering impact it has on our protagonist.The ending of the play takes us to The Battle of Cable Street, when communities in the East End came out fearlessly in their droves to take a stand against the fascists, declaring “They Shall Not Pass.” Here, Oberman boldly breaks character and urges the audience to rise up, as her grandmother did, against antisemitic prejudice. I did feel this moment was a little contrived as the message had already been effectively delivered throughout. That aside, the play’s setting in 1930s Britain is a stark reminder that extreme ideology can be found much closer to home than perhaps our nation cares to admit and must be met with resistance.

This is not Hitchcock’s Psycho. Scary enough to give you a frisson or two, Ghost Stories, written by Jeremy Dyson and Andy Nyman, co-creator of Derren Brown’s television and stage shows, makes for an entertaining if not terrifying night. Introduced as a lecture illustrated by fascinating slides of photos claiming to exhibit the supernatural, any horror is initially kept in check by the pseudo-science of the lecturer, Professor Goodman (an engaging Dan Tetsell) who claims that we see what we want to see. He aims to debunk the ghost stories that follow: a watchman in a deserted warehouse, a teenager whose car has broken down in a lonely forest and a father in a nursery prepared for a newborn and claims that the ‘ghosts’ arise from our own guilty consciences.Howling winds greet the audience on entering, later torchlight or car lights sweeping a dark stage, all ramp up the tension. Expect loud noises to make you jump and each episode containing unexpected ‘things’ - no spoilers - which appear, the only question is what and when. However, the rambling text fails to engage our sympathy with the characters, despite the actors putting their all into it. Each episode gets darker but it is Goodman’s own experience, in particular a traumatic incident in his childhood, which is truly disturbing. This is probably because it’s left to the audience’s imagination. You might have nightmares from this incident alone but to be honest, the trailer is the most scary part of this show.

Andy Arnold brings his production of Arthur Miller's modern classic Death of a Salesman to Scottish theatres, impressively with an all-Scottish cast. The play focuses on the post-war idealism of ‘The American Dream’, with the hapless Willy Loman (David Hayman) as the protagonist. Hayman delivers an admirable performance, physicalising Loman’s frailty perfectly. Washed out salesman, striving to “be liked and you will never want”, is comparable to today’s generation of social media disillusionment for likes and followers being equal to popularity and success.Beth Marshall is convincing as Willy’s patient and forgiving wife, Linda. Aware of the reality happening around her, she earnestly clings to a long-lost hope of a ‘happy ever after’. The story follows the family dynamic with the Lomans' two sons, Biff (Daniel Cahill), and Happy (Michael Wallace). Willy has an ideal of achievement and pushes this onto his kids, under the illusion that he is a moral man. Robust and radiant moments from Cahill bring an authenticity to Biff, angry at his father’s flaws and infidelity. He desires to break free from societal conformity. Happy, who is anything but happy, is deluded and strives to follow in Willy’s weak footsteps. Wallace achieves an energetic presence, but as a family of four, the actors lack connection. However, vigorous Stewart Ennis injects some vitality as Ben Loman, Willy’s older deceased brother. His energy reflects every success that Willy fails at.Arnold’s directorial choice to have supporting actors sit at the side of the stage was the only note of interest within an underwhelming set (Neil Haynes) and simplistic lighting (Rory Beaton). The musicians are a welcome addition to brighten up a rather grey production, but unfortunately are underutilised.Overall this "tragedy of the common man” is ultimately as heavy as Willy Loman’s heart.

Nick Payne’s One Day When We Were Young is a neatly crafted trio of vignettes, each of which provides an insight into how the lives of Violet (Cassie Bradley) and Leonard (Barney White) progress over a period of 60 years.The three significant moments in the lives of the two provide a micro view of their relationship, revealing their long-term love and affection for each other, along with the obstacles that came their way and the difficulties they encountered. Their conversations fill in the intervening years, providing backstories that fill out the picture of their long and tenuous romance. Initially, we encounter them in a hotel bedroom. The first soldiers from the USA have arrived to join in the war effort. Lionel has received his call-up papers and in the morning he must leave to fight on the European Front. He survives the battles, but not without complications that undermine the promises they made to each other that night. How their futures evolve is the subject of the two following scenes. James Haddrell, Artistic Director of Greenwich Theatre, has longed to direct this play and pays tribute to the actors who have the skills he was looking for to pull off this demanding work. “Both,” he says, “have an astonishing ability to see beyond the physical ageing process and understand the ageing of intelligence and emotion–two hearts ageing in parallel, though not always in unison.” Their ageing is certainly well-crafted, with changes of gait, the wearing of spectacles, the acquisition of a limp for one and arthritic hands for the other indicating the passing of time matched by changes in voice. With age, their always tentative exchanges become even more measured as they furtively reference the life that might have been. An air of melancholy pervades the scenes that are intimate but slow-moving, a mood aided by the confines of Studio 90 at the Park Theatre, and Pollyanna Elston’s realistic and flexible sets, lighting by Henry Slater and the all-important sound effects by Aidan Good.It’s an interesting rather than gripping love story told with sensitivity.

Edinburgh University Theatre Company’s rendition of Road is an ambitious undertaking, that bravely attempts to capture all the gritty, raunchy realism of Jim Cartwright’s 1980s masterpiece. EUTC dive into the deep end, and emerge with a spirited performance that contains both depth and humour. The play begins with an imaginative pre-show performance, that immerses us from the moment the ensemble enters the Bedlam Theatre gates. From school girls asking how to play hop-scotch outside, to some drunkenly rowdy bar customers, the cast fully embody their vibrant characters. The sell-out show meant the small-theatre was overly crowded, and the this opening equated more to hearing some drunken shouting in the distance or being jostled past in the queue for the loos.The impressive work done by the large set crew, led by Lucie Benninghaus and Louis Taylor, featured a semi-circular seating arrangement opening up to an impactful scaffolding set, which managed to include a bedroom, a living room complete with cut-out mirror and television, a long strip of tarmac road and a whole house visible through a window. Cleverly reflecting the plays central themes, in which a wayward vagrant called Scullery acts as a tour-guide taking us through a night in the life of a working-class Lancashire Street, the stage perfectly presents the overlap of inside and outside spaces. Noah Sarvesvaran makes a strong, entrancing Scullery, whose movement embodies his restless energy. Ava Vaccari’s performance as Molly, a sweet, but slightly crazed old lady, whose monologue was full of humour and lightness, despite its slightly heavy undertones. The rest of the cast delivered energetic and enjoyable performances, even with the slight fumble in a few northern accents.Strong sound design, led by Ronan Lenane and Freya Game, was steeped with 80s throwback tunes and background noises lending to the plays realism. The use of microphones would have been helpful, as even just two rows back to the side, some parts of the monologues here lost to me, particularly those taking place on the bed. but those scenes were highly successful and showed off Miki Ivan’s light design skills. This performance had a lot going on, and where it was strongest it was vibrant and energetic, performed by an exuberant cast and executed by a clearly committed and imaginative production team.

This is, without a shadow of a doubt, a handsome production.The opening few minutes are as compelling an introduction to the good ship Elsinore as can be imagined. A lonely trumpet signals the passing of a King. Stiff silhouettes in the late Edwardian style stand in cinematic relief against the background of a tempestuous sea which reflects the rotten state of Denmark. A naval clock tells us that we are not only perilously close to the witching hour… but to an April 1912 point in time forever etched on the collective consciousness as a demarcation between worlds.Being enchanted by this Titanic concept is a consummation devoutly to be wished. Es Devlin’s set is stunningly imagined and executed: bare ships boards giving way to deck games, royal suites and engine rooms. It is worth seeing for this design alone: the ship which houses the action tilts and lists to a quite spectacular degree, tossing the Danish court about on the literal waves of happenstance. Akhila Krishnan’s background projections are exquisite, elevating an already exceptional staging to legendary levels. It is a fascinating conceit; and one which, for the most part, has some (sea) legs. The suffocation of the location and the tempestuous seas conjure an isolated and febrile atmosphere which has the potential to heighten the already tautly strained rigs: unfortunately, it also has the capacity to drown the source material under the weight of high concept.It is a brave and original decision to play the eponymous role as a painful overgrown teenager with absolutely no redeeming features whatsoever. Greasy and lank of hair; grubby of body; sexually awkward… if it was 2025, this fellow would be sitting in his pants in his mother’s basement sending incendiary social media messages to high profile female politicians. Luke Thallon’s anti-poetic delivery abandons any sense of rhythm, inserting full five beat pauses mid-phrase and inviting spontaneous mumbles and mutters that diminish the sense of emotional sensitivity and moral indecision underpinned by the original metrical demands. He is a man bored to tears of his own existence: soliloquies ironed so flat they slip easily beneath the shadowy standards of Hamlets gone by; the only semblance of antic disposition being an omni-gurn which suggests an amateur thesp who has watched Michael Sheen playing Kenneth Williams rather too many times than is healthy.This is not a Hamlet plagued by uncertainty, but by feeling out of joint with himself: so much so that he is presented as a whining, monotonous bit-player in his own play. There is no sense of any heartbreak over his own father’s death: more an engulfing frustration and indefinable unease that his support network has been removed and that his foundations have shifted. One gets the idea that the old King was the one to manage Hamlet’s outbursts and protect him against the icier expectations of his glacial mother. Bereft of this psychological scaffold, the young Prince unravels at a speed of knots; increasingly unable to maintain a foothold on the reality and self-possession that one suspects was never quite within his grasp in the first place. “Dull revenge” has never been so aptly realised.This emotional lethargy is rolled out to an Ophelia whose claims to be affrighted at being roughed up by her sometime boyfriend are belied by a shrugging delivery perched casually on the edge of a table. Whilst an interesting enough premise and critique on a generation indifferent even to their own suffering, denying the promising yet undercooked Nia Towle to hint at early distress means she has a much tougher hill to climb when Ophelia finally loses her mind.And this is where the tightening of the timeline loses its credibility; the scintillae of tension wrought by packing the events into one night failing to compensate for the serial undermining of plot plausibility. Laertes – for example - appears to have magical powers of teleportation: disappearing on a tender towards France one minute, popping back an hour or two later for a cheeky spot of vengeance upon receiving what must be assumed is a telepathic message from his sister. Ophelia drowns and sinks to a muddy death: yet we are expected to believe that, at the very moment of impact with a fatal iceberg, the crew choose to dive into the tumbling billows of the main to retrieve her body only to chuck it straight back in again.Look: it’s absolutely right that to retain and future-proof engagement and appreciation, Shakespeare should be regularly brought down from his pedestal and given a good old spit and polish. If he is to remain for all time, then we must take what we need from him and celebrate a universality which transcends any decade or any fashion. And there is certainly never anything to be gained by prioritising purity over punch. Goold plays fast and loose with the original text and much of it works: flabby characters are squeezed down the wires of the ship’s telephone and unwieldy passages are pruned to within an inch of their imaginary lives. However, there is also some breathtaking re-scripting that would make even Colley Cibber blush, and which fails - in the only acceptable tenet of textual butchery - to progress either plot or character development. What it does attain is a series of the cheapest laughs by deploying a series of excruciating and repeatedly inserted modernisms which read as though the lower school geography teacher has been unwelcomely tasked with directing the school play but doesn’t quite get the point of the language. Both the cast and the foremost Shakespearean company in the world deserve better.Frustratingly, there are some ideas beyond such broad crowd-pleasers which actually do warrant further investigation: but remain unexplored. The opening Claudius is a political brutalist: he knows what is necessary for monarchical success and does not balk at making it happen. And God knows, with young Hamlet as the heir apparent to the Danish throne, who can blame him in snatching the crown for himself. In one of several nods this production throws to Richard III, Claudius grabs his skulking nephew and waterboards him in a slop bucket: we know where we are with this guy. He is one of the old crowd, the tough crowd: emotions are for losers. And then… this bullishness dissolves offstage and the excellent Jared Harris is never really able to show off his villainous chops. His ‘offence’ speech shows a conscience which we have not been privy to him arriving at; and his fruity relationship with Gertrude is shown once and then forgotten in what feels like a dereliction of psychological duty.As an angular Gertrude who has clearly never forgiven her son for being an irritant in both her belly and then her life, Nancy Carroll could also be better used; but she is often reduced to striding about the deck like a libidinous lacrosse captain who has lost her ball. And at precisely the moment when the audience should be able to reconcile the nature of her relationship, her culpability in the murder of her first husband, and the true depth of her love for Hamlet: her closing scenes are played in half shadow and her lines drowned out by an unsatisfactory sound balance which washes any lasting semblance of depth from perhaps the most intriguing of characters.There is some excellent support from Anton Lesser as the Player King with an uncanny resemblance to old Hamlet; Elliot Levey as a well-meaning Polonius utterly out of his depth in a royal world filled with ego, bombast and brittle sensibilities; and an unusually engaging Rosencrantz and Guildernstern (Chase Brown and Tadeo Martinez). The choreography and stagecraft is beautifully drawn; the segues between each scene conjuring an inevitable and increasingly desperate race towards disaster.This provokes an unspoken commentary on the pointlessness of a royal family so immersed in the fantasy of their very existence that they actively choose to splash about in navel-gazing and sword play at a time when all sensible people are strapping on their life jackets and getting into the emergency boats. Something is rotten indeed; so rotten that we care little when they roll, one by one, from the brave vessel which cracks under its own weight and tosses them into the brine. It is a bold vision indeed; skewing the angle of the mirror to show that what we always assumed was one man’s tragedy has in fact been those of us subject to such parasites all along.

If you are looking for an antidote to the virus of Disney musicals, this show could have been designed in a laboratory for that specific task. The theme is sadness: unrequited love, misdirected love, betrayed love, and loneliness.It is important to know what you are getting; this is not the normal theatrical structure of three or four acts. It opens with a wordless dance theatre introduction to the themes, and develops into frozen summaries of the characters’ shades of sadness through tableaus and projected still portraits. Gradually snatches of sentences are introduced in the manner of a musical fugue as each character begins to relate the story of their heartbreak. Eventually the characters turn to songs of sadness with the actor-musicians performing pieces by Bach, Hank Marvin, Orange Juice, Etta James.Written and directed by Nicholas Bone, with the video designs by Marisa Zanotti, the performances are solid throughout, although I’d say the performance of Etta James’ I’d Rather Go Blind is a particular highlight, and it is refreshing to see a production that mixes movement, words and music to give the potential to reflect the different emotional facets of a theme. And the theme itself – the mystery of the beauty of sadness is well worth attention.But to be a killjoy (killsad?), for whatever reason – and I am sure they are good reasons – the tickets are not cheap for a show that barely lasts an hour. The production feels unbalanced – with much of the show building up to a musical section that seems to be over as soon as it begins. There is no sense of a climax or a conclusion, which ultimately makes the show unfulfilling. As a certain politician would say: Sad.

Alexis Sakellaris has a P.h.D.IVA in Stanology and is here to teach eager audiences how A Stan is Born. With a pep in their step, original songs and vocals to die for, Sakellaris tells tales of growing up in rural Germany, defined by their undying love for pop divas. With the help of director and dramaturg Jessica Phillippi and assistance from Madison Cole, the result is a wholesome hour of queer joy, self acceptance and diva ‘herstory’. Sakellaris opens the show on their keyboard, underscoring a sassy introduction with suspenseful chords, before bursting into song. They address the concept of a stan head on (levelling the playing field for the boomers); in fact, according to their opening number, “we are all stans” — that is, we all have someone or something we are a fan of. This universalises the concept and immediately draws everyone in with their relatability. It doesn’t hurt that Sakellaris’ has an astounding voice. Smooth and soulful, they impressively deliver pitch perfect vocals and tributes to Beyoncé, Christina Aguilera in the form of staggering riffs, even in the absence of a mic. This first section of the show is bold and punchy; however, at times the performance becomes over-exaggerated. Some jokes are rushed and thus don’t quite land, and there is a sense that Sakellaris is leaning into certain stereotypes for comic effect. Embracing more of their natural stage presence and charisma would help create a more nuanced and engaging performance, and Philippi and Cole could work more on bringing out the authenticity of the piece. This could be helped with a projector to provide some visual aids for the references that Sakellaris makes throughout the show. The show takes on a more vulnerable tone as Sakellaris reflects upon how highly they regarded these women who they knew intimately in their head, but could never quite reach, and gradually reveal the trials and tribulations of being a queer child in a conservative community. The greatest turning point in Sakellaris’ work comes when they acknowledge that divas exist not just in the spotlight, but in our own lives—mothers, sisters, female friends. The show delves into the powerful realization that our idols, too, are imperfect. This is by far the most compelling aspect of the narrative. Exposing the flaws of the divas we worship, whether they be public figures or people we hold dear, forces us to confront uncomfortable truths that resonate on a deeply personal level. It would be fascinating if Sakellaris explored this theme further, weaving it into the show by connecting it back to their own life.After some touching reflections on the challenges that Sakellaris has faced as a queer stan, they close the show with an uplifting message of self love and empowerment, and you leave the theatre with warmth in your heart. Overall, A Stan is Born is an excellent showcase of Sakellaris’ talents for songwriting and distinctly playful narratives, and has a lot of promise.

This year marks a decade of Bard In The Botanics pantos at the Byre as the Glasgow-based company journeys east again with its special brand of festive fun. Written and directed by Bard’s Gordon Barr, we are taken off to Fantasia where all is not well and the Beast has not yet found the love of a good woman. The ancient fairy tale of Beauty and The Beast has inspired a host of versions on stage and in film all over the world. Here there are elements of the original story wrapped up in a big panto parcel of songs, dances and jokes. Humour is definitely to the fore as the show boasts not one but two Dames.Eimi Quinn’s Belle (Beauty) is a nae nonsense modern lass combining her sass with a lovely singing voice. Her mother is the bonkers Bunty Bahookie, played by Alan Steele, returning to the Byre to play daft Dame. Steele is a delight, well, probably not for the men in the audience who take the Dame’s fancy! The traditional dame-ing nonsense is interspersed with utterly hilarious off-script whimsy.Stephen Arden makes a rather fetching bad fairy Belladonna Nightshade (so bad, they named her twice) It seems you can never have too many men dressed up as women at Christmas.The young cast, two teams of twelve, ably provide villagers, castle servants and teenage girls with Mean Girl vibes bringing the community into the cast.

This charming re-telling of Robert Louis Stevenson’s classic tale, set in Leith and Orkney, by Duncan McLean, directed by Wils Wilson, is a festive, yo ho ho version full of pratfalls and piratey humour and will appeal to a Scottish audience. More of a ceildhe than a play, there is also Orcadian-style music composed by Tim Dalling, both recorded and played on stage by the talented cast on strings, accordian but also an inventive array of instruments including gongs, bells and jew’s harp. There is much to recommend. Starting off in a Home for Reformed Pirates, Slim Jean Silver has a puffin, not a parrot, and is played with a villainous glint in her eye by the disabled actor, Amy Conachan, in a wheelchair and Jim Hawkins (Jade Chan) also a gender swap. Alex Barry’s set is superb, economically evoking a ship with ropes and tackle descending from the ceiling. A step-ladder becomes the foc’scle as the cast chase each other round the set. It’s non-stop action. Sadly a bit samey, though Act 2 ramps up with a terrific storm, a flapping sheet the mains’l and later a shadow screen to show a momentarily frightening pirate, who turns out to be Ben Gunn (Tim Dalling), a brilliant cameo, full of much humour about cheese. Humour is the hallmark of the show. Nothing too scary for the weans. The star is the puffin, a delightful character, designed by Sarah Wright and manipulated with great skill by Dylan Read.

Any prudishness will need to be left at the door as Sleeping with Beauty certainly delivers on its promise of a vulgarity-filled night that delivers every pantomime trope, starting with the audience interaction.There's also the pauper who is secretly a prince (Sarah Horton), an extravagantly villainous antagonist and a witty but suggestive dame all inverted in the bluest way possible. Normal pantos contain a healthy dose of double entendre, but here little is left to the imagination. The dame is actually Queen Gerty (Mike Newman), who references a seemingly endless collection of sexual encounters. The hilarious clown, Ham (Charlie Mackay), engages in a level of self-love that would be worthy of the most committed chimpanzee. Much like recent Disney reframing of their most despicable villains as misunderstood antiheroes, the villainous Maleficent (Jake Harvey) receives her own somewhat tragic backstory.It's amateurish at times, sometimes by design and other times through genuine mistakes. For those wishing for a slick, impeccable performance, this is not the show for you. But, it's filled with charm, and it's clear the actors are having a raucous time. even if at the outset they don't fully carry us with them as energy is lacking and jokes struggle to land, but this all picks up in the second act with the most amusing set pieces all concentrated in the final 45 minutes. However, this is where the lines for the giant (Christopher Biggins) who was highly advertised in promotional material for the panto, occur. I say lines, there was one short reference to a notably larger appendage of the giant and no more. If you have come for Biggins, you will not be best pleased.Another highly anticipated element of pantos, sing-alongs and musical hilarity, are here in spades. Not only does the cast boast some formidable singers, particularly the panto’s fairy guardian, Fairy Hanny (Zak Marx), but the lyrics of many of the songs are inspired. This made traditional panto scenes, such as the ghost in the forest “they're right behind you” sequence, side-splitting. However, the songs are also where my main gripe is to be found: the music was too loud at times, making understanding the amusing lyrics impossible. This was particularly the case for the song immediately before the interval: a fantastic adaptation of a musical theatre classic, given a healthy dose of vulgarity.The writing is – mostly – highly amusing. The loose plot here serves its purposes well, providing a perfect opportunity to shove innuendoes into every orifice. Costumes are perfect to fit the roles, entirely pantomime-esque and camp, and the individual gag costumes are laugh-out-loud funny (especially those in an erotic dream sequence). The set and backgrounds are simple; nothing awe-inspiring, but perfectly creating each scene. Props range from sex toys to hula hoops, but fret not, creative solutions are found for these supposedly tame items to be transformed into another avenue for innuendo.In the central plot the flamboyant Queen Gerty is searching for a suitable wife for her camp son, Rose, and is unaware of his sexuality. And camp is an understatement. Rose wears an outfit straight out of the kinky boots wardrobe. A major element is Gerty wanting her son to marry a woman, and the irony of a dame being unable to recognise the sexuality of her son is not lost. For such a camp production, it is strange that the central love interest of Rose is Prince Polonius, who, while a male character, is played by a female-presenting actor. It feels strange to retroactively reverse the gay centrality of the show with what ends up being a few straight kisses and a visually straight wedding.Pantos have historically subverted traditional gender norms, but to do so against its very camp core seems an error. Furthermore, some jokes seem to be in poor taste. There are regular references to female-identifying characters played by male-presenting actors as having a big surprise for potential love interests. These jokes did feel a little insensitive given the strides that have been made for the transgender community in recent years. One does not expect social commentary in a pantomime, but I would have hoped for a little less crudeness when touching on these themes.Overall, it's a satisfying, if not the best, seasonal night out.

Written by Eleanor Tindall (Before I Was A Bear, Soho Theatre) and directed by Emily Aboud (Lady Dealer, Bush Theatre), Tender is a turbulent sapphic meet-cute searching for stability.Nadi Kemp-Sayfi plays Ivy, the unhinged and unhappy girlfriend of Max with thoughts of the grotesque, while Annabel Baldwin plays Ash, the recently single drifter who visits Ivy’s cafe for company.The two women command the minimalist space, creatively playing the voices of the male characters and weaving their drama with an urgency at odds with the silken, yellow softness of the space.When the two strike up a relationship, they are both in need of tenderness. The men in their lives have both disappointed and hurt them, leaving them hollow and fearful. Ivy’s unstable mental state and Ash’s loneliness make for an interesting dynamic, but it’s hardly the healthiest of romance stories.Focused on preoccupations of London life – expensive coffee, pretentious dinner parties and binge drinking – the story risks being run-of-the-mill, but the unhappiness built into this way of life is sure to resonate with many. Tindall’s dialogue is nicely crafted and lighthearted despite the intense themes. And though the fantastical body horror elements are sometimes hard to grasp, their presence gives us a sense of Ivy’s desperation.At its essence, Tender is a meet-cute, but if you were looking for a light sapphic romance, this is not it. Instead, we are given a more realistic insight into two turbulent lives searching for romance in a grey world.

The strength of this refreshingly original and subtly chilling production is the evocation of an almost overwhelming sense of the uncanny. From the Not So Nice Theatre Company, written by Charlotte Smith and directed by Grace Barker, the play is set in the Victorian era and tells the gothic story of the new, much younger, wife of Lord Swinton who has been sent by her husband to sit as a model for an Anatomical Venus. While she is understandably reluctant, the sculptor, Miss Abanathy, has hidden reasons for insisting the project goes ahead...The stage performances are supplemented by strikingly effective video projections of Miss Abanathy’s dreams. Or are they dreams shared with Lady Swinton? Or is the dreamer being controlled by the dreams of another?Eleanor Tate as Miss Abernathy and Grace Baker as Lady Swinton deftly navigate the dichotomies in each role as they swing between comedy of manners to class battles, privilege to secret victimhood, enmity to amity, controller to controlled, daytime to dreamtime. Oscillation between, and the merging of states is very effectively and creepily portrayed: dreams invade waking hours, the breath of life becomes the horror of death.I have a quibble with the language, which sometimes uses modern phrases that jar with the Victorian setting – though given the dreamlike feeling of the production, this is not too distracting. More of an issue is that the play is stuffed with enough themes and subplots to service about six separate plays. In an atmospheric piece such as this, not everything needs to be resolved, but there is one major subplot in particular that, frustratingly, seems to be forgotten about, and subsequently spoils the play’s focus.Despite this, the invaluable gift of the production is that when you leave the theatre you carry that delicious feeling of the uncanny with you out into the streets of the night.

‘I learned how to vomit silently…’ When these words are uttered midway through Lia Locatelli’s performance, it’s clear that this show isn’t going to pull its punches. It would be an easy cliche to call this a ‘powerful and moving performance’, and this show is certainly more than an easy cliche of eating disorders.As the statistics projected at the end explain, the number of people with an eating disorder or mental illness has significantly risen over the last decade. Those statistics are pretty shocking; one person dies every 52 minutes from an eating disorder, and almost 10% of the population suffers from an eating disorder, with young females the most likely; it has the second highest mortality rate of any psychiatric illness (just behind opiate addiction). Director Lia Locatelli spent a year collecting the testimonies of young people affected by eating disorders and has collated them into a sharp and insightful verbatim piece in Ed Recovery. Lia speaks each extract from these young people, and transitions between each extract are broken up by dance/videography from Caterina Rossi. There’s much to commend the show - indeed, it’s a topic that affects more than just the 10% of people with eating disorders. It affects their family, friends, and others close to them. Body shaming, anorexia and binge eating are all covered in this engaging piece that has been written to highlight an issue that has been on the rise since COVID-19.What was even more striking was that the entire performance was in English. It takes a lot of courage to perform a show about eating disorders in a language that is not your own - and, a couple of pronunciation issues aside (binge eating, pronounced as bing eating, stuck in mind), it was a largely successful translation. Ed Recovery is being performed over four nights, with two performances in Italian and two in English. Performances in English are precisely what Catania Fringe will need if it’s to continue growing and appealing to an international audience. I confess that I hadn’t understood at the start of the show that it featured verbatim extracts of young people with eating disorders (the issues of using Google Translate on a website that’s entirely in Italian). More of an issue was that I didn’t understand it during the performance. Each individual extract wasn’t defined enough - there were no costume changes, no changes of voice, nothing that separated out each character. The use of space was minimal throughout the piece - and it would have benefitted from a director who wasn’t also the performer to provide some guidance on using the stage as a whole (a common issue in fringe theatre shows).I also wasn’t convinced by the dance interstitials. While I can appreciate that separating out the verbatim extracts was needed, was a dance routine set to traffic video loops in New York what was needed? It felt like a missed opportunity to advance the story or provide some narrative context to the extracts.Various sound clips accompany the choreography and set the scene for several of the verbatim extracts. In a small theatre with concrete walls, the volume set meant that the sound echoed and overlapped too frequently—for that size theatre, the volume needed to be set a bit lower.When the play turns to darker moments, such as a graphic explanation of how years of vomiting leave you unable to vomit merely through your fingers, the power of these young people’s confessions shows through. It’s in those moments that the show comes alive and becomes increasingly engaging, and more time should have been given to these critical passages.Ed Recovery is a brave show that isn’t afraid to illuminate the complex and horrifying nature of eating disorders. Lia’s performance is full of real emotion, providing a strong and vibrant voice for these emotional stories. However, there is potential to develop this piece further, and the scope for further direction gives more power to the script and performance.

Schalk Bezuidenhout’s Keeping Up is a showcase of how far comedy and performance can be pushed to make people laugh. There are a number of messages and themes at play that work themselves throughout the show, however our ability to clock them is mostly due to Bezuidenhout’s signposting more than anything. The nature of context that holds this show together, but it is a very loose as the anecdotal style of the show creates a very piecemeal and disparate feeling each time piece of material ends. Each anecdote is based off an example of where Bezuidenhout feels he isn’t ’keeping up’ over the course of a number of areas, which whilst creating a commonality, doesn’t bind the hour tightly together. The perception of the hour as a number of segements than a whole is mostly due to the lack of segue between the anecdotes themselves. The use of anecdotes lends itself well to Bezuidenhout’s style of storytelling, and the full-body re-enactment of his material as he throws his entire self into a joke, but it is really his observational current affairs jokes that are perhaps the most memorable as he creates a very unique sense of misdirection to hit a punchline.A kind of dialogue is created in Bezuidenhout's breaking of the fourth wall, again where he will constantly delay a punchline or build upon it further - seemingly in-tune to our enjoyment - to get a bigger laugh. In this way, there are many moments where a joke will tail off, and we lose the energy behind whatever punchline Bezuidenhout is aiming for. Bezuidenhout pushes an image as far as it will go to the point where it becomes incredibly visceral. He is an enigmatic performer that can clearly and quickly establish a relationship with every single audience member. His intrinsic awareness of his audiences pushes him to create a show that every single person will enjoy, but in the pursuit of this, the show stretches perhaps further than it perhaps should and eventually the length and slight repetitiveness of rhythm catches up to us.In Keeping Up Bezuidenhout gives us a practical example of his central thesis throughout his material and physical comedy, creating a hilarious energy that reaches new highs at every punchline.

Is it a parable? If so, what is it trying to teach? Is it an allegory? If so what does each of the components represent and if it’s a metaphor, then for what? These elements always hover over Jez Butterworth’s The River at the Greenwich Theatre. Don’t expect answers, but do appreciate the literary quality of the writing.The characters have no names; they are simply people caught in a situation. The Man (Paul McGann) occupies a seasonal cabin by the river that as a child he stayed in with his uncle, who introduced him to the world of fly-fishing and told him stories about women he brought to stay. Now, as a man he has become like his uncle; obsessed with fish and females. He can catch and devour both, yet does so with a calm, meditative passion. He is inspired by poetry and vivid descriptions of sunsets, of which he has seen so many he feels he can ignore the one The Woman (Amanda Ryan) begs him to observe through the kitchen window. But he has to pack his basket for one of the greatest fishing nights of the year.So far so good. We have a lonely man finding comfort in the company of a woman to whom he professes love, while she appears content with his low-key approach to romance that nevertheless includes having sex. But then when she leaves the room it is The Other Woman (Kerri McLean) who returns and takes up where her predecessor left off. Do all the women in his life merge into one? Is his life on permanent replay and is his ultimate consolation only in the constancy of the seasons that bring the trout back every year?This is a subdued production with performances that are sincere and flow very gently within the realistically detailed cabin set by Emily Bestow, aided by mood lighting from Henry Slater and a delicate soundscape courtesy of Julian Starr.

Juno Boyle (J. Smith-Cameron) has the famous line that underpins the pervading sense of despair beneath the comedy in Seán O’Casey's Juno and the Paycock at the Gielgud Theatre: ‘What can God do against the stupidity of men?'In a religiously obsessed country the Church, its clergy and the faith’s grip on the people are all pervading. It’s Dublin, 1922 and Ireland is in the midst of Civil War with families divided and the nation split over the independence settlement. No one can be neutral, but it’s the wives and mothers who must strive to make ends meet and keep families together. Smith-Cameron asserts herself throughout in the matriarchal manner of a woman who has endured and not been beaten down. Help from her husband Jack (Mark Rylance) would be welcome but she has married a drunken paycock (peacock) who struts around, or rather staggers, in the delusional world of having been a sea captain on the basis of a crossing to Liverpool. The play is billed as tragi-comdedy, but under the direction of Matthew Warchus comedy triumphs until tragic circumstances demand a change of mood in the last quarter of the play. Meanwhile Rylance assisted by Paul Hilton (‘Joxer’ Daly) indulge in scene after scene of Chaplinesque vaudeville-style entertainment, even down to the moustache. Hilton plays the foil to Rylance’s commanding and excessive indulgence in the humour. That, combined with the heavy accents, wears thin before it culminates.More of the tragedy and realism is borne by Aisling Kearns (Mary Boyle) and Eimhin Fitzgerald Doherty (Johnny Boyle); she pioneering the ideas of a new age and he bearing the physical and mental scars of the recent past. They along with the rest of the supporting cast get the tragedy/comedy balance right.Rob Howel's set is broodingly dark at the level of the tenement room and ominously blood-red in the upper levels of the outside world. Overhead is a small glistening cross, for religion hangs over everything.

Greenwich Comedy Festival, London, has all the trappings expected of a festival and features 45 comedians across five days in the gardens of the National Maritime Museum. Household names like Harry Hill, Dara Ó Briain, Josh Widdicombe, Nina Conti, Alan Davies and newer faces will each take to the outdoor stage in the ‘Big Top’.The show is headlined by Simon Amstell and hosted by Amy Gledhill, who received this year’s Edinburgh Comedy Award for ‘Best Show’. The Hull native is the perfect host for this very blue show. Only one bit - her mum lamenting her move to London where “they walk so fast” - isn’t about her dating and/or sex life, but is in keeping with the rest of the show.Opening act Sindhu Vee is the one anomaly, in the best way possible, as her material focuses on the woes of parenting. Vee is at her confident and caustic best as she recommends the only way to parent elder children is to gaslight them.There’s an interval, followed by two more acts: UK-based Texan Kemah Bob fresh from a sold-out Edinburgh Festival Fringe run and Friday Night Dinner star Tom Rosenthal. Bob regales with how some alone time has led to her needing “a new floor” and Rosenthal laments being robbed of his foreskin without his consent. So far, so outré.And yet, the perfect lead-up to our headliner, who - in an act of showing us how much the “healing” he has been doing has helped him shed a lot of shame - proudly declares “I love rimming!” A lot of Amstell’s anecdotes-cum-bits begin with, “I was at a party recently...” which makes it sound like he’s not getting up to much else. Well, other than the hallucinogenic drugs he’s become partial to and which also form the setup to various bits.Some setup variety wouldn’t have been amiss, but Amstell’s undeniable charm and willing self-deprecation have us onside and clamouring for more.

Alan Gottlieb (Chris Brannick) has spent forty years on the back row of the second violins, but changes are afoot that threaten everything that gives meaning to his life.The opening line augurs a good story: “Once upon a time there was a boy who loved music.” What follows is no fairy tale, but a selective biography of a man with unfulfilled childhood dreams. As he mimes playing the violin that has been his lifelong companion we learn that his ambition was to rise through the ranks and play in the grandest and most famous of international orchestras.His consolation comes with immersion in the world of J.S Bach and in particular the great B Minor Mass, a work he never tires of playing, not least because with Bach even the second violins achieve prominence, a status not afforded by other composers. Mentally, Gottlieb revels in the apotheosis of the man whose coming into the world for him assumes Messianic proportions. Playing Bach’s Mass is a transcendental experience in which he yearns for the Rapture when he will be at one with his musical saviour for eternity.Meanwhile there are more mundane matters to deal with. Karen Kirkup who introduced the story takes on a series of roles with a fine array of mannerisms and voices. The HR department is engaged in a Excellence in Action assessment of the orchestra which Alan is convinced favours all the youngsters and is not wrong in thinking that it will bring about his demise. He is also on the wrong side of the new conductor for whom he has nothing but contempt. Thus he descends into a downward spiral of depression His mental health perhaps merits further development and the adulation of Bach at times seems laboured but the play is refreshingly original, told with sincerity and performed with skill.

The Cubic Theatre inside the London Transport Museum, Covent Garden, provides the most fitting venue for Natural Theatre Company’s The Truth About Harry Beck, which commemorates the fiftieth anniversary of the man who designed what is possibly the world’s most famous and most used map, that is not a map but a diagram, as Harry Beck spent a great deal of time telling people.Written and directed by Andy Burden, the play is a straightforward narrative of Harry’s life with a functional set by Sue Condie that serves as his office, his London residences and retirement home in the country. Ashley Christmas portrays his wife, Nora, and the various characters who impacted Beck’s life. Woven into the story are direct addresses and moments of audience participation that give it a slight immersive edge.Christmas and Simon Snashall as Harry Beck give solid performances as the very ordinary working class couple whose lives became enveloped by Harry’s obsession. The first Tube map consisted of the various routes drawn onto a standard London road map. As a technical draughtsman Beck was accustomed to working on diagrams of circuits; simple straight lines that showed the layout and connecting points.That’s where the idea came from to convert the existing cramped, higgledy-piggledy map into a clear diagram.They portray how their simple lives were overtaken by this project, for which he received scant reward, having signed away any rights to ownership; how he lived and breathed the task of perfecting the diagram while she worked around him trying to bring some sense of matrimonial normality to their childless lives.The play gives an interesting insight into the story of the ‘map’. It's also a warning of how people’s passions can end up ruling their lives and the need to realise when the time comes to let go and call it a day.

There is an enduring theatrical interest in witch trials. They offer interesting characters, a strong storyline, acts of betrayal and another chapter in the ongoing dominance of men over women. Menstrual Rage Theatre found inspiration for HELLCATS on their doorstep in the The Newcastle Witch Trials that took place from 1649 to 1650 and resulted in the execution of a man and 15 women.The company has created numerous fictional characters to populate their story while using as a stimulus recorded events of the period. As might be expected from a feminist company, and quite rightly, the victimisation of women is high on the agenda. Allocating blame for natural phenomena and scapegoating are popular pastimes when crop failures occur and there is a local woman well-known for making potions. It’s easy for people to forget the good her tonics might have done and turn the tables on her and by association drag her friends and family into the circle of the accused. Events in our own time are also explored within this context, reminding us that our fascination with conspiracy theories is an historical tradition rather than a modern invention.This strong ensemble deftly deploys physicality in scenes that range from the romantic to the tragic and from the playful to the sinister. There is no shortage of comedy to lighten the misogyny of the witch-hungter's antics and whose presence in the village means that no one is safe. A neighbour with a grievance has only to whisper an entirely false suspicion in his ear to seek revenge. Accusations are easy to make; proving your innocence almost impossible and the hangman's noose centre-stage is an ever-present reminder of the consequences of being found guilty. There's a lot of stylised and over-the-top action and the use of ever-present corn dollies could be better woven into the storyline, but this is a company full of theatrical ingenuity.

The Dundee Fringe provides the perfect context for Maybe This Time, a story of love, frustration and delusion rooted in the city.A chance meeting in a local karaoke bar, where we hear perhaps too many many attempts at the art form, kicks off the boy-meets-girl scenario, strengthened by a further speed-dating encounter that leads to a relationship between them in which actors Benjamin Asensio and Rebecca Ross capture the joys and difficulties of making your feelings known. She is able to express her what's within her and is manifestly enamoured of the guy who probably feels the same about her but just cannot bring himself to utter the words, “I love you.” What’s wrong with him? Something is clearly lurking in his background and when he blurts it out in an argument it’s a relief all round, but the issues it has caused for him are never explored; a note for Asensio who also directed the piece.They relate their predicaments to their respective best friends played by Emily Powell and Scott Duncan, receiving some consolation and tactical advice in return. For the lads, this is mediated largely through Duncan’s character's obsessive immersion in films such as Titanic, Die Hard and The Notebook through which he interprets life. Perhaps another missed opportunity here to deal more fully with mental health issues. Overall, it’s a high-energy production that bodes well as a first outing for Cor’ Blimey Theatre. There’s a well-executed fight scene and the show is not short on comedy, even if not all lines land as well as others. It’s a classic Fringe piece; in need of some refinement but a sound example of the potential of the next generation of theatre-makers.

A curate’s egg, flashes of brilliance but with a first third of tedious mire, Kidd Pivot company’s Assembly Hall, about an amateur medieval re-enactment society, will divide audiences. If you are expecting dance you will be surprised by what seems to be a play. Hyper articulated gestures and physical movement lip synched to voice-over dialogue in choreographer Crystal Pite and writer/director Jonathon Young’s now familiar style start the show, goes on and on and one longs for some dance.A parody of committee meetings with their rules and the tricky question (whether to dissolve the society) endlessly postponed provide humour as do comments like ‘Are you dead?’ to Dave (Gregory Lau) lying on the floor, the supernumerary member only there to fill a quorum. Eventually there is choreography of such brilliance you understand why Crystal Pite may be the most sought after choreographer of the moment. There are stunning solos and duets, performed with incredible skill, swirling pivots, lifts, interspersed with echoes of the physical theatre, a maiden in distress in white who throws back her long black hair in a pose as histrionic as Sarah Bernhardt, and memorable images, the king in tall pointed crown, or the society in full Arthurian armour in stilted moves enacting a battle to Tchaikovsky’s First Piano concerto. What is real life and what is mythic history is unclear as motifs and themes intermingle such as the maiden’s ‘wound’ which will never be healed and at last this is a show to remember.

Straddle, subtitled A fantasia on gay rage, follows the story of the unnamed Him, played by the energetic and engaging Peter Todd. The subtitle is misleading because this is far from a play about rage. Rather, it’s the story of a young man confident in his sexuality but woefully unsure about how that translates into the real world. He has a touching friendship with a boy from school that shapes the direction and sway of his emotions and his ability to love himself and others over the course of the next 15 years.All of the plot points follow the well-trodden path of familiar coming out narratives. School boy crush: tick. Unconvincing relationship with girlfriend: tick. Difficult interactions with parents: tick. What makes this hour of theatre so different is the fantasia element, a smorgasbord of skits and sketches, props and flights of fancy that are as surprising as they are amusing. He plays the keyboard, He dresses up, He dances, He even delivers a corporate PowerPoint presentation on how to be straight.These whimsical moments are hit and miss, proving themselves to be bewildering as often as they are entertaining. The keyboard on stage, for example, is a wasted prop, used three times to little effect. Other props litter the floor and two massive tables dominate the space, not to mention cushions and stools. All in all, there’s far too much furniture to the point that Todd is hampered in his expressiveness while props and staging are constantly knocked down and stumbled over. Director Mina Moniri has created a playful performance space, but not a functional one. The costume is brilliant, with frequent inventive changes that keep the character moving forward in the story as well as providing colour and humour. However, the cluttered stage is a fitting metaphor for a show that is full of good stuff, but too over-stuffed to truly shine. It’s Todd’s magnetic charisma that carries us through.

"It takes two to tango" is a saying many of us have heard but perhaps have never fully experienced. In the dance of tango, two dancers synchronise their movements, sharing an axis and perfectly balancing each other's weight. Experience this dynamic interplay in Auto/Erotic Tango, a show brimming with dance and passion.The show begins with two travellers arriving on stage. They remove their coats to reveal their fancy dress and start to dance. Their journey takes you through the ups and downs of their relationship, brought to life through physical theatre and dance. Themes of passion, anger, self-discovery, love, and lust are all vividly portrayed.There are several costume changes throughout the performance. However, from my seat in the audience, it seemed that some costume choices did not fully showcase the dancers' abilities, with fabric occasionally getting in the way and often obscuring the impressive footwork. Additionally, while the costume changes were helpful in portraying the story, they also created some pacing issues.There are quite a few partnered dance numbers set to beautiful Argentine tango music, featuring some stunning lifts. Additionally, there are two solo dances that use projection and lighting to illustrate the characters’ emotional arcs. Perhaps most captivating of all was a tango where the couple held and looked at their phones rather than at each other, which felt both current and impactful. If you enjoy tango, you may not want to miss Auto/Erotic Tango.

The Archdiocese of Glasgow Arts Project (AGAP) was founded in 2006 to engage people of all backgrounds through faith-inspired arts events and activities often through dramatic productions. This year’s contribution to the Fringe is Gaudí: God’s Architect at C Arts Aurora.A deeply religious man, variously seen as a genius, a madman or a saint, Gaudí met an undignified death at the age of 73 in 1926. While taking his daily walk to the church of Sant Felip Neri for prayer and confession he was struck by a number 30 tram. As usual he was dressed in his ragged old clothes and was asking people for money to provide funds for the construction of his most famous work, the Sagrada Familia. Those who witnessed the event assumed he was a beggar. Unconscious, he was eventually taken to the Santa Creu Hospital, but received only basic care. It was not until the following day that his identity was revealed, by which time he had gone into terminal decline. Two days later some 5000 people lines the streets of Barcelona for his funeral.AGAP’s multi-media play opens with this event accompanied by black and white period footage of a tram and related sounds. The classic flashback is then used to tell the story of his life chronologically, before ending with the same scene. It makes for a neatly packaged if predictable play.The cast features writer/director Stephen Callaghan, Jacqueline Glencorse and Russell Wheeler, They take on multiple roles and are appropriately dressed in period costumes, the men’s waistcoats being in the same dazzling harlequin cheques as the tiered boxes that form much of the set.Gaudí: God’s Architect features sincere storytelling and if the subject is of interest the play provides a straightforward biography of the man.

Oxbridge and its debating unions are known to be places of political intrigue, where the future politicians of the day test their mettle and learn the skills they will be using when they inevitably run the country. The appeal of a show about the election of a Union president is understandable, but with a muddled performance and intrigue which isn’t very intriguing, This Side of the House made me struggle to walk out of the 'aye' door, despite some very fun moments.Set during the presidential campaign in the 1980s, This Side of the House explores the campaign from each side, as presidential hopefuls Geoffrey Cormick and Gideon Meller battle it out with whatever they can swing. The premise of the story is strong and its depictions of the formal goings-on in the union are fun to see - yet the bulk of the story is based around meetings of intrigue, which at times fail to sell the stakes properly, and often feel like a simple pastiche of Posh more than saying anything new about the Unions or the Oxbridge culture’s that grow within them.The big gimmick of the show is the audience’s ability to “vote” on who wins the election. It is a fun concept, yet one which I didn’t feel was fully realised, the ending which I saw didn’t feel like it was particularly impacted either way by the audience vote. That alongside some scene transitions which felt stilted and awkward made the show feel like it was too ambitious to fully realise its aims.There is a lot that is interesting in This Side of the House, it's well acted and has some fun scenes. The broader narrative however struggles with not making its intrigue as interesting as it can be, leaving a play which feels like it has a lot of potential looking for space to realise it.

A woman sits centre stage, wrapped in thick wools that appear to be knitted and crocheted from a myriad of red yarn. She knits with two needles in a frantic, almost robotic way as a young woman emerges from beneath her skirts. Is she being born or is she being knitted into existence? Director Yuqiu Wang is leaving a lot open to interpretation in this delicate, fascinating, but somewhat flawed dance performance.Adapted from her own experiences with her mother, Wang has created the woollen cloak at the centre of this piece along with the raggedly beautiful garment worn by choreographer and performer Jiarong Yu. It creates a striking visual at the centre of the dance and, when discarded later in the show, it exerts a constant presence by being such a fascinating creation.Billed as exploring the mother-daughter dynamic, there are moments where this is clearly defined; Yu and the wool-swaddled mother alternately show affection and anger towards each other. They struggle and pull at each other’s woolen garb before cuddling together in warm comfort. However, there are other moments when the performance feels lacking in direction and the choreography fades away. These beats seem almost unrehearsed and reactive, yet the innate beauty of the costuming helps to keep things visually interesting. Yu has some exquisite moments of movement, especially when writhing on the floor, playing the mischievous daughter, and strutting around with the confidence of a young woman discovering her own sensuality but the latter half of the show could be tighter. Some audience interaction is intriguing but feels like it could have benefited from being explored more deeply.Weaving Me, Weaving Mum has a lot to say about the complex relationships between a mother and daughter and it is certainly well worth experiencing. I’m excited to see what Neverland Space Theatre deliver next.

When Vincent Met John is a historical encounter few could have anticipated. The concept of this play is uniquely intriguing. Vincent van Gogh and John Lennon’s multiverse overlap when they wake up in the same room: Van Gogh finds himself in 1886, while Lennon has awoken in 1974. The century between them means Lennon is familiar with Van Gogh, but not vice versa. Beyond being world-class artists, both share the unfortunate fate of dying from a gunshot, although neither has yet met their end in their respective timelines.What immediately stands out is the likeness the actors capture of these two historical figures through costuming, accents, props and mannerisms. The play is 90 minutes long, but only 60 minutes are being shown at the Fringe, so it's unfair to judge its resolution too harshly. It is a circular play, and nothing really happens in it.Lennon is portrayed as paranoid, constantly feeling that people want something from him, and he relentlessly accuses Van Gogh of lying about not knowing who he is and having ulterior motives. Meanwhile, Van Gogh simply wants to use Lennon as a life model to practice his sketches. As it stands, their dialogue felt like a breakdown in communication. The characters don't really change much, and I wondered what kind of conversation they might have had if they had asked each other what date they thought it was. Perhaps embracing this mysterious event could have led to some interesting exchanges between these two creatives. Although they do briefly touch on the meaning of art and what art is, the play ultimately serves to plant the question: what if these two had actually met?

In this new work from Fringe favourite, Rebecca Vines, the talented young cast explores the vivid imaginary worlds of Glass Town. Initially created by Charlotte and her brother Branwell the young Brontës begin to shape their lives and work for the future through their elaborate inventions and detailed fantasy creation.Vines' profoundly layered script echoes the poetry of the Brontë canon, and there are touchstones of the family's tragic life throughout the short piece that provides important context to the work. It is easy to forget and yet hard to overestimate how truly groundbreaking the Brontë sisters were and how their formative years and relationships heavily influenced the work we now all know and love. This production serves as an excellent reminder of the fact that the Brontë family (particularly the sisters) were "not nothing."Context is key here - this is a young cast I suspect that for more than one or two of them this is their first time on the international stage. The performances they presented with done so with passion and dedication as they bring the Brontës and their fantasy world to life. Charlotte, Anne, Emily and Branwell are particularly engaging as the young actors inhabit the roles bringing style, maturity and commitment to their characters. With a large cast and small stage there were inevitable moments of complicated traffic that could have been tidier and a more experienced cast may have handled the blocking with more secure placing, although this did not detract from the overall enjoyment of the play.The cast avoids the all-too-familiar trap often associated with work from youth companies of hammering the pace. Vines' direction keeps the pacing exactly where it needs to be and stage discipline is present throughout with even the curtain call well-timed and choreographed. This is great work from a talented cast.

This production makes me feel like Disgusted of Tunbridge Wells. The director, Kirill Serebrennikov aims to make opera relevant. But too much has been sacrificed for a shallow satire of the rich.Ironies abound in Serebrennikov’s championing of the poor. The costumes are black uniforms, making it difficult to tell characters apart - especially from the cheaper seats. The clever set (split horizontally for upstairs, downstairs) means that those in the gods will struggle to see the downstairs singers’ heads. Storytelling seems willfully opaque, with confusing fantasy sequences, such as the Count’s threesome with his wife and Susanna, or where a kitchen boy murders most of the cast. There are invented characters, and the deliciously erotic role of Cherubino has been turned into a strapping #MeTo offending lout.The end result is that it is impossible to follow the story without prior knowledge. Fine for wealthy connoisseurs, but hardly welcoming for anyone else.Unnecessary stage business constantly distracts attention from the singers. It almost feels like the director is as disrespectful of the singers as the Count is of his servants.Luckily, like love, the singing overcomes all. In this opera women are Boss, and Patricia Nolz was glorious as Cherubina, Verity Wingate was deeply moving as The Countess and Suzzana was played with command and charisma by Penny Sofroniadou. The cast have settled into beautiful duets and trios, and the choral work was supernatural.Go for the singing and music. Maybe you will have more tolerance than me for the production.

I’ve always hated sculling, and synchro. Katie Greenall is an endlessly charismatic performer who has the audience eating out of her hands instantly in Blubber, a light and playful piece that nevertheless points to some real darkness in existing as a fat woman today; taking a small step towards creating that space to exist now, and going forward. As a fat woman, who finds it hard even now to call myself fat, Greenall ‘s experience really touched me in my soul.Greenall has been making work about her body for years now, and this is the last, “because it’s too hard”. She is tired of her body being a site of discord and discourse, of not being hers. I don’t want to give the wrong impression that the show is fun and earnest and Greenall is an entertaining, self-deprecating performer, resulting in a very enjoyable time. She describes herself being severed from her body and attempts to create a mythology of her own to be able to create a place for both of them to exist, and perhaps reunite. This separation between body and self is something I’ve had to come to terms with in my own life, and the art I have been making. I used to conceptualise myself as a brain in a jar.We go on a journey of attempted self discovery, starting by being happiest in the water and a tale of happy fat favourite animals, whales and walruses playing and using that as an entry point back into the body. It feels like Greenall lived my exact life, I was called a water baby and my chosen animal was the seal. Blubber has moments of absolute truth, but the separate parts feel disparate, all the elements don’t quite hang together, into a coherent whole.The rest of the creative team have done a wonderful job, every element of the show has been carefully crafted for precise impact. I partially loved the gleaming, radiant mythic pool hall.The bits that really reach me is the darkness in the deep end of the pool. Greenall set out to make a show about synchronised swimming, and that she’d come to terms with her body. In the end reality is more complex than those original aims. It's rare to see an artist set up to do something and fail, and be so truthful and earnest about that failure. Greenall explores the real difficulty that comes from forming a liberatory community within fat people. The hard truth is many fat people do not want to stay the size they are, and are actively trying to make themselves not fat. Fat people who are not trying to lose weight, or are happy at the weight they are, are few and far between. So it can be difficult opening up and being vulnerable to fellow fat people, because you are not always in the same fight. It’s as if the LGBTQ+ community was suddenly full of self hating people in straight marriages looking for down low sex on Grindr.I do very much agree with Greenall explaining how she fell into the sucking abyss of feeling unlovable and undeserving of any love or care because of one's fatness. This is an abyss Greenall is still in. For me, shaking off that black thought spiral was a lesson that came with time; it certainly didn’t happen in my early twenties. If you can’t believe yourself to be loveable yet, then look through the eyes of those who already love you. Which seems to be a strength Greenall is drawing from already , as we hear the recorded voices that form the finale of the piece of those who love Kaite talking about her body.The final participatory collaboration was a glorious moment of shared ritual, and of building a community where there is no clear one now. Not my first swimming pool baptism, and hopefully won’t be my last either. For me, it was a real moment of seeing your life reflected in another, the communion of shared suffering with a stranger.

Heart, a one man show written and performed by Reece Lewis, is the story of Tyler, an upbeat 24 year old gay black man navigating the challenges of the London queer scene and trying to find love. His parents are separated, and while he has an excellent relationship with his mother, he has a fractious one with his father, a homophobe who is disgusted with his son’s sexuality and embarrassed by him when in front of his football friends.The emotional core of the story is Tyler’s journey towards a stronger relationship with his dad. However, there are a range of other themes which bubble up and set the context in more detail. Who’s included in queer culture, how we create safe spaces and the struggle to achieve self-love all get a look in. The most moving episode for me was Tyler’s engagement with online dating in which he finds himself flattered, insulted, objectified and racially abused in quick succession as he scrolls the profiles.It’s against this backdrop of a rather menacing dating scene that Tyler’s joyful effervescence shines. From his first bouncing entrance he’s a character defined by energy and optimism, even when the world seems determined to serve him lemons. He takes risks, he dances like no one’s watching and he shakes his tosh with gay abandon, all of which makes him a very endearing character and one with whom you feel immediate rapport.The difficulty with this one hour play is that there are so many narrative and thematic strands and not enough time to fully explore them. Themes are lifted then dropped, ideas explored then forgotten. The main thrust of Tyler’s haphazard life is certainly there as a running thread, but it’s not enough to create a sense of overall purpose. We have a window into a character’s life but not a fully constructed narrative, as important moments are cut short or rushed through.There’s also a challenge with some of the language, which is spliced and diced and repeated in a vaguely poetic fashion, a device that felt more confusing than helpful. It may have been an attempt to metaphorically mirror the edited version of Tyler’s life we were watching, but it ended up distancing us from the character rather than offering more insight.There are lots of faffy costume changes which don’t really add anything to our appreciation of character or plot and just seem a fiddly distraction. But that being said there were some wonderful sound and lighting effects which added a great deal to the atmosphere and humour of the piece.Taken as a whole, this is engaging, funny and interesting play exploring life from the woefully rare and delightfully uplifting perspective of a young gay black man motivated by confidence, joy and self-love. Lewis describes it as ‘a love letter to all gay men’. I wholeheartedly agree.

Set in modern-day America, this Broadway style musical does not hold back on ambition. Originating as a university project by Gregor Blair Satti and Rebekah Holly Neilson, with book and additional lyrics by Amy Nic, it has 15 musical numbers and a full-scale story. The show runs to over two hours and does not drag – there’s plenty of incident and characters – and what a pleasure to have a live orchestra.The lead character is Sam, a girl working as a waitress in an American Diner. She’s too closed-off to make friends with the other waitresses; and Dirk, the boss of the Diner, is a martinet who makes work miserable. She works overtime to pay the medical bills of her sick mother who she spends every evening visiting in hospital. If it wasn’t for the musical numbers the story would be unrelentingly grim.Sam begins to thaw due to two customers of the Diner: Jamie, the romantic interest, and the kindly Michael, for whom she feels a mysterious connection.The story has a strange balance, with the misery memoir aspects too easily replaced by American-style therapy optimism and redemption.However, reservations with the book do not detract from the energetic and talented cast, or the brio of the group numbers. Daisy Maver Young absolutely nails the demanding lead role of Sam, and there is standout singing from Ciaran Walshe as Michael. And the finale number is a cracker.

History can do strange things to a person’s reputation, and Sarah 'Sallie' Lockwood Winchester (née Pardee,1839-1922) has probably not fared too well in those stakes. GreenHouse Theatre Project’s Winchester by Elizabeth Braaten Palmieri at Paradise in Augustines succinctly delves into her life, times and legacy in a beautifully presented period drama with elegant constumes by Sabrina Garcia Rubio.She was born into a family that espoused liberal ideas and became well-educated. In 1862, she married her childhood friend William Wirt Winchester, the famous rifle and shotgun manufacturer. In 1881, following his untimely death and that of her mother-in-law, she inherited his fortune.But the rifle that brought her riches also gave rise to menacing guilt and grief over the lives it took. A psychic told her to build a house in order to appease the dead and save her soul. She immersed herself in the study of architecture and design and the management of real estate as she embarked on constructing the villa, now known as the Winchester Mystery House; a lavishly decorated and quirky building of over 1800 square metres, twenty rooms, marble floors, doors that open onto walls, corridors that are dead ends and staircases that lead nowherePalmieri, dressed in funeral black complete with mantilla, plays Sallie Winchester with Anna Sundberg, Ian Sobule and Alex Hoge taking on various other roles. Archive material makes it clear that Sallie was renowned for her intelligence, kindness and keen financial management. She was not thought to be superstitious, but posthumously she has been seen as guilt-ridden, mad with grief, and ultimately delirious and Palmieri combines these facets in her performance along with the eccentricity of a demanding woman who mercilessly dealt with architects and designers. There are moments of humour but we also see a woman who suffered from the deaths of many people close to her.The story is fascinating, the production precise and the performances elegant, but it remains a drama from which one remains detached, a distant observer of another world.

Poppy and Freddie wake up in the 'honeymoon suite' of a bed and breakfast in Slough. As if that wasn't bad enough, they slowly start to unpick their previous night's antics and discover how they ended up sharing a bed in such a... ahem... romantic setting. The couple delve into their past behaviours and relationships, poking fun at their different backgrounds and trying to unravel the real reason they never worked as a couple.Emma Gibson's direction is fast-paced and naturalistic but less can be more and a slower start to the proceedings would have given the play somewhere to go in terms of pacing and dramatic build. The frenetic pacing could have done with more light and shade in places and allowing the script's witty 'to-and-fro' to breathe would have benefited the overall feel of the show and given greater impact to the more dramatic moments.The script is very well constructed and contains some genuine laugh-out-loud moments and gems of one-liners. 'Gideon's bible and 'bare tits' have probably never featured in the same sentence prior to this production, but they work beautifully here, and fair warning, Slough takes a bit of a beating - some might say not unjustly. The premise is not a new one but the relationships presented are heartfelt and well-handled. Something is charming about the period of life in which the characters find themselves; that awkward era after graduation and before a genuine career path comes into view. It can be a lonely and confusing time but Poppy and Freddy reconnect at an opportune moment with serious revelations that affect them both.The performances from Alice Roberts and Loius Hadfield (also the co-writers) are excellent and both display great comic artistry and the ability to deal with the more weighty moments required of the play. The pair share an effervescent chemistry that is a joy to watch.This is the debut work from Roberts and Hadfield and it is a top-notch script. As a first offering to the Fringe, it's clear that the duo have a bright future either together or individually and I would keep an eye for them both... there's definitely more to come.

Vibrance is a passionate display of art and dance from an up-and-coming generation of artists, dancers, and choreographers. The small stage and close audience seating create an intimate and raw atmosphere, allowing viewers to appreciate every detail of the performance. The showcase features fourteen pieces, predominantly contemporary in style, but also includes a variety of ballet, floorwork, salsa, and jazz. The performance features a mix of solos, duets, and group dances, bringing together young independent choreographers and dancers, as well as the companies Chutzpah Dance, Extensions Dance Project, and ERELONG. The programme includes What Happens Next?, Mesh and How Far We Go by Erica Isakower, Behind Closed Doors by Kaitlyn Esposito, By A Thread by Marika Brussel, Unrequited Fruitbowl by Natalie Long, Excavated by Laura Ardner in collaboration with Melanie Molina, Tumbao by Nia Pretto, The Flowering by Jordyn Cherry, The 20-Somethings by Sky Poole, Ode to Whoever I Was (excerpt of Watch This!) by Heather Dutton, Telophase by Josphine Brunner and Will Pettigrew, In The Meantime by Hannah Owens, and At The Center by Amanda Alves.It is challenging to find a common link that unifies all of these pieces, and the performance feels like an exploration of difficult emotions. They align with current contemporary dance trends, delving into the human condition and blending electronic and dystopian sounds with contemporary movement. While Vibrance is a showcase of diverse talent, two pieces stand out as particularly intriguing and powerful.The first is The 20-Somethings by Sky Poole, a contemporary solo choreographed to Chopin’s Nocturne Op. 9 No.2. The staccato movements and flowing transitions poignantly reflect the range of emotions experienced in one’s twenties. The second is Telophase, an abstract duet that uses sound, costume, and movement in a brilliant, explosive, and visceral display of shifting atmospheres.If you wish to support young dancers and choreographers, this one is worth watching.

As a smiling Nina Rose Carlin appears on stage with a suitcase, she asks for a one-way ticket to Tinseltown. If only it was that easy to make all a performer’s dreams come true. She’s about to tell us all about her true Hollywood story, and she’s seeking representation. The show consists of anecdotes, impressions, songs, audience participation and some light sketch comedy – a lot packed into a fifty-minute show. On the whole, Carlin is a strong performer and her passion for showbusiness shines through. However, the show tried to be a little too much of everything and not enough of one or two things, which would have made the whole thing a lot stronger. It’s understandable that for Carlin’s Edinburgh debut, she wants to show off as many of her talents as possible. It’s just a shame that it came across more cluttered than anything. Despite this, I enjoyed the show. Carlin shows a lot of promise (the audience seemed to especially enjoy the impression of her agent Tracy, seemingly taking inspiration from Joey’s agent Estelle in the TV show Friends). Nina Rose Carlin will have a true Hollywood story in the future, just after a little restructuring.

“What does it mean to be a prince?” This question is at the heart of To Be A Prince, the latest production by Grownup Playhouse, featured at Paradise in The Vault @ The Annexxe. The show’s 40-minute runtime follows a prince who feels overlooked, striving to command the attention he believes he deserves. The performance uniquely incorporates a stage lamp as a "genius" (a playful take on the genie trope), adding a whimsical element to the narrative.Operating under a self-aware ‘low-budget’ approach, the production features a single actor on stage, with other characters voiced via pre-recorded audio. This creative choice demands impeccable timing and conviction from the performer, who must interact with unseen characters.The actor portraying The Prince showcases a captivating baritone voice, with smooth control over the lower register. However, some of the character choices made left us a bit puzzled, as the character’s development seemed to remain somewhat static throughout the show.The musical arrangements complement the prince's journey, providing an emotional backdrop to the narrative. The lyrics possess moments of charm and promise, and with further development and refinement the songs could reach their full potential.The script is sprinkled with endearing and humorous instances that elicit smiles, although certain scenes feel drawn out, with character interactions occasionally stalling in development. Nevertheless, the interplay between live and recorded performances seemed to have maintained our attention most of the time.Overall, I feel To Be A Prince is a charming production (pun intended) that, with additional development, could become a standout at the Edinburgh Fringe.

Make the Bed is an exploration of anxiety and paranoia based on writer and performer Ariela Nazar-Rosen’s own experience—in particular, a bed bug scare that pushed her to breaking point. Tender, raw and emotional, Make the Bed is a very genuine and heartfelt depiction of anxiety which would benefit from some tweaks to adapt more effectively to the stage.The first few minutes are effectively in complete silence as we witness Ariela’s waking hours. Tension gradually builds and it becomes clear that she is certain that bed bugs are crawling in her bed. When so many solo shows are overflowing with text, exposition and exhibitionism, Nazar-Rosen’s quieter performance provides a welcome contrast. The minimal dialogue is extremely effective in conveying Ariela’s trepidation, as if we, too are teetering on the edge. She calls her therapist and attempts to self-soothe with guided meditations and self-help recordings. These offer momentary respite, before the paranoid thoughts creep back back in again. This raises the salient question: how is one supposed to self-soothe when feeling so unstable? A revealing voice note from her mother suggests that Ariela has been struggling for some time and is not reaching out for help.Nazar-Rosen delivers a tender, heart-wrenching performance. She conveys emotion with a deep sincerity and demonstrates a strong acting ability. You can tell that director Cecilia Thoden van Velzen has given Nazar-Rosen space to explore her emotional journey, as none of her thoughts or movements feel choreographed or predetermined. Thoden van Velzen’s sound design is also extremely effective, vividly evoking crawling bed bugs and humming migraines. The audio helps build climax in the performance as Ariela grows more and more distressed. It would have been more effective, however, if Nazar-Rosen took longer to build the emotion and articulate the moment where she is at her lowest more clearly.Though the liminal space that Nazar-Rosen creates is true to life, the play would have more dramatic intrigue if the protagonist had an external threat or obstacle to overcome, such as a meeting or social engagement to attend. This would contextualise the narrative, creating a clearer story arc whilst also increasing the stakes of the character’s situation. At present, she exists in a sort of limbo, which limits our connection to the storyline.With a touching resolution, (I won’t spoil it), Nazar-Rosen wraps up the play with the hopeful message that we are not alone. She encourages others to reach out and help one another to build resilience and strength, facing the demons we have avoided. Overall, her moving depiction of struggle has great promise.

Impressive dancers and choreography by Mathieu Geffré in Rendezvous Dance’s What Songs May Do should have had everything going for it. Set to Nina Simone – not her best hits, but a selection of her more mournful songs movingly accompany a retrospective piece about a gay relationship; but sadly after a brilliant start, the piece disintegrates.The two dancers, Paolo Pisarra and the taller Oliver Chapman holding hands enter from the audience to Ne me quitte pas, and take us through the stages of nervous beginnings, exhilaration, antagonism and potential reconciliation. Displaying amazing skill in complicated moves, balletic lifts and more expressive grappling, twisting and turning, there are wonderful contrasting moments of stillness as they unbutton each other’s shirts. There’s a superb sequence of stylised slinky moves in a sensuous sexual encounter. But a first quarrel is enacted literally as a fisticuffs without any choreographic input. Mouths open startlingly suggesting animalistic desire but continues for so long it becomes weird. At one moment Oliver performs a headstand for no good reason.The show then disintegrates: the dancers standing still for tedious long periods. Literal silences show how much the emotion is dependent on Simone. There are efforts to create drama with a blackout plus lighting spots but the stop-start ending goes on and on.Originally a 12 minute version for Dance Company Wales in 2015, the piece was extended. This may explain the padding. Despite some impressive choreography, a show has to have an understanding of drama to win more stars.

James Barry was born Margaret Anne Bulkley, but she fooled the world in order to become a doctor in the British army, which in the very early nineteenth century was an unthinkable and prohibited career for a woman. The Edinburgh Graduate Theatre Group (EGTG) presents her story in the premiere of A Singular Deception by Hilary Spiers, who also directs, at The Royal Scots Club.She graduated in medicine from the University of Edinburgh in 1812 and went on to achieve the highest medical rank in a career that spanned nearly 50 years and that is related by Jac Wheble in a highly confident and commanding performance that has all the egotistical no-nonsense dynamism for which the doctor was renowned. She is joined by Kenneth Brangman who gives a suitably humble and at times sarcastic performance as Black John, her devoted lifetime manservant and confidante, who safeguarded the secret of posing as a man. It's an intriguing relationship that Wheble and Brangman explore in all its diversity.With a versatile set by Richard Spiers of simple furniture that adapts to make a bed, a table, the bows of a ship and even a horse, we romp around the world as the doctor becomes a pioneer of reforming medicine with musical accompaniment from Flora Henderon. If anything there is perhaps too much detail, with example after example heaped upon country after country, until the story begins to tire.Nevertheless, it makes for an enjoyable and highly informative evening’s entertainment.

In my home, the first thing you encounter is two tall Billy bookcases from IKEA. The top shelves of these are entirely dedicated to the 41 Discworld novels of Sir Terence David John Pratchett OBE, known to the world as author Terry Pratchett and to his fans simply as ‘Terry’, so I think I can speak with some authority when I review a show that’s billed as being about his life and work.Pratchett biographer, Marc Burrows is certainly a bigger fan than I. He’s been endorsed by the Pratchett estate to take his obsession with the author on the road and presents this hour-long love letter like a Discworld TED Talk. Burrows takes us from Pratchett’s childhood as a failed product of a two-tier education system to his career as a journalist and then Press Officer for the Electricity Board before becoming the UK’s top-selling living author (and most shoplifted, as Terry liked to brag), finally touching on his struggle with early-onset Alzheimer’s and subsequent advocacy for assisted dying.Burrows is likeable in his unapologetic evangelism for Pratchett and his work. The Magic of Terry Pratchett is very much a show for fans of the author but there’s gags and funny footnotes in there for the non-Pratcheteers too. A PowerPoint-style presentation assists with the storytelling and there’s some well-written punchlines and call-backs that Terry would have met with a wry chuckle.Like all life stories, there’s laughter, tears, tragedy, and triumph. Burrows banters with the audience and ensures that we never dwell too much on the sad points because the silly moments often make for a better story. He’s created a delightful show, and it’s made me want to revisit my book collection yet again.

When that I was but a little tiny dot, I would sit with my grandfather and solemnly play both the Owl and the Pussycat whilst he transformed into a pig, a turkey and a runcible spoon. And a century and a half after its original publication, Edward Lear's romantic ridiculousness continues to weave its fantastical spell today: celebrating difference and silliness in equal measure. Newbury Youth Theatre brings the world of Lear to life with a wonderfully well-judged piece that eschews linear biography and leans into a zany, dreamlike atmosphere that would hardly disgrace one of his own works. Through physical theatre, verse, puppetry and live music, the cast energetically paddles through Lear's impecunious early life, illnesses, and complicated relationships. It is a cleverly-devised and intriguing piece, which celebrates the nascent talent on display as surely as Lear's own life. There are some superb uses of dramatic flourish: costuming and props are used with imaginative flair, and tricks and techniques are deployed sensitively. The wittiness and whimsicality of Lear's original drawings and writings is evident from start to finish with delightful little directorial touches woven throughout: the pobble's toes being a particularly chucklesome example. Some of the young performers are still honing their skills, whilst others are already strong and compelling performers; with some excellent and scene-stealing characterizations that scaffold and root the piece. This is a nice little show which both entertains and educates in equal measure, bowling along with a charm and glee that reminds us all that beneath the flounce and fandangle of the Fringe, at its heart lies simply story after good story: absurdly, generously, and enthusiastically told.

This is a Rock Opera mixed with a nineteenth century play about the lengths people will go to for lust. Penthesilea, the Queen of the Amazons, can only have sex with a man she has defeated in battle. She wants Achilles, the undefeated and greatest warrior of the Greeks. Trouble ahead!The actors deliver the text in gorgeously dramatic Dutch (with English surtitles) while the song lyrics are in English. The actors can rock the socks off, with visceral guitar-band renditions of back catalogue tracks that your mother would worry about, such as Joy Division’s She’s Lost Control. And merging the glamour of guitar heroes with the glamour of warrior heroes works perfectly.Apart from the drama of what is literally a battle of the sexes, there are jokes that break the fourth wall, interesting diversions on the implications of how a society of women would actually work, and humour in the ancient clichés that each sex applies to the other. (Women are too emotional, men are too arrogant.)Unfortunately there is a little bit too much respect for von Kleist’s original text. At the play's conclusion, Penthesilea descends into such wild and irrational hysteria that, like the Furies the men liken the Amazons to, she literally does not know what she is doing. You are distracted by the feeling that the character is being typecast in a way that cuts across the tone of the rest of the production and the emotional power is lost. A tragedy.

The two acrobats in this show must be from the future – ordinary humans cannot be so strong, hawk-eyed, and flexible, with senses of spatial orientation, balance and bravery so off the scale.No effort has been spared on the soundtrack, lighting, costumes and surrounding props. Such clean and elegant staging can’t come cheap. Yet the core equipment used in the show is very simple. A single teeterboard – what you or I might call a see-saw.I could not have imagined the amazing variety of tricks could be generated from a see-saw – and the gobsmacking (surely certifiably insane) heights the acrobats are prepared to bounce to. Add to this summersaults performed at the last possible moment before landing, and the anxiety-inducing way the acrobats often miss the see-saw and land directly on the ground. Even more bravely it is clear these ‘misses’ are frequently on purpose. Somehow these men land like cats made of rubber. I don’t know why they don't break their ankles, wrists and all the bones in between. Yet they simply roll on the floor with the elegance of a dancer and go into the next trick.With such superhuman stamina on display it seems mean to carp but there was a section where the relationship between the characters played by the acrobats broke down for reasons I don’t understand and they separated, generating a hiatus in the action that seemed a little too long.This one quibble aside, however, this is a show of astonishing tricks, awe-inspiring bravery and amazing athleticism.

Writer/performer Elena Mazzon presents an unusual piece of theatre in The Popess: Instructions for Freedom, directed by Colin Watkeys at The Carbon Lounge as part of PBH’s Free Fringe.The upstairs room is relaxed and intimate with seating on built-in sofas against the walls with soft backless stools scattered in front of them. Mazzon weaves her way through the confined space to begin her often complex address.It’s Italy in the 13th century. Guglielma of Bohemia is preaching a feminised, apocalyptic version of Christianity which foretells her own resurrection as the incarnation of the Holy Spirit. Following her death around 1280 her burial site becomes a shrine. Her followers elect the nun, Maifreda da Pirovano as their leader, a female pope who celebrates the mass over Guglielma’s tomb.The Inquisition charges many of the Guglielmites with heresy. Guglielma’s bones are disinterred and burned, while three of her devotees, including Maifreda, are sent to the stake.Bringing the story of these two obscure women to light reminds us that feminism is far from being a modern cause. Women have strugglged throughout the ages and men, particularly in the form of the male-dominated Church, have always strived to suppress them.In a room full of strangers some might find it uncomfortable to be asked, “What are you looking for in faith or religion?” in an assumptive tone that suggests you subscribe to that view of life. Similarly being asked in an open forum, “Who or what would you die for?” tends to provoke a struggle to come up with the most worthy cause or closest person to you: “My sister”; “World peace”.This could be something of a Marmite show, but the sincerity and passion of Mazzon is beyond question.

Spring Awakening is a musical like no other. Based on the 1891 German play by Frank Wedekind, Spring Awakening was developed into a coming-of-age rock musical exploring themes of sexual awakening for young boys and girls alike in a conservative, Christian society in the 19th century.The girls are unaware of what sex is, while they still swoon over the local boys in town. The boys try to suppress their urges, meanwhile Melchior Gabor (played by Joe Gill) has learned about sex and anatomy through books.This musical is about progression, it's a tragedy caused by the senior members of society misinforming the youth, which in turn causes harm. It's a reminder that progressiveness = positive outcomes for the youth.In fact, the opening song Mama Who Bore Me performed by leading girl Wendla Bergmann (Shannon Hood) and the girls in the ensemble is the crying out of the girls eager to know how life is created. Hood sang with great diction and a clear sound, although the performance lacked a little power it was still enjoyable.Daniel Fischer, who played Moritz, hit every line perfectly, the audience laughed when a joke was made and were silent when tragedy struck. Definitely a stand-out. Gill, who portrayed Melchior, played the role brilliantly. The role was performed with vigour and a clear understanding of the character. I really enjoyed Gill's interpretation of the role.Shaun Hamilton was also a stand-out in both his roles and I greatly enjoyed his performance.The whole production was brilliant considering the confined space they had and the audience surrounding all sides. The ensemble moved around perfectly, setting the scene, although the vocals were pitchy at times. Additionally, I was unsure about the mixed accents, with American and Scottish used, slightly took us out of the illusion of the setting.Overall improvements could be made in vocal area and the overall polish of the performance, however this is still a perfectly sound production.

I’m a fan of classic drag. I feel that the Drag Race phenomenon has diluted the great tradition of the art form with lip-synching, over the top costumes, and ‘tucking’. I miss the days when drag queens were a talented combination of stand-up, compere, cabaret singer, and roast comic. Well, Auntie Ginger is all of these things, and this hour of song, smut, and silliness is less of a drag race than a drag quest. Auntie Ginger once experienced a shocking moment in a sauna dark room (don’t look it up) and has come to the Fringe to try and find the mysterious stranger who rocked her world. Along the way we get some top banter, unnerving sexual advances and a demonstration of glory hole etiquette using a very realistic prop (again, do not look it up).Ginger works the crowd like the professional she is. Unsurprising with her years of experience working in the UK drag scene. There’s a great deal of innuendo and a fair bit of straight-up filth but the audience laps it up. As an Aunty, Ginger is also qualified to deal with people’s problems and there’s a cute ongoing skit where Ginger reads out letters from poor souls who need her help.As a classic drag performance, this show delivers exactly what it promises on the poster. Unfortunately, the sound from Ginger’s hand-held mic is very loud and a little harsh, especially noticeable when she switches back to it after using a head mic for the letters section and the overall pacing feels a little off with some skits dragging a little (no pun intended).If you enjoy an outrageous hour of unabashedly crass humour, you could do worse than to find yourself next to Aunty Ginger’s glory hole. Just watch out for the splash zone.

Magician Sean Alexander is fascinated by moments in time. Be they iconic moments like the moon landing or the invention of the lightbulb or intimate moments like the birth of a child or particularly fond memory and, in his Fringe debut, he’s looking to share that fascination and maybe create some moments of wonder.Alexander opens the show with a short video, speaking directly to camera, asking us to keep our phones handy throughout the performance – after switching them to silent mode of course – before entering with blue balloon on a string. Some introductory banter involves a classic but cute trick that draws applause and then he launches into a speech about moments that matter, not only in history, but in all of our lives.There’s no question that Alexander is a talented magician and many of the illusions presented are done so with a slick professionalism that indicate that he’s been at this a long time and knows his craft well. The stories that accompany the magic are engaging and work as nice framing device, but it all feels a little ‘corporate’. Some of the moments in the performance do come across as the kind of homilies you’d hear at self-help conferences and, although there’s no arguing that his chosen themes of balance, optimism, and fate work well in the context of the show, it does make everything feel a little drawn out.However, the audience are enthralled and mystified in equal measure and a finale that brings many of the elements of the show together before suddenly delving into a life-changing moment in Alexander’s own life is both unexpected and beautiful and seems perfectly fitting with this gentle, honest hour of magic.

Cirquework is a relatively new name in contemporary circus and, in their debut show at the Fringe, have brought a slice of Japanese inspired mythology combined with some spectacular visuals.YOAH tells the tale of a young dreamer travelling through a magical realm, encountering wonders and dangers as they go. These wonders are, of course, presented as several circus performances, but the use of genuinely amazing lighting effects via projection creates some stunning visuals as a backdrop to the skilled acts.The routines are well performed and it’s clear that the cast are talented in their relative art forms. After an opening involving an intriguing movement piece, the first silks routine by Tsumugi Masui is beautiful but seems intentionally brief. We then get the first of what turns out to be a lot of diabolo performance. Director Yusaku Mochizuki is talented with this dynamic skill – flicking the diabolo effortlessly around his body whilst interacting perfectly the light projections, but the constant exhortation for more applause for yet another trick drags it out to the extent that, when the diabolo returns later in the show, I’m less than excited to see it again. Anthony Weiss displays some death-defying stunts on the swinging trapeze that draw gasps and squeals from the audience before a beautiful mix of movement and contortion from Masui, who then moves to the aerial hoop in another routine that, although intense in its choreography, is again painfully short. A balance act by Yuya Takatori is perhaps drawn out a little too long and lacking in variety to truly be memorable before the aforementioned return of Mochizuki for more diabolo. This time they’re joined by Horomiki Torii who is equally talented, and between them they create some phenomenal tricks but, again, it’s drawn out a little too far. The final is a welcome return to the silks by Masui that is exquisite and enthralling. YOAH is well worth seeing as an example of contemporary Japanese circus and there are moments that delight. Unfortunately, the pacing could be improved – some parts are too short while others drag on and, although the lighting design is impressive, it isn’t quite so effective from my seat on the side of the thrust stage, but I bet it’s incredible from the front.

Imaginative and atmospheric with striking visual images, there is much to recommend in Jajack Movement’s Sleeper, choreographed by Kim Yumi. It is an allegorical tale tackling the climate crisis with shamanistic ritual and dance, both traditional Korean and contemporary.Sounds of thunderous waves suggest the oceans are rising as three bedraggled females in black, like creatures destined to drown, crawl or drag each other towards a large transparent box covered in cling film. Curled up on the floor inside is a half-visible man. This is the Sleeper, representing humankind, who is responsible for the climate crisis and must wake to save the world.As he tears his way out of the box, the females return in long white dresses, symbolising purity, and enact a shamanistic ritual involving bangwool (bells), and gopuri (knot-tying) - here represented as long wide sashes of blue, red, and yellow, a healing ritual to release pain.There are arresting images: the box radiating light as if set on fire; the man’s face and outstretched arms against the cling film, desperate to escape; the virgins bent over their tinkling bells, turning this way and that. The choreography is simple, more like physical theatre than contemporary dance, though the man’s solo, as his trembling builds up to frantic shaking, creates a powerful climax. Following this, the ritual knot-tying scene in which the females wind the colourful sashes around his body, though a beautiful image, lacks emotional drama, and the show ends with a sense of bathos.

When it comes to Night Owl Shows, one is never disappointed with the array and gravitas displayed by the musical tributary company, who have gone the extra mile this year to feature up to eleven productions of varying artist tales and tribulations. Of the many choices, The Story of Sting and The Police rings out a strong contender amongst its peers, which – in spite of clunky beginnings – procures a firm audience gratifier.Angus Munro, Night Owl’s multi-instrumental golden boy and lead vocalist, is as captivating as always, capable of commanding even a small mid-week turnout into chanting many an "SOS" or "Lo-Lo-Lonely". Dan Watt lives up to his name as the proverbial battery of the night, keeping the red lights on with powerful drumming on Roxanne, whilst bassist Harry Whitty leaps big on Walking On The Moon. But it is James Sinclair’s exceptional talents on guitar which shines out as the evening’s definitive highlight, sizzling as he handles the dynamic solo of King of Pain with lucid ease.The show’s opening is not as neatly presented as their previous ventures, hurriedly arranged in uneven fashion that makes for slapdash first impressions, whilst the history of Sting and The Police isn’t interwoven into the act as well as it could be. In favour of a 12-song display, Night Owls have opted to sacrifice production for more playtime, but this sees some songs cut in half. This frustration of Night Owls’ preference for 50-minute slots is felt strongly in a diminished Don’t Stand So Close To Me, leaving one wanting for a fuller, more rounded performance that balances artistic narrative with longer playthroughs. But as the night draws on, the delivery improves as does their passion, which is ultimately rewarded by the grateful and cheering crowd, rounding off a terse, pleasing act that conveys a distinctive reflection of the renowned London trio.

Jaz Mattu goes back home to live with his dad in Kent to focus on his comedy career. Though at first seeming like a brilliant idea, reality hits and Mattu realises he has travelled back in time to childhood curfews and strict rules implemented by his father. Utilising music, multimedia and audience participation, Mattu delivers a very creative hour of storytelling.Mattu sets up the premise of the show detailing his life as a struggling artist in London. Charming and candid, the audience are immediately invested in his story. As the show continues, Mattu introduces new elements to his performance: a song about loving his hometown in Kent, video projections of his childhood bedroom, an interactive game played with an audience member. His creative choices are undoubtedly clever. The most effective moments come from his use of POV video projection to depict his walk home or attempt to bring a girl back to his dad’s house.As the narrative unfolds, however, some of these choices get in the way and take precedence over the jokes, stagnating the flow. Moments of audience participation fall just short of success and the tug of war between himself and his father isn’t communicated as effectively as in the first half. Some of this might be to do with the fact that in this particular performance, Mattu came across as slightly nervous or agitated, which could be to do with the number of elements he is having to juggle. Perhaps some simplification of the tech might make him feel more at ease.Jaz Mattu Returns presents a loveable story in a slightly chaotic manner. What is clear is that Mattu has a great deal of creativity and ingenuity which has the potential to create a more rousing performance.

Musical theatre appears to thrive on some of the most unexpected subject matters – the lives of poetic cats, the founding fathers of America, The Jerry Springer Show – so a new musical set in an NHS mental health centre doesn’t feel quite as extreme as you might think.Given its minimal cast and staging, this is a Fringe production which sensibly cuts its suit to match its cloth, but still ends up with something memorable. The cast of four actors are genuinely strong, especially when they have to double-bank as additional supporting characters. The featured songs by Greg Van Kerkhof and Ben Hawkin are strong and successfully push forward both character and action: a duet, “Share the Moon”, is a particular delight.All told, Julianne Chauhan’s script is remarkably even-handed in its approach to the subject of the NHS mental health service. While a strong “anti-psychiatry” argument is forcefully put forward by a diagnosis-seeking Sam (Heather Davidson), who sees herself as a “cult-classic anti-heroine”, it is balanced by the relatively successful recovery of depressed, agoraphobic Eddy (Robbie Hail), who manages to make a genuine recovery.The script even ensures that antagonistic authoritarian figure Dr Roswell (Steve Grant) has some moments of clarity and perspective, while Martin Maclennan finds truth in both a proactive care worker and a “selectively mute” patient. Admittedly, some occasional attempts to “go meta” – characters/actors referring to being in a musical – don’t quite hit the target, but overall, this is a roughly-hewn gem worth seeing.

A year after the death of their mother, with her fiancée Mark (Jack Huckin) in tow, Saskia (Eleanor Griffiths) and Sarah (Florence Lace-Evans) reunite for a party to commemorate the anniversary, but Sarah’s pet squirrel is not the only source of chaos in this fraught gathering. With madcap wit and touching moments, Yes, We're Related delivers a sincere portrayal of grief that has potential to develop.Written by Lace-Evans, the show promises unhinged humour and a quirky narrative with visuals of squirrel heads and raving. We are thrust into Sarah’s living room, immersed in her manic habitat prompted by her mother’s death. This is brilliantly interrupted by the straight-laced Saskia who stands in stark contrast with her unkempt sister, exaggerated further by Huckin’s Mark who portrays an endearing and foolish character with touching sincerity. To the credit of director Eliza Beth Stevens, the dynamic between the three characters is made crystal clear, and we, the audience, are locked in from the offset. Lace-Evans’ acting shines: her Sarah is utterly believable which enhances both her humour and her heartache. At times, the scale of Griffiths’ delivery didn’t quite match the intimacy of the space, and moments of emotion felt pushed. Nevertheless, her energy and commitment worked well in Saskia’s lighter moments.Lace-Evans’ writing balances humour and tragedy well, with a particularly strong first half. Sarah’s reincarnated mother taking the form of ‘Gerald’ the squirrel is a wonderful spin on traditional grief narratives, which could be further integrated into the storyline. The characters’ clashing personalities in the hapless setting of an ill-fated party keeps us on our toes, and the couple of hallucinogenic sequences are excellent, with the potential to also be taken even further. There are, however, some minor plot holes and clichés that creep in and unfortunately distract from the performance. Both Sarah’s unabashed frankness and vulnerability and Saskia’s uptight rationality are well conceived and do not need to be spelled-out as much in the dialogue.Yes, We’re Related delivers a familiar story with an exciting and wacky approach that is both delightful and moving. With some amendments the show could be a more palpable hit, but is still sure to entertain.

From the signature guitar riff that accompanies the opening of Dr. No to the breathy understated vocals of Billie Eilish on No Time to Die, the music of the James Bond franchise is as iconic as the tuxedo-clad secret agent himself. The Voices of Bond by Night Owl Shows is an all too brief spin through 60 years of Bond themes. Opening with a video briefing from ‘M’, the show is led by Ella McCready. Resplendent in a red sequin dress worthy of any femme fatale that vexes 007, she shares the history of the franchise’s music and performs a select few favourite songs, moving through the movies chronologically. McCready nails the vocals on every number starting with the Bassey years and Carly Simon’s international hit Nobody Does It Better, she keeps up the charm and the audience respond warmly. Guitarist Alex Beharrell takes over the vocals when we leap to Casino Royale’s rock inspired theme and the two singers definitely have a licence to thrill when they duet on Another Way to Die. MVP of the show may just be the keyboard player who has to cover a lot of the orchestral backing, but someone needs to have a word with the bassist and remind him that the audience can see him. A constant bored expression only broken by picking at your face before intensely examining whatever is under your fingernails is not a good look when Skyfall is being belted out with aplomb by your lead singer.An excellent show to catch if you enjoy the music of Bond performed by a talented band. With only one hour to perform 60 years of music, there are a few hits that don’t make the cut. I’m sure everyone in the audience has their own favourites that were missed, although we can all agree that nobody needs to hear Madonna’s Die Another Day ever again.

As the daughter of one of the most influential political and philosophical figures ever to have lived, Eleanor Marx was cursed to travel through life and death shackled by her father’s legacy rather than her own agency. Perversely, it is precisely this heritage which causes a continued fascination with a woman defeated by everything she fought against, well over a century after her untimely death.Born in 1855, Eleanor (‘Tussy’) sought from a young age to make her own difference in the world: a fierce feminist, socialist thinker and academic powerhouse who blazed so brightly and promisingly that it is hard to reconcile her eventual death with her impassioned life.But as well as a tribute to the lost years of a woman who helped others more than she was ever able to help herself, this is also an homage to the literature and female companionship which nurtured her throughout her life. Agnes Perry-Robinson’s script is worthy and thoughtful: driving the narrative with empathy and understanding. Arguably though, both the audience and the ghost of Eleanor herself might benefit from a more focused look at the writings and achievements which defined her rather than the understandably brutal but somewhat reductive emphasis on the doomed love affair that led to her death.This is a nice little piece, earnest and committed in delivery and with a strong and convincing central performance. The cast are most successful in conjuring the optimism and self-satisfaction of Eleanor’s circle of bright young things; and as the run progresses should become more adept at suggesting the internal worlds which give birth to their high-flown ideals and declarations.

Psyche is the first English translation of a one-woman show from Sandor Weores' collections of letters, poems and various documents that chronicle the life of a fictional 19th-century woman around whom the play centres. The titular character uses Weores' epistolary material to lead the audience through a journey of sexual discovery and trauma as she deals with the psychological toll that her encounters may (or may not) have had on her.The production cuts a striking scene with a stark and effective flooring of chequered tiles and a full-sized bath that serves as the vessel of the countess' purification and an effective theatrical contrivance.Stella Abel is a gifted storyteller, and her vibrant and sexually charged performance as the enigmatic and unleashed titular Romani Countess is a bold and challenging watch. Abel's passion for the material is evident throughout as she connects with the words on a visceral level and, in turn, transfers this connection to the audience.There is no doubt, however, that the fringe version of this show loses something in the necessary cuts made due to the limitations of the space's stage. The lack of water in the bath, which would have been present in the original production, was felt throughout. Its absence caused the direction to become too static at times, with the play's action focused too much on this central contrivance without the intended payoff.The production is a fascinating watch and a good opportunity to discover the beauty and poetry of Hungarian literature.

Squires is a very funny play, perfect for its 11:45 morning slot. Telling the story of a band of bumbling squires after their brand new – and definitely not a lady – recruit Phil (read Phillipa), and the chaos that unfolds as a result. The piece is a fun romp and a strong comedy, though it has a few things to tidy up before being properly great. But this is not long far off.Squires follows Lance, Otto Dari and Fred on their strange and silly adventures, from Lance trying to find the lost lady Phillipa to Dari trying to prove he isn’t a witch, and that gravity is real. Each of the squire’s “quests” are even sillier than the last and watching them each strive towards their goal is great fun to see unfold.The cast make great use of physicality to define character. From Lance’s (Kavi Noonan) constant bravado to defend the honour of Phillipa and step into action, to Phil/Phillipa (Phoebe Tompkins) awkwardly trying to avoid breaking cover and prove she is definitely 100% a manly man, and Dari's (Alex Thompson) frustrated attempts to explain that dragons aren’t real and magic is nonsense. Whilst there are certainly stand out moments, it does feel that on occasion things don’t go as far as they should, and as a result some jokes, which on reflection are really good, get a bit lost and don’t land properly.Squires is well worth the watch. Hannah Brecher has written a fun script and the cast are clearly enjoying the silly world it is set in. However with a mix of the typical minor hitches expected from the start of the Fringe and some lost moments where jokes could be pushed further it feels like Squires has a lot more potential than it showed. I am confident that later in the month, once the team has gotten into their Fringe flow, it will be able to push every moment to its most bombastic, and be something you’ll have been glad to have seen.

Hello and welcome to Cynthia’s fabulous party! Meet our generous host as she greets each and every audience member with a chocolaty hors d'oeuvre. Thank You So Much for Coming relies entirely on audience participation to keep the party moving. Throughout the night, we get to know Cynthia as well as our fellow audience members. She ensures everyone is settled, offering drinks and snacks while she finishes getting ready. Her hosting is frequently interrupted by phone calls from guests who are running late or cancelling at the last minute.Alex Kern delivers an exquisitely maddening yet endearing performance as Cynthia, fully committing to her craft. As I sat in the front row, completely shocked by how the show became progressively unhinged, I couldn’t help but feel for our host. She tried so hard to make everything perfect but could not maintain appearances until the end of the night when she climbed into a rubbish bag.Even though this show is sure to guarantee laughter, it also addresses a very real issue many people struggle with: making and maintaining friendships and the desire to be liked by others, especially when hosting a party. Cynthia is a character who taps into insecurities about social interactions, creating some uneasy moments that are uncomfortable precisely because of their confrontational nature.If you enjoy going to parties or experiencing new social interactions, then make sure to see Thank You So Much for Coming, as it promises a plethora of fresh experiences.

Ask a Stripper challenges you to rethink everything you know about stripping and sex work. This free comedy show invites you to engage with two charismatic and articulate female strippers. At best, it is empowering and refreshingly honest – yet it could be funnier.Stacey Clare is the author of The Ethical Stripper, which takes a detailed look at the sex industry, rejecting notions of victimhood and stigma. She also promotes sex workers’ unions in the UK. Gypsy Charms, the creator of Illicit thrills, was replaced on the opening night by another Scottish talent Roxy from Glasgow. The show kicks off with a taste of their stripping talents, followed by more witty banter in the Q&A session, where they share stories and anecdotes from the industry. The comedic elements were somewhat rough around the edges, perhaps due to the cast change or opening-night nerves, but these will undoubtedly improve as they get more shows under their belt. Ask a Stripper relies heavily on intriguing questions. On the opening night, they were rather predictable: career choices, best stripping venues, industry exploitation, and whether there are catfights between the girls. Perhaps the most interesting conversation revolved around the disproportionate number of neurodivergent people in the sex industry and the reasons behind it.Ask a Stripper is a boldly feminist statement that breaks down barriers, asks important questions about societal morals and provides a new appreciation for the art of stripping. These ladies will deliver a mental lap dance to be remembered.

Tom Lawrinson has a manic energy that can barely be contained by an Underbelly stage. With a mischievous grin and a slightly villainous laugh, he gets the audience on his side immediately, poking fun at the cave-like Fringe venue before launching into the story of his life - specially, three years of his childhood spent in Spain. Although there seems to be a structure in place for his set, there is more 'madness to the method' than vice versa. Lawrinson has an active imagination, leading him to follow some of his more wild thoughts to their quite unexpected conclusions, and sometimes losing the thread of his original story in the process. Luckily, he has the charm to pull it off, keeping the audience in his pocket even if they don't seem to fully understand what they're laughing at.The Fringe is the perfect place to work out the kinks in his set, because he clearly has the chops to grow into an impressive comic. Either he can commit more to the structure and tame some of his obscure ramblings, or he could fully embrace the chaos, leading the audience even further into the abyss with his whimsical tangents. Either way, I think we'd all enjoy ourselves.

Dom Chambers bursts on stage, pumped up for a night that promises magic. His first trick: pulling pints from different parts of his body. He is a generous host, and you might consider sitting close to the stage if you would like a pint. Dom, along with his sidekick Toby, a dead eight-year-old, guide you through a hunt for the ultimate magic trick while drinking, telling dick jokes and snorting Nesquik powder along the way. While Dom runs from one side of the stage to the other searching for props, the quest-driven storyline facilitates an expansive variety of tricks rather than a true exploration of magic. However, this show is self-aware. It knows it is not the most complex one at the Fringe. It's more like a crash course in Magic for Dummies. Magic Hunt is a good laugh and a fun show to enjoy on a night out with friends. But things can quickly get rowdy with hecklers — an expected side effect from a show that includes pulling an Ace of Spades card out of a condom. The show can be tentatively moving, such as when Dom shares his story of how his grandfather introduced him to magic, changing his life.Even if this type of magic or humour does not appeal to your taste, the major plot twist at the end of this show and the gasp it will elicit will make the Hunt's ultimate finale worth the wait. I won't spoil it, though.

Before I even enter the venue, there’s a man with a huge pink microphone advertising Raul Kohli’s show, the noise blasting up and down Blair Street. It’s Kohli himself, and he is pumped up. I love to see it. Even if I wasn’t reviewing, I would have definitely taken a chance on this show for the sheer confidence.It’s quite a quiet room, but there’s a buzz about it, which is really great to see. Kohli bounds onto the stage after entrance tunes by Punjabi MC and Spice Girls (I thought it was an odd choice to put these tunes together, but by the end of the show, it made so much sense). He’s in a Newcastle United top, radiating passion and excitement.Kohli’s show is smart and sensitive and includes some devasting takedowns on racism in the UK and some brilliantly up-to-date takes on current issues in England. However, at it’s core, the show is about what it means to call yourself British – a tough sell for a Scottish audience. But not to worry, his explanations on pegging, comparisons between Rishi Sunak and Shamima Begum and his take on ‘Nigel Farage’s wet dream’ keep the audience hooked for the full hour.But it’s the final ten minutes that really cement the show as something special. An intense, vulnerable and emotional monologue, that had the lady in front of me in tears, reminds us that, although we’ve listened to an hour of comedy, the serious subjects that Kohli has spoken about are no laughing matter.I came out of the show feeling happier, prouder and, dare I say, a little more British? That’s an achievement right there.

There’s an irony in James Rowland Dies at the End of the Show being performed in what was once an anatomy lecture theatre. In this space, where countless animal cadavers were coldly and clinically dissected, Rowland offers a warm meditation on the moments leading up to death – a pre-mortem journey that is engaging and emotionally rich but sometimes gets lost in the broad scope of its ambitions.Early in the performance, we’re introduced to the Golden Records, the discs which were attached to the Voyager 1 and 2 space probes - phonographs that contained sounds and images designed to give a flavour of the diversity of human culture. This show represents an attempt to do the same on a personal level. It’s a performed version of those records, full of the things Rowland has chosen to represent something of himself.Those choices make for an interesting blend of the intensely private and the communal. On one hand, we have a selection of personal memories – interesting insights and tender, poignant moments from a life that are as ephemeral as the sheets of paper scattered across the performance space. On the other, there’s the folk story of Robin Hood, a collective memory that descends through the centuries, encoding cultural beliefs. Rowland shows himself to be a very able storyteller throughout the telling of both these strands, but particularly with the tale of the outlaw of Sherwood Forest. It’s a strong telling of a timeless tale, full of rowdy humour and emotional engagement.As with NASA’s Golden Records, it’s an ambitious project, which is laudable if not entirely successful. The show maintains a loose style, which, on one hand, is fitting. The nature of life is, in many ways, nebulous and full of small, incidental moments and memories. On the other hand, it reveals the limitations of the show. It’s telling that the Hood section is the one that most easily captivates. Engagement with the other moments is not as secure. Though they are often very moving in themselves, these more personal moments rely on a more specific shared appreciation, which can’t be assured.James Rowland Dies at the End of the Show serves as the concluding chapter of the performer’s trilogy, following the earlier pieces Learning to Fly and Piece of Work. You can’t get a much more final conclusion than death, and Rowland’s latest show proves a very fitting and enjoyable finale.

Na Dihnang Circus presents Of The Land on Which We Meet. Witness this cast of three contemporary Australian artists as they share their unique stories and relationships with Australia. The show begins with an Acknowledgement of Country, paying respect to the Aboriginal Traditional Owners of the land where the performance is taking place—in this case, the space in Edinburgh's Old Town near Bristo Square. Of The Land on Which We Meet is about rediscovering and connecting with our ancestry.The three artists step onto the stage, with an empty frame hanging from a rig above them. Over the next few minutes, they take turns with the frame, sharing their personal stories. The cast includes an Indigenous Australian, a descendant of migrants, and a descendant of colonial settlers. Through storytelling, acrobatics, and dynamic movements, they display incredible strength, flexibility, and resilience, offering insights into their journeys and Australia’s complex society. Of The Land on Which We Meet explores the narratives we construct as individuals and as a collective.The show also takes a moment to acknowledge the audience, encouraging us to reflect on our own lives and ancestry. There is a dreamy, almost surreal quality to the performance, with dust being stirred up and floating around the stage as the artists move. Throughout, the performers express a wide range of emotions—from anger and pain to joy—demonstrated through their acrobatics and lifts. They continuously lean, trust, and rely on each other, showcasing both their physical prowess and the deep connections they share.This show is truly one not to miss if you enjoy storytelling blended with acrobatics and wish to take a moment to honour the land we stand on and those who came before us.

There’s a great deal to admire in Apricity, the blend of contemporary circus and dance from Australian outfit Casus Creations. The title of the show is a rarely used word that means the warmth of the sun in winter. It’s an evocative name for an evocative show, which often delivers very beautiful passages of physical performance, even if it could benefit from a bit more of the heat from that sun.The five-member troupe are all very skilled performers, and there is great fluidity as they move between passages of action that by turns showcase individual talents and the ability to work together in often flawless precision. They spin, dance, tumble, flip, and twist through sections in which candles are passed around, balance is tested, and some very striking physical imagery is presented on the stage.Further gymnastic feats are presented when a few bits of equipment are introduced. The performers take to the air with some impressive work on a rope, a trapeze, and spinning in an aerial hoop. It’s often very impressive, and sometimes quite dizzying, stuff.A passage with a hula hoop proves another highlight. It’s one of the few sections of the show that provides some levity. There’s a clear warmth coming from the performers in Apricity, but that often doesn’t shine through in the staging of the acts. Despite one or two breaks in mood, the overall feel of the show is solemn, and although it does lead to some breathtaking moments, it can feel a bit much over the course of the hour.Still, tonal niggles aside, Apricity remains a very well-crafted piece of performance. It’s one not just for circus and contemporary dance aficionados but for anyone interested in seeing a beautifully crafted performance from an incredibly skilled cast.

There’s less Quasimodo and more Quasi-oh-no in Daisy Hall’s somewhat uneven belltower-based exploration of climate catastrophe in England’s green and pleasant back garden. A couple of able performances keep the drama moving, but the blend of whimsical humour, and bleak philosophical inquiry lead to some tonal imbalance.In an apocalyptic near future flood waters rise and mushrooms threaten to overwhelm the land and a couple of friends have been tasked with ringing the bells in the town church tower. A storm is approaching and despite all evidence to the contrary, the remaining people in their village believe that ringing the bells will cause the devastating tempest to dissipate. The titular bellringers are less convinced.The cynical and slightly neurotic Clement (Luke Rollason) and hearty Aspinall (Paul Adeyefa) banter about life and death amidst the apocalypse as they nervously await the thunderhead. Rollason and Adeyefa have an easy chemistry that makes these interactions enjoyable enough, although the script never quite manages to portray the weight of impending doom which would imbue the whole thing with a bit more dramatic power.As the storm edges closer, the tension should build to a crescendo. However, the script struggles to balance its existential themes with its moments of levity, often diluting the urgency of the situation. The humour, while occasionally sharp and insightful, sometimes feels out of place against the backdrop of an impending ecological disaster. This dissonance makes it difficult for the audience to fully invest in the stakes at hand.Despite these shortcomings, the production does have its merits. The minimalist set design, combined with evocative soundscapes, effectively captures the isolation and despair of the two characters. The constant patter of rain and the distant rumble of thunder create a haunting atmosphere that underscores the characters’ sense of helplessness. Yet, without a more cohesive narrative drive, Bellringers rings hollow at times, leaving the audience with more questions than resolutions. It's a play that, while ambitious, never quite achieves the depth or impact it seems to reach for.

It’s not often you get to be in the audience for a pilot TV show, let alone a live chat show witha warm-up act, special guests, commercial breaks and several references to pastcontestants of The X Factor. However, there are only two members of Hot Concrete - HenryWhaley and Charlie Billingham - so cue completely seamless costume changes and an arrayof accents.Luckily, as “the kids are into TV...and long-form comedy sketch shows,” Hot Concrete: TooHot (and Too Concretey) for TV at Just the Tonic Mash House is easily enjoyable, as the sold-out room shows. The guest interviews and the ‘80s infomercial-style ads work as sketches, that contain a mix ofstraight-up punchlines and oddball quips. There’s also a great recurring bit about Whaley notunderstanding the concept of perspective, as he recounts being approached by “anincreasingly growing child” who later “shrunk away.” The adverts are shown on a monitor that is quite small so, though the sound was of good quality, it’s not clear how much the people seated further back could see.There is some kind of underlying evil mastermind plot, but it’s not vital; the sketches aregood enough to stand alone and Whaley and Billingham are strong actors. As someone who’sbeen in a few studio audiences, if only more of them were this well written.

Lyndon Chapman’s debut play directed by Will Armstrong, Is The Wifi Good in Hell? is an evocative coming of age play where identity and environmental displacement collide.Dev is from Margate. We meet him at twelve years old wearing a wolf hat and telling us about his chaotic escapades with his best friend Ange in an abandoned shack on the seafront. Set to an atmospheric and effective soundscape by Damian Pace, we, like Dev, feel fully integrated in the environment. 00s school-ground shenanigans are the centre of Dev’s world and, like many children, is where he discovers what ‘gay’ means. This mysterious and confusing label tossed around by his peers becomes the source of both confusion and alienation. University is the first time a man has looked Dev in the eye and made him feel seen. With his newfound ability to assimilate with the ‘lads’, he develops a chameleon-like capacity to adapt his voice and mannerisms for different crowds. Navigating the new world of brotherly, platonic love and heteronormative masculinity triggers visions of a seaweed-covered monster that follows him, lurking in the corner of his eye. After London life brings nothing but trauma, his return to the gentrified Margate only furthers Dev’s feeling of displacement, rejection and isolation. This is a story with heart, insight and creative flair. With an acute attention to detail, there are many magnificent moments in the play that make for gripping storytelling. In particular, Chapman’s touching exploration of male platonic love, coercion and being left behind provide imaginative and nuanced creative choices that demonstrate the uniqueness of his written voice. Despite the fact that this is his debut, it is already clear that Chapman is a highly accomplished and skilled writer. Though Chapman’s ingenuity as a writer is undeniable, it is a great shame that the performance does not live up to his written talents. He portrays Dev as a quirky, slightly unsettling and manic character with sharp inhalations of breath before each line and an eerie crooked smile. What results is a character that, despite the vulnerability of the text, departs from authenticity and leans into exaggerated display. This is something that Armstrong and Chapman could work on together to discover a more authentic version of Dev’s voice. Is The Wifi Good in Hell? is worth a watch for the poignant storyline and written work. Though the performance doesn’t feel quite right, it has a lot of passion.

Battle Counters by John Chisham and Christian Loveless is a humorous adventure about friendship, family and being the best counter, poking fun at a very specific genre of kids television.Growing up in Letterville, Cal Counters (John Chisham) always wanted to be the best counter. After a sudden bout of exposition by his grandfather (Christian Lvoeless), he embarks on a journey to Countovia to defeat Count Numbers and avenge his family’s legacy.This show is set up to poke fun at the game shows like Pokémon or Yu-Gi-Oh - TV shows where the society and its social and culturalhierarchies revolve around a game with a very specific set of rules and is often battle-based. This show is stereotypical but in that way that we know it’s meant to be a stereotype, and that’s what Chisham and Loveless’ comedy is built on. It’s satire, it pokes fun at a genre that we most likely have nostalgic inclinations for, yet have the maturity as adults to be able to deconstruct it whilst still enjoying the references to source material that the jokes and humour stem from.Chisham and Loveless play their roles with gusto, committing to the bit and the purpose of their respective roles. There’s a slight cheesiness to Chisham’s character. The entire characterisation is very surface-level character, but because that’s the whole point of the character, it does really fit with the genre that the pair is trying to replicate. Loveless plays every side-character that Cal Counters encounters on his journey, and whilst he is aided by a variety of hats and accessories, Loveless changes his entire demeanour with every character, playing these archetypal side-kicks for all they’re worth.Battle Counters is a light-hearted and wholesome comedy that like the TV shows that it is based on, is fun for the whole family.

A nation, according to the political theorist and historian Benedict Arnold, is an imagined community. That’s exactly what’s on offer from Sam Ward as he takes the role of storyteller in YESYESNONO’s latest production. With a measured and engaging performance, and a well-balanced interplay with the audience, the theatre-maker constructs a community then shows how it can be torn apart by intolerance.Ward, as he tells us throughout the performance of Nation, is the storyteller and we are the audience. More than that, we are also the residents of a small, ordinary town—a sort of middle-class idyll with a local butcher, baker, and Pilates instructor, which begins to suffer odd events upon the arrival of a stranger. The mundane unity of the town is shattered as community cohesion fails, blame is apportioned, fear turns to hate, and bloodshed ensues.With stripped-back staging, and only minimal but effective lighting and sound, the drama is constructed largely in the minds of the audience via simple, direct, and often repeated addresses from Ward. We are encouraged to imagine the scenes from the tale, from a retirement party to a political rally to a violent death. Are we imagining the same thing, though? The production poses, then answers the question in an unsettling way.The current far-right rioting in towns and cities across England and Northern Ireland lends the story significant cultural weight, as over recent days we have seen blame, fear, and hate turn to violence. However, it also reveals a limitation of Nation, as reality has overtaken the story in a way which is more shocking than anything you’ll see onstage. The narrative we are drawn into, as engaging as it is, seems more simple and straightforward, and certainly less substantial by comparison.Still, Nation remains an enjoyable experience, and even if the darkness promised by the narration is considerably less dark than the nightly news right now, there’s still a lot to be admired in the production. It’s a solid piece of smartly constructed theatre with a strong central performance.

What’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever brought up on a date? For Bobby Sheehan, it seems, it’s a fascination with the sex lives of the American Presidents. Sheehan’s hour-long stand-up set promised a late-night romp through the United States history, but I was left wondering if the premise could have been taken in a stronger direction.Sheehan did well to warm up the largely un-American crowd to the idiosyncrasies of its dead leaders' sex lives, and the show's coverage of both their sexual and historical content ensured the show never strayed too far from its title. The audience interaction and games were the highlight of the show and earned Sheehan some sizeable, although at times predictable, laughs, and it was here where his playful energy and spontaneity shone through.However, the set's progression lacked cohesion, and its material occasionally veered towards the uncomfortable. Whilst perfect pacing and chronology wasn't expected from a show crowning Nancy Reagan America’s ‘throat goat’, much of Sheehan’s content felt like vaguely risqué ‘fun facts’ dropped into the lap of the audience without much expansion. The show’s potential climax arrived about three-quarters in, when I was genuinely impressed by Sheehan’s ability to memorise a sizeable portion of a speech by Lincoln, but this resulted in the remainder of the show falling flat in comparison. From the litany of stereotypical gay jokes, to the unexpectedly pointed racial humour in a show centering some of American history’s most prominent overseers of slavery, where the Presidents' sex lives invited absurdity, Sheehan prioritised a sense of ‘edge’.The show did, in all fairness, live up to its name. However, whilst my crossing of the threshold of the Laughing Horse was, I’m sure, slightly short of that of Washington upon the Delaware, as the show progressed, I couldn’t help but feel a little more like sleepy Joe.

It’s been a couple of days and I still don’t really know what to make of this show. A few words I wrote down in my notes were ‘bizarre’, ‘unhinged’ and ‘what is this?’. I can confirm for those in doubt: this show is utterly batshit crazy. The shows consist of songs, vulgar cartoons and a lot of bees. Shitty Mozart himself, Aaron Nemo, is very talented. His songs are funny and the lyrics are witty and clever. The cartoons aren’t completely up my alley, humour-wise. They’re very early YouTube-coded and something a teenager would probably enjoy. The structure is all over the place and, in fact, towards the end of the show, he admits that he missed out an entire few minutes that he needed to include for the final monologue. The audience, however, doesn’t care and goes along with this crazy ride. I’ll admit, this show is difficult to review because as a critic, I do see faults, but as an audience member, the absurdity that the show brings is infectious. At the end of the day, go for the silliness, but don’t expect a masterpiece.

If your idea of entertainment is brutal violence, the rattle of hi-falutin’ Jacobean verse, pervy sex and lots and lots of blood, then this is the show for you. John Marston's play, written around about 1600, would make John Webster reach for the smelling salts. This extremely clever production manages to condense what must be the lengthy run-time of the original into one hour, while keeping all the important plot points and key scenes intact.The verse is largely spoken well, with clear meaning and a natural style. And although the text doesn't presume to give psychological insight into the characters or the development of their relationships, the production makes good use of what material there is. The relationship between Piero and his servant Strotzo for example, is made almost touching.However, the key feature of the production is relish: relish in the verse, in the gore, and especially in the presentation of Piero, the lip-smackingly evil villain glorying in his own wickedness. A feature of Marston's play is its frequent references to acting and audience reaction and the production uses this to fun effect.There are 5 actors jumping between 11 parts and they don't always get time to change costumes, so to keep track of who is who you need to keep your wits about you. However, this all works surprisingly well.And great fun is had by all.The blood! The blood! And the horror of the laundry bill!

Threepenny Collective’s Corpse Flower at C Venues Aquila is a weird piece, though not in a negative sense, but in its amalgamation of multiple elements and curious happenings that invite the search for explanations, meanings and interpretations.The company explains that in an old, godforsaken coastal town struck by famine, young Millie struggles to support her ailing mother by slaving in the pesticide factory that strives to protect them from swarms of flies. Worse comes when the townspeople are eaten by a swarm of ‘silly billy bugs’. Thereafter, the characters are transformed into various grotesque insects. This event plays havoc with the distinguished suitor’s' pursuit of Millie and his financial dealings with her father over the bride-price. An eccentric, money-grabbing aunt is the source of medication and Millie also has dealings with a local fisherman. This is all accompanied by a live original piano score worthy of the silent movies.It all makes for an entertaining, if rather confusing tragicomedy, which is not surprising given that the company has tried to contrast themes of ‘decay and redemption’ while ‘drawing on expressionist masterpieces like M and The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari, Alice in Wonderland, A Nightmare Before Christmas, and the heady world and dark humour of Franz Kafka’; an excess of riches for a 60 minute play.The performances are strong and the company, founded by Ilya Wray, Michal Vojtech and Ariel de la Garza Davidof, recent graduates of the University of Cambridge has carved an unusual niche with this work.

Sweet Beef Theatre Collective’s Crying Shame promises to make us forget about our loneliness, as it welcomes us to ‘Club Fragilé’; a haven for washed-up cabaret acts cloaking their pain under thickly applied clown makeup and shiny smiles. Bright, bold, and brimming with potential, the performance tackles themes of vulnerability and acceptance through an audacious jumble of lip-syncs, songs, and speeches. Unfortunately, though interspersed with both poignant and funny moments, the overall performance fell short of its wide ambitions.For one, it was boisterously loud. And not in a late-night-wild-hurrah kind of way, but more so in a this-is-really-quite-uncomfortable way, that had us wincing in our seats at several points. Unfortunate volume levels aside, the collective brought a fun energy to the stage, with the first half introducing us to three clownish acts that each received a fair splatter of laughs. Towards the middle, we reached a turning point, where it becomes clear the clownish performances are facades behind which each character hides emotional sensitivity, be it sadness or anger, which begin to slip out, triggering a ‘loneliness emergency’ and a high-energy dance routine. Here, the narrative arc becomes somewhat confused, as we lack the time to appreciate the nuances of each character, and the final half-hour passes in a blur of moving moments that run into each other without clear direction.The strongest point, where the cabaret host has a Billy Elliot-esque tap dancing breakdown on a darkened stage, reveals a poignant moment of queer loneliness, amid the pressures of clubbing culture and the challenge of finding acceptance in these spaces. Cinematic in its simplicity, this was a heartfelt contrast to the gloriously colourful costume and light design throughout the rest of the performance. Ultimately though, this sincere moment was somewhat lost within the performance, neither coming from a clear overarching development nor leading to a conclusive ending for that character.Crying Shame certainly has a lot to commend for its originality and energy, and with some fine-tuning and a focus on the overall narrative arc, it is a show I can see having a strong future.

The music that welcomes us in is a mix of standard mediaeval fare and the more contemporary Angel, by PinkPantheress which set the tone of what we’re about to experience in Knight, Knight at the Underbelly. Yes, it is a story about a knight pulling a sword from a stone and becoming king, only this knight happens to be in love with his horse!Optimists hoping for a chance at a no-show ticket are turned away from the Wee Coo as it is once again a full house, a repeat occurrence for one of the festival’s most-talked about shows. Depending on where you’re sitting, it is a little difficult to see the stage but that’s only an issue when the Knight - played by Madeleine Rowe - is crouching or interacting with the front row.Within the first ten minutes, there is some light bestiality as the Knight begins to make out with his noble steed Hermes, which fortunately for us, is just a hobby-horse. When the Knight does “what needs to be done” after Hermes threatens to tell everyone about their affair, people genuinely gasp. It is a credit to Rowe’s performance that they manage to get us rooting for a human-horse relationship.Rowe is a verbal clown and plays the knight as a blustering man-child - or what their contemporaries would refer to as a ‘fuckboy’ - both in speech and mannerisms. In true clown form, sometimes Rowe would say or do things that were a surprise even to themselves, but if it got a good reaction, they would draw out the bit even longer.There are other modern nods on the classic tale (which perhaps explains why Rowe keeps their septum piercing in), such as the Knight badly playing Celine Dion’s My Heart Will Go On on the recorder like the popular meme and getting a singalong started of Chasing Cars by Snow Patrol. All in all, a fun romp by way of an urban legend.

Lewis Fuller’s Ungentlemanly Conduct promises a lively evening filled with daring and flirtatious displays of magic and talent.However, as I walked out of the show, I was left a bit puzzled about what it was truly about. Rating Lewis Fuller’s Ungentlemanly Conduct is challenging because the performance encompasses so many different genres, each with its own unique appeal.Fuller’s show is a unique blend of gangster movie flair, magic, pickpocketing, and a touch of hopeless romance, all spiced up with impressive singing. The show is an energetic and thrilling ride with an unpredictable quality. Without a doubt, the magic is dazzling. I was called up on stage, and Fuller asked to borrow my watch. To my distress, he placed it in a handkerchief and smashed it repeatedly on the table. I thought I’d have a heart attack, but then he produced my watch, safe and sound, from a locked box. I was left speechless and in awe.However, as it stands, the balance between the singing, comedy, and storytelling somewhat detracts from the magic, leading to pacing issues. While the musical numbers are very entertaining and the subplot of gangster culture adds an interesting dimension—reminiscent of a Guy Ritchie film—the contrast with the more romantic aspects can be jarring. This show is very much a work in progress, but it’s one to keep an eye on.

At The Moment is Ali’s latest hour that reflects on the self: being truthful, putting a stop to performativity and living in the moment. Directed by Heidi Regan, after finding viral fame, Woods delivers a highly confident performance that has many strong moments.Woods opens with stories of his delayed puberty and desire for attention as a child, which act as a great warm-up, balancing the relatable with the absurd. His greatest strength lies in his impersonations - particularly of his mother - and it would be lovely to see more of this included in the show. The same can be said of his riotous family anecdotes. Woods loosens up as the show continues, creating a wonderful chemistry between himself and the audience. However, the narrative and pace begin to lag in places, which clash with moments where it feels a bit rushed. This is something that could be an easy fix with some cuts to the text that would allow Woods to indulge more in his observational gags. Some of his irony also reads as a little boastful, which doesn’t fit with the earnest sentiment of the show. In his material on the corporate world, Woods is an expert in relatability, directly connecting with the audience as he explores the tension between living in the moment and the unnecessary stress of day-to-day life. Though it isn’t revolutionary, his passion and vigour make for entertaining commentary. In contrast, his reflections on his relationship, though interesting, become a little too extended and self-focused, breaking up the flow he creates so well. Because it is key to the narrative, perhaps these sections could be broken up and interspersed a little more with his other material to maintain the audience’s attention. The sentimental ending befalls the same fate and could be shortened to create a punchier conclusion. Overall, At The Moment delivers an amusing and heartfelt hour that is sure to encourage audiences to seize the day.

There was a lot of excitement around Any Liptrot’s 2016 memoir, The Outrun, which combined a searingly honest take on her alcoholism with atmospheric descriptions of her native Orkney. Eight years on, her story is back: as a film (the Opening Gala at this year’s Edinburgh International Film Festival) and a stage play as part of the Edinburgh International Festival.Although such introspective source material is not unheard of in “art house” cinema, it’s arguably more challenging when it comes to popular theatre, which generally craves drama and a sense of “aboutness”. True, there is a frail narrative thread: the lead character’s growing sense of disconnection; her feeling that Orkney’s open spaces are increasingly suffocating; her eventual realisation that experiencing “everything” in the bars and nightclubs of London doesn’t actually leave her with anything.But, despite Isis Hainsworth’s commanding performance throughout the play’s running time, it’s very hard to care, and her character’s isolation is underscored by sharing the stage with a nondescript chorus of nine actors—some of whom step forward to perform thinly-sketched school-friend, boyfriend, rehab peer, scientist.As if to compensate, this is a production full of gratuitous metaphors: be they in the script – how a repaired wall “doesn’t have to be perfect, just strong enough for the storms” – or the massive video montages of natural textures and blurred cityscapes created by Lewis den Hertog. From music and soundscape to physical choreography, there is much to impress, but overall it lacks sufficient humanity to make us really care.

Em Hoggett brings her twist on the one-woman cabaret show to C Venue. She’s certainly got a story to tell and from the very beginning, she, or should I say The Master, has us hooked.It’s a testament to Hoggett’s talent as a performer that she’s able to keep up an insane level of energy for this wild ride of a show. It’s not just her acting chops that are put through the ringer. Her musical talent shines through. Classically trained on piano, Hoggett keeps a keyboard in the corner, seemingly becoming a comfort to her during this dark narrative. The keyboard appearances are always a highlight (I’ve never seen someone play the piano behind their back before, quite a mean feat.)Hoggett’s story is a personal and intense one. The final ten or so minutes are particularly harrowing, evidence of Hoggett’s ability to keep an audience hooked. It’s very powerful. I’m not here to critique her own story – that’s not for me to do. The hour itself is a great start for Hoggett, who has much greater plans for the show going forward. On the whole, Showtime! does suffer from some structuring issues, however, the show demonstrates why Em Hoggett is one of the freshest faces on the cabaret scene.

When Thomas first tumbles into the stage you'd be forgiven for thinking he's your perpetually late friend who always manages to make up for his tardiness with a series of entertaining stories.The show could seem like a long stream of consciousness from start to finish, but there is method to the madness. At least, for the most part. The theme - Thomas' inability to focus on cleaning his apartment one time two years ago - is bookended by childhood memories and a more recent revelation of imperfection and acceptance, while peppered with enjoyable anecdotes that really round out our picture of the comic.He grabs our attention at the beginning with his wild reactions to relatively ordinary everyday interactions, turning his most embarrassing moments into comedy gold. However, by the mid-point of the show we’re more familiar with his delightful awkwardness, and the stories lose their shock value and become rambling anecdotes that feel a tad too long.It’s true that a Monday evening at the Fringe can put a comic at a slight disadvantage compared to a more raucous weekend performance. Thomas did address this in his usual blunt way at times, calling us his “quietest audience” so far. But the end result was still a pleasant hour-long show without any big ha-ha moments. You might leave feeling very fond of Thomas but wondering if the tickets should have been less expensive.

Demi Adejuyigbe has promised big things for his debut Fringe show, Demi Adejuyigbe Is Going To Do One (1) Backflip at Pleasance Courtyard: original songs, presentations, bits and the aforementioned single backflip.Why the backflip? To impress his crush, of course, who happens to be on her way, so the writer of The Good Place will save the backflip for when she arrives, which helpfully coincides with the culmination of the hour. Until then, Adejuyigbe keeps us entertained on a silly ride that really highlights his beginnings on Vine.We sing along to an updated version of Billy Joel’s We Didn’t Start the Fire which he’sreplaced with current events. There’s a proposal to ‘modernise’ racism with new stereotypes;and we are introduced to a hostile robot sidekick.There is also a musical dedicated to the ‘IKEA monkey’ and a phone call from Colin Meloy ofThe Decemberists, which has most people in hysterics but there are some bemused faces (mine included). If you’re not as permanently online or pop culturally attuned as Adejuyigbe, not all of the jokes hit if you’re unfamiliar with the references.However, there are enough well-written bits and misdirections to enjoy the show,undoubtedly helped by Adejuyigbe’s charismatic stage presence and direction by sketch duoBriTANick. And, naturally, the backflip...

As a smiling Spring Day walks onto the stage, the first words out of her mouth at her show Exvangelical are ‘Hello risk-takers!’ as she appreciates that hers is one of the first Fringe shows this audience has seen.When she was thirteen years old, Day joined a religious cult and this show is the story of her life during her time there and when she left thirteen years later, something she admits that she’s never spoken about on stage before. She begins by giving us some background on her upbringing, namely her father (more of a golden retriever due to his ADHD) and her internet troll mother. There are some great gags related to her Cystic Fibrosis, including one about her destroyed dreams of becoming a WWE wrestler, and it’s clear that this is where Day is at her strongest – when she’s making us laugh at the darker things in life.The show has some genuinely heart-breaking moments (I won’t spoil anything in this review) but as the show reached its final act, there were gasps around the room as Day bravely let us into some deeply personal moments from her life. The structure of the set needs to be worked on a little, but this is something that will be fixed throughout the run, I’m sure. Her strength as an engaging storyteller is something to be admired, especially when appearing so vulnerable on stage and she deserves much credit for that. Spring Day has created a show that, overall, reminds the audience that the most important person to love in life is yourself.

It will never not be weird seeing someone you have only ever seen through a phone with a dodgy greenscreen effect in the flesh. This familiarity with Jenny Tian on screen is something she makes the most of, opening with a really funny pastiche of both her online content and etiquette around stand up shows. But whilst there are these great moments surrounding her digital content, it feels like some aspects of her comedy didn’t hit as hard as they could have, and left me wanting a bit more.Chinese Australian primarily focuses on Tian’s own journey through comedy, looking at her beginnings in 2013 when she saw Ronny Chieng perform at the University of New South Wales, to her success online over the pandemic to the here and now of the Fringe. A show that makes the most of both elements of its title as well as her online presence much of it naturally leans into her explosion online, framing the show around a “doomscroll” with sponsored ad breaks in the middle. All whilst assisted with a presentation which when used to its full effect makes some of her jokes really land.Alongside this however, there is a lot of fairly generic material in the mix, with some material on overbearing parents and Tian’s dating life. None of it is bad, the jokes are clear and funny they just don’t particularly pop out, and when there are parts of the show which feel really personal and unique not only from the narrative but from the shows humour, it feels let down by some jokes which feel like ones I could see in many other places.Jenny Tian is great fun to watch on stage. Her crowd work is good and any interactions with the audience feel natural and easygoing. Chinese Australian has an interesting narrative at its heart and a lot of really good bits in it, yet seems to be held back from being brilliant by some material that I feel I could’ve seen anywhere. For the moments where it gets good it is more than worth the watch, and I look forward to hopefully being able to see her again, with some more of what makes her comedy unique both online and in person, and less of what can be found in every comedians wheelhouse.

“You will leave a wrestling fan.” - The bold claim of this autobiographical debut by Tegan Verhuel. What is clear is that Tegan is definitely a wrestling fan. She loves it. Like really loves it. The passion in which she speaks about sweaty men pile-driving and slamming and leg-locking and smack-talking each other really does prompt you to think - maybe I should get into wrestling?For the mega fan this show provides a deep dive into some of wrestlings history's greatest moments and you could see the fans in the audience fully lost in these moments. However for the casual viewer there was a risk of getting lost in the details. This show is very information heavy, much of the content wouldn't be out of place on a TED talk. This lecture-come-performance however is interwoven with snippets of the tale of Tegan’s marriage falling apart. These moments have a real emotional core to them and an honesty that invites us in, but as quickly as these moments flicker in they end. Towards the end of the show we do get a longer section of personal reflection which has provided the show a bit of depth.Verhuel has a really dynamic and engaging stage presence and is excellent at making the audience feel part of her team. While the humour isn't always quite laugh out loud funny, it is energetic and undeniably entertaining. This one woman show (or three-hander depending on if you count the 6ft cutouts of The Undertaker and The Hitmsn who stood either side of her) is a royal rumble of light entertainment that will thrill fans but doesnt quick pack the punch required to convert.

A re-discovery of self-identity. That’s how one could describe the plot of this remarkable one-man musical, brilliantly presented by Noam Tomaschoff. Written after Tomaschoff discovered that the father who raised them was not their biological father, the show serves as an emotional release, capturing the complex feelings experienced during this pivotal time in their life.The show is exceptionally well-written, brimming with fun, witty, and exciting moments, especially within the lyrics. Tomaschoff's narration and descriptions are so vivid and specific that, despite the limited props, you can easily visualise every scene. Their acting is absolutely stellar, allowing the audience to read their emotions through their eyes alone.As for the composition by Ryan Peters, while it may be simplistic and not immediately memorable, it is effectively used to set the scenes Tomaschoff creates on stage. With further development, the music holds great promise and could significantly enhance the overall quality of the show.During the performance, Tomaschoff’s speech was clear and understandable, but the music during the songs felt somewhat subdued. Improved mixing of the music with the vocals would greatly elevate the production.This show has a lot of potential. Even though it’s still a work in progress because Tomaschoff is still living their life and figuring things out, it’s definitely worth watching at the Edinburgh Fringe. I can’t wait to see how it grows in the next few years!

Any Scot has experienced that feeling where the solution to overcoming one of life's minor criss seems to be to go bouncing up a Munro somewhere in the highlands. The West Highland Way has become one of Scotland's most popular and beloved walking routes and is now the home to the beautifully nostalgic coming of age tale PALS. PALS centres around the story of a group of young Scottish women who set off on a hike to overcome their individual problems as well as a collective concern that their lives are going nowhere. The cast have fantastic chemistry, led by Millie Rodgers, who brings a huge amount of heart to the role of Sadie, “the glue of the friendship group”. As secrets and tensions are revealed, can the gang keep their friendships alive? Will they even be able to finish the walk? Music plays a big role in this production, forming an excellent soundtrack that will be familiar to any Scottish night out. The atmosphere is delicate and heavily sentimental while still maintaining a light comedic air. It is fun and breezy and an easy way to spend an hour or your time. While some moments of the performances feel slightly caricatured, for the most part all the characters feel instantly accessible. The story itself is tight and easy to follow, a simple coming of age show that leaves you with the feeling of a warm mug of hot chocolate after a long hike.

With an 80's theme incorporating all the sing-along chart hits and a host who, after popping up in a Risky Business-themed opening video, appears onstage in a flight suit and silver aviator sunglasses, it’s inevitable that there’s going to be a bit of ‘dad energy’ to this show, and Matt Hale is embracing it. Before the hypnotism begins, there’s a bit of a warm-up with Hale yelling out 80's quotes and song lyrics for us to complete. He’s onto a winner, giving his show a flavour of, let’s face it, the best decade for music, movies, and pop culture.When we do get down to what we’ve come here to see, Hale invites a large group of enthusiastic volunteers onstage and begins the process of induction. With only one hour for the whole show and roughly 45 minutes left at this point, he wastes no time in creating a hypno-orchestra with the group before starting to pick out the best subjects for the various skits.Whether you believe that hypnosis is real or think it’s simply everyone playing along, there’s no argument that this is an entertaining show. Everyone likes to see people acting daft, and the enthusiasm with which some of the volunteers throw themselves into their scenarios is hilarious. For early evening, family-friendly laughs, you can’t go wrong with this 80's spectacular.

An overture of The Jam’s A Town Called Malice rings in the opening of Rory Aaron’s one-man play as we begin in the dingey local, soon to be an upscale café, as old compatriots Dean and Joe reunite over a warm pint of Stella. Joe, now working in theatre near the capital, returns to the West-Midlands more worldly and urbane, but for Dean not much has changed except his waistline and blood pressure. As we are shoggled back years to the duo’s childhood and the interwoven circumstances surrounding the nucleus of their friendship, This Town skilfully explores the nature of masculinity and male relationships against a backdrop of small, working-class community life. The flow of the spoken-word poetic format is delivered excellently by Aaron with writing that adds marvellous depth to its small-town setting. The turbulence of war is felt strongly in Joe’s brother Liam and the enduring damage of PTSD, which stands level with overarching themes of working-class exploitation, brought to life by the high calibre of Aaron’s acting and efficient use of lamps to reflect missile attacks. At times, however, it is difficult to discern characters apart, perhaps an attempt at irony on the trope of small-town aversion to individualism but one not done as neatly as could be. In its attempt to characterise the community’s various local quirks, This Town sacrifices some story progression to cast a wide-reaching net: the father with Alzheimer’s; the bustling boozer serving stale Carling; the accidental discovery of one’s fluid sexuality in drama class; the calmness of morning walks up the moors. These are all relatable sources to draw from, synonymous with small town life, but do not necessarily further much of the narrative – something to be enjoyed on a larger scale through a different medium. Perhaps it is Aaron’s intention to paint a wide frame and not shade in the finer details to give credence to the feeling of interconnectivity of a small community, but it doesn’t leave much room for character growth in Liam or Joe. Nevertheless, the play – ambitious for a one-man act – is engaging and thoughtful, delving into the workings of backwater societies and the various intertwined lives of those who inhabit them.

Freya Mallard’s The Bounce Back is a witty, fractured show, where the trains of thought don’t always line-up or follow on naturally from one another.Mallard’s material is occasionally unusual and delves into topics on which she possesses a unique perspective and raises interesting questions about, but they’re such a small part of her set that often they’re over just as soon as they’ve begun. She doesn't always follow through on a joke or latch onto the reason we’re laughing and push it further, which constrains her a little. If Mallard committed to that a bit more, then she would avoid the trap she so often falls into over the course of the hour.There’s an intelligence in Mallard’s humour, but she hasn’t quite found a way to translate that into high-energy moments. Her jokes sometimes fall flat due to the forced nature of her delivery and she doesn’t quite manage to kick up enough energy for us to fully engage with her material. And because a lot of the comedy in her material is mild, her pace is lethargic and the combination of all this dampens the atmosphere. Mallard’s perspective is really interesting, but it’s hard to tell exactly how her tangents completely fit with her main throughline of new parenthood which often takes a backseat to her other material. Which is a shame, because her central idea is a perspective that we hear about infrequently – the confessional of balancing new motherhood and a career.Mallard has a solid understanding of the stand-up art form. The only thing she really needs to do to excel is if she mines and pushes her material jokes further. In doing so, she’ll unlock a world of comedy to unleash on the world.

The Cambridge Footlights International Tour 2024 is back at the Edinburgh Fringe with its latest iteration. Founded in 1883, the world-famous Footlights are the oldest student sketch comedy troupe in Britain. Each year, they travel across the UK and North America, performing at major festivals like the Edinburgh Festival Fringe. Notable former members of the Cambridge Footlights include Emma Thompson, Stephen Fry, Miriam Margolyes, Olivia Colman, John Oliver, and Sue Perkins.This year’s cast of seven, including Lloyed – a stuffed animal dog, presents a plethora of short sketches reminiscent of classic ’70s-style comedy. Their repertoire of over a dozen sketches primarily features scenes set in the US, involving US politics, culture, and accents. The show also includes references to historical figures like Beowulf and some historical overlaps between Jane Eyre and Jane Austen. While these sketches are based on satire, they fall short of fully addressing contemporary issues. Although enjoyable, this year's sketches feel more like a collection of lighthearted comedy rather than engaging with more profound themes.You can tell the cast is enjoying their time on stage, and there is a palpable sense of camaraderie among them. It is special to witness such an established organisation at work. If you’d like to support student groups and possibly see some of the next generation of emerging comedians, look no further than The Cambridge Footlights International Tour 2024.

As we walk in to Dee Allum: Deadname at Pleasance Courtyard , Man in the Mirror by Michael Jackson is playing. Dee comes on to Let’s Go Girls! by Shania Twain and John Lennon’s Beautiful Boy (Darling Boy) plays as we walk out.From the get-go, Allum would like us to know she has a sense of humour about the whole ‘trans thing’. At times, it does feel like that’s what she’s doing over the course of her Fringe debut: trying to put a mostly cisgender audience at ease with her existence, which one can understand given the way transness is currently being discussed (hint: usually not by trans people nor positively).Allum begins the show by getting us all up to speed with the answers to the FAQs she gets as a transwoman. Her soft spokenness and dry delivery help the show not feel like a preach-fest, which it isn’t at all; it is simply one person’s straightforward account of their transition and how they are reconciling this with themselves (both former and current), their loved ones and the world at large. The callbacks are constant and clever; the asides are astute (“a double-edged sword like all swords”) and we’re given a great life hack on owning a horse being the cheapest way to get ketamine.Given the subject matter, there are naturally moments of tension which Allum deftly breaks almost as quickly as they arise. There are no frills, no unexpected twists or surprises, but Allum’s irrefutable charm and ability to mine such a deeply personal experience for a comedy hour shows she doesn’t need it. Or, as she succinctly puts it, “I was born a man but am now interesting.”

These Barbies are fun! As you walk in, you'll notice a podium featuring the bottom half of a mannequin. Get ready to meet the Barbaren Barbies, a cast of five women who will take you on a wild journey through womanhood. In A Wild Women Circus, the experience grows increasingly unhinged with every minute.Although the show is structured into distinct chapters, it deliberately eschews any clear direction. Instead, it serves as an exploration of womanhood, capturing the inherent lack of structure in life itself. This is pure absurdist humour at its finest—surreal and delightfully bizarre. It tackles very real issues in a way that is both strangely funny and provocatively unconventional. To fully appreciate it, you’ll need to set aside logic and embrace this disorientating, dark, and passionately strange world. The five characters don an array of whimsical costumes, including a fried egg, a chicken, a tampon, and a Viking. The show features an absurdly talented cast performing a range of acts: from cross-dressing and juggling to hula-hooping, weightlifting, and monocycling. Accompanied by skits and monologues, their performance blends dance and physical theatre into a truly unique spectacle.Despite being remarkably enjoyable and thought-provoking, A Wild Women Circus may not appeal to everyone. It is definitely an acquired taste. The performance includes provocative acts, such as mimicking sexual encounters with a mannequin, showcasing a unique and complex artistic expression that might not be universally appreciated. While it engages with contemporary feminist discourse, it falls short of making any substantial commentary.

Physical storytelling, singing, and full-blooded performances combine to strong effect in Rebels and Patriots, introducing one of the less-explored areas of the bloodshed of Israel’s actions in Gaza: the effect of the violence on the young men conscripted into the Israeli Defence Force and propelled into the conflict. Based on the experiences of writer and performer Nadav Burstein and brought to life by his Israeli-Palestinian-British production team Floating Shed, the play proves to be a balanced and thought-provoking piece of theatre.Since Hamas launched their deadly attack last October and Israel responded with prolonged and devastating violence, the tragedy of the situation has been relentless. Against this backdrop, four friends - three who have been conscripted and one who hasn’t - meet, discuss, argue, and search their souls over their involvement in the complex and violent situation.Each character represents a different viewpoint on the military and the war. One is an anti-war protester who has been brutalized by the police; another is a budding pilot trying to justify a future that promises morally reprehensible actions. While they are both interesting enough, the most compelling characters are the Arab-Israeli Osher, played by the engaging Tarik Badwan, whose conscription and participation in Israeli actions lead to significant turmoil, and writer Burstein’s own Omri, a young man whose developing consciousness increasingly clashes with the demands of his military service. They offer two versions of internal conflict, and how it can manifest, and bring depth to the play.It’s the kind of subject that could easily get bogged down in heavy-handed moralizing - and there are many who would probably say heavy-handed moralizing is entirely appropriate - but aside from the occasional performative flourish, the production does well to keep the story and the themes grounded. These are four young friends whose decency and mental health are being put under incredible pressure by forces far out of their control, and the mundane reality of their friendship proves an effective counterpoint to the horror of the backdrop.At one point early in the play, Omri is asked what his favourite war is, and he responds with Vietnam. It’s a telling inclusion as thematically the play does have something of Michael Cimino's great Deer Hunter about it. While it is more limited than that classic of cinema, Rebels and Patriots does prove to be an effective and engaging piece of theatre.

Friends of seven years, Iris (Ianthe Bathurst) and Thalia (Thea Mayeux) share their lives in the same flat. Knives and Forks depicts the last two years of their relationship using snapshots of conversations and glimpses into past, present and future. Shadowed by their body doubles, (India Walton and Chien-Hui Yen), the production uses physical theatre, art and interpretive dance to support the text, evoking feelings of pain, memory and confusion.Designed by Iona Curelea, the set consists of a blackboard and a wall covered in paper from floor to ceiling, which the characters’ doubles write, draw and paint on, indicating time passing as well as mapping out the key moments in their friendship. The doubles dance throughout the show, using powerful and considered movement that reflects the push and pull of Iris and Thalia’s relationship. This is a beautiful device, as it helps clarify the narrative whilst also providing a soothing, almost romantic backdrop for the scenes taking place.With excellent musical composition by Mistakeless Music, the piece is underscored by tense violins, providing emotional texture whilst maintaining a bare, eerie sound. Combined with heavy suggestions that Iris is unwell, the audience are left with a feeling that something is wrong, but we are never really sure what. It is this that poses the biggest drawback to the production, as it is sometimes difficult to delineate what the characters (and subsequently, the writer) are trying to say. Some key facts are unclear, such as the point at which Thalia discovers that Iris is unwell, as some scenes indicate she has discovered this earlier in the timeline and others later. At times the dialogue lacks purpose and drive, which can be damaging in a show that is deliberately ambiguous. Perhaps the clearest message the show conveys is of the philosophical interconnectivity between life and death after the Greek philosopher Thales. Making thoughtful connections between this outlook and the Buddhist concept of impermanence, the back wall is ripped apart, destroying the markings of memories that had been accumulated throughout the show—reminiscent of the mandala ritual. Overall, Knives and Forks is an enigmatic piece that conveys the confusing and often fraught nature of female relationships. Though creatively inventive and intriguing, the story itself would benefit from being fleshed out so that it may resonate more strongly.

Chris Weir's Well Flung is a self-proclaimed gay romantic comedy that tells tales from the world of the comedian's own love life. With a love for rom coms a la Richard Curtis and a taste for fellatio, gay culture takes centre stage as we learn of Weir’s escapades in Gran Canaria with his first ever Summer fling.Underlying Weir's narrative is a commentary on companionship as he points out the challenges of "self-tuning" to appease one’s partner. His exploration of the transition from 'I' to 'We' is particularly observant, highlighting the delicate balance between individualism and intimacy. Ultimately he asks the million dollar question: Should we strive for everlasting bonds, or are we perhaps better off alone?Through the lens of a five-day rendezvous, Weir raises questions of romance, love, and chemistry, all while playfully encouraging the audience to contemplate the spontaneity of following our impulses. Enthusiastically inspired by his love for romantic comedies, his story is framed within the familiar archetypes and narrative conventions, tongue firmly-in-cheek.Weir's humour is peppered with familiar sex jokes that elicit nods of recognition. His writing is brimming with one-liners, showcasing his talent for crafting objectively funny material. Despite the richness of his content, certain aspects of his delivery leave room for improvement. Weir, who has a self-confessed expressive face, sometimes appears to delight in his own jokes a bit too much, revealing his amusement rather than allowing the punchlines to land organically. While this self-awareness can work wonders for more extroverted comics, in Weir’s case, the performance occasionally flirts with being overly self-referential, detracting from its effectiveness.Nevertheless, Well Flung emerges as an entertaining hour that will tickle your funny bone. While his delivery may require refinement to fully match the strength of his writing, Weir’s storytelling is engaging and charming.

Alight with a wholesomely chaotic energy from the start, Philippa ‘Pip’ Dawson opens with a late dash onto the stage, as the opening lights and music fade into the background. Armed with bags overflowing with props, and a radiant stage presence, Pip asks for a redo, as she ushers us in to a frantic, fast-paced and high-spirited hour of storytelling.Laid bare, Character Flaw follows how Dawson's diagnosis with ADHD in early adulthood revealed a reason behind so many of the ridiculous, incredibly funny, but also often stressful or upsetting experiences in her life. From old school memories, where she was often told her head was in the clouds, to formative moments in her realising her sexuality, Dawson explores how her daily experiences with ADHD where often presented as faults; in her being too forgetful, or unfocussed, or lazy. These ‘character flaws’ thus litter her anecdotes, in this thought-provoking unpacking of what’s it’s like for a neurodivergent mind to function in a world so built up against it.Dawson and director Nat Kennedy have packed this one-woman show with an impressive amount of sound and light design, with voiceovers and train tannoys bringing to life the frantic inner workings of Dawson’s rail-network of loose thoughts. Powerfully, Dawson uses her storytelling to express how hidden behind the wit-filled mishaps and blunders, many of her funny anecdotes had more negative real-life endings, causing hurt and upset to herself and those around her. Here the light and dark of her experiences with ADHD is explored with a vulnerable nuance. At times, the pacing meant that some of these more defining moments of her experience were slightly lost, and scaling back may have given these moments more weight, particularly towards the end. Ultimately though, Character Flaw is a vibrant show that celebrates the joys of neurodiversity, and is packed full of Dawson’s warmth and hilarity.

Come Dine With Me is a British staple. An icon of Channel 4’s programme and British reality TV. Hearing that there is a musical on about a show most known for a man shoving a whisk into his face and a bloke complaining about his opponents “sad little life” is certainly a strange one. But Come Dine With Me The Musical is a great time, and is a simple, straightforward musical, that is excellently produced.Telling the story of the thousandth episode of Come Dine with Me, the show focuses on producer Mary, cameraman Roy and sound technician Teddy running the week’s filming and trying to find the mysterious saboteur ruining everyone’s nights. The story is a simple one, a lighthearted whodunnit which relies on the format well known to every Briton up and down the country, and plays of its namesake show very well, using classic format elements from the scores in the cab, to the menu comments to the week long shoot to set the narrative, making it very fun to watch along with how this format is used and twisted upon.The show is also very well produced. Songs are bombastic and loud, with that typical musical flare to them. Each of the contestants have specific motifs and music genre’s which are very fun to hear, though some will definitely stand out more than others based on personal taste. Teddy along with love interest and contestant Janey are particular highlights, with each of them having brief solo’s that are heartwarming and impressive. There is some difficulties with the sound mix on occasion, meaning some performers get lost and muted in the mix, but on the whole the show is tight and ran well.Come Dine with Me is a simple musical, it is big bold loud and whilst not reinventing the wheel, is well worth heading down to see. It play’s on its britishness well and is a very good time if you want some typical musical camp, and unlike its namesake show, it still feel like its got a good way to go before running out of steam.

This show - at Assembly Roxy - starts with Rob Auton’s take on a guided meditation, which with his languid delivery and Yorkshire accent, turns out to be actually quite soothing. The stage lights are turned off and Auton asks us to close our eyes and imagine ourselves in a room with our eyes closed. Hence the title, Rob Auton: The Eyes Open and Shut ShowHe then asks us to imagine our national insurance number and abruptly requests for the lights to come back on and asks, “Who genuinely knows their NI number?” Auton lets us know that “punchlines are not my priority when coming up with my creativity,” and while it’s true he doesn’t follow the typical rhythms of a stand-up show, he has an ability to highlight the beauty in the mundane with a lyricism not everyone possesses.A few times, he says, “I know what you’re thinking: this material isn’t connecting,” which is odd to not just say but to repeat to a practically sold out room. One would think Auton has been performing enough now, including his own tours and TV appearances, to know that people know what they’re in for when they go to one of his shows. That being a blend of pithy jokes and general musings, some of which are also funny, like “blinking is at the perfect volume for blinking.” Maybe he says it to settle his own anxiety, as he does trip over his words here and there.It has become the trendy thing to ensure to include a profound message in comedy shows - usually something along the lines of living life to the fullest - and Auton’s is no different, but it definitely is less ham-fisted and feels more like something he authentically tries to live by.

Causing mayhem onstage rather than on the seven seas, Tit Swingers is a show that recounts the tale of the pirate queens Mary Read (Abey Bradbury) and Anne Bonney (Sam Kearney-Edwardes), an experience of potent anarchism where the Hellcats raise absolutely hell.Biographical in nature, we’re taken through history and legend into the lives of Read and Bonney. Between the highly dense rock anthems, we’re given a glimpse into how the pair became pirates and the hot girl pirate sh*t that they got up to. This show is less of a musical and more of a gig as Read and Bonney spin their tales and sing their shanties, recognition of their exploits that is far too belated. There’s a narrative told through the banter between Bradbury and Kearney-Edwardes, but the entire set-up puts the focus on the songs.Through its celebration of these women, Tit Swingers becomes a protest against the status quo, prevalent in every aspect. There’s a constant defiance and anger that is a strong undercurrent throughout the entire show, but the energy that it creates quickly evaporates beyond the fourth wall. As foot-stompingly catchy as the songs are, we don’t get particularly fired up by them, which could be attributed to a number of things. The volume of the instruments is the main issue, as they drown out Bradbury and Kearney-Edwardes’ voices so that we lose a lot of the lyrics and context, and we lose a lot of the story and the show becomes just loud rather than showcasing any of the lyrical dexterity that we only get snippets of.Read and Bonney may not have had their own shanty, but Tit Swingers is a uproarious middle finger that we can only assume the pair would approve of.

Fringe regular Chris Grace returns from the US to muse on death, posing such questions as can we enjoy life if we know how it ends? In less than an hour, he tells of the passing of four family members and his beloved partner. Unsurprisingly, it is no side splitter but amazingly Grace finds humour in his subject matterHe quickly forms a bond with the audience, likeable and smart, his telling of his story is compelling. The youngest child in an American-Chinese family, Grace’s father stopped speaking to him because he was gay and an actor. Things were better with Mother and siblings.It is a monologue which encompasses the heart-breaking account of Grace trying in vain to save his partner’s life and a hilarious sing-along for the audience of one of Rihanna’s hits to counter dark thoughts of death.He likens the vanishing of loved ones to a game of Sardines when they all go into some dark place leaving him alone. Grace thoughtfully shows how he has processed much of his bereavement. Maybe it is best for people to die alone, he argues, rather than have the family all over them as life ebbs away.Not really a comedy, more heartfelt beliefs delivered with emotional intelligence and some laughs.

Imagine this: two books, one musical. Intrigued? You should be! Kafka’s Metamorphosis: The Musical! With Puppets! cleverly intertwines Franz Kafka’s The Metamorphosis and Letters to His Father into a delightful meta-humorous performance. Featuring four talent performers and imaginative puppetry, this show delivers an engaging and entertaining experience.The writing, by Matt Chiorini and Travis Newton, demonstrates considerable thought and creativity. Though the dialogue occasionally veers into confusion, Alan Muraoka’s direction strives to maintain clarity for the audience. With some additional focus on character chemistry, Muraoka’s direction could elevate the show.Musically, the score directed by Andrew David Sotomayor is catchy, funny and upbeat. However, some songs end abruptly leaving the audience unsure whether to applaud or expect more. Despite this, standout numbers include a touching duet between Gregor and Grete Samsa (played Blake Du Bois and Morgan Smith) and a poignant song between Gregor and his father (played Luis Rivera) that, with a bit more development, could become a real tear-jerker.The set design is minimalistic yet effective, with John Czajkowski’s lighting and prop usage enhancing the distinction between dialogue and internal thoughts. Spencer Lott’s puppetry adds a unique charm, clearly showcasing his expertise.Among the quartet, Blake Du Bois shines brightest with his engaging performance and dynamic interactions with the audience. His charisma promises great things for his future endeavors.Would I watch Kafka Metamorphosis again? Absolutely. But next time, I’ll take a friend.

The dressing room set may be spooky, but the uncanny element is the actors’ supernatural embodiment of Tommy Cooper, Eric Morecombe and Bob Monkhouse. Each of the cast have performed these parts separately for years and it was a genius idea to bring the three together (originally in the 2017 film The Last Laugh).This is an actors show – a unique one – it is difficult to see how it could be as successful with different actors. It takes a special person to be funny just by standing on a stage. Cooper and Morecombe had that talent. What is amazing is that Damian Williams and Bob Golding also possess this magic, while simultaneously impersonating Cooper and Morecombe with 100% accuracy. As the play explores, Bob Monkhouse. the man, lacked that funny bone magic. However, Simon Cartwright certainly shares in the talent of the others in sounding and behaving exactly like their subjects. He also looks so like Monkhouse he could be CGI.The show hangs on a skeleton of the early career history of the three comics, influenced by the tail end of the music hall tradition. It also offers added insights into their personal lives. But the key is the jokes. The show could perhaps be accused of being a tribute act, but with material and delivery this good, who cares?

Do you believe in ghosts? How about a who-done-it and a coverup? Then, you will be intrigued by The Grim. It follows the story of Shaun and Robert, two undertakers who encounter spine-tingling supernatural encounters while preparing a deceased murderer's body for his coffin. Audiences beware—you will experience the jump-scare of the Fringe.The suspenseful set-up of the first half of the show is entirely performance-driven, relying on the actors to plant curiosity and fright in the audience's minds. Shaun is our non-believer, while Robert is his prone-to-superstition friend and colleague. The ambivalence between these two brilliantly sets up the story, and their quick-witted back-and-forth syntax will have you laughing. The second half introduces a third cast member: the accused murderer Jackie Gallagher, whose addition challenges the mood and direction of the play. The accused murderer's energy creates suspenseful electricity in the room. While he has a factual justification for his violence, he lacks the emotional heart to persuade the audience to join his cause.Despite a well-crafted story, The Grim ends abruptly. It feels like the first half of a much longer play, with the ending rushing to display the relevance of the grim to the story. The last line: "I am the Grim!" leaves more questions than answers, even with the supernatural at work. However, the journey is a thrilling one, especially if you're a fan of ghosts and the paranormal. It's worth seeing for the cast's chemistry on stage.

Charlotte Anne-Tilley and Mabel Thomas reveal their skills as actors in Serious Theatre from Serious People at Gilded Balloon Patter House. It's probably a hoot for anyone who has ever tried to put on a production, big or small. Although the title suggests otherwise, the show is full of very real archetypes that exist in the performing arts world—people who absolutely take themselves too seriously. But if you're not, nor have ever been, involved in theatre, does the show have much widespread appeal?The premise is a youth theatre, named 'Bet On It' after the song from High School Musical 2, which has taken a show to the Fringe. The ambitious company want to perform a different show each day, so they have to write, rehearse, and stage it all within 24 hours. So far, so lofty, in keeping with ingénue aspirations. Unfortunately, the day's script isn't finished, and dramatic panic ensues. The duo play all the characters we meet, distinguished by different coloured hats and accents. Each role is fully realised, particularly the little miss pageant character Amber-Lee Grace McKinsley and Teresa, the immersive theatre enthusiast.There are long periods without laughter, possibly because many of the gags are in-jokes about drama and theatre, as well as jokes about putting on a show at the Fringe (not so relatable for the average attendee) and a dig at Pleasance Theatre. Halfway through, a 'member of staff' from Gilded Balloon comes in to say they’ve received complaints about some of the youths’ behaviour, and they hand out real flyers if we’d rather see their show—certainly a novel approach to exit-flyering.Not a bad way to spend an hour, but definitely one for the theatre kids.

Toy Stories is a fascinating mishmash of conflicting art forms and topics. Part storytelling, part stand up, part art film and part social history, Chris Dobrowolski powers along his electrified track, but takes a few wrong turns along the way. Dobrowolski is an artist who lives on an Essex estate with his 92-year-old mother. His ‘studio’ is a shed and his primary medium is toys. He is a self-proclaimed ‘loser’ and, after touching upon the sweet family history of his parents’ meeting, he charts his origins as an artist with plenty of images projected to show us his progress. He started out by creating work out of rubbish that he found at the local wasteland. These pieces are impressive and bleak and his artwork only expands from there, including a project where he creates a boat out of driftwood found in the Humber in an attempt to escape Art College in Hull. His magnum opus is a community art project in a Bedfordshire library. Images are taken of locals in their vehicles and then transposed onto Scalextrix cars which are placed onto a track which runs around the edge of the entire library for locals to spectate (presumably on a day where the librarians weren’t telling everyone to ssh). The show then takes a right turn into a discussion of Nazism and fascist theory before ending with a return to the shed and Dobrowolski’s charming, absurd artwork. The art here is certainly the star of the show. The Scalextric piece in particular is heart-warming, as we see a GoPro video of a car zooming around the track. It is a great example of community art reaching people it could never have expected to, i.e. Essex taxi drivers. A Beckettian piece of art created during the pandemic in a massive empty car park is hilariously bleak. Dobrowolski’s photographs displayed throughout are also immaculately composed. Despite him suggesting he’s not much of a performer, he has a guarded charm and is personable in his performance, especially as he deconstructs his own persona in a retelling of a talk he gave at an art school. Where this piece veers slightly off the track is in its latter section, where a focus on Nazism and fascist theory undercuts the playful toy filled tone of the piece. It moves further away from the personal which made the earlier section of the piece so compelling and moves into a denser, less humorous mode. A Brazilian accent attempted in this section was also odd. The piece started to drag a little during this section - better structuring and a few cuts would have enabled this piece to flow far better without any traffic jams. When the focus is on the toys and art, Toy Stories really sings as it dissects what it is to try to make a living as an artist, but the theory dense finale of this show proves to be a bit of a roadblock.

Darkfield are back at the Fringe with Arcade, their latest shipping container based adventure in the dark. This time the interactivity has been ramped up, offering audiences a chance to negotiate a story which is only slightly less opaque than the thick darkness of the performance space.For the uninitiated, Darkfield constructs drama via immersive, binaural soundscapes. As an audience member, you go in, slip on a pair of headphones, get plunged into I-can’t-see-my-hand-in-front-of-my-face levels of darkness, and have at it as the story plays through your ears over the course of around 25 minutes.Previously they’ve taken listeners through a coma experience, a seance, a flight, and a hotel which seemed to lie somewhere on the border between life and death. They’re experiences unlike any other at the Fringe, and as time has gone by the company has continued to innovate, adding features to deepen listener engagement.The latest experience adds the occasional sprinkle of water, puff of air, and the ability to make yes/no decisions and spend tokens to allow audience members to shape the story which they are involved in. It’s a very engaging format, and if you haven’t had the chance to experience one of Darkfield’s shows yet then as long as you don’t have a crippling fear of the dark, it’s well-worth trying out.While the format itself is reason enough to give the show a try, the content is less enticing. You start as the character Milk and are prompted to make several decisions and choices as you negotiate some sort of war zone, for some sort of reason. It’s murky stuff which adds less portentous, dramatic ambiguity than it does mild confusion. Still, it’s easy to get swept away in the fun of making choices and learning the consequences, and from discussions following the conclusion of the event there it’s clear there were some wildly different dramatic outcomes available. It all makes for a fine half an hour with more than a little replayability value.

After a successful run at the Hollywood Fringe, Joanna Parson has brought their one-person show to the Edinburgh Fringe at the Gilded Balloon Patter House. The Bothie venue, with its small and intimate setting, is perfectly suited for a show like this.Parson’s storytelling is both exciting and captivating. They effortlessly draw you into their journey as an actor working as a transcriber in New York, painting vivid pictures with their words. While the plot occasionally drags, they skilfully use audience interaction to keep us engaged and enjoying the performance.This musical strikes a balance between heart-warming and humorous moments, all while prompting us to reflect on the media we consume daily. A standout moment for me was when Parson delved into the poignant experiences of hearing and transcribing sad stories second-hand, offering a truly thought-provoking perspective.Although a few high notes were a touch flat, this is easily overlooked thanks to the catchy melodies and the creative ways Parson uses their guitar to set the scene. The sound effects, all created with the guitar and some other props, were used effectively to build moments of tension and excitement. They’re a true actor-musician, deserving of much praise.I feel truly honoured to have witnessed this performance and can’t wait to see how A Transcriber’s Tale continues to evolve with future audiences.

From the company that brought us Potty The Plant, comes Fringe! The Musical, a self-aware parody of the Edinburgh Fringe from the perspective of the hopeful artists that flood into the city every August. Fringe! The Musical follows three different acts as they navigate the highs lows of Fringe and a chorus of inside jokes and stock characters that we can tick off like a bingo card; silent disco participants, the price of accommodation, Phoebe Waller-Bridge, and an ensemble of impishly gleeful reviewers. For veterans of the Fringe, it is a semi-cathartic release where we’re in on the joke and laughing at ourselves, for newcomers it’s a guideline on what to expect. As far as parodies and satire go, this musical hits the mark. Every joke is recognisable as a reference or part of reality, each song doesn't waste any space of getting to the heart of the comedy and absurdity, and the execution is flawless; the cast are phenomenal performers who understand comedy and how to play to an audience. There's a nudge and wink in every moment.However, the plot is noticeably weaker than the musical numbers, which are big moments that are lifted outside of the action. It’s the classic beginning and end problem; too much time is spent on the opening gimmick that it doesn't leave enough time to then wrap up the musical in any real way. It abruptly changes direction from criticising the romanticised view that everyone has of the fairytale success stories that we all share and tell, to becoming a romanticised fairytale itself, which defeats the purpose the whole idea of the parody. Fringe! The Musical is hilarious, it genuinely is. The songs are just brilliant that it’s worth going to just listen to them. There’s such an accuracy to every joke, where we just end up laughing out of a general sense of recognition of this universally specific experience of being in this city for 3 weeks every year.

There’s a climate emergency. It seems like the human race, some of them, have woken up to this. It really shouldn’t be news though, as scientists made the causal link between fossil fuels and climate change around half a century ago.Planet Earth has been around, give or take, for 4.5 billion years. It seems to have taken us a couple of hundred to set it on the path to destruction.There is more jeopardy for young people, and in this new play a group of them have a birthday party atop a mountain, marvelling at nature, but, like Joni Mitchell in Big Yellow Taxi, are troubled by mankind’s actions.Wildfires are a naturally occurring phenomenon and one such envelopes the group. Most – but not all – of them manage to escape of their own volition, no rescue party in sight. They are increasingly frustrated at government inaction on climate change. They participate in peaceful protest, but it appears futile, business interests having the ear of politicians. Lilly, mentally scarred from the fire, embarks upon non-violent direct action. She of course runs the obvious risk of arrest and prosecution, but many movements would never have succeeded without a campaign of civil disobedience. Ask Rosa Parks.This piece examines how far individuals are prepared to go for what they believe in, despite personal risk. Many people around the planet realise that no one is coming to save us ; if we are to avoid climate disaster, it can only come through attitudinal and political change. Pepperdine Scotland’s production is prescient, well-staged and has performers who will obviously be seen again as their careers progress. The script could use a trim, but it’s well crafted.There is a throughline of hope, however. And that is what may yet save us.

So, it turns out Yorick’s Ghost is Hamlet’s Father – confused? It’s not poor Yorick’s fault. Recalled from the dead, he’s just trying to make a jest and cut a caper in front of us, or to just pop outside to cheer up the uncharacteristically gloomy Hamlet. (Apparently, he’s normally a bundle of laughs.) But is it Yorick’s failed attempts to intervene that are making things worse, or is Yorick trapped in iron lines of verse? Bouncing between elements of clowning, horror, farce, existential crisis and post-modernist text games, the show definitely has its moments, but the meandering script really only works because of George Rennie’s performance skills. You have to be admirably gallus to appear in front of an audience playing someone who has no idea what they are doing. Rennie is also cleverly able to make use of audience participation, and has the appreciable skill to make us comfortable with the process.So, not a show for dramatic through-line, but if you like digression, charm, a demonstration of a performer’s range and some gentle clowning, then this fits the bill.And no, we don’t meet Rosencrantz and Guildenstern…

To give Olga Koch credit, in her new hour, Comes From Money, she does tackle a difficult set of subjects - privilege, wealth, class - especially for a Fringe audience, especially in the current climate. And whilst her mea culpa is mildly enjoyable, even so, it is alienating. Credit where credit is due, this is a minefield of a topic and whilst Koch is brave for addressing it, she maybe doesn’t quite do it in the right way and may have set herself too difficult of a task for an hour of stand-up.For such a high-energy start, it quickly dips to a kind of uneasy low, and the comedy happens in a vacuum with the odd spike in energy, which are far between. Wealth and privilege are very difficult subjects; they're broad and require a lot of context to fully explain the sociological conditions that led to these attitudes and class systems. It’s a kind of damned if you do, damned if you don’t situation that she finds herself in. And whilst Koch does attempt to explain it, in her explanation the comedy gets left behind to an extent, as she resorts to simplifications and stereotypes to explain something as complicated as the fall of the Soviet Union, the privatisation of Russia’s natural resources, the American Dream, and the British class system. These are abstract concepts that speak to our heads rather than our hearts and potential lived experience of the system in any of these countries. This show is classic Koch, it posseses all the building blocks for one of her shows; a fresh perspective of an under-discussed issue built through sharp observations and oasis-like illusionary images to try start a discussion on how the system doesn’t work. But instead of this empowering hour, it feels a little reductive. In this hour, Koch really isolates herself onstage. Is this relatable? No.

In Stevie Martin: clout, at the Monkey Barrel, Martin plays a successful “online comedian” - which she calls herself before retching.She goes on to lament how the social media content she creates is now dictated by “the algorithms” and so she has returned to the ‘realness’ of live stand-up...which she exploresthrough sharing her own TikTok videos, Tweets and memes.Much like a reel or TikTok, there is little momentum leading up to a joke but the gags are almostrelentless. A lot of the jokes rely on the visual aids on the onstage screens, which if youblink, you miss, as Martin moves onto the next projection. The “in memorial” slide of “jokescut from the show” is funny on irony alone. “It’s so hard to make anything new now wheneverything’s on the internet, which kind of takes the pressure off,” Martin posits. “So whytry?”There’s no denying that Martin has most of the audience in stitches, undoubtedly helped bythe fact that the room is mostly full of her fellow, equally-as-online millennials. It is quite metato complain about what social media has done to comedy while heavily relying on it for acomedy show, though it’s unclear if this is intentional. It would be interesting to see if Martincould hold a room and our attention spans sans tech.

The prospect of a new stage adaptation by playwright Frances Poet of Jane Austen’s first novel is an exciting one but ultimately this production falls a little short.Modern twists are introduced to appeal to a contemporary audience but it is the sheer strength of the original novel that wins out here. The central story of the young Dashwood sisters, telling of their lives, loves and losses in Austen’s words grabs the heartstrings.It is a co-production with Ovo Theatre of St Albans whose Adam Nichols directs, with a cast of eight, doubling up when required.Sense and Sensibility focuses on sisters Elinor (Kirsty Findlay) and Marianne (Lola Aluko) whose world falls apart after their father dies leaving them homeless and penniless when the brother who inherits the estate fails to adhere to his promise to support them.They both have their hearts broken by the men they love drawing very different reactions from the sisters, namely sense and sensibility. Questions abound such as the possibility of a love match in a society where men marry for fortunes and women such as the Dashwoods have no power.Nichols’ production begins with a song and music is given a large role throughout. Scenes at the all-important balls are accompanied by groovy pop songs played in a classical orchestral style. With the inclusive casting, this seems to be wandering into the realms of Bridgerton (TV’s popular Regency bonkbuster) an entirely different take on the period to put it mildly.Set against the contemporary lyrics however is Austen’s elegant prose, a commentary railing against a woman’s lot which is mainly given voice by the excellent Kirsty Findlay as elder sister Elinor.Lola Aluko gives a lovely performance as younger sister, Marianne, who lets her heart rule her head. Some of the best scenes are when the two talk about their heartbreak and the men they love.Elinor internalises her grief, Findlay even has that uptight posture of a woman unable to let go while Marianne is obsessed by her treacherous suitor. Aluko gets it just right, in love with love and made ill by heartbreak; she even rebukes Elinor for not reacting similarly. The sisters’ pursuit of love lies at the heart of the piece and is beautifully conveyed although overall there is a lack of cohesion in bringing the piece together.While Connor Going, who has a lovely singing voice, captures the opposing qualities of the Ferrars brothers, some interpretations vary from the novel. Colonel Brandon, originally a reserved member of the West Country squirearchy and champion of the Dashwood family, is now a more approachable Geordie (Chris Coxon).

Every good boy deserves football. Richard of York gave battle in vain.These are the odd little sentences we remember from childhood. The sentences that, by remembering, help us remember the musical scales and colours of the rainbow more easily than just, you know, remembering the musical scales and colours of the rainbow. Such phrases are known as mnemonic devices. They are the tricks we use to aide memory. And Mnemonic is the title of theatre company Complicité’s production, now playing at the National Theatre’s Olivier. First performed 25 years ago, this is more a revisit of the idea, than just a straightforward revival. Influenced by Lecoq, Complicité’s performance art, movement-based style was groundbreaking in the nineties. Their work inspired a generation of drama students and aspiring theatre practitioners. I’m not sure how big a name they are outside of this audience, but imagine nostalgia will be a huge draw now. The chance to see one of Complicité’s greatest hits revisited will bring back many memories for the now middle-aged. Rather apt for a show about bringing back memories. The approachWhen asked if he could describe what Complicité do in a sentence, co-founder Simon McBurney told The Guardian “No I can’t.” Thanks Simon. It doesn’t help much when attempting to explain their work to those who haven’t seen it. Luckily, here the subject matter of Mnemonic can help.Memories take a lot of our brain space. With too many memories for our brains to comfortably store, mnemonics are the things that glue events together. By remembering one event, the details of other connected events come rushing back too. It is a process that at first seems disparate but is ultimately very structured. And this perfectly describes Complicité’s style. They create stunning visual tableaux through a combination of movement, video projection and lighting. Time is both linear and contorted. Speech is simultaneously spoken and pre-recorded. Interactions are small and mannered, then exaggerated and stylised.We only keep up because our brains are used to capturing information this way. It recognises events, relates them to other events, and stores them to be remembered. We remain oblivious to the whole process. But think of the extra laugh you give at a callback in a comedy routine. Think of the satisfaction you feel at noticing an easter egg in a movie franchise. Both of these instinctive reactions are caused by the synapses being triggered.The contextThe show opens with a baggy-suited man taking to the stage, microphone clumsily in hand. Introducing himself as Khalid Abdalla – in the role previously taken by McBurney – he has been asked to explain the show’s context before it begins.Abdalla seems uneasy in the role foisted upon him. As he describes the how, why and what of memory, the speech meanders by way of asides about his family, his childhood, his girlfriend, his shirt.There is audience participation. The lights go dark and we are reminded to switch off our mobiles. We pop on an eye mask and feel the lines on a leaf as we are asked to remember our six-year-old selves. Then we picture our parents behind us, their parents behind them, their parents’ parents behind them, and so on. Eventually the generations go back 5,000 years and we’re told that the maths now link everybody together. The suggestion is that all our memories are somehow intrinsically linked. And then a mobile rings.(Spoiler: Abdalla is not the show’s director. This whole introduction is really a neat set-up for the stories that take the bulk of the show.)The storyA man is searching for his missing girlfriend. Reflected on each other’s bodies as they speak on the phone, she recounts the story of her search for the father whose existence she has only just discovered.Running concurrently is the true story of Otzi the iceman: the 5,000-year-old body discovered buried in the Alps in 1991. Investigations of the naturally mummified body changed what we thought we knew about our own evolution. The girlfriend travels through Europe, trying to discover things about herself by looking at a man she never knew. The scientists come from around Europe, trying to discover things about a man from the remains he left behind.Characters echo each other across these stories. But we are not part of a Marvel multiverse. Though the destination of the girlfriend turns out to be the place where Otzi’s body was discovered, this is more theatrical conceit than necessity.The theme remains the same. The suggestions made and the explorations undertaken are similar. But the narratives remain separate. Parallels are there to tease us. They are served up simply for us to digest and enjoy.The verdict Watching Mnemonic is unarguably a very aesthetically pleasing experience. Complicité create some truly beautiful theatrical snapshots. But with no single narrative or cohesive style for us to cling to, it can be difficult to maintain focus. By the time we reach the end and discover the show’s lack of resolution, the return feels an imbalance for the investment it has required of us. It may be that a few days later, as we engage in the act of remembering, our memories of the show will trigger a more emotional response. After all, that is what we have learnt about how memory works. But as Mnemonic ends, the applause seems to come out of respect and appreciation, rather than a feeling of exhilaration. If we were in the habit of clapping at art hanging in a gallery, I imagine this would be how that sounded. It is a show you feel richer for experiencing, but emotionally unmoved.

It’s an intimate set. At the centre is a dimly lit table, with one plate, a vase of fresh purple flowers, and an unlit candle. The seats around the table are empty, but not much further back are the seats of the audience, positioned in the round of the Park90 stage in Finsbury Park’s wonderful Park Theatre. The setting for Lidless Theatre Company's production of August Strindberg’s 1888 classic, Miss Julie - directed by Max Harrison - invites an immediate air of intensity. It asks to be scrutinised, as we sit, awkwardly close to its edges, waiting for the stage to ignite with the classic story of love, lust, and entrapment.What does eventually unfurl is a claustrophobic ordeal, not just of Strindberg’s dark social critique, but rather of being hemmed in by a constant, discomforting shouting that casts a disappointingly one-dimensional light on the performance. The story itself is told true to Michael Meyer’s 1965 translation, as it charts one tumultuous Midsummer's Eve, where a bold, bored young lady descends on her servants' quarters and attempts to entice Jean, her father's valet, much to the quiet contempt of his fiancé, Christine the cook. Over 75 fast minutes, the performance plummets into a fight for power and dominance between two lustful individuals, trapped by the prisons of gender and class. The young Miss Julie, played by Katie Eldred, is provocative and pouty. In her first appearance, as she attempts to entice Jean for a second dance in the upper celebrations, she is vivacious and sultry, later powerfully demanding he should kiss her boot as she taunts the control her class allows. As the play unfurls however, this control is tested, as her sex and gender is pitted against her, and her reputation - essential for her upper-class survival - is hung dangerously in front of her. Eldred performs with a nuanced control of her character's emotional demise, sharply shifting from wit and a high-class charm, to despair and despondency at her situation.Opposite her, Freddie Wise is a powerful and arrogant Jean who dreams of escaping his servitude. In showing his character's cruel undertones however, Wise reaches an emotional, and audible, peak early on, leaving him nowhere to go as the drama unfolds. As a result, the to-and-fro of his character's cruel romantic escapades is slightly flat, missing some of the nuance held in the script. By shouting much of his dialogue, the development of a genuine romantic or lustful relationship between either Miss Julie, or his fiancé the cook, is curbed. Where Julie was at times doting and reverent, his Jean was constantly irritated and churlish. Furthermore, the pitch means that the play's most climactic moments, such as the killing of Julie’s beloved greenfinch, are delivered barely a notch above the rest of the drama. Whilst certainly powerful, a more tamed performance from Wise would have created more emotional investment into the supposed vulnerabilities of his own class entrapments. Despite occupying the least time on stage, it is Adeline Waby’s Christine, whose presence is felt most strongly. She gives the most time to each movement, to each line, and eventually to the sudden emotional outburst that holds substantial weight in their refrain and rarity.In one poignant scene, she is alone, listening to the murmured movements of her fiancé and mistress dancing together. In her silence, she portrays a palpable disappointment that lasts an unnervingly long time. In another moment, she resets the table to represent a drunken revelry she was not part of, whilst onstage her partner and her mistress unleash their desires in his room off stage. Her slow, pragmatic movements are an intimate break from the drama that unfolds brutally around her.This rendition of Miss Julie showed powerful potential, but the night's performance overshot in its volume of delivery. There was space for nuance in all the performances, but in the moment, I was too preoccupied by the desire for just a little bit of quiet.

Rebecka Vilhonen has crafted a well-structured show surrounding her sexscapades following her breakup with her boyfriend. Do I Want To Fu*k My Dad consists of a series of amusing anecdotes from her time living her ‘slut season’, focussing on her particular penchant for daddiesVilhonen is a stand-up comedian from Finland, who now lives in Hungary. It is clear she has honed her craft. She is exceptionally likable and her delivery makes it feel as if you are having a conversation with a good friend down at your local. She is able create a rapport with the audience and the show feels less like a scripted monlogue but a little chit-chat with your hilarious chum. Opting to perform this show wearing no more than a swimsuit and an anorak she has a strong presence and she held the attention of the sold-out room throughout. Not every joke landed or was met with guffaws of laughter but it was a delight to be in her presence for a short time as we heard about meeting with the man dressed in ‘all-white’ and others. It often, rightfully, felt like this was a form of therapy for Vilhonen, giving her time to air her concerns and views on therapy and contraception whilst also delving into her fetishes and wants. The small theatre space was packed full, with a predomintantly Czech audience. Vilhonen admitted that she had a hard time marketing this show due to the strongly worded title and poster, which showed her bare ass, with various online search engines hiding this entry to the Prague Fringe. It is true I also did not see many posters for this show whilst out and about so it was good to see this did not deter visitors. It took place in a basement near the King Charles Bridge and although there were a couple of awkward moments where the music did not play as expected, this was more than made-up for by the unexpected, yet joyful, way she has chosen to end. It's a treat to find someone who is willing to make a fool of themselves in such a jubilant fashion.Female comedians have a hard time breaking into the business but I hope Vilhonen is able to as she is a gifted storyteller. I left the show feeling far more knowledgeable about donut fillings then I had ever anticipated and if anyone out there has daddy issues or are wondering what having daddy issues actually entails then this is the show for you.

On The Edge follows four characters dealing with trauma, each played by Jesse Dupre. Australian Bonnie is an influencer wannabe, Cheryl is an aggressive parkour expert, Janet is a complaining widow, and Linda is their put-upon group leader. Jesse excels at making each character distinct with a variety of accents and props. However, one problem with one woman playing many parts is that to make each character feel distinct, stereotypes can occasionally be portrayed (the influencer wannabe is everything you would imagine her to be).Trauma therapy is at the very heart of On The Edge, and the show opens with a trauma therapy session hosted by Linda before Jesse introduces all the separate characters into the narrative. The true-to-life representation of the therapy process is a key ingredient, and there’s been careful and composed research by creators Jesse Dupre and Ally Cologna to both portray and explore this sensitive subject.There’s also a confusing aspect to the plot. At times, I wasn’t entirely sure whether there were four characters or whether this was all Linda’s imagination. As the show begins to break the fourth wall, this left me even more perplexed, and if the final ten minutes had resulted in the revelation that the creation of characters was indeed part of the psychological nature of trauma, I doubt the audience would have been surprised.The show mixes media into its equation with video sequences played against live acting. These sequences work well, and Jesse is able to carefully navigate the conversations she’s having with her video selves. On The Edge ends with recorded voice tracks featuring people affected by trauma, sharing their real-life experiences. Whilst the  use of media was an enjoyable aside, the video sequences didn't add much to the plot and the emotional real-life experiences felt somewhat tacked onto the end rather than integrated into the piece.This is Jesse’s first solo work, although theatre-goers might recognise the name from Haste Theatre, which she formed several years ago with four other female artists. The company has had several hits across a variety of theatre festivals throughout the world, including Oyster Boy and The Hideout. Branching out into solo theatre with a character-based show playing four separate characters left me feeling that the show might well have been devised as a Haste Theatre four-hander.While it’s certainly an interesting concept with a talented artist at the heart of it, it never quite manages to pull all the pieces together into a central narrative or a conclusion that ties all the threads together. The flyer said, “Come expecting laughter and tragedy, leave with a sense of hope and affinity,” and whilst there's many positives to take away from this piece, unfortunately, it never quite managed to fulfill the flyer's promise.

Staying true to yourself and your beliefs in a complex world can be tricky. Standing up against governments, especially those which embrace totalitarianism, can be positively dangerous.Ants And Other Strong Things is presented at the Rubin Theatre as part of Prague Fringe in its 23rd year, its black box studio setting consisting of little more than a series of drinks crates and coat stand. The backdrop screen tells us that the events unfolding are in the future, the year 2055. There has been a civil war and society is fragmented, with power landing in the hands of the International Cyberspace Order (ICO). Charlie (Magdaléna Škerenčák) and Maya (Manuela Tabarés) have embarked upon a relationship, quietly evolving into lifetime commitment. Their lives and relationship are, however, threatened by anti-queer laws and they face a choice: conform to the new world order, flee or hide.Performing in a second language is never easy (take this from someone who has delivered presentations in a foreign language); it’s not just the words, it’s the rhythm and pace. While to my native English ear it mildly jarred at times, Škerenčák and Tabarés are very much to be applauded for this endeavour. Their relationship is established and believable, credit to director Raynar Rogers. Škerenčák is a gifted storyteller, while conveying a nervous energy; Tabarés easily draws us in. At one point in the text, one of the characters states, “you’re very watchable”; well, they both are. Not every staging choice worked, but overall it is a successful performance, delivered with charm.Prague City University’s use of Kate Bush’s Cloudbusting was poignant: the juxtaposition of “I just know that something good is going to happen” with “I can't hide you from the Government” is the manifestation of the feeling of hope in the midst of their well-founded emotional fear.Some ants can carry 50 times their body weight – but not all strength is physical: can Maya and Charlie find what is necessary to adapt and survive the futuristic regime ? Current protests in Tbilisi, Tehran and Israel, to name but three, show the very real dangers to protestors seeking change or even just recognition. Queer rights are under threat in many parts of the world today, in these allegedly enlightened times. Ants And Other Strong Things shows us that some things never change.

The scene is set in the sunny mountains of 1960’s Switzerland, and the audience are serenaded by Felix (Steffan Rizzi) on acoustic guitar as Linda Savignac (Tara Fitzgerald) anxiously awaits the arrival of her dying beloved’s wife. As I simultaneously settle down and gear up for a Nöel Coward marathon, fears of stereotypical brandy-in-one-hand-cigarette-in-the-other characters that laugh at their own frivolity start to creep in. However, it soon becomes clear that what at first appears as a show catering for a ‘certain’ exclusive demographic transforms into something far richer. Though it isn’t without its flaws, Suite in Three Keys is an impressive study of humour and pain. The trio of plays commences with Shadows of the Evening in which the mistress of George Hilgay (Stephen Boxer) invites his wife Anne (Emma Fielding) to stay having discovered he only has three months to live. Despite a strong start from Fitzgerald and Rizzi, the action becomes progressively static as the play progresses and the second half falls victim to Coward’s tendency towards loving the sound of his own written voice. Director Tom Littler could have done more to prevent the slightly strained dialogue: the lack of beat shifts muddies the characters’ thought progressions resulting in tepid exchanges. Though the presentation of human (particularly British) indecision and panic in the face of tragedy is realistic, I could do without the long stretches of disjointed philosophical preaching from the characters. Despite this, Boxer is a sturdy presence on stage with heaps of charisma, even in his characters’ less savoury moments. Nonetheless, why this publisher who loves the sound of his own voice has two women fighting over him is beyond me. Next in the double bill, Come into the Garden, Maud is the overall strongest of the three both narratively and dramaturgically. The plot follows an American couple Anna-Mary (Fielding) and Verner Conklin (Boxer) who receive a visit from Sicilian princess Maud Caragnani (Fitzgerald) in the midst of planning a dinner party. Spoiler: Verner elopes with Maud. Fielding’s Anna-Mary Conklin has a shaky start with an unconvincing American accent and a persona that resembles the cliché farcical ‘diva’ stereotype. In spite of this, she warms into the role and her vibrant energy is missed when she is not present on stage. Boxer's subdued Verner Conklin makes a wonderful counterpoint to the whirlwind that is Anna-Mary and makes for some brilliant sumptuously dry comedic moments. Fitzgerald’s Maud Caragnani, on the other hand, is the mirror image of that cool girl in school who you want to punch in the face but seems to have everyone else under her spell. It works brilliantly in its eerie accuracy, and you can’t take your eyes off her. Her costume and shabby hair, however, is distracting and feels distinctly non-period. Rizzi’s moments as Felix in this play are a delightful refreshment to the other comparatively self-centred characters. In fact, it is a shame that Littler does not make more of his role as the only constant throughout the three plays. Felix’s charming warmth manages to briefly pierce the bubble of high society and more could have been done to play with this dynamic. Overall, however, the storytelling is undeniably strong and the dialogue is far more dynamic than its predecessor, and the audience delight in its hilarity. A Song at Twilight is the final and longest play of the trilogy, depicting husband and wife Hugo (Boxer) and the German-born Hilde Latymer (Fielding) and Hugo’s reuniting with his past lover, Carlotta Gray (Fitzgerald). Carlotta reveals her possession of intimate letters between Hugo and a man from his past with whom he had an intimate relationship which, given the political climate of the 1960s, makes this the meatiest of the three dramas. Indeed, disregarding some lengthy exchanges in the first half, ‘A Song at Twilight’ strikes a chord with the audience, touching on intimate feelings of betrayal, secrecy and shame—often unexpected with a Nöel Coward play. It is clear that the characterisations, as with the other pieces, have been sharply investigated by the cast, making the dialogue flow and flourish. Fielding’s Hilde, though a much smaller role, provides an incredibly dignified presence and an admirable, though melancholic voice of reason. I can ignore the slightly dodgy German accent because her character is so endearing, especially as she shines in the role. Boxer is the perfect Hugo Latymer: jaded but with a veiled vulnerability. His work is a masterclass in naturalism and the perfect example to actors that doing ‘less’ truly is doing ‘more’. Overall, Suite in Three Keys is an admirable feat of theatrical endurance. For the creative team, but especially the cast, it should not go unnoticed that a whopping six hours of Nöel Coward is no mean feat. The inevitable downside of such an ambitious production are the lulls in momentum and pace that would otherwise not pose a threat to the overall quality and enjoyment of the show. Littler could have done more to combat this; however, the talented cast should be applauded for their rich characterisations that tap into the true inspiration behind Coward’s work.

Jonathan Oldfield brings an intriguing one man show to the stage: sitting in his living room watching the world go by behind his one way mirror out onto the world, safe in the knowledge that he can see out, but cannot be seen. It goes from intriguing to bizarre when he tells you this is a true story – not based on a true story, but actually what happened. Yet the way he has designed this is interactive, involving the audience at pivotal moments. Sitting behind the mirror – a big glass pane in the centre of the stage – he tells three stories from his grey notebook. His writing is richly embroidered with visual and auditory descriptions that bring the story to life in the imagination. The first is a ‘bin man’, emptying the bins; then a man carrying a white plastic bag dressed in a suit jacket and jogging bottoms; the third is about the fast-food place opposite him called “Binge” that serves spicy fried chicken which isn’t quite spicy enough and crispy chips that aren’t quite crispy enough. At a point in each story, the audience is instructed to make a choice as to what he should do: to intervene and interact, or to stay concealed behind the mirror. The choice is made through a very clever set up using pictures on audience members’ phones. Coming out from behind the mirror; his overarching story within these episodes is also very bizarre: having moved into this new flat just before lockdown happened and then being stuck inside alone for the duration. All this is recognisable of course, but the addition of the one-way mirror looking out emphasises the isolation and separateness from the rest of the world. He talks of his other acting work on Zoom and having to be several someone elses as his only interaction with people taking a toll on his own identity and ultimately losing himself in physical and emotional health issues. It also moves from the surreal to the creepy when he finds a mysterious book about magic mirrors, and gets an audience member on stage to read out the other end of a phone conversation when he is trying to find out about it.Jonathan is a wonderfully confident performer with a rich tapestry of images created by crisp writing and a clear voice. It’s a well crafted piece overall, although there was a moment of leaving the stage bare for a little too long and starting the show wearing an eyemask has the unfortunate effect of distancing the audience from the show, although his subsequent warmth repairs that. The clever effect of this show is that you can take it on many levels – as just a comedy, or, asking profound and important questions about whether you take part in people’s lives, or take part in your own life, or just watch. Do you abdicate responsibility for other humans when you know them, or even if you don’t, and how much responsibility to take for your own actions. It raises important questions about the effect of being cut off from other people, especially to those who live alone: as experienced as part of lockdown. The audience are invited to choose to be a watcher or be watched, to see or to be seen; and then experience the consequences, with another audience member brought on stage to fulfil a magic role. It’s certainly a unique show; and one that asks interesting self-reflective questions of the audience experiencing it.

Seeing the word ‘immersive’ before ‘theatre’ will make as many people run for the hills as to the box office.At its most broad, immersive defines a performance in which the audience plays an active role. Not active as in the audience participation you might expect at a Derren Brown show which may influence where you decide to sit. Active as in it’s unlikely you’ll be able to sit at all. You do sit during Viola’s Room, the latest immersive experience created by Punchdrunk to envelop the cavernous corridors of their Carriageworks home. You sit for the first minute, when given a final chance to exit if the surrounding darkness makes you anxious. And you sit for another minute, in a church, about half an hour later. For the rest of the time, you’ll be standing. Mostly walking. Barefoot. Watching…well, watching very, very little. If you can accept the shattering of those basic expectations of a night in the theatre, you’re in for a surprisingly delightful and thrilling treat.Immersive prejudice The prejudice to ‘immersive’ may come from its ubiquity in describing Edinburgh Festival shows. It suggests actors struggling to maintain character-appropriate improv in ill-conceived pre-shows, while handing out photocopied programmes and brandishing flashlights to direct some poor pensioners to their seats. Immersive is often to be found preening in self-adulation with its performance art brethren: experimental, site-specific, and experiential. Watching immersive theatre can sometimes feel like interrupting someone when they’re having a wank.Luckily Punchdrunk aren’t wankers. (A quote I'm sure they will want to use on future advertising.) For the past 25 years, this British company has been repeatedly creating experiences that are exciting and enjoyable for everybody. Their shows have been at Big Chill, in the tunnels under Waterloo, in New York, Shanghai, and even Deptford. Their productions are so accessible, they have an outreach arm to work with local communities and schools. In 2022 they took over the Carriageworks in Woolwich and recreated the battleground of Troy.If you’re ever going to give immersive theatre a chance, don't do it in Edinburgh. Do it here. You couldn't be in better hands.Follow the lightHaving built up that sense of scale for Punchdrunk, it may surprise you to hear that Viola’s Room is very, very small. And there’s very little to see. There isn’t even a cast.At least, not a live cast. Helena Bonham Carter has recorded the story which she whispers through your (£600 Bowers & Wilkins) headphones. Based on The Moon Slave, a short gothic horror story by Barry Payne, it’s a simple enough tale of the macabre. Viola is a Princess. She is orphaned, betrothed to a Prince she does not love. She dances by the light of her moon. She dances with the devil…“Follow the light” it says on the poster and on your ticket. It’s not just a tagline, it’s an oft-repeated directive. Small lights glow to show your path as you live her story. They take you to Viola’s Room (natch) where you lie on a bed. They guide you through the clothes in her wardrobe. The few sets you can see ooze with detail – the 90s bedroom rewards exploration – but for the most part the lights are all that’s visible. At times, curtains billow around you. Then sand is pushing between your toes. Is someone else there with you? Is that the devil’s presence you can sense?No, it’s not. It’s really not.Don't panic!The pep talk given before you start your literal, not emotional, journey, explains there will be no jump scares. This isn’t a cruel joke. There are no sudden screams. Nothing drops on your head. The most anxious moment for me was when they explained how to use the panic button. (Don’t tell me not to panic about a panic button!!!)But, at times, you are in complete and absolute darkness. No dim night light or distant fire exit glow. There are times when you lose your sense of space and can't feel anyone around you. And when you think the walls are closing in, you’re not imagining it. You’re never in danger but if you’re of a sensitive disposition, I would think twice before booking. If you’re susceptible to such things, the risk may not be worth it. The show’s running relies on such tight timings that any interruption will cause many interruptions. It's not just you who will have a bad time if you have a bad time. Know yourself. Make the right choices.Macabre mindfulnessFor a horror story, it's all rather gentle. The quiet rhythm becomes pleasantly repetitive. It starts to feel like practising a sort of macabre mindfulness. By the third time we were being hurried through the maze, it felt a little anticlimactic. I even found myself hoping there might be a jump scare after all.But there wasn't. Which I'm glad of. No, really. I think.And then we follow the light. And, oh, it’s the exit light. And you realise it’s finished. And you’re being directed to the box containing your shoes and socks. And you’re handing back your headphones (damn!). And you’re leaving. And it just feels like an old cassette tape clicking as it comes to the end of its spool midway through the last track. Sudden and abrupt.No big finish. No ta-da. Just a click. And it’s done.Best sharedI think this sense of being slightly let down would be different when you share the experience with others (I went on my own). It really is something unlike anything else you can see right now. Punchdrunk are pretension-free masters at this. They will erase any negativity you may have about immersive. But go with friends. Go with five friends so you fill the whole slot. Go with Mum, Dad and the kids: kids will love this (anxiety allowing). Then go to the bar afterwards and talk about it. To fully appreciate the experience, the experience itself should be shared. That’s not something a critic gets to do.So, while I would wholeheartedly recommend Viola’s Room, for me I left with the feeling that I'd seen Punchdrunk, but without the real punch.

Motherhood is a moment in which it is life changing for a woman. This may be a simplistic statement, but with every woman being different, the experience is never the same. Sour Grapes: The Musical seeks to explore an area of womanhood which is not always talked about after birth. Postpartum depression (PPD and also known as postnatal depression) is a scenario which according to the NHS website, can start in the first year of being a mother. It can involve sadness, withdrawal from people, lack of enjoyment, finding it difficult to look after yourself and your baby and frightening thoughts, which can include harming the child. Difficult subjects to tackle, but ones that need to be made more aware of to enable well needed conversations to be had in order to neutralise the stigma surrounding postpartum depression.Whilst this show due to the sensitive subject content may not be for everyone, this one woman show is one that explores this in a context which is well handled and represents postpartum depression at a stage where denying the much needed help affects the mental health journey with sometimes detrimental aftermaths. It is not what we expect a musical theatre piece to be. Music underlies it, with at least two songs performed. The script is well developed and performed sensitively by our main protagonist, drawing us into her world as she tries to cover up her abnormal feelings of wanting to be left alone and being distant from her child pretending everything is all right. As she gradually spirals into her dark period ahead of her, the way she switches between characters (such as the husband and a friend who is a psychiatrist) is subtle but differentiates each characteristic in a well rounded way. At times it is hard to hear some of her quieter moments if you are further back from the front of the stage, which means that some of the words are swallowed and it is difficult to engage with her journey occasionally. When she does release her pain and anger, it switches to a volume which is heartbreaking and heartfelt. Maybe a balance between the two states would make the vocal journey more audibly engaging. Right now, it needs a smaller space to really feel the intesity of the emotional journey she goes on, or be transferred into a film to capture the quieter moments better.Aside from that, Sour Grapes: The Musical is a powerful exploration of a more vulnerable mindset of a mother, based on the novel by Yetunde Lemboye, who doesn't know how to handle being a mother, whilst trying to be the person she once was. It is one that with some tweaks will become more intrisically dynamic than its current level. It is however heartfelt and has strong potential to go further with the topics involved.

You might be visiting Brighton Fringe to escape the conference circuit, but Doggerland throws you straight into an administrative meeting, albeit one hosted in a Hanover living room with plenty of twists. Yes, you’ll be well supplied with all the conference cliches, including PowerPoint presentations, experts with unpronounceable names, and biros, but you’ll also encounter a sense of adventure you probably wouldn’t find in a fully booked Radisson somewhere off the M4.If you’re worried about the conference theme, rest assured: Doggerland is very funny. Billed as an absurd lecture, it leans mostly towards the absurdity to create some hilarious scenes. Solo performer Helen Tennison has huge amounts of energy and enough charisma to spark conversations and confessions between ‘conference attendees’ (audience members) in the ‘conference hall’ (repurposed living room at the Lionhouse). Those who dread audience interaction need not fear, it’s light touch and no one is really put on the spot. It’s used to create an atmosphere of involvement. One example is that Tennison writes everyone’s names on a sticker as they walk in and she refers to them regularly to create an instant sense of familiarity. If you’re not aware of the concept of Doggerland, it was once an area of land that connected Britain to continental Europe, which is now fully submerged under the North Sea. But Doggerland the play uses this geographical phenomenon – a land that once was a fertile home to many until a tsunami likely wiped them all out making it inaccessible – to explore liminal spaces and how they provide an opportunity for change and self-discovery. Not everything makes narrative sense. Certain threads are introduced and then dropped. The professor’s petition makes for a good punchline, but reappears after the joke has worn thin. It’s never really made clear why Helen really wants a visa to Doggerland, or truly why the Doggerland Administration Bureau exists – why are we at a conference if they’re keen to keep people out? There are plenty of unanswered questions, but when you’re also watching a woman form a dog puppet from a plastic bag or writhing on the table, you realise that perhaps the details are irrelevant and maybe the questions are actually the point.This one woman show is a tour de force performance that sweeps you away with it like a boat going out to sea. You might not always know where it’s going, but you’re certain to enjoy the journey.

Playwright Tim Coakley has created an interesting twist on Luigi Pirandello’s groundbreaking play, Six Characters in Search of an Author, with his latest work, Six Characters in Search of Pirandello, directed by Petna Hapgood at the Lantern Theatre.Julian McDowell gives a measured and charming performance as Pirandello, complete with a goatee white moustache and beard and moments of eccentricity and frustration thrown into the mix to suggest a man who is entering his twilight years with a degree of resentment. With his great achievements behind him he still yearns to write and, one suspects, continue as the controversial figure whose radical works had created such a stir in the world of theatre and inspired a new generation of writers.But the muse seems to have deserted him. What can the subject of his next play be and where are the characters who will carry his message to the world? Indeed, what is his message? Has he not expounded it enough already? Help appears in the form of the Stranger, who emerges from under a dust sheet; a statue suddenly brought to life in a room that might well be a study, but is so cluttered with junk it looks as though all the props from Pirandello’s collected works have been scattered around an attic depository. Andrew Allen in this role suggests that rather than Pirandello racking his brain in search of the characters for his next play, perhaps the characters have come to find him; all six of them. If ‘one man in his time plays many parts’ then Allen introduces each to Pirandello until he realises that he has the material for his next opus. In contrast to McDowell, Allen in the early scenes is loud and rather over-the-top. By the time he mellows, the play has already overrun its course as the denouement becomes apparent and we are left to sit through its final unfolding. The end result is a play that, while being a novel take on the original, is stronger in concept than execution.

Actor and writer Benjamin Kelm taps himself repeatedly about the face as he repeats the mantra, “You can do it, you can do it , you can do it. You don’t have to be afraid. You don’t have to be afraid.”It’s known as the Emotional Freedom Technique or EFT. He was taught it as a way of building self confidence and deploys the strategy when he feels, challenged, under threat or is in any way nervous, as he is for much of the time in his play Far From Home Close To Love. Born in Germany, he wasn’t a stranger to travel, having lived in London and Los Angeles. Now he is fulfilling his dream of living in New York. The nerves kick in as he approaches the immigration officer at the airport, who is not the most welcoming of people, but after a few misunderstandings he passes through the gate and his dream becomes a reality. He goes on to recount his impressions of the city and selected experiences, starting with a rather distasteful incident on the train, then an unfortunate encounter with two men on the street and his home being broken into. For company he often goes on walking tours in order to meet people, but even there and amongst the bustling throngs of the Big Apple, he always has a sense of isolation. Longingly, he remembers his family and friends back in Germany in which he finds comfort, but also degree of frustraion. He takes to writing poems to give voice to his feelings of loneliness and as a record of what befalls him. These he recites from the scraps of paper on which they are scribbled. His narrative is accompanied by recordings of background sounds and noises he made on his journeys to various locations around the city.Kelm embodies the highs and lows of his emotional journey allowing us into his world and giving an insight into adjusting to life a strange city. His English is spoken with a strong German accent and acts throughout as a reminder that here is a man trying to make his way another country and rediscover himself in a new setting; a man who ultimately looks forward to the rest of his life with a new-found hope and with many of his fears overcome.

This debut solo show by Katherine Kotz about five women and different aspects and attitudes to motherhood is certainly ambitious, and highlights some thorny and some hilarious areas of women’s lives. Katherine’s talent is to effortlessly become these women, multi-rolling simply yet cleverly fully fleshed out characters complete with back stories and accents which are exceptionally good.The first one we meet is the first time mum to be, complete with bump so realistic it fooled many in the audience, noted by the reactions when she removed it. The audience play the part of her colleagues to whom she is giving a presentation. She is trying to be the professional woman at work and for people to ignore her belly bump, but she eventually addresses it, recognising herself as the “elephant in the room”. Her ambivalence reflects many ambitious women’s realities of wondering whether they have to give up their career or whether they will be replaced by younger model “Luci with an i” who can’t even spell her own name properly. Luci looks like “a laminated Barbie Doll” she says with resignation, and that she always thought that babies were something that happened to other people, “like Salsa classes, or dogging”. The second character is a Northern woman who has decided she does not want children – breaking a taboo which is seldom talked of; a secret opinion shared by many women but rarely admitted to as there is so much stigma attached to it. It’s fascinating to hear from such a character with openness and compassion, and to be reminded that in any decision made, there are losses to bear. The third character is an Aussie new mum whose baby is not going to get in the way of her online influencer presence and career; while the fourth is an exhausted mum of two whose life seems upended as a result of her children. The last one is also a mum with many other things on her plate and these last two have some profound and interesting things to say about motherhood and the impossible balance of bringing up children and influencing or supporting them in exactly the right way, and the critical toll it takes on a woman’s self-esteem to give and give and not be replenished. Yet all performed with humour and confident gentleness, as well as astute perceptiveness.Katherine’s comedy balanced with nuance, depth and pathos is perfectly timed throughout the whole show, and the material is both clever and laugh-out-loud funny, as well as being original and packed with punchy line upon line. Katherine is genuinely and uniquely entertaining, and has created completely relatable characters who are instantly recognisable. She excels in the character work yet the show does lack a certain cohesion, even though there is a link between the first and last stories, it would benefit from a way of finding a thread throughout: something to connect them, beyond women being viewed very much through the prism of reproductive functions. It’s like a lovely roast dinner that needs gravy to bring it all together. It’s good to have the modern changing of costumes on the stage, however, the changes exclude the audience rather than include them. If the changes were simplified and the audience was either included by talked to, or had something else to look at while the change was happening, it would instantly step this up a gear. The audience can keep up if just a coat or jacket has been changed: especially when Katherine’s physicality changes with each character. This is a lovely show and there are some great guffaw moments and some with poignancy: it also has the potential to be even better.

A couple celebrate their tenth wedding anniversary; their understated surroundings ooze of comfort and wealth and no hardships. They are very much in love, snaking around each other playfully and lovingly, reminiscing about meeting, gently disagreeing about the music they want to play: to dance or to soothe them, and agree a compromise. But this is no ordinary romantic evening of celebration: they are two of the first colonists to settle on Mars, to try and make it habitable. He: Jasper, is a tech billionaire, and she: Lily, is an exceptionally clever and forward thinking engineer, who started as his employee. They continue to work side by side, supporting each other and being each other’s biggest allies. They watch the Mars sunset on the bright orange sands and watch the little blue dot of earth in the sky, against the backdrop of stars from this unique perspective. The writing style, however, is an interesting choice. Much of it is written in Shakespearean style language, including some sections in rhyming couplets. Some of the words are rich and poetic and the imagery is beautiful, but the style, without any explanation of anything to do with Shakespeare or that time period throughout the whole play, is a little odd.It’s a very interesting premise: nuclear war has destroyed virtually all life on earth and this finally galvanised those in power to action; to send the bright and the brave to Mars to make it habitable for human life. There is much technical discussion about how they do this, and as writer Carly Hendricks who also plays Lily is a former SpaceX engineer, what they discuss sounds completely credible without losing the audience in techno-jargon. Then everything changes, as they suddenly get a message from earth – the first in five years, from what should have been a dead or dying planet. This is the catalyst for a world revelation from Jasper, followed by a personal revelation, which rocks the foundation of everything that Lily has believed and known for the past 12 years: a profound betrayal, even though Jasper states very good reasons. This sparks the unearthing of cracks under the veneer of their relationship: where Lily feels unheard, not respected for her qualifications and knowledge but merely regarded as a spouse to support him. His reliance on data and facts overrides his hearing of her ideas and instincts: a familiar argument in many a relationship. The message is finally played and adds another layer and decisions which will affect everything. There are many concepts brought up in this play which spark interesting debate. What will inspire people in the world to finally collaborate and solve climate crisis, and can it be solved? Is it only war that brings us together? Will the people with money and power actually listen and respect the guidance they are being given with projections based on what is possible, not just facts? Is it all fate anyway, is it all simply decided? These are big important questions and setting it within a love story makes it accessible, but, this varnishes over things with platitudes and reassurances. It’s a tricky if not impossible task to show the entire arc of a relationship with all the emotions felt by two humans in one hour, and the resolution was rushed and seemed inauthentic and a little forced. Carly as Lily is a joy to watch, the emotions emitting so clearly from love to betrayal to despair and everything in between: a very empathetic and genuine performance. Overall, a very interesting piece.

Lost to the Sea is an exploration of grief after losing a child to an accident at sea and how the power of words can be a huge part of the healing process going forwards. Using a fusion of storytelling from Annie Sheppard, accompanied by cello player Agnes Klepinger, we see a sensitively created piece that keeps everyone engaged and enables mindfulness to be a huge part of the journey everyone takes in this particular Fringe show. What sadly infringes on this piece is the choice of venue. Bar Broadway has two spaces, one main bar and a small intimate studio theatre at the top of the building where Lost to the Sea takes place. A lot of the time, with loud noise travelling up from the main bar, it makes it harder to concentrate on it, or hear crucial moments to aid the tale, which means aspects of the stories are occasionally lost. Despite this, Sheppard and Klepinger carry on regardless and make sure their tale is told. They weave their magic, integrating relatable topics such as sadness, memories and finding love again. The writing is intricate and weaves our reality into the land of myth where we hear about a girl who is kidnapped to be the wife of a fin-man and how she eventually escapes. This story is picked up by a woman called Brenda, who is undergoing a difficult time of losing her child by the method aforementioned and finds herself in a transitional period between fiction and reality as she finds the captured girl of the story following her in her dreams. Sheppard creates a world the majority of us can relate to. She treats all sensitive areas with respect and is likewise not afraid to take us to darker places where the mind can wander to during trauma. Sheppard is a traditional storyteller. No props, just words painting a picture of Brenda and the fin-man's world, inviting us to follow Brenda on her journey of healing, making sure that our hand is metaphorically held as we go along. The physicality of some of the characters are well defined, but it would be interesting to see what would happen if the actions were made a little bigger and less restricted to match the words spoken. This is potentially where a different, less restrictive venue could help a little here.As for Klepinger, her musicality is complimentary to Sheppard's storytelling skills. Likewise, it is simple, not over the top, but gently adds to the adventures that unfold. She adds drama where it is needed in times of conflict and envelops us into a sadness that doesn't make anyone feel uncomfortable. Occasionally she sings and plays other appropriate instruments such as clackers creating the idea of bags of coins clanking together and a singing bowl to enable an awakening of Brenda's mind.A good combination of skills and a heartwarming story, that would benefit from a better venue.

COMŒDIA takes on the ambitious challenge of reviving the vivacious spirit of the traditional Italian theatre form, Commedia dell'Arte. Presented as a solo pre-recorded online performance, it attempts to immerse us into the world of traditional Italian masked theatre with its iconic characters, from the lovesick lovers to the silly old father and twins separated by fate.I applaud the initiative of dusting off old traditions and nudging them into this century. Commedia dell'Arte, originating from 16th-century Italy, has had a profound impact on Western theatre, influencing everyone from Shakespeare to modern improv comedy. It can be seen as the birthplace of genres as diverse as Punch and Judy and Eyes Wide Shut.As COMŒDIA showcases, Commedia dell'Arte relies heavily on distinctive costumes, masks, and personality traits, making each character easily recognizable to the audience. The art form is highly physical, involving slapstick comedy and what the Italians call 'lazzi'—comedic routines inserted into plays to heighten their entertainment value. Despite its humorous nature, Commedia dell'Arte often includes pointed social and political commentary on themes like class structure, gender relations, and hypocrisy.In Gian Marco Pellecchia’s COMŒDIA, most of the scenarios are drawn from Il teatro delle favole rappresentative by Flaminio Scala. This adaptation removes a crucial element of Commedia dell'Arte: improvisation and audience participation. It is hard to say how the performance would play in front of a live audience, but in this online video version, we are relegated to the passive role of spectator.Pellecchia is a fine actor, interpreting a vast array of complex emotions and often being more melodramatic than your average fringe drag queen. The monologue, which often transforms into a lively dialogue or even a trilogue, is delivered in a mix of Italian, English, and gibberish. Pellecchia's 'lazzi' in the performance involves mixing contemporary pop song lyrics into the dialogue, which is a stroke of genius. Plot-wise, COMŒDIA offers an array of twisted scenarios that maintain the suspense and humour intrinsic to Commedia dell'Arte. The set design is minimal, so the focus remains wholly on the performer's mastery of each character's physicality and quirks.The primary limitation of COMŒDIA is its nature as a solo performance. The performer, whose energy and versatility are commendable, juggles multiple roles and an array of distinctive masks. His ability to shift from the youthful exuberance of the lovers to the doddering silliness of the old father is impressive. However, the essence of Commedia dell'Arte, deeply rooted in dynamic interactions and the chemistry between characters, occasionally suffers from the constraints of a solo act. Some dialogues, meant for a lively ensemble, lose their impact when delivered in solitude.While COMŒDIA is a bold attempt to single-handedly capture the essence of the rich theatrical tradition, it falls short of delivering the full dynamism and relational comedy that define Commedia dell'Arte. It's a commendable performance that shines in moments but ultimately reminds us why these characters are traditionally played by a bustling troupe rather than a lone actor.Masks, as we all know, reveal rather than conceal. So instead of taking us on an emotional journey around Venice, COMŒDIA leaves us in a void. Since there is no live version of the show available, I recommend spending your money on a slice of pizza and a gelato, and paying tribute to Commedia dell'Arte by watching a Shakespeare play or some fresh improv comedy.

Artistic Director and Founder of London Classic Theatre, Michael Cabot opened the company’s touring production of Joe Orton’s What The Butler Saw at the Devonshire Park Theatre, Eastbourne, last week With a seating capacity of around 900 the ornate, late 19th century theatre is somewhat oversized for Orton’s last play and with the stalls filled to only half capacity, at the most, the proscenium stage seemed rather distant for a work that benefits from a degree of intimacy. Bek Palmer’s set is a spectacular work of art, with hints of imagery from Monty Python’s opening sequence, and Daliesque surrealism. It’s a stunning abstract sight in vibrant colours to be greeted by on entering the auditorium. Then the realisation sinks in that it is detached from the late 1960s realism of a psychiatrist’s office that the play requires.Orton described the play as a ‘farce’, a modus operandi that runs throughout and reaches a fast-paced, rapidly-changing climax in its bonkers denouement. It also fits into the category of black comedy. The essence of both genres lies in the actors believing that the bizarre behaviour they display is normal; that tangential ripostes are part of normal conversation and that their skewed perspectives on everyday life are only to be expected. John Dorney sets the tone as Doctor Prentice as he attempts to seduce his prospective new secretary, Geraldine Barclay, as part of the interview process that requires the removal of clothes. Alana Jackson,gives a suitably compliant and gullible performance. His scheme is foiled with the entrance of Mrs Prentice. Holly Smith captures the excesses of this gushing and overwhelming character who is being willingly seduced and less comfortably blackmailed by Nicholas Beckett, a situation that gives Alex Cardall the opportunity to display menacingly lustful and criminal intentions. The plot and multiple subplots become increasingly complex as the play progresses. Next, Doctor Rance, the Government Inspector appears to investigate reported goings-on at the clinic and gather material for his latest book. Jack Lord is appropriately dour in this role and also revels in revealing the rather suspect mind and interests of the Doctor. "The final chapters of my book are knitting together: incest, buggery, outrageous women and strange love-cults catering for depraved appetites. All the fashionable bric-a-brac." The clinic provides plenty of material. Eventually the police become involved and Jon-Paul Rowden gives a classic performance of the none-too-bright Sergeant Match, steeped in the style of language used only by members of the force. By then the question as to who is sane and who is mad and the extent to which the inmates have taken over the prison looms large.It’s a production packed with energy and pace, but there is a sense that it’s early days for this show and that a greater degree of internalisation of the characters might be forthcoming along with a heightened awareness of their stakes in the proceedings that takes it above the level of a ludicrous and very funny romp.It’s hard to appreciate the nature of the play as it would have appeared to audiences at its first performance in March 1969, some eighteen months after Orton’s death; shocking, radical, perhaps obscene, an affront to the establishment and a challenge to the albeit slowly changing morality of the day. Themes such gender identity, sexual activity and adultery are now commonplace, as is the lack of reverence for and questioning of those in authority, but that was not the case over half a century ago.Orton’s writing was groundbreaking in its day and still ranks as amongst the finest in its class. It’s a joy to see that it’s being kept alive for today’s audiences.

It all starts off so nicely, but it’s not long before Nina Atesh’s drawing-room drama turns into a battleground of conflicts that resurrect the past, fight for the present and attempt to claim the future. The play might be called Horne’s Descent, but at times they all hit the depths and those who survive to win the days comes as something of a surprise.If you enjoy asking yourself, “How’s this going to end?” as you attempt to unravel the carnage of verbal bombardment unwinding in front of you, then this might well be your sort of play. Others might find it ultimately too mysterious or far-fetched depending on the level at which you think it should be interpreted. Either way, what at first seems to be a simple piece of period theatre ultimately winds its way to a denouement worthy of Gothic horror.It’s January 1920. Peter Horne (Alexander Hackett) is newly ordained. (Here's a opportunity to toy with plots, intermittently throw in the idea that he isn’t ordained but has just thrown that into the mix as a wind-up). He spent the war years fighting in the trenches with his fellow working class cannon fodder and managed to survive. Albert Palmer (Magnus Gordon) his aristocratic childhood friend, could have easily arranged a commission for him through his titled father, but Horne stuck to his roots, not even telling Palmer he had gone to serve. They had no contact with each other for six years. Palmer has rooms in the posh London house of Etta Florence (Cici Clarke), a woman whose looks belie her years, and her niece, the attractive young socialite Mary Florence (Bethany Slater). They are all flawed individuals. Horne’s commitment to the priesthood is questionable, his youth was chequered and he relishes deliberately winding people up and having the odd rage. Palmer lacks control of his drinking, revels in his privileged status, is foolishly in love with Mary and also has aggressive outbursts. Etta swans around in a world if not quite of the occult one that is certainly full demons, strange powers and animistic curiosity; all of which provides ample material to rile any priest, which she enjoys doing. Mary, while not of similar persuasion, does nothing to stifle Etta’s beliefs. She is aware of her beauty and social class and open to being seduced at the drop of hat. The casting is successful works and each member creates a well-defined character portrayed in a solid performance. The confines of the Red Lion, Islington are ideally suited to this intense dialogue and claustrophobic atmosphere. Miranda Cattermole’s detailed period parlour with the chairs, chaise longue, drinks table and gramophone, covers most of what little space there is, but she left enough room for the ladies to parade her elegant and colourful cocktail dresses. She scores a double triumph. Director Chloe Cattin manages to find enough room to navigate the cast around the furniture without getting into awkward manoeuvres or head-on collisions. Meanwhile, the air is rife with vitriol and biting conversation as things don’t go the way Palmer had hoped and the past begins to reveal itself. But look out. Conversely, it might be going very much along the lines the ladies planned, despite their protestations. But just what are they up to? As the denouement approaches the stakes rise along with the element of mystery and level of confusion as to what precisely is happening. It’s all very interesting rather that gripping and on reflection there is a tendency to simply ask, “What was that all about?” You decide.

Cold Dark Matters is the story of a writer. Ostensibly, not the writer Jack Brownridge Kelly, but his strikingly similar Cornish character Colin.A dark satire performed at the Hope Theatre with murmurings from the downstairs pub adding to the ambience, Cold Dark Matters begins with Jack, the writer himself, instantly likeable in that jittery apologetic way of the English, as he prepares us for the lonely yarn he’s about to spin.Told through an extended monologue with a few, well-played West Country voices for range, Cold Dark Matters, takes us on a rural writer’s retreat where a shed becomes a central and juicy metaphor for many of the play’s themes. The shed is a mundane thing, standing isolated with space only for one person, full of mysteries only accessible to the imagination. The shed is a metaphor for writing itself.When Jack enters character, we lose the bumbling authenticity of Jack and gain the jarringly non-distinct perspective of Colin. With Colin as a buffer and the shed as our vocal point, it is easier for Jack to explicate the hopes and fears of an isolated writer seeking inspiration and community. But bearing a writer's heart is a rough process involving existential pain as much as flames, moonshine and splinters.Though we are watching Colin, we are actually watching Jack stage his coldest, darkest matters. Tellingly, it is Jack who takes us to the play’s denouement, playing an anonymously sent audio file entitled ‘real ending’. This final snippet of truth in Jack’s tale brings about devastation, seeing our writer faced with an existential crisis that he tries to play off as ‘not real’.The blasé ending, while whimsical, leaves us wanting. Jack seems to want to brush the play’s key themes of death and loneliness under the rug. Forget about it, Jack says, I made it up - it’s not real. In doing so, our attention is drawn to the art of story. We are left with the layered question of the story’s purpose: if Jack made it all made up, what, if anything, is real?

It’s refreshing to see a much-visited subject of bullying and homophobia in a world dominated by social media, given a fresh treatment that is both innovative and extraordinary, but that is what Italian writer Tobia Rossi has done in Hide and Seek, translated and directed by Carlotta Brentan at the Park Theatre.Gio (Loris Scarpa), has been an outsider all his life, believing that he not accepted by anyone around him, be they his parent, teachers or classmates. He endures the claustrophobia of small-town Italy and the entrenched prejudice towards anyone who seems different, especially if that is being gay. Unable to endure further he retreats to hiding in cave. He takes some minimal supplies, blankets and ominous pillows. Despite the depth of the cave and its isolated location, his popular classmate Mirko (Nico Cetrulo) discovers him. The question now is, “What to do?” Mirko is a sympathetic listener. Gio is determined not to have his location revealed, despite being informed of his mother’s anguish and the media frenzy surrounding his disappearance. Should Mirko betray him or support him? Even without an initial clear intention, he becomes embroiled in Gio’s scheme; at first just going along with it and then becoming proactive in sustaining his detachment from the world. Underlying the development in that plot is Gio's obvious infatuation with Mirko and the initial tentative reaction from Mirko that increasingly reveals his own homosexual curiosity, that develops into an unnerving desire for control and domination.The cave is suggestively captured by Constance Comparot in a minimalist set whose eeriness is enhanced by Simone Manfredini’s soundscape and the dim, shadowy lighting of Alex Forey, brightened only by the string of battery-powered Christmas-style lights that Mirko brings along.Scarpa and and Cetrulo are well matched. Scarpa is confident about what Gio has done and pleads his cause with conviction while sustaining an air of vulnerability. Cetrulo takes Mirko on a journey from the incredulous, mainting that Gio cannot go on like this, to the supportive and the to becoming absorbed in the event and unwilling to see Gio give up his position as a recluse. The reversal of positions comes as no surprise, from Gio being committed to remaining in the cave, and Mirko wanting him to leave because he clearly cannot spend the rest of his life there; to Gio deciding he wants to re-enter the world and Mirko making the argument for staying. From that point on the ending becomes predictable. The story is rather drawn-out but it's made intriguing by two endearing actors who capture the passion, naïveté, enterprise and imagination of youth.

Gail Louw's best-known work, Blonde Poison, forms part of a four-play season devoted to her work at the Playground Theatre. Fiona Ramsay plays the title role, a nickname given to the historical character Stella Goldschlag by the Gestapo. The starkly minimalist set by Marcel Meyer is startling. Brilliant white flooring descends from half-way down the rear wall to front stage, covering the central third of the stage. Either side is black, although not off limits. A solitary carver chair awaits Ramsay’s arrival along with a pair of elegant high-heeled shoes, a reminder, perhaps, of the possessions Jews took with them as they were banished from their homes and later stripped of.Equally stunning is Ramsey’s entrance. With cat-walk precision she approaches the chair, dressed in white with period toque hat, and takes her place. The symbolism of purity and innocence inherent in white is yet another cover-up for what lies beneath and the dark deed she committed. A model never loses her poise and even at seventy-one, Goldschlag has forgotten nothing of what she once had and was. She revels in the glamorous; the grotesque she rationalises, both in preparation for an impending interview in order to live with herself. That interview might have been a gripping, confrontational debacle, more penetrating and placing her under greater pressure to account for herself than the warm-up we witness. This is her rehearsal; her time to go over the ground her former friend from school days, now a journalist, will certainly question her about. For now, we hear only his voice repeat a line she must have heard so many times and poses the question she has endured for so many years: “How can you live with yourself?”She spent ten years in prison after the war, a small price to pay, many would say, for the 3000 fellow Jews she identified, betrayed and surrendered to the will of the Gestapo. Now we are in the 80’s and in chilling tones she explains that she was survivor; a woman blessed with exceptional beauty worthy of an Aryan; a woman who was prepared to use that gift to save herself and in a failed attempt to shield her parents too. Before we descend in vitriolic condemnation of her and the path she chose, her side of the argument invites us to put ourselves in those tragic shoes and ask what we would have done to survive. If it had not been her the Gestapo chose, it would have been someone else. She had the chance to save herself and took it; to forsake her Jewish heritage, collaborate with the enemy and live to tell her only child. Except that while she can live with herself and rationalise her actions her daughter wants nothing to do with her; another price she paid for her deeds.Ramsey has an exceptional German-Jewish accent and is so immersed in the role as to make us think that we are in the presence of Goldschlag herself. Gail knows this territory well. She was born into a Jewish family in South Africa and lived in Israel before moving to the UK in 1976. Her maternal grandparents died in a concentration camp so stories handed down and an inherited culture are evident in the writing. Director Fred Abrahamse adopts a simple approach to the play, allowing the text and performance to do the work without distractions, indulging both the pathos and the humour. Such sounds as there are enhance the various moods.Ramsey gives a solid performance that ranges from laughter to tears. The script tells a woeful tale, yet it rarely pulls at the heartstrings and we are left with a story that is remarkable and fascinating rather than emotionally engaging.

Disaster nearly struck for this month’s edition of Daniel Koek’s West End Sessions at the recently refurbished Brooks Mews Bar in Mayfair. There was a problem with a lack of running water which almost forced the show to be cancelled, but some quick thinking on the venue’s part and generosity from a neighbouring establishment meant the show could go on, albeit with slightly longer rest breaks than usual!And boy am I glad that it did. The stylish, intimate lounge space upstairs at Brooks Mews Bar is the perfect spot for this cosy, friendly cabaret. The dark blue walls and shiny red curtains create an immediately theatrical ambience while the shelves laden with bubbly provide a subliminal cue for everyone to relax and let their hair down.Running here since February, the West End Sessions bring professional performers, from Tony Award nominees to current up and coming West End stars, out of character and into their own personal spotlight. The regular host is organiser Koek, who rose to stardom as one of the youngest performers to take on the role of Jean Valjean in the London production of Les Miserables. He was joined on the night I attended by Jenna Lee James, (who gave a sparkling soul version of Bridge Over Troubled Water, though amazingly without any ironic comment on the evening’s predicament!) and Zachary Miller, a young Australian who’d taken the night off from Book of Mormon to share some of his favourite tunes, including a pop song from the new Ben Platt album which he delivered with boy band twinkle.Billed as a Pride Month special, the main nod to festivities was Koek’s jaunty version of I Am What I Am from La Cage Aux Folles, a long standing gay anthem. But there was plenty of camp humour throughout the evening, as well as fantabulous costumes from Kirk and James, and twinkish flirtations from Miller. With a show like this every month is a celebration of Pride and the space felt welcoming and inclusive.My highlight was the opening Wicked/Phantom mash up. Witty, inventive and played for laughs, it showed off Musical Director Ollie Lincoln’s versatility on the keys with aplomb.The evening had a distinctly rough around the edges feel to proceedings, with mics changing hands, accidental mutes, crackles from the speakers and fiddling with reverberation during songs. At points it felt more like a musical theatre open mic, and if it were I would absolutely have jumped up to sing! The key ingredient that raised it above that was the quality of the three singers, whose professional training was evident in every bar, and whose relaxed attitude carried a familial charm. It felt almost like a sneak peek behind the stage curtain, watching them play with favourite songs for the sheer joy of it.Overall, a gorgeous evening out for musical theatre fans keen to see talented stage performers deliver old favourites alongside some more personal and surprising choices.

How does one adapt Franz Kafka’s bizarre novel onto the stage? With distinctive style and relative simplicity, answers Frantic Assembly. The play unfolds with Gregor glued to workplace exhaustion by his family’s debt and the toxic pressures of manhood. As his pretence of joyfulness frays under the pressure, his ensuing breakdown takes physical form as he is transformed into a grotesque insect. The set design by Jon Bausor steals the spotlight from the start. With the ceiling hung lower from the back and curtains billowing as walls, it is a Picasso painting come to life. The room moves to reflect the collapse of normality as Gregor’s condition worsens. The accompanying music complements each rapid change of tone, navigating the characters' shifts between private despair and public pretence.While the initial excitement of commercial poster flashes is promising, the use of video projection disappointingly dwindles in frequency. The potential to visualise a surreal, grotesque landscape or induce fright and gore remains largely untapped.On this minimalist theme, the production is largely devoid of special effects, costumes, or props to emphasise Gregor's insect transformation, with Felipe Pacheco relying on his body language. In this case, it works. Pacheco moves around the stage with feverish agility, incorporating gymnastic-like holds, swinging from lights, and hanging from the ceilings. While the other characters can only hear him speak gibberish and appear grotesquely transformed, we witness his continuing humanity through an unchanged language and appearance. This interesting choice by director Scott Graham allows us to immerse ourselves in Gregor's experience. We see a man in pain, behaving oddly, while his family see a monster of an entirely new species. In this way, the so-called ‘sane’ characters are the ones going mad. Repetitive physical theatre sequences add depth to this dynamic, infusing much-needed comedy while underlining each character's role in a farcical societal machine. The women in particular shine, keeping the men happy as the men go back and forth from work and the house afloat for however long is possible in this dreary, capitalist setting. Regrettably, Grete's characterisation lacks the nuance seen in other aspects of the production. Her initial portrayal as a girl is unconvincing, and the transition to young womanhood is marked by a clumsily drastic change of costume. The final transformation of her feelings towards Gregory seems far too abrupt for characters meant to share a strong bond. In trying to understand this change of attitude, the emotional resonance is lost.The story concludes with an emotional disconnect despite its dramatic events. Nevertheless, the visual and theatrical prowess remain remarkably impressive, leaving us more enamoured with the spectacle than moved by the narrative.

Engelbert Humperdink’s biggest hit, packed with stuff that should not fit. Hansel and Gretel is a one hit wonder, the strangest mixture of folk songs and Wagner. It really shouldn't work so well, but for inducing a giddy Xmas spirit it works its spell.Hansel and Gretel is not even set during winter, yet it has enough of the right components (poverty, hunger, angels, evil and a joyful ending) to become associated and performed at Christmas. It was written by a disciple of Wagner, yet adopts folk music themes and has elements reminiscent of panto. Its two lead characters are children, yet the opera is over two hours long and includes the psychological terror of the same performer playing both the mother and the cannibalistic witch. It has complex layered music and thematic motifs, but with simple tunes you can hum. It has Victorian uptight preachiness, yet has a children’s sense of anarchy. In short, it is too paradoxical to work, yet it does: it is lightning in a bottle.Scottish Opera are wise to choose Hansel and Gretel for concert performance as the folktale setting and the use of props and sets designed by Scottish Opera’s junior chorus works well with a simple, stripped down semi-staging.Ross Cumming takes the opportunity to shine in the role as Peter, the father, and the Ukrainian singer Inna Husieva plays the Sandman and Dew Fairy with striking charisma. (Both of these are billed by Scottish Opera as current Emerging Artists.)Shuna Scott Sendall (replacing Heather Ireson due to indisposition) is a characterful mother, playing with the power dynamics of a stressed martinet with the children in contrast to the slightly fearful relationship with her husband. I don’t know why it happened, but in the performance I saw Shuna Scott Sendall’s playing of the witch was rather underpowered, especially in the opening witchy scenes. To me, she was more striking and frightening as the grumpy mother.The Christmas atmosphere is furthered by the members of the junior chorus working as stage hands, placing and removing scenery and with some broken-fourth-wall pantomime reactions to the witch. Finally, the junior chorus assemble as the Gingerbread children to sing The Dead Arise but cannot see and join in with the final scenes of celebration.Lea Shaw (Hansel) and Catriona Hewitson (Gretel) navigate the children's physical nature and playfulness with skill and make clear the distinctness of the two characters. The set pieces such as the orchestral interlude and pantomime section, and the leads’ singing of Evening Prayer are suitably ravishing.You leave with a combination of peacefulness and cheerfulness, giving a suitable preparation for Christmas to come.

Many of us have experienced the horror of meeting our significant other’s parents for the first time. It brings anxiety, awkwardness and in Medium Rare’s new show Midwyntar a group of sinister cult-like figures. Po (Eleanor Rattenbury) is meeting her girlfriend Rowan’s (Megan Jarvie) family for the very first time. The pair have a strong chemistry which is rather unplausibly undermined by the time we reach the conclusion of the piece. To meet Rowan’s family Po heads to the strange town of Midwyntar where there are no churches to be seen at all. When she arrives to the cosy, but strangely decorated set of Megan’s country home she meets the family: Fran (Diane Axford), Stephen pronounced in the old English way Stee-fen and Cousin Adrian from a vague place in the United States (Derek Mitchell giving a standout unhinged performance). As more alcohol is consumed and more party games are played the thin veneer of normality begins to slip and the more sinister purpose of the Midwyntar celebration is revealed. Midwyntar (written by Jacob Lovick and Jack Robertson) is billed as a horror comedy, but it is certainly more horrifying than it is comedic. Whilst there are occasional comedic moments such as Stephen suggesting that the trick to winning the meat raffle “is to buy more tickets than anyone else”, the horrific elements of this show certainly win out. The sinister energy is built from the opening with a choral version of In the Bleak Midwinter forming the backdrop to a man in a peculiar Santa mask worn with menace by Derek Mitchell. This energy is carried through and the tension builds throughout the show. References to a recently deceased Nana Nora whose ashes are placed above the TV build the mystique effectively and the we begins to question whether the Grandmother really is dead, especially as her "throne" is kept untouched in the corner. The horror builds to a crescendo in a genuinely skin crawling moment where Po is sleeping alone on the downstairs sofa bed with the lights flickering on and off. A very well directed scene which created a palpable tension in the room. The problem is that all of this horror doesn’t really go anywhere. Creepy elements are set up, but the pay off is a bit lacklustre and there is too little explanation of what is actually going on in Midwyntar. Tonally it is rather uneven with the comedy moments occasionally veering into absurdity which undermine much of the well crafted horror. The play is also a bit too long and in some scenes it is very apparent. The momentum of Midwyntar is checked by scenes that outstay their welcome and some uneven performances.

Looking out at you from the poster for the National Theatre’s latest version of Lorca’s The House of Bernarda Alba, Harriet Walter cuts an imperious figure. Her eyes and fingers direct accusation your way. Passing by leaves you feeling an irrational guilt for an unknown crime.Casting Dame Harriet as the eponymous cold-hearted and hot-tempered matriarch is an audience-winning coup. Whether it’s Shakespeare or Succession, her performances are always exquisitely watchable. So, it’s surprising to discover that it’s not Walter’s stage presence that will enthral you here.While you may go to see Bernarda Alba, you will leave remembering the House.Rural & tragicThe House of Bernarda Alba is often trilogised with Blood Wedding and Yerma. Sometimes described as rural, sometimes tragic, the plays’ descriptions are more linked than you may think. Each takes place in a claustrophobic village deep in the Spanish countryside. And each shows women being held in place by oppressive heat and aggressive men. Bernarda Alba’s house is in one such village. Men tend farms. Women stay home. Men want women. Women need men. In Lorca’s Spain, the sun is only one cause of the unbridled heat that leaves the walls dripping with sexual desire.Senor Alba, whose wake begins the play, is a typical Lorca patriarch. In death, his reputation is untarnished by the knowledge that farmland was not the only place he liked to spread his seed. Left with the house, and the five daughters and two maids she treats as its contents, Bernarda wears her role as widow like the black dress she will adorn for the self-imposed eight years of mourning. Her displays of grief befit etiquette, not emotion. She replaces love with laws, dishing them out to the surrounding women as harshly as any male oppressor.The play suggests that while the roots of misogyny may be planted by men, its growth relies on the women who enforce and accept its rules. A dancing flame Alba suffocates her daughters with a blanket of ice. She demands order and expects respect. But ice can only last so long in a heat that can spark a fire at any time. The spark appears in the form of local bad boy, Pepe El Remano. Only referred to in the play, here he is seen as a dancing flame that threatens to engulf the house in his wake. James McHugh silently salsas across the stage like an extra in Dirty Dancing. He is marrying the eldest but richest daughter Angustias, fucking the youngest and prettiest Adela, and tempting the saddest and ugliest Martirio. His gyrating groin is a match endlessly striking their touchpaper. McHugh’s appearances stay just on the right side of comical. Languorously writhing like an unseen houseguest, he sweats enough pheromones for those on the front row to consider a pregnancy test when they get home. His masculinity promises to satiate the hunger of these love-starved women. Any familial loyalty is eroded by selfish desire. And when a man comes between sisters, well…If you can’t see the writing on the wall, the gun that remains centre stage throughout is its visual portent.It’s like the Slaters with Sangria.Breathtaking scale But it’s the house that commands your attention. Buoyed by her recent creation (with designer Tom Scutt) of Cabaret’s Kit Kat Club, director Rebecca Frecknall (with designer Merie Hensell) has built a house with breathtaking scale. Revealed from the centre, as though we are peering inside an expanding letter box, the rigid Perspex structure of ten rooms over three floors spans the entire width and the acrophobia-inducing height of the Lyttelton stage. It’s like the set of Celebrity Squares. If the celebrities were giants.It feels clinical, like they are subjects in a scientific experiment. They have no escape and nowhere to hide. Alba believes she sees all but we know her understanding is limited. The open house allows us to see her daughters alone in their rooms. They drink. They cry. They eavesdrop. They masturbate. We have watched them watch the world outside. We see them seeing the men. And the man. Choreographed conversation The script is written ‘after’ Lorca, by Alice Birch, who wrote the screenplays for Normal People and the film Lady Macbeth. Being ‘after,’ it’s not an adaptation or modernisation. Instead, we have a sprucing of the original with added (ill-fitting, unnecessary) expletives.Scenes run concurrently for much of the first act. If this were TV, there would be split screens aplenty. On stage, it requires precise timing. When the timing becomes too precise, it turns conversation into choreography. Lorca’s rhythm is replaced by requirement. Scenes pause unnecessarily so their words can be echoed across other scenes. You can almost hear beats being counted to ensure correct delivery. When timing is dictated by staging, we disengage. As an exercise, this is an achievement we mentally recognise and respect. But we don’t experience emotions when watching an exercise. One note characters Though the set has scale, it also restricts movement. Instead of exiting the stage, actors traverse multiple staircases and corridors to conduct ‘stage business’ in their rooms. The tightly blocked movement, the need to be ‘on’ when ‘off’, the beat-counting before speaking, all create distance from the audience. With such focus on the physical requirements, the actors rarely connect with each other. Characterisations rely heavily on one note, even if that note is played well. Isis Hainsworth and Lizzie Annis demonstrate the complex emotional turmoil of Adela and Martirio respectively through a range of screams. (Sometimes the one note grates).Eliot Salt tries to add depth to her blandly smiling Amelia by giving her a drink problem, seen only when guzzling from a bottle in ‘still on’ moments. Rosalind Eleazor conveys the world-weariness of Angustias by giving a masterclass in eye acting.Thusitha Jayasundera as the disregarded maid of 39 years, Poncia, shows great comic timing but is left delivering speeches that should be dialogue.The acting is strong. But the reacting is rarely visible.What about Walter?Walter follows Glenda Jackson’s “fearsome tyrant” and the “chilling, iron-fisted” Penelope Wilton, with a stately and quiet Alba. For her, respect is an expectation rather than a demand.She shows disregard for her daughters more than contempt, treating them like property not people. Any fear must be borne of childhood memory, not from visible present threat. When she does explode, it is with control. A slap that seems surprising to herself. A punishment that is expected but dully delivered. We don’t fear her presence, just dislike her approach to parenting.Without this terror, she comes across as a weak bully who needs to be put in place. If we don’t feel it, why should those around her? I found myself surprised that no daughter simply stood up to her. It seemed like a returned slap, or a push would simply leave her disarmed, her power neutered. Even the gun-firing denouement is done with pause and precision, not passion and anger. A slow walk, a steady aim. A pacing too easy to interrupt. And an accent that sounds more Yiddish than Spanish. Which is even more out of place when all around her speak with natural English tones.You’re unlikely to feel as nervous next time you pass the poster.Flamenco without castanetsTaken as a whole experience, The House of Bernarda Alba is clearly of the quality to be expected of the National Theatre. It has stature and grandeur that makes it visually exciting. And, thanks to the concurrent scenes, it has a running time of just two hours (excluding interval) so it’s unlikely to bore you. The house itself really is worth the ticket price alone, and the performances are strong. Even if they aren’t cohesive.But it lacks the passion and danger associated with Lorca’s work and his life.It’s like a flamenco without castanets. A paella without mussels. A Rioja without body. It is Lorca. But it is very much Lorca Lite.

This new version sees Hans Christian Andersen’s classic fairy tale transported to Scotland with a race against time covering the length of the land to vanquish the evil Snow Queen. Morna Young’s adaptation, directed by Cora Bissett, has Scots mythology and language tightly woven together to tell the story.The scene is initially set with shadowplay and narration, beginning the tale, which is buried in the mists of time, of the Snow Queen’s avowed aim of subjecting the world to constant winter. Our young heroine is Gerda whose best pal Kei is kidnapped by the Queen from his Edinburgh home and taken north to her kingdom. Emily James’ set is a tour de force; she carries the gorgeous gold and blue balconies of the auditorium right onto the stage where they both conjure up various aspects of the action and create different levels. In the opening sequences Edinburgh Castle is right at the top as we meet the characters below. Gerda and Kei’s happy life is soon disrupted by the arrival of the Snow Queen with a fanfare of noise and ice-bright light. The evil one kidnaps Kei and then the pursuit is on as Gerda (Rosie Graham) heads north to get Kei back, travelling through a range of Scottish terrain from seaside to mountain.Rosie Graham excels as Gerda, a bonnie fechter who overcomes whatever is thrown at her. And in this production, sisters are doing it for themselves as Gerda has a challenging broadsword fight with Naomi Stirrat’s Senga. Graham is also comfortable in the Scots tongue although the youngsters next to me declared to parents that they did not understand. The mythical approach using the Scots language would appear to initially appeal to an older audience but along Gerda’s journey some funny types pop up to get the younger children laughing.There is Hamish The Unicorn (Richard Conlon giving it all he’s got), a camp creature with some saucy comments to spice things up. He divides the audience down the middle to sing a song about himself, a drop of panto in a serious story-telling session.Claire Dargo as the Snow Queen looks and sounds wonderful, beautifully clad by designer Emily James, she has an apposite malign stage presence. This proved to be a bit much for some of the children as the wean next to me declared “She’s scary, really scary.’’There are moments when the show loses momentum and it is overlong but visually it is stunning.

Mayor, Cabinet Minister and stooge; not the CV of Boris Johnson, but just some of the jobs attempted by Sandy Surname, the protagonist of the uneven, but entertaining narrative sketch show This Isn’t Working that FaceOddity premiered at this years Edinburgh Fringe and have transferred to the Etcetera Theatre, Camden.Sandy is facing unemployment and is yet to find a job where the main duty is being unemployed. As such he makes his way to the local job centre after being bullied by a meditation app. There he is greeted by three job-centre employees with such absurd names as Fiddle Castro, Sid Knee and Frank Torkingto. They take to the stage with a dynamic and entertaining three-man rendition of the YMCA, a joke that I was disappointed did not pay off, with Sandy filling in as the last of the Village People at the end of the show. The job-centre workers send Sandy out on increasingly preposterous work placements which form the sketches that make up the bulk of the show. The highlights of this job-searching odyssey include an ear-splitting and hilarious audition for the new town crier, from a pair of peculiarly bereted fools, coupled with a lovely one-liner about the difficulty of announcing the death of the previous incumbent. A sea captain’s absurd diversion from the phonetic alphabet during a distress call is another hit. The ship continues to go down as the captain laments his lost love. Colin Smiles, director of MI5, and his array of decoys and stooges are hilarious and showcase the talent of the four performers as they squeeze onto a tiny bench. When the writing and performances click in This Isn’t Working the absurdity really sings, but some of the sketches fall a bit flat.Surname, appearing on Newsnight as the new chancellor of the exchequer started promisingly, but petered out. The sketch in the Inconvenience Store even acknowledged its own lack of punchline. The sections in the job centre designed to anchor the piece were a little bland and were often overly reliant on silly names or half baked fourth wall breaking references. Ultimately, when the twist pay-off of the purpose of Surname’s inane work placements arrives, it is all a little underwhelming. Individual sketches are very entertaining and the performance/writing team is undoubtedly talented but This Isn’t Working, doesn’t quite cohere. A tighter structure or indeed no structure at all would have better served the absurd talents of FaceOddity.

The traditional blacked-out auditorium that marks the start of a play at the Sam Wanamaker theatre is illuminated one candle at a time, until the six candelabra and four sconces bring the stage to life. The eighty candles still leave the space dimly lit by modern standards giving a haunting atmosphere ideally suited to the murkiest of Ibsen’s plays, Ghosts.The subject matter that so shocked and appalled audiences at the end of the nineteenth century is far less repugnant today. So excoriatingly vicious were some of the reviews that it’s worth reminding ourselves of what was said in order to appreciate how scandalous the play appeared in its own day. The Daily Telegraph regarded it as “An open drain; a loathsome sore unbandaged; a dirty act done publicly... a lazer house with all its doors and windows open.. Candid foulness… Absolutely loathsome and fetid… Gross, almost putrid indecorum… Literary carrion…Crapulous stuf.. novel and perilous nuisance”. The Standard thought it “Unutterably offensive….. Abominable piece….. Scandalous”. Many other followed in similar vein including Era who declared it to be “As foul and filthy a concoction as has ever been allowed to disgrace the boards of an English theatre….. Dull and disgusting….. Nastiness and malodorousness laid on thickly as with a trowel”. Such a reception today is unthinkable, but at the time its content came too close to the bone and no doubt hit a nerve with many. Polite society may have been riddled with syphilis, but there was no stomach for hearing it discussed on stage. There was no shortage of private dirty linen regarding matters of marital infidelity and incest, but for it to be washed in public was considered reprehensible. What shocks today is how trying to conform to social mores, people can so embroil themselves in a tangled web of secrets and lies that their lives become a living falsehood, dominated by the fear of being found out while denying the truth to others. Hattie Morahan compellingly portrays the tortured existence Helene Alving endured at the hands of her deceased husband and which still dominates her life. The children's home she has just had built in memory of him is designed to perpetuate the lies about his being a decent man. She convinced her son, Osvald of his virtues, but sent him away to study at the age of seven, lest he find out the truth about his father. Stuart Thompson captures the idealism and desires of the youthful boy making the maidservant Regina the subject of his advances. Sarah Slimani maintains an air of propriety, but welcomes the attention. Then the past comes to haunt them both as hereditary disease and familial truths rain down upon them. Adaptor & Director Joe Hill-Gibbins along with Associate Director Lucy Wray have injected a great deal of humour into this bleak tragedy. The lustfulness and comic hypocrisy of Father Manders flows with subtle innocence from the lips of Paul Hilton, casually dressed in a lounge suit that rather annoyingly denies his clerical status and makes him seem like any other man. If Mander wears a camouflage for his true self, Egstrand, played with rustic menace by Greg Hicks, places no cover over his outward ambitions, with schemes and sales pitches that are always manifestly false and so overtly riddled with deception that he receives laugh after laugh, even realising himself, at times, how brazen is his falsity. He cuts a delightfully comic figure who provides a contrast to the heavier roles that surround him, but how well playing for laughs works in this context is debatable.With no set, but a purple carpet and wall of mirrors the focus is always on the interactions that occupy the stage. Those mirrors heighten the sense of introspection and of gazing into the past. Their presence represents a well-researched inclusion by designer Rosanna Vize as they fit with the use of a psychomanteum; a room or wall of mirrors commonly used by spiritualists at the time to assist in reviving memories and apparitions of the dead. While Helene’s time with her husband still pervades her live, she is also obsessed with her ‘boy’, whom she seems to keep trapped in childhood and is always in her mind. Perhaps that explains Osvald’s rather scruffy costume of old PE shorts and a woolly top and his presence on the stage, being stepped over as he lies prone on the floor when not in the scene. There is no excuse for the modern tweaks of talking about children raised by two fathers, however.This production of Ghosts is an interesting interpretation, with some novel aspects and fine performances, but overall it is not the moving experience one might hope for.

The brief descriptor of Treason the Musical as “a historic tale of division, religious persecution, and brutality” reads like a modern-day newspaper headline. In fact it’s the seasonal story of the 1605 Gunpowder Plot to bring down King James I (VI of Scotland) and his government. The show raises many issues, not overtly, but by association and similarity, that it’s impossible not to make comparisons with the struggles our own times and indeed other periods and events throughout history; conflicts that have involved social class, religious division and political disagreements. As the mind wanders there’s often the needs to pinch oneself, return to the story in hand and remember that this is a musical to be enjoyed.In many places that is not difficult, but for much of the show it more problematic, as in most of Act 1. Treason is certainly in the air throughout, but the details of the notorious plot and the passion that surely motivated the traitors lacks focus in a storyline that is concerned with too many other tangential issues. It was an exciting period, still dominated by religion and politics and with the death of Queen Elizabeth the country was positioned at the beginning of a new era. Catholics were hopeful of greater religious freedom and the end of persecution, given that the Scottish monarch’s mother, Mary Queen of Scots, had been a catholic. James, however had been educated by Presbyterians and lent support to Puritanism and although he has assured he Earl of Northumberland that he was not inclined towards persecution, that proved not to be the case. He wanted a smooth transition of power, rather than a radical departure from the policies of his predecessor, so little changed.The fear in which catholics lived is depicted in the rather drawn-out story of the necessarily secret marriage of Thomas Percy (Sam Ferriday) to Martha Wright (Nicole Raquel Dennis).In a work replete with scantily drawn characters Wright, who at first seems much like another one of them comes, into her own after the interval, as we see her distress and anguish poured out to her friend Anne Vaux (Emilie Louise Israel). Wright and Israel between them have moments of operatic splendour and finally we witness some depth of emotion and character.Joe McFadden’s King James has some entertaining moments and he clearly relishes watching the masque play put on for his coronation, for which the musical style suddenly changes and we are left wondering which Gilbert and Sullivan operetta inspired it. Otherwise, he seems unclear as to whether he is the strict ruler or lighthearted playboy kept on track by his Secretary of State, Robert Cecil, played with a hint of comedy by Oscar Conlan-Murray, who deploys his powerful bass/baritone voice with assertion. As for those involved in devising and failing to successfully execute the Plot, they hastily come together to get things under way in Act 2, but as characters carry little weight. Popping up in various locations and having his say, Guy Fawkes (Gabriel Akamo), rather than being a central character, assumes the role of a detached observer, often narrating in rhyming couplets. Akamo belts out some numbers, is loud and often difficult to follow. Taken together, this begs the question as to the need for Fawkes to be in the show at all. That in turn highlights the extent to which the book by Charli Eglinton with Kieran Lynn is unfocussed. Philip Whitcomb’s suitably gloomy set takes advantage of the stage’s size and benefits from imaginative lighting by Jason Taylor. Musically, Ricky Allan’s score has some life in it, but unmemorable.The spectacular setting of Alexandra Palace could have been home to a gripping period musical, combining intrigue and drama, but it’s not. There’s a certain buzz to seeing Treason at the time, but that fades upon reflection, as the muddled goings-on cloud the memory, leaving little behind.

The final days of a sixty-year marriage are turned into a domestic comedy in the latest offering from playwright Richard Bean, of One Man, Two Guvnors fame, in To Have and To Hold, currently receiving its world premiere at Hampstead Theatre.Bean draws on his Yorkshire heritage, locating the action in Wetwang, where Jack (Alun Armstrong) and Florence (Marion Bailey) are trying to enjoy a relaxed life in their retirement village. Only their perpetual bickering disturbs the peace, giving the impression that they have coexisted under sufferance, tolerating each other’s idiosyncrasies, living with their annoying habits and forgiving their peccadillo’s in a long-running act. It’s an amusing daily show they put on and their world would be empty without it. Their exchanges, that might otherwise be regarded as abusive, belong to a different age of conversation and in particular what Bean calls the “brutal honesty” characteristic of the region.Beneath the words there must be a loving attachment that has kept them together over the years, although we see no outward evidence of this. The tirades and never broken by affectionate moments.They receive regular visits from cousin Pam (Rachel Dale) and ‘Rhubarb’ Eddie (Adrian Hood), both of whom look after aspects of their banking and run errands for them. Much less frequent are the visitations from their children, who left home to attend university and then moved away completely. Rob (Christopher Fulford) pursues a writing career, shuttling between London and LA and Tina (Hermione Gulliford) manages a group of private medical practices in Somerset, while contemplating a move to Australia.According to the British journalist, commentator and author David Goodhart in his programme note, the “play shines the light on an increasingly common British experience: how different generations within the same family can be divided by class and geography". His point that “most children today not only have different accents from their parents but live in different universes” is highlighted in the script. “Jack, Florence and Pamela have Hull accents,” insists Bean. Eddie, has a generic East Yorkshire voice with “esoteric pronunciations across a range of words”. Had the children not moved away they might have sounded similar, but they now they “have RP with no trace of Hull or Yorkshire”.The local accents add to the richness of the characters who have them and in contrast make the RP pair less interesting. Fulford and Gulliford make a go of their underwritten parts, carrying a rather unnecessary detective drama of a subplot, but they are always second fiddles to Jack and Flo on whom the emphasis remains throughout. That storyline embroils ‘Rhubarb’ Eddie and gives Hood the chance to not only play the amusingly rather dim-witted allotment keeper with the country accent, but also to show how destructive false accusations can be. Dale is caught somewhere between these two extremes leaving. Armstrong and Bailey are at the heart of the wit and repartee, with the best lines and the biggest laughs.The play is co-directed by Richard Wilson and Terry Johnson. On reading the script Wilson thought that the stories Jack tells of his time as police officer “needed 10% shaving off them”; now that could do with another 10% removed, despite being well-told. What gives warmth throughout is the realistic living room designed by James Cotterill with lighting by Bethany Gupwell that provides a suitably furnished and credible setting that enables the action to flow.The affirmation that the play "tackles the prickly problem of dealing with ageing parents" is something of an exaggeration; it uses the issue as a source of comedy without saying anything profound or original about it. As for Bean saying, “My hope is to enthral the audience and illicit laughter,” he has scored only on the latter of those in a play that has old-style comforting comedy.

If you are partial to rather extraordinary pieces of theatre, that contain elements of many genres but cannot be pigeon-holed into any of them, then The Nag’s Head at the Park Theatre might be for you. Officially it’s described as ‘A dark comedy ghost story in an ode to rural England and the independent pub’. It’s also in keeping with the Halloween advent season for those who like a little spookiness. There’s a feeling that with some audience participation and a few songs, it could develop a cult following, rather like the Rocky Horror Show, except it makes less sense than that. It already has the dance routine, which would be easy to learn, and music by the band Good Habits. It’s short on eccentric costumes, with the exception of the Greene King (as in the brewery) emerald hooded cape. Lines of entrepreneurial capitalists would look impressive outside the theatre waiting to assume their seats in the auditorium. There would also be the opportunity to come as the ghost, the image from the painting having been heavily branded and trademarked. But the show hasn’t reached that level yet.Let’s start with the easy stuff. Three siblings are in the pub that was owned by their deceased father, whose wake they are attending. Jack, Connor and Sarah, played respectively by co-writers Felix Grainger & Gabriel Fogarty-Graveson and Cara Steele. Jack has been loyal to his late father, helped him run the pub and never left the isolated village of Shireshire. Connor and his sister Sarah both got out as soon they could to start careers and be independent. They have barely kept in touch over the intervening years; well more than a decade, maybe nearer twenty years. As joint beneficiaries of their father’s estate, they are now brought together and must decide on the future of the abysmally failing pub that is devoid of customers. They decide to make a go of it, which, with the benefit of hindsight, turns out to be a foolish move.From this point the events rapidly charge up the craziness scale from zero (normal) to around five (eccentric to a little mad) by the end of act one and hit ten (absolutely bonkers) well before the curtain comes down. The mystery develops when a gift-wrapped painting is heard to drop at the door. The demonic image is said to have ghostly properties and their father’s insanity is believed to have been caused by it’s haunting antics around the building.True or not, madness is contagious. Connors inner demons increasingly take over any sanity he might have possessed. Sarah’s delusions of grandeur are reinforced when the brewery’s representative crowns her queen of the pub, (or did she just imagine that?) and Jack is beset by the ghost of a former customer and brandishes a crucifix at the painting fully convinced of its satanic powers. There’s more; a lot more as the trio increasingly lose control of the situation and they succumb to other-worldly forces.The members of the ensemble formed by Make It Beautiful Theatre Company give their all to this production as they take on multiple roles, creating a presence and clarity of purpose for each character. Director Alice Chambers skilfully moves them around the two sets of pub tables and chairs laid out in front of the bar that gives an unmistakable location for the action. She has clearly exercised control and staged the movement with precision to avoid what could have turned into shambolic cavortings given the high octane levels of energetic performance. Commenting on The Nag’s Head, Grainger says, “This play has been the product of two years of passionate research and writing. Working with communities in both Shropshire (where I’m from) and Norfolk we’ve deep-dived into folklore and ghost stories as well as what makes a good old pub run and the characters you meet in them”. Which brings us to the universal concern about the survival of pubs, especially independent ones, in the face of increasing rates of closure and corporate takeovers. as the serious issue that underpins the story.Almost lost for words regarding the production, not really knowing what to make of it, my friend and I agreed afterwards that this mind-boggling play is, above all, entertaining. It’s a simple description of but it fits the bill.

Carly Churchill looks upon Owners, now revived at Jermyn Street Theatre, as a watershed in her life. It was her first play to be professionally produced on stage. That was at the Royal Court in 1972. Thereafter she said, “I've worked almost entirely in the theatre. So my working life feels divided quite sharply into before and after 1972, and Owners was the first play of the second part”.We all know the catalogue of plays that followed over decades of writing. At the time of her being yet another new writer, Owners had a mixed reception. E. Kyle Minor described it as an "intermittently interesting and otherwise tedious" play. In hindsight Sylviane Gold of The New York Times stated that Churchill "had yet to achieve the formal mastery that would make later plays like Cloud Nine and Top Girls instant modernist classics”. Gold went on to say in the New York Times that Churchill's "acidic critique of capitalist freebooters and the culture that worships them as heroes carries even more resonance today than it did in 1972”. That was written in 2013. It could easily be said today.The property and rental prices we hear from this period in themselves raise a laugh, but then wages were also a fraction of today’s. What hasn’t changed is the crisis in accommodation and the money-grabbing and often manipulative, coercive or even bullying tactics of some property owners towards their tenants. Cue the cold and calculating Marion (Laura Doddington) who is anxious to sell a property for which she has buyer offering her a very good price. She has a problem because there are sitting tenants who occupy a damp-ridden flat on the top floor. Lisa (Boadicea Ricketts) and Alec (Ryan Donaldson) already have two children with a third expected any time. Alec has no intention of leaving, for reasons that are unclear, rather like his motives for all aspects of his behaviour. It would probably be just too much trouble and in any case he seems to enjoy indolence and stubbornness. Lisa, meanwhile is up for moving on especially as Marion is prepared to offer a cash incentive for doing so. Marion doesn’t soil her hands by dealing directly with the tenants but instead uses her sidekick, Worsely (Tom Morley) to do her dirty work. Having had an affair with Alec, she still lusts after him, further complicating the situation.He is a dead-pan suicidal misfit who gets on very well with her husband, Clegg (Mark Huckett), who in turn is obsessed with homicidal thoughts towards his wife whilst being a lecherous, porn-watching misogynist. There's a parallel between his view of women and his wife's take on houses; both are property to be used. As a butcher he has all the tools at his disposal, but considers a Sweeney Todd pie-shop scenario a bit too blatant for her demise. Between them, in bouts of black comedy, they conjure up various means of murder and suicide. Into this mix are thrown further sexual self-seeking adventures, hypocrisy, deceit and double-dealing.In a play centred around property, Cat Fuller’s set of nine doors is focussed and remarkably well-fitted onto the confined stage. The direction by Stella Powell-Jones, however, is often static and rather flat, often leaving the universally talented cast grouped in fixed positions to deliver the wordy script, even when space is available for movement. It is their ability of to create fascinating characters that forms the production's strength.Owners is piece of theatre history and this is rare opportunity to see it staged. It might be rooted in the period but its themes resonate with our own times and its critique is still valid.

There is nothing subtle about Gilbert and Sullivan’s satirical attack on the House of Lords in Iolanthe, which premiered in both London and New York on 25th November 1882; the first play ever to open simultaneously on both sides of the Atlantic. Peers were popular subjects of ridicule even then and this revival of Cal McCrystal’s 2018 production by ENO at the Coliseum vehemently continues that tradition.The libretto resonated so well with those seeking to reform the upper chamber in the late nineteenth century that Gilbert had to ban the use of quotations from it in their campaign. Meanwhile, Sullivan had managed to couch the critique in jolly and entertaining songs, with the whole work being so light-hearted that even Prime Minister Gladstone praised its good taste. In the best tradition of the Savoy operas, of which Iolanthe was the first, this year’s version sees further updates with look-alikes Boris Johnson, who appears among the elite, accompanied by a Nadine Dorries banging on the doors of the Lords, desperate to be let in. Inevitably the Arts Council’s defunding of ENO isn't let off the hook.Perhaps setting it in a world where fairy fantasy meets reality made its substance more acceptable. In the case of the Arcadian shepherd Strephon (Marcus Farnsworth) the two come together in the top and bottom halves of his body. His mother, Iolanthe (Samantha Price), who as a Fairy has never aged, married a mortal, contrary to fairly law, for which the punishment was death. The benevolent Queen of the Fairies, (Catherine Wyn-Rogers) commuted Iolanthe’s sentence to a lifetime’s banishment as long as she left her husband, The Lord Chancellor (John Savournin), which she did without telling him she was pregnant, so he has no knowledge of his son. Meanwhile Strephon has fallen in love with the Arcadian shepherdess Phyllis (Ellie Laugharne). She knows nothing of his background, but as a Ward in Chancery Strephon needs the Chancellor’s permission to marry her, which he declines. The Fairies still miss Iolanthe and persuade the Queen to allow her return. Next, enter the peers of the realm, all of whom fall in love with Phylis and plead with the Chancellor to have her hand in marriage. Thus the mix of conflicting interests is set up and the rest of the operetta is devoted to unravelling the complexities of the situation so that all can live happily ever after.The singing is excellent throughout. The orchestra under the baton of Chris Hopkins captures the varying moods and the big numbers are well-delivered by the highly experienced ensemble. Loudly let the trumpet bray and others are sung with gusto and inevitably Savournin relishes the Lord Chancellor’s songs and delivers When you're lying awake at break-neck speed. He is ably joined by Ruairi Bowen as Lord Tolloller and Ben McAteer as Lord Mountararat in the charming If you go in you're sure to win. Female soloists shine in all their numbers and Catherine Wyn-Rogers makes an impressive debut flying around with her fairy wings.Those trying to deliver duets and other pieces do well not to be distracted by the excess of asinine antics taking place around them. The pastoral motif is milked in this production. A flock of sheep is assembled one at a time by stage-hands dressed in skin-tight black outfits, complete with full head masks, while we try to concentrate on a delightful rendition of Strephon and Phyllis’s love song, None Shall Part Us. While they remain undistracted, that is not an option for those of us in full view of the scene. Suggesting the pantomime season has arrived early a cow wanders amongst the peers, a unicorn is put to ingenious use, a horse drops his opinion of proceedings from his rear end, a flamingo is dismembered and ducks have their waddle. The performance was given rapturous applause and clearly the antics were found to be appealing to the vast majority, but they will be divisive. In addition to the music and performances there’s and Lizzie Gee’s choreography to enjoy along with the vast sets by Paul Brown that bring the woodlands and the upper house to life.

There is an intriguing opening to The Island at the Cervantes Theatre. It fully embraces the title of the play by Juan Carlos Rubio in this translation by Tim Gutteridge, directed by Jessica Lazar, but its significance as a metaphor for their predicament becomes apparent only as the story unfolds. It works well as a prologue, creating a sense of mystery as to what might follow.The two-hander is focused on the relationship between Ada (Rebecca Crankshaw) and Laura (Rebecca Banatvala). They met when Ada was 35 and Laura only 20, but have now been together for fifteen years. They sit in the hospital waiting room for news of their son Samuel, whom Ada carried, courtesy of a sperm donor. He was born with a damaged brain and has now fallen out of the window of their 7th floor apartment.At this tense moment in their relationship, conversation becomes increasingly stressful as a range of often difficult subjects and issues are brought under the spotlight. The most awkward to confront is whether they really want Samuel to survive or whether his death would open up the prospect of a new life that no longer had to deal with his challenging behaviour, would offer greater freedom and the opportunity to work on repairing their faltering relationship. Ada’s faith in God, with whom she communicates on close terms, seems not to rule this out. Laura is less convinced, however, but then her mind is occupied by handling her parents and dealing with another lover she believes to be a secret. Laura’s a cop; though why we need to know this is not really explored. Ada’s distanced approach to children probably stems from her years as a teacher, though she loved her dealings with them. Crankshaw displays the greater maturity that might be expected in such a relationship, while Banatvala still seems very young, given the years that have passed. Apart from an accident with a gin and tonic it would be interesting to know more about what drew them to each other. Indeed, the writing has plenty of material but there is little depth to its exploration.The Island is engaging with creditable performances, but remains aloof rather than moving. There is no sense of feeling anything at the emotional level for either character and likewise for their son.

Described as a ‘one-woman show chronicling the life of Kate Kerrigan’ Am I Irish Yet? lays bare her problem as soon as she opens her mouth. No one would guess that she is in any way Irish. Her point, of course, is that being Irish is not defined by a way of speaking, an accent or the brogue. Being Irish is about what’s inside you; how you feel and where you sympathies lie and if you can add being born as second generation Irish with parents from Ballina, Co. Mayo and Killoe, Co. Longford, with the name Morag Prunty, then surely that should be enough to make you qualify.Her childhood, however, and hence formative years, were spent growing up in Hendon, north London, after a short spell in Scotland, until her mother decided she didn’t want her to have an accent from there. She married an Irishman and has two (Irish) children and has spent thirty-five years living in the Republic. So is she still a ‘Plasic Paddy’? It seems that people can change the description as the mood takes them.In the 80s it suited many to see her as one of the ‘Bombing Irish’ yet in Ireland she was introduced to people as one of the ‘English cousins’. Living in London she was under threat from the same bombs as everyone else, even though her whole family were IRA supporters. She was working in a hairdresser’s next to Harrods in her late teens when the bomb went off in 1983. This and many more anecdotes, stories and accomplishments are forthcoming to illustrate the complex situations in which she has found herself over the years and the enduring issue of identity which will never leave her.There is humour in her passionate and serious message, because that is the nature of life when you are dealing with people whose understanding of your situation is either completely lacking or totally misguided. It’s also refreshing to hear an angle on being Irish that is almost never expounded. Indeed that is one of her reasons for doing this show. Quite where it falls on the entertainment spectrum is difficult to say. Much of her performance sounds like an interview or late night chat show with an absent host. We hear the answers and can only surmise the questions.Am I Irish Yet? Makes a valuable contribution to the identity debate; the answer to the question, “Where are you from,” that is asked of so many people from all over the world. In an age of diasporas the answers, like her show, are fascinating, often surprising and always worth reflecting upon in terms of how we perceive people.

With a name like Showgirl, you’d expect a bit more oomph, but in fact Rachel Fairburn’s show is perhaps the exact opposite, and the low-energy slog begins and ends with little flair.“I don’t have a support act, due to the cost-of-living crisis, it’s just me,” jokes Fairburn, before she sets off to warm us up herself. If her warm-up wasn’t so disjointed and lagging in energy, perhaps it would be considered more enjoyable and a better idea overall. As it stands, it isn’t the best of introductions; Fairburn gets bogged down in audience interactions that don’t particularly lead to anything funny, leaving us counting down the seconds till the break. In the half hour or so that she supposedly warms us up, the opposite happens, and there would be more energy if she would just launch into the main body of her show instead. It is both a good and bad introduction to the show; good because it does warn us of what is to come and introduces us to Fairburn’s style, and bad because it fills us with a slight apprehension at the rest of the hour.The main body of Fairburn’s show is concerned with how she got into comedy, which in itself is a pretty remarkable story with a potential for humour that extends beyond the initial introduction of the topic, but it becomes abundantly clear that this is the first of a series of false starts that make up the show. The end of the show is just as abrupt as the rest of it, as Fairburn muses on why she stays in comedy, and whilst there is a sense of joy at being able to perform, the patchiness of her material does not make the central theme or narrative of the show particularly clear. Whilst most comedians tend to wrap up a show by referencing previous jokes or motifs, Fairburn proves that she is not like most comedians and instead introduces a new idea that cuts off sharply, following a pattern that she establishes pretty quickly of bringing up a topic; making a few jokes about it and then moving onto something completely different. The myriad of political observations and tangents that Fairburn makes just obfuscates it even more, leaving us with just the initial idea of Fairburn’s relation to comedy to take away with us. There is definitely quantity here, but not necessarily quality.Showgirl is essentially an introduction to Fairburn, the issues that are important to her, background and personality. There is a solid base here, but she needs to work on her segues, spend time fleshing out her jokes and resist moving onto the next part of the material as quickly as she does, not only because it’s quite jarring to be hearing about how annoying guests are one minute and true crime documentaries the next. She needs to make sure that there is a cohesive arc of the show instead of firing out joke after joke without connecting them somehow, and hope that we’ll not notice. The reason why great observationist comics gain the followings that they do is because they share their unique understanding of the world and develop it by analysing every atom of a particular entity, fleshing out the gag in its entirety within their tangents and making it relevant to the rest of their show. At no point does Fairburn do this, and whilst she does make some very astute statements about gender and class interlaced with a very pointed kind of humour, they are very shallow observations that create a sense of randomness that makes it difficult to understand what Showgirl is meant to be about.

The ever-flexible performance space at the Playground Theatre is once more transformed with great imagination, this time to accommodate the double bill of Rena Brannan’s Artefact and Tennesse Williams’ Something Unspoken, both directed by Anthony Biggs.In front of the raked seating, tables and chairs are laid out in a cocktail bar, cabaret-style set by Tara Kelly that is appropriately lit by Choreographer and Lighting Designer Steven Dean Moore with Sound Design by Eloise Sheffield.Approach the on-set bar and you’ll be offered a very strong gin martini for as long as stocks last; a nice touch for an evening that kicks off with Artefact, and “a monster under the bed”. It turns out to be no more than an unopened letter, that Betty Ford has discovered, but its contents have a huge impact on the future First Lady, who descends into a whirlwind of emotional distress about its message and her life in general. It’s set in 1965, the year of her nervous breakdown, whilst enduring addiction to prescription drugs and the consumption of what she regarded to be a normal amount of alcohol, that was anything but. Brannan’s wife Sophie Ward plays the part along with Sarah Lawrie in a silent movement role and also a dance sequence with Ford. It transpires that Julia, Ford’s college roommate from years ago was in love with her. If she had only known then what she knows now, how different life might have been. It’s the catalyst that ignites a gin-fuelled reflection on people, places and events and the times they spent together. Ward sensitively balances the now wishful thinking with remorse, joy and anger before Ford is overcome by the alcohol and remains slumped on the bar during Something Unspoken which follows seamlessly.In stark contrast to the slouched Ford, Amanda Waggott assumes the upper area of the split-level staging created to elevate this play. She exudes an air of privilege and status with a commanding presence befitting a wealthy spinster from the Southern aristocracy in 1950s Mississippi, though her drawl wavers back and forth across the Atlantic. Cornelia Scott is a society woman, currently aspiring to the position of Regent of the Confederate Daughters, a position she knows to be rightfully hers after so many years as a loyal and active member of her local chapter. For now all she can do is wait for a phone call to tell what’s happening at the electoral convention she has declined to attend in the belief that she should place in position by acclamation. She will not meddle in the dirty waters of a campaign. To stand in a competitive election would be vulgar and beneath her dignity, but things turn out to be less straightforward than she had planned, as updates on the situation come ringing in. This day also makes fifteen years since Grace (Sarah Lawrie) became her secretary, which she marks by buying her fifteen roses. It’s a subtle indication of the love she bears for her.; the very something that has remained unspoken. She hopes this simple gesture might further her intentions, but Grace knows very well how to out manoeuvre her and engages in a series of diversionary tactics. Lawrie plays the game with ripened awareness, deflecting the shots that come her way.It makes for an interesting double bill of sapphic exploration that juxtaposes the lesser-known short work of perhaps the greatest of playwrights from the USA with a modern vignette that relates to a flawed yet exceptional woman.

The traditional direction of migrants seeking a better life is turned on its head in Emanuele Aldrovandi’s Sorry We Didn’t Die At Sea (translated by Marco Young) at the Park Theatre.Set in a not-too-distant future, when the economies of their countries have collapsed, three Europeans of mixed ethnicity are forced to flee the continent in search of a better life. They choose the common shipping container method to cross the closed border for which they had previously campaigned. The three strangers have engaged the same people-smuggler at great expense to find them a passage to a new life. Their claustrophobic voyage forms the passing of the play.A burgundy curtain from floor to ceiling shields the thrust floor of Studio 90 on three sides. As it recedes The Burly One (Felix Garcia Guyer) makes his demand for the agreed payment. Aldrovandi’s device of not naming the countries the migrants come from is matched by not giving names to the migrants, which broadens the universality of his message. The Beautiful One (Yasmine Haller), The Tall One (Will Bishop) and The Stocky One (Marco Young) are there with their minimal possessions and wads of cash; dollars being insisted upon as the euro is now worthless. With accounts almost settled the curtains becomes the flap at the rear of the container through which they pass on their journey into the unknown.They each have their own backgrounds and stories, some of which we become privy to, along with lies and imaginings that cover up gaps in their lives and mislead their fellow passengers and The Burly One. As the journeys progresses we realise that that the play is intriguingly genre-defying and challenging, and this assessment is borne out in the programme notes. We are told that it is a ‘dark and comic play’, that is also ‘satirical’ and ‘absurdist’; a work that ‘darkly refracts Europe’s migration crisis’ and asks us ‘to consider the contingency of migrant status, the fragility of civil society, and the risks we run by ignoring the power of the natural world’. It’s a tall order and and perhaps something of an over-reach in terms of combining those different forms along with an element of the macabre combined with pure comedy that hints at farce.There is no doubt, however, that the cast adapts to it perfectly. They ring the changes of style with ease. There is credibility in their delivery because none us knows how we might behave in such a situation or what lengths we might go to in order to survive. There is always a fine line between laughter and tears; tragedy and comedy; self-preservation and compassion for others. There is also the ever-changing balance of power: of how how the strong become weak; the controlling, defenceless and the caring merciless.It’s probably not the play we think it’s going to be. This is no straightforward story of people in boats escaping persecution, famine or war; indeed their reasons for leaving Europe seem rather weak. But it's an insight into the terrifying and uncertain plight of those willing to risk their lives in the hope of brighter future.

Publicity for Lady With a Dog, written and directed by Mark Giesser, at Upstairs at the Gatehouse, promises a version in which ‘Chekhov’s famous short story of romance and infidelity is modernised and reimagined for the British Jazz Age’. As a period descriptor for the years 1923-27 it raises the hope that there might at least be a solitary saxophone somewhere, but there is no hint of the musical genre to be found anywhere.By way of compensation, there is a tango, choreographed by Xena Gusthart, who is presumably also responsible for the rather curious twirl motif actors perform when making certain exits and entrances and when moving props to create a change of setting. The other promise of ‘a dazzling art-deco aesthetic’ also fails to materialise. Costumes designed by Alice McNicholas, reflect the period, but with one exception rely upon a pale pastel palette. The opportunity to reinforce the sense of period through the backdrop, which may have existed in an earlier version, is also missed. Instead of maximising the potential by using the geometry of the age to create a locale, there is a landscape of a Scottish loch, the setting in which most of the action takes place. This is vividly portrayed in artwork resembling painting by numbers, with glaring shades of turquoise and blue depicting the water, with mountains in the background and the eponymous pair gazing into the distance, the lattice frames suggesting the we are on the inside looking out.What’s appealingly clever about this production, however, is how Giesser has added spouses to Chekhov’s original story and how the the four characters are interwoven. Damian (Richard Lynson) is married to Elaine (Laura Glover); Anne (Beth Burrows) - she of the Pomeranian - to Carl (Toby Manley).Damian is a banker, and whilst devoted to his family, in a respectable middle-class way, he is, nevertheless a philanderer and serial seducer, as his wife knows only too well. They have long-since stopped taking holidays together and she is more than happy to have time to herself while he goes off on various womanising jaunts,Hence we find him in a highland hotel surveying the scene rather than the scenery. He espies Ann and, with the formality and subtlety befitting his status and the period, commences his game of cat and mouse. He is fortunate that his prey is in similar position to himself. Her husband has no problem with allowing her to take solo trips, while he sits at home in Wiltshire revelling in his exaggerated war-wound (little more than a recurring eye condition) and contemplating a life in politics, with Ann playing the dutiful supportive role. Perhaps, however , she wants more than that in life. Whilst the main actions is between Damian and Ann, their spouses make frequent appearances and converse with each other and their partners making observations on their lives and relationships that provide perspectives and background on the situation. There are solid performances all round and some witty remarks and even a touch of humour at times. Mostly, however, it is the sense of boredom in the character’s lives that dominates. The prolonged flirtation and observations on social standing provide very little by way of action, intrigue or surprises. For those enamoured of the period and it’s associated manners it might prove rewarding but other might just find it bland.

Was she or was she not fully aware of what she was doing? He certainly was, and for that reason should he have stopped before taking Birdie’s virginity? There’s a suggestion that girls hovering around the age of consent were his weakness. By the end, we know that Dan’s life has moved on from those days, but between then and now there have certainly been plenty of casual encounters with girls and women of all ages. Dan was twelve years older than Birdie and certainly played the field. As a manager at the golf club he had influence and control that gave him power to which curious female staff might be attracted and either willingly or unknowingly succumb. There is much left to speculation in One Under Par at the Bridge House Theatre, directed by Miranda Kingsley, not in terms of what took place on that fateful ninth hole, but rather in what motivated them and how they each felt about what they were doing. Dan is somewhat introverted and not the sort of guy who would talk openly about such matters. Jonny Burman plays him as a very kindly and sincere individual. There is nothing malicious or brutal or about him. On the contrary he exudes a charm that suggests anyone would be safe in his company and that he is a genuinely nice guy. His behaviour at the time seems completely normal and certainly Birdie raises no objections and outwardly has no immediate regrets. Everything on the surface appears entirely consensual and indeed she goes back for more on several occasions and talks about the sensations she experienced with relish.Writer and performer Daisy Roe gives Birdie a very casual demeanour that is interspersed with moments of excitement and thrill on discovering what being with a man can feel like. She is similarly reserved in her later confrontation with Dan, allowing herself one outburst to release the pent up emotions of the intervening years.After she loses her job, something in which Dan is complicit, she moves away from the claustrophobic confines of a village existence for a life in London, about which we are told very little. Then she arranges to meet Dan once more in their old local. She brings with her seven years of reflections on what took place; baggage that she has accumulated and hindsight with which she has interpreted the events and how she believes she felt at the time. She seeks closure to an event that over time has troubled her, but a huge cloud hangs over her rationale and what she is really seeking.Events now unfold in the present. Do we accept her words and actions at face value or should we dig beneath the surface to find what is really motivating her? Has the carefree girl who sought pleasure on the green become someone overwhelmed by resentment or is she playing a far more sinister game? And what of Dan? Burman plays him as such a nice guy, would anyone want to see his life ruined, except perhaps Birdie for reasons of revenge?The production at times is rather static and somewhat slow in moving the story forward, but it’s a play that lingers in the mind and leaves ample room for speculation about the motivations of the two characters.

Improvising a whole rom com style comedy show around audience suggestions is not for the faint hearted, and this group’s approach is relaxed and confident. Before the show starts they pass slips of paper around the audience asking them to write down an item they had left after a previous relationship. They then collect the papers and put them into a hat for part two of the evening. The first 20 or so minutes is based on reading an old holiday postcard, chosen at random by an audience member.For this particular evening of four performers, the postcard had almost an essay on it and was funny by itself; they then set out to improvise sketches inspired by it. The results included the hilarious almost buying a carpet scene, a tragic tale of a woman decorating a room in her house in the colour of the God of the Sea due to her disappointment with her partner who wouldn’t buy her the cake she wanted, and three very different people all starting a finance course for reasons including their love or hatred of the number 78. The main course of the show is “The Museum of Relationships” where the museum curator takes the three others on a tour of the items in the museum: the items being those written on pieces of paper from the audience. This develops into a series of sketches with an item suggested from the hat, and the links are sometimes delightfully tenuous. The sketches are just the right length; but they also come back to them to give each a conclusion to the story being told. There is also a lovely light mini monologue section where they tap each other on the shoulder to take over the story.They introduced some lovely one-liners, including a smirk inducing jibe at old fashioned sexism ideals of women at the start, and the utterly bonkers “golden shrimpy future” line in one scene where one partner was told they looked 40% like a shrimp. They each build on each other’s suggestions within each scenario which means nobody, including the performers, know where it’s going to end up; which is all part of the fun. Their imagination is fabulous: from a woman changing her best friend to look exactly like her so they could have relationship based on narcissism; to the brothers from Bros turning up as their scratched CD was calling to them from their one and only fan.There is a gorgeous dash of silly and surreal which is light and sweet. Kathy Manson shone with her really incredible imagination; there were a couple of super daft songs supported by piano playing – at one time with claw shrimp hands; and Josh Hards showed lovely versatility of the differences between the characters that he invented in different scenes. The actors work really well together and feed each other and are generous with their ideas. They pride themselves on being grounded in truth despite the surreal trajectory of some of the stories and they are right to do so.Sadly, the audience at this particular evening was sparse, and with less audience, they tend to be quiet, which leaves it all a little flat. This performance was quite low key, possibly as a result. This is obviously a new show and new experience every night, and is recommended for a unique, fun night out.

In October 2022, theatre impresario Nica Burns opened @sohoplace, the first new theatre to be built in London's West End for 50 years. Her plan was to bring a “different dimension” to Theatreland.As the venue turns one, it is home to new musical, The Little Big Things, which has just had its run extended until March 2024. The show is an uplifting celebration of life, and of living, and it feels right at home in the modern surroundings of @sohoplace. Intimate and poignant, yet energised by a predominately young cast and creative team, this is a musical that could well have been written to fit Burns’ original brief. Surprisingly Uplifting Based on the memoir by Henry Fraser, the story unfolds around a tragic event. Whilst on holiday with his brothers – and for the first time, without parents – aspiring rugby professional Henry dived off their boat. Misjudging the depth of the water, he hit the sea floor and cracked a vertebra. It left him paralysed from the neck down, with no chance of ever regaining mobility. He was just 17. So far, so devastating. However, the story goes on to be surprisingly uplifting as we see Henry and his family get to grips with this new and unexpected world. Henry became a ‘mouth artist’, having learnt to paint by holding a specially adapted brush in his mouth. You can see the work of the real Henry here https://henryfraserart.com/art/We see blame, guilt, and recrimination spread through the entire Fraser family as their close unit begins to crack and dissipate. Though they do find the strength, the Frasers aren’t superheroes. We can easily imagine ourselves acting as they do if we experienced something similar. It’s perhaps to be expected, but your emotional response to The Little Big Things is likely to be exponentially linked to your own life's familial structure. I doubt any mother of sons will escape tears. But, while a single childless man will sympathise, the Kleenex will probably remain unused. Mostly MovingHere we have two Henrys. There’s the ambitious, life-loving, slightly geeky, pre-accident Henry, played by Jonny Amies, who exudes gleefulness like a pheromone. His voice has great power and range and he comfortably leads most of the solo numbers, while carrying harmonies for the group pieces. Onstage he has an infectious zest for life. Cut this boy and he will probably bleed musical theatre. (Though please, don’t try to confirm this assumption).The more sombre, life-questioning, still slightly geeky, post-accident Henry, is given a 'mature before his years' presence by Ed Larkin, whose likeability immediately has the audience in the palm of his hand. Larkin’s performance is naturally more sedate than his counterpart, but their singing talent is well-matched. The two interact as Henry tries to understand, or accept, or “get over” the life-changing moment. It's a simple way of showing Henry’s internal voice, and both actors do a convincing job. Mostly moving, when it does become mawkish – such as when they mime in reflections to show “Henry Now” discarding “Henry Then”, which gave me goosebumps of embarrassment – the moments are brief and quickly forgotten. Half-sketched CharactersThe surrounding characters are a bit of a mixed bunch. The performances are generally fine, but restricted by characters that feel little more than outlines. The emotional bonds between a close family are assumed, rather than demonstrated. The relationship Henry has with his three brothers (Jamie Chatterton, Jordan Benjamin, and Cleve September) exists on a foundation of back-slapping and scrum-forming. The tragedy brings together and drives apart Henry’s parents, Fran (Linzi Hateley) and Andrew (Alasdair Harvey), but not due to any specific event. They are assumed narratives that we accept because we expect. Outside of the family, there are more half-sketched characters. Physio Agnes is the positive representation of disability and Amy Trigg clearly enjoys having all the best comedy lines. But with lines that demand nothing more than a wry eyebrow, she is straitjacketed into what becomes repetitive and one-note. For no discernible reason, Agnes has a boyfriend, Marco (Tom Oliver). When he appears, or if his name is just mentioned, the cast shout ‘Marco’. (Why?) Marco’s role seems to be as an outlet for innuendo. (Why?) At a Monopoly-themed fancy dress, he wears a phallus-adorned black body suit, and announces he has come as ‘Pick-a-Willy Circus'. (For the sake of God, why?) Then he leaves.I wondered if I had only dreamt Marco. I can think of no other explanation for his existence. The characters all feel very first draft and not yet thought through. Some are more like drafts they forgot to discard. The audience needs to either fill the glaring gaps themselves, or just look away and pretend they aren’t there. Pleasant Palatable PopAnd so, to the music. It is a musical after all. The songs are an enjoyable mixed bag of pleasant, palatable, pop. It’s Boy Band Lite (TM), inoffensive but lacking anything unique. It is unlikely you will catch yourself humming to an earworm on the way home. Though maybe the title song will do its best as we are encouraged to clap along to the show's closing number. This isn’t necessarily a bad thing. It’s a reflection of the consumable pop made to be enjoyed today and discarded tomorrow, and very much in line with the tastes of the TikTok generation. The role of the song also varies. Some songs are narrative, with characters shifting from speech to song mid-line, while those around them continue to speak, as though deaf to the music. Other numbers sit outside the action, providing comment or sharing emotion. Both approaches are common to musicals. But it can jar when they jump about like this. At times, it makes the concept a little comical.Occasionally, a song makes comment outside plot. Gospel number Work of Heart is belted out by surgeon Dr Graham (Malinda Parris). It’s a performance that recalls Queen Latifah’s I Know Where I’ve Been from Hairspray. But the lyrics (‘my blood type is caffeine; my guilty pleasure is sleep’) are a sub-par “NHS staff are good but pay is bad”. The song gets cheers. We agree with the message. But it’s nothing new. And it’s nothing relevant.Regroup, Refresh, Revise There are clearly shortcomings in this production of The Little Big Things. But shortcomings can be overcome. They shouldn’t – and won't – do anything to undermine the importance of the show. These are niggles that may be expected from a relatively inexperienced creative team. Let's not forget this is the first musical written and scored by Nick Butcher, Tom Ling and Joe White. No small achievement.If the team were to regroup, refresh. and revise a number of small points, it could turn what is an undoubtedly good show into an unarguably great show.As it stands, on balance, The Little Big Things is a show whose whole is worth more than the sum of its parts.It is worthy without being preachy. It is enlightening but also, importantly, enjoyable. It will pick you up if you’re feeling down. It will make your heart beat a little faster and your smile stretch a little further. If theatre is something you must see, this is must-see theatre.The Little Big Things feels not just like a show that could only exist now, it feels like a show that needs to exist now.

In his new work, playwright Peter Arnott takes the audience back to those pre-Brexit, pre-Covid days when Scots were on the verge of voting in the independence referendum. He focuses on a tightly knit group of family and friends on one day in 2014 as they gather together in a Highland house. The host is retiring academic George Rennie (John Michie) who has issued dinner invitations, the purpose of which is not revealed.The guests arrive and the talk is not just of the forthcoming referendum but of each other, how their relationships have changed and their predictions for the future. Arnott himself has described it as Scottish Chekhov and indeed there are many parallels in this gathering of intelligentsia and troubled family members.Rennie’s family is haunted by the death of their son twenty years previously, so much so that the boy Will (Robbie Scott) becomes a character stalking the stage, observing the action and prompting heartbreaking memories from his mother Edie (Deirdre Davis) and father. His death has split the couple in two as they inhabit different houses and worlds.Directed by David Greig (artistic director of the Lyceum, Edinburgh with whom this is a co-production) in the first half, the characters are illuminated individually and give a flavour of their nature. It is in the second half with the dinner that the are really let loose upon each other, the clash of egos of politicos reverberates, and a couple even turning to ridiculously grappling with each other.There is a sense that this is still a work in progress. Initially a set of characters is presented to the audience and it is all credit to the cast that they take them and flesh them out so well. There are intimations of mortality, some humour, political context and the pain of family relationships. Ultimately though there are nine characters in search of a cohesive element to weave it all together.

This show’s title summons up many associations except, perhaps, the one that forms the foundation of the play. Oggie! Oggie! Oggie! is Stephen Callaghan’s solo work about the life of St Augustine of Hippo (354-430 CE), known to his friends in this story as Oggie, a name to which the Glaswegian actor gives a guttural inflection, that would never have been heard in Augustine's home town of Thagaste in what is now Algeria, but works amusingly and effectively in this Scottish incarnation of the revered Church Father.The show is divided into six sections that chronologically follow the more unsaintly parts of Augustine’s life leading up to his conversion: Youth; Student Life; Fatherhood; Reaching Maturity; Turning Point and Take Up and Read. That life journey also takes him from his home to Carthage, Rome and Milan; each location marking a stage in his progress from sinner to saint, although this tale leaves him mid-life when he is about to embark on the life for which he is famous. His earlier years, however, are vital to his later understanding and without his heretical period his thirteen books known collectively as Confessions would never have been possible.As a student he joins the Subverters, a group that challenged Christianity but was searching for answers to questions of existence. He reads philosophy, relishes Cicero and adopts Manichaeism, a set of early gnostic interpretations of the world as a place of suffering and evil. He meets his love and becomes a father aged nineteen, after which he seeks stability. Haunted by hs own mortality he abandons the teaching of Mani, only to return to them after an illness in Rome, before his mother’s prayers for his conversion to Christianity are finally answered. Before that happens, however, he delivers a panegyric in praise of Caesar, but upon reflection he deems it to be shallow. He meets a beggar. The mother of his child leaves him. He returns to his lustful ways, yet utters the line for which he is most famous, “Lord, give me chastity and continence, but not yet!” He learns from a Roman official about the life and example of St. Anthony of the Desert and is led to the writings of St. Paul, wherein all is revealed to him and his conversion occurs.Callaghan infuses the tale with his signature blend of Glasgow humour and poignancy in a storytelling style worthy of a night out with the lads in the pub. But this is the man who tackles faith-based themes head-on and has won Vatican commissions. He understands that the way Augustine grappled with issues in his life is a timeless and universal quest that captures the malaise of many young people today. It’s the story of the reprobate turned religious told with sincerity and relatable passion.

Bobak dances, clowns and flings himself about the stage for an hour as he tells the audience about his Iranian heritage and growing up in Bristol in the 90s where Islamophobia and racism were running riot with the media appointing the Middle East as a dangerous place with dangerous people and the EDL (English Defence League) recruiting local white men more and more.We begin with Bobak acting as a comedic Iranian character as he jokes and displays certain aspects of his nationality such as fragrance, food and drink and the Iranian language itself. Bobak then switches to himself narrating his life in Bristol as an Iranian British kid b-boying in the streets and tagging walls with his friends.We meet Rob, a character who represents the white men of the time who would join the EDL; want to keep Britain white and dislike refugees.We meet the lady who owns the local pub who is empathetic towards refugees coming in as her family came from Ireland and were treated with prejudice when they arrived to England similar to the way Bobak’s family are treated.Bobak describes a time where his families house and garden was vandalised. This show is a comical dance show, however hearing this makes you realise that Bobak’s stories are reality for many Middle East families that arrive in the UK.Bobak talks about the serious issues within the UK and the Middle East through spoken word, clowning and dance. He tells us of a time where he felt ashamed to be Iranian due to the discrimination he felt in the UK. In the story he goes to Iran with his family to not only find comfort, good food and love but also stumbles upon some fellow B-boys in a park in Iran where he made life long friends.This show disproves all the harmful stereotypes of Middle Eastern people and brings a sense of humanity a warm feeling in your heart.This is a show with an important message, but it does become a little hard to follow at times. He switches characters and setting so often I did end up left confused a couple times to what was going on. Maybe some refining is needed. But not Bobak's dancing - that was stellar.

Cat-Like Tread makes a welcome post-Covid return to the Fringe with this ever-popular jolly romp, a Gilbert and Sullivan classic and a dashed good night out.The Pirates of Penzance is the show that Cat-Like Tread, an Edinburgh-based Gilbert and Sullivan specialist group, brought to the Fringe in their debut performance, and it clearly continues to be a favourite both of the Company and their audiences. We meet Frederick amongst his pirate horde and learn that he is shortly to be free of them, able to marry the pretty Mabel whom he has met upon the beach, the daughter of a Major-General. But things go wrong and a medley of hopeless and madcap policemen cannot put them right. Until, that is, she whom no true Englishman can resist steps in…Pirates sparkles with great show tunes such as Pirate King, I Am The Very Model, Tarantara and of course, Cat Like Tread from which the company take their name.That self-same group is having wonderful fun in this production, singing the songs with gusto and acting all the oohs and aahs to the full. It is infectious, spreading across the large and appreciative audience to create a good humoured occasion. Scott Thomson marches into action as the Major-General, filling the part tremendously and more fully than he does his scanty nightgown. He is well supported by a string of leads that include the vocally elegant Peter Cushley as Frederic, Deboragh Turkalp as an Irish Ruth with a magnificent red bonnet, and Alex Gunn as a dynamic Pirate King. Rebekah Lansley has lost her voice and so mimes the part of Mabel while Claire Turnbull sings the part quite divinely from the wings. This is not an easy situation, and the two should be congratulated on making it all work seamlessly.The show is performed without any set, and this lays down the challenge to the company to carry the story through their acting, singing and dancing, a challenge they rise to well. Singing is entirely natural and without mics, with the voices mostly carrying well. The choreography is fairly simple but enthusiastically delivered by the company, and it does the job within a sound performance of the show.All in all, a jolly night with a most loveable and tune-rich G&S operetta.

Thomas Hughes’ novel of 1857 is as seminal as Dickens’ Nicholas Nickleby in exposing scholastic malpractice in the 19th century. The book was designed to celebrate the schoolmastership of educational great Dr Thomas Arnold, whose spell as Headmaster of Rugby School reformed practice at the School and drove out much dispassionate cruelty and abuse, not least in the teaching body. The text has been used in a string of film adaptations, most notably the 1951 and 2004 versions, the latter starring Stephen Fry and launching the career of a young Alex Pettyfer.This stage adaptation by Rebecca Vines, who also directs the piece, largely succeeds in translating the story from stage to page, although the language of the time (“vicious spiteful cur”) is preferable to some of the modern expletives that seem to have worked their way in. It tells the tale of Tom Brown, a plucky youngster sent away to Rugby School, where he makes a string of friends but is bullied both directly and vicariously by the notorious Flashman. We see episodes of the original tale strung together to show the horrors encountered by heroic young Tom, and the outcome of his attempts to fight back against a bully from the social elite.Talking Shadows is a youth theatre group formed of young actors from a number of schools. The nature of such a company makes free casting very challenging, and this proves problematic with this piece. Oliver Hooper makes a charming and likeable Tom, and he is clearly a fine, engaging actor, but he is one of the older ones and towers above Flashman, played by Connor May, who finds it difficult to evoke the chill of the book’s villain. This does make it harder to feel sympathy for Tom, presented as a much younger boy in the book, when for example he is caught in a boxing match with the notorious bully. Flashman's physical and social authority is critical to the story but this is not really achieved in these portrayals. Hughes gives us a Boy’s Own hero at the peak of Empire in Head Boy Brooke. Hugh Norbury is another talented and elegant actor, but he too is compromised in this particular part by being so obviously younger than the other leads. Tate Franz gives the standout performance as East but arguably this is made easier for him as his relative age befits his character in the play. The broader company make a solid ensemble, although I would like to see greater stillness from them in key moments such as Flashman’s opening monologue, where there is too much distraction from our first taste of such a key character.The staging makes use of a collection of black boxes to give shape and definition to these scenes. In the opening stages these are used well, particularly in a wonderful movement piece showing Tom’s journey to Rugby. Increasingly, however, the boxes act as a barrier to the flow of action, creating static scenes. There is a clearly defined stage space in this theatre, marked out prominently by thick white lines, but actors are frequently pushed onto the carpet beyond this by the on-stage clutter, their only alternative being static performances tucked in between the detritus. The whole of the Derby lottery, for example, takes place on the carpet at the back of the stage. At another point, sprawling on the same carpet, Tom’s foot catches a member of the audience by accident. This clumsiness makes it harder to follow the action and build pictures that resonate visually. It also represents poor discipline and use of space by young actors. Beyond these boxes, there is very little scenery and later scenes such as the roasting would benefit, for example, from some visual indication of fire.There is good use of sound, with a scene-setting recording of a mother’s advice starting the show, and excellent use of songs such as “Leave Her, Johnny” to capture the tone and mood of the period. Costumes are elegant and appropriate to the time.One of the most notorious moments in the book is Flashman’s abuse of Sally, using his higher social status to commit rape. This is initially handled well in this performance, with a powerful movement sequence creating strong imagery. The impact is diluted, however, by too much stage time and text being given to Sally after the event and this is frustrating, as it takes away from our initial well-crafted revulsion at the event. The play seeks to represent issues of bullying and abuse but ironically the worst case of bullying comes when the tiny Trevelyan is sent with a message to Tom and his friends, only to be ridiculed and abused for his proximity to Flashman. “We are the chosen ones” Tom and friends chant thereafter, sending confusing moral messages about maltreatment of the small and vulnerable.Overall, a keen company of capable young actors, slightly miscast and inhibited by the set, telling a seminal story of school life.

Where would school theatre be without A Midsummer Night’s Dream and Twelfth Night? The latter is certainly a popular Shakespeare play for drama educators, with its saga of shipwreck, separated twins, and gender-confused love triangles, all told through elegant text that, when played out carefully, facilitates comic imagery and moments of hilarity. This is the story that Bede’s School chooses to present in this one hour abridged version.The choreography here is flowing and elegant, with the performance opening and closing with dance numbers that work well. The opening number uses some funky club-style dancing to create the shipwreck, while the closing dance is more akin to those favoured by Dromgoole in his days at the Globe. The movement and use of space is less convincing in the spoken scenes, however, with too much of the action pushed into the corners of the in-the-round stage. This particular space has a clearly defined stage with a black floor limited by thick white lines, beyond which there is a carpet. All too frequently, however, the actors speak their lines from the carpet rather than the stage, and this undermines the cast’s ability to present pictures that satisfy, not least because the carpet is not lit. These young actors need to be more discipline in their use of space and their spatial awareness.Jolie Phillips carries much of the show as a demonstrative and feisty Sir Toby Belch, while Ruby Dare partially captures the moody yet love-struck teenager in Olivia. There is a good rapport between the confident Sebastian Robinson (Sebastian) and an elegant Charlie Maidens (Antonio).Shakespearean language is notoriously difficult to comprehend, however, and we depend on the cast to help us understand the text and its impact on the story as we go. In this performance, it is not evident that the actors have a confident understanding of their material, and this leads to lines being rattled off, much of the meaning lost, and the available humour not really delivered. The cast would benefit from sitting down with their text, understanding the meaning of everything they say, and reflecting on what to emphasise in order to convey its full meaning and intention.There are some clever moments, however – the use of texts rather than letters to set up Malvolio, for example, and a disturbing binding of the steward to a swivel chair, which conjures up dark images of kidnapping, perhaps darker than intended. All in all, movement, shape and ideas are good, but more work is needed on the language.

With Phaedra/Minotaur, director Deborah Warner and Choreographer Kim Brandstrup present a couple of easily digestible slices of re-interpreted Greek mythology. They’re stripped back and impassioned, though not always the most satisfying.It all kicks off with a performance of Benjamin Britten’s Phaedra. On a sparsely populated stage of black and white, Richard Etherington takes to the keys in a paired down rendition of the piece while Christine Rice offers a rather more fulsome vocal delivery of the cantata. As she tells the story of the moment Phaedra tragically falls for Hippolytus, the son of her husband. While the quality of her singing is excellent, the delivery feels relentlessly overwrought.In the second part of the performance, dance replaces music to carry the story of the Minotaur, or rather Ariadne’s betrayal when she saves Theseus from the mythical creature. This part of the performance is stronger, delivering an emotionally charged ballet choreographed by Brandstrup. It's danced by Jonathan Goddard, Tommy Franzen, and Isabel Lubach, whose ever-shifting, sensuous movements, accented by Eilon Morris' intriguing score, cohere well with the minimalistic design.Passages where Goddard and Lubach’s fluid courtship elegantly play over the stage are very well conceived and delivered, but the highlight comes later when Franzen descends the climbing hold-peppered background wall with no shortage of grace. The dancer is seemingly effortless as he moves and hangs off the wall, enacting the emotional performance while imbuing the emotionality of the piece with some genuine spectacle.The staging is bare but effective, the storytelling is thematic rather than narrative, and the quality of performance is generally very good throughout the production. However, Phaedra/Minotaur remains a little unbalanced across the two pieces and if some of the complexity delivered in the latter half could be infused into the earlier section then there could have been something very special here.

Channelling Westeros with a lower-budget wardrobe, Adam Riches brings his Game of Thrones themed game show to an audience of ‘bastards’.While the show has its hitches, including easels that don’t stay up and an audience that has no concept of blocking, Riches wins us over early on with his louder-than-life Lord Stark character who authoritatively demands our participation. Keen audience involvement means that momentum suffers at points but competitive chants of Sean and Bean on either side of the room serve to fill the gaps. Without the crowd’s readiness to get involved and covered in vegan ham, Dungeons & Bastards would fall flat. Thanks to Riches’ impressive authority of the crowd, however, the show manages to scrape by as enjoyable, despite the unoriginal gameplay that lacks any reference to Dungeons & Dragons.Though Riches himself states that Dungeons & Bastards is un-reviewable, the post-10pm scheduling means that the crowd is ready to forgive its faults. Judging by the warm stench of his faux-fur cape and rasping voice, Riches has had a heavy Fringe thus far, consisting of alcohol, cigarettes, and throwing his voice to sell-out audiences. You may choose either to admire his dedication or call out his folly.Come expecting a level of ridiculousness that will make your jaw ache from either laughing or grimacing, all dependent on your tolerance for silliness. Alcohol advised.

Flower arranging becomes a life and death hobby in Little Shop of Horrors, a popular-on-the-circuit science fiction cult musical classic. Little Shop tells the story of a goofy flower shop assistant, Seymour, who makes his name by “discovering” a new species of plant. Seymour’s find, however, turns out to be a space monster that feeds on human blood. Across the evening, we see ‘Audrey 2’ grow and flourish on a diet of cruel dentists, unsuspecting shopkeepers and, ultimately, Seymour’s crush, the beautiful, blonde but love-unlucky Audrey 1. The green leafed monster finally devours Seymour himself, before preparing (through offshoots) to go nationwide in its bloodthirsty feeding frenzy.The show presents plenty of technical challenges, both in performance and in giving shape to Audrey 2. It is an interesting choice for Nardone’s Academy, a performing arts school from Lochgelly, Fife, which offers classes in acting, singing and dance for 295 would-be performers aged four to adult. One can understand that logistics make it an attractive choice to present just eight actors (who had auditioned internally) but this choice presumably left nearly 300 others at the school without the opportunity to perform in Edinburgh – I hope Nardone’s next Fringe project will be on a bigger scale. The choice of venue presents challenges too, with a 150 minute show in a very small and very hot space. I am lucky enough to have a fan directed at me but other audience members are clearly wilting in the heat. The fact that an electrical cupboard opposite is ironically called ‘Plant Room’ is scant consolation. Longer shows like this may be better suited to larger, airier venue spaces, with bigger audiences stemming from larger casts.Perhaps the most challenging aspect of this musical is how to present Audrey 2, the sanguineous-snacking plant. In this production, an ever larger series of colourful plants are presented, which look tremendous and are very effectively manoeuvred by Liam Nardone. The plant is vocalised by an actor in black with a green bow tie and this is less convincing for me as a strategy, although a popular route for productions – anthropomorphising a space-monstrous green plant seems to me to take something away from the sci-fi horror of it all. The deaths along the way are also tricky to handle, with the plant supposedly gobbling up its human prey. In this production, characters once eaten simply walk away – there is surely scope for something more inventive. These are not easy challenges in any production of Little Shop, however, and the choices made do deliver clear, clean and sharp musical storytelling, with effective use of the space and lighting that highlights action and emotion.The cast acquit themselves well although they seem to struggle for confidence at times, particularly when performing alone. There is no reason for this as they are clearly eight accomplished performers. Keava Doig, Kelsie McCall and Neve Muir combine together very well in presenting the chorus, a trio seemingly with nothing better to do than hang about outside flower shops and comment on what’s going on therein. Dylan Weather presents a solid, squinting Mr Mushnik and Richie MacGillivray strides confidently about as Audrey 2 in human form. MacKenzie Harley is a likeable Seymour with a fine singing voice while Brooke MacDonald’s rendition of Suddenly Seymour was elegant and pitch perfect, a real musical highlight. Best in show, however, and probably in the form of a black rosette, must go to Cole McLaren who plays the Dentist and other parts with great showmanship and flair. The future must surely call on him to give us his Sweeney Todd, given his prowess here at presenting the psychopath. McLaren plays a range of parts and plays them convincingly, although further variations of his costume would help us understand the variety of his characters better. This seems to be a missed opportunity to give others from the school a chance to perform the range of minor characters.This was a good, clean version of the show and I particularly enjoy Mr Mushnik reading the Fife Free Press in his American florist. Nardone’s is clearly helping its young actors to bloom and their performance of Little Shop is a promising performance delivered earnestly by a capable cast.

It’s hard to know how much to say about the content of Nomad, a physical theatre piece by Gözde Atalay, because disorientation was such a strong part of my experience. I’m just not sure exactly how much of that disorientation was intentional. Nomad has three distinct parts that intertwine only to a certain degree. Undoubtedly the heart of the show is Ayşe, a woman immigrating to Europe. Her experience becomes all of our experience as she approaches the audience for help with things that seem outside our control. The audience participation that runs throughout the show is deeply uncomfortable, but we are simply feeling what Ayşe feels – dislocation, frustration, and disorientation to what is going on around us.I understand the intention of breaking up that story with others, but unfortunately the two other parts of the performance are so tonally distinct that I struggle to put them together into one show. One, a police officer bordering on clownish, opens the show in such a way that sends my expectations in a very different direction than the majority of what follows. While audience interaction remains key, the laughter this character elicits seems at odds with the earnestness required by the rest of the show. The third piece, a movement sequence centering around huge sheets of brown paper, is as compelling as dance, but again is difficult to relate back to Ayşe or the police officer, and takes us to a place of suspended disbelief and un-reality at odds with Ayşe’s groundedness.Nomad, while affecting, leaves me reeling for reasons that seem both intentional and unintentional. I spend much of the performance – and much time after it – trying to make sense of what I am seeing and trying to understand what is happening. If that sounds like your idea of a good time, Nomad might be for you.

Ben Tomalin, Maisie Fawcett and Sophie Holmes’ Without is an interesting contender at this year’s Fringe Festival in that it has a very strong cast that handles an equally strong score with ease, but the plot itself is a little confused and seems to hamper the impact that the songs can potentially have.Former teacher, now busker, Henry (Darragh Chaplin) accidentally meets a former student of his, Rose (Marianne Steggall), as she waits for her partner on a park bench near to where he plays music everyday. Both are running away from something and using music, they slowly open up and help each other work through and face their problems. This musical explores LGBTQ+ issues, addiction and family as part of its plot and central conflict, but they take the place of a character arc, meaning that the characters themselves don't show much expansion beyond these issues.Without needs to decide whether it is a play with songs or a song cycle, either way something needs to change to make it a more cohesive show because the plot and the songs don't really fit together. The plot often can be considered superfluous and it would be a much stronger production as a song cycle, and more enjoyable as well. The songs are the main focus and the best part of this musical, to the point where the libretto appears to just vamp until the next number, coming off as a distraction until the next song, which is where the cast really shines anyway. Their vocals and harmonies are amazing, and they blend together seamlessly into a cathartic expression. It’s easy to become lost in the music, and as a song cycle, Without would still be able to keep and build on its strengths.This musical shows a lot of potential, but needs to develop further for it to be consistently interesting to watch. Every part of it needs to be as amazing as its score, but unfortunately it still has a way to go before it can be considered a highlight.

It’s Come Dine With Me with a twist, and that twist is murder because apparently that’s what it takes to spice up a dinner party these days. Happy Sad Production’s Come Die With Me is a musical murder mystery that slowly descends into a vague parody with a plot that hangs on by a loose thread. Set during the filming of the reality show Come Dine With Me, five contestants host dinner parties in their houses in order to win a grand prize. When one of the dinner guests is found dead, the contestants race to find whodunnit. This show quickly works through all of the Come Dine With Me tropes from the interviews, voting, drama, and contestant stereotypes that we’re familiar with. Up until the murder itself, the show is very comic as we meet the larger than life characters who settle in the familiar routine of the TV show, but the recreation of these tropes are relegated pretty much to the first half of the show. After that, the plotline descends into a very vague ‘catch-all’ set of scenarios, designed to give everyone motive and give us the opportunity to vote on who we think the murderer is. This means that the ending will change with every viewing, but it really seems like the flimsiest of connections and motives are being established in order to make this show work. The songs themselves have quirky lyrics and are performed to an extremely high standard by the cast, to the point of completely rousing the audience. This is best exemplified by the opening number, Welcome In, that is a slick, witty performance that introduces us to the characters themselves as well as the emerging conflicts between them, whilst communicating a biting humour that gradually decreases as the show itself progresses. All of the characters have very big personalities and shoes that the cast fill with ease. Andrew Lodge in particular performs his roles in such a way that he literally extends his character's personalities from the stage. His over the top performance is incredibly humorous to watch as he personifies the ‘go big or go home’ mindset.Come Die With Me is an altogether flimsy parody; a fun pun and nod to the TV show but its comedic potential depreciates quickly.

Dances Like a Bomb is a dance and physical theatre piece by Irish Dance Company Junk Ensemble. The show celebrates the strength and capacity of elderly bodies and challenges the adoration of youth. It simultaneously shows in a very realistic way what it’s like to age and what benefits and disadvantages it entails. The story follows a couple, made of actor Mikel Murfi and dancer Finola Cronin. We go through the couple’s lives in a non-linear way, through dance, movement and occasional dialogue and voice over.At first the couple is in their underwear and we see their private dynamic exploring their bodies and leaning on each other. Often in a comedic and playful way showing us that aging is not to be feared. Through their movement the inevitability of aging becomes clear and their acceptance of it as well. The contemporary dance and physical theatre movements are rough and heavy, very natural, less technical and more akin to normal people, rather than dancers. This stylistic choice matches the concept of the piece, but it would’ve been exciting to see these two elderly performers including some more technical elements of dance. The couple becomes quickly clothed and we are immersed in their pubic life. We see their relationship, conflicts, love, neglect and pure connection. They explore their fears and regrets - everything that age has taken from them - with remarkable humour and drama in equal parts, as well as everything that they have learned and how age has enriched them. The show faces and challenges age, interpreted by two engaging performers. Their relationship is both loving and co-dependent and the story explores how one will pass before the other and break them. Through jumps in time and different kinds of small scenes, the tale does often become difficult to decode. Although conceptual at times, there seemed to be a story which was possible to understand but could’ve been made clearer to strengthen the ambitious concept.Mikel has an often unhinged and brave performance, intoxicating to watch as he is dances like no one is around. Finola has a mainly stoic delivery which heavily draws the attention to her powerful movement. The performances could’ve varied more and veered out of the unhinged and stoic routes frequently during the one-hour run time.The set is a rectangular platform with two chairs and a tall corner structure covered in greenery, which evokes the feel of a cemetery or an aged version of the garden of Eden. The dancers play with getting closer and further away from the structure, like it’s death. The lighting was simple with a yellow light that becomes stronger and softer. It was very dark at times which built a strong atmosphere but did difficult visibility.The show is engaging and the concept is powerful and crucial. Seeing elderly dancers tell this story and move with tremendous skill was very impressive. Mikel and Fiona are two powerhouses interpreting with deep realness. Shows like Dances Like a Bomb should be more common in the dance and theatre scenes.

Vulnerability and sexual awakening go hand in hand in Declan, an unnerving one-man play set in rural Wiltshire.From the very start, it’s clear that Declan is not a light-hearted story of sexual discovery. The stage is led bare but for a plastic shopping bag and one low-wattage bulb, under which our muddied main character bobs in and out of view, battling visions of his past.Jimbo’s intense energy coupled with his childlike puzzlement makes for a charged viewing experience, played to perfection in a lilting Wiltshire accent by writer-performer Alistair Hall.Dressed in a stained white t-shirt, Jimbo spills all about his fragmented sexual experiences, exploring the shame and confusion of his childhood through extended monologue. If at times the format runs a little dry, the intimate storytelling ability of Hall carries it through.The entire tale is told through the naïve lens of Jimbo who frets and grasps for clarity amidst flashbacks of pained experiences with an abusive father and avoidant mother. Jimbo’s world stretches no further than Swindon, or possibly Bristol, conveying the trappings of rural life.Shame and judgment haunt Jimbo and as he grapples with ghosts, trying to figure out what happened to his best friend Declan years ago. And though there may not be a neatly tied conclusion, in telling his own story, Jimbo learns to trust his own judgment even if that means placing blame at the foot of his family.

Nestled in a dim-lit basement within a stone archway, Paradise in The Vault feels like the perfect venue to indulge in some late evening fairytales, and from the moment the cast come out reciting the infamous tale of Little Redcap I am sucked in and excited for more.Marketed as a feminist examination of the classic European folk and fairytales famously collected by the Grimm brothers, The Grandmothers Grimm invites its audience into the rooms of the Grimm brothers who are in the editing process of their famed anthology. Joining the brothers in their musings is local storyteller Marie Hassenpflug who is desperately trying to steer the brothers away from overtly sexist narratives whilst keeping intact the integrity of the original storytellers from whom they bartered their tales. With Marie and the brothers' dialogue as the backbone of the production, the cast dips into reciting prominent tales such as The Pig Prince, Donkey-Skin, Sleeping Beauty and The Sun, Moon and Talia.Filled with passion, and making clever use of asides and props, The Grandmothers Grimm is a thought-provoking take on the classic fairy-tale narrative. Nevertheless, I would be hesitant to call it an outright ‘feminist drama’, rather an exploration of the Grimms fairytales that has feminist undertones. Using this disclaimer suggested to me more of a contemporary/Angela Carter-esque re-telling of the tales, rather than one that is still very much male-led. I also find that at moments the swiftness and overlapping of the casts lines makes for a rather erratic atmosphere. Whilst this isn’t necessarily a negative thing, it makes the performance feel quite breathless at times and I believe, given some of the difficult issues being discussed, it would benefit from some more breathing space to let the language sink in. On the whole, an enjoyable production with a generous and enthusiastic cast looking to challenge the experimental storytelling landscape.

Lydia Whitbread’s Winging It is a vague yet very intense coming of age musical. It has an incredibly powerful score that is inundated with ‘I Want’ songs and power ballads, however it stretches itself too far in focus. The plot of Winging It follows four separate characters as they rush to hand in their university applications. Issues of LGBTQ+ identity, domestic and emotional abuse, anxiety and the fallibility of parents are represented to a varying degree and shallowly explored. The score itself is a sophisticated expression of emotions that burst forth from the characters, in a stream of consciousness manner. The narrative constantly shifts in focus between the characters; their internal and external struggles. It’s hard to empathise with the more privileged characters - Alex (Amelia Perry) and Francine (Camila Crabb-Zambrano) whose only problem seems to be choosing a degree when the other half of them - Nic (Damien Smith) and Ronan (Bethan Green) - are literally living in abusive households. In this way, it seems like the writer is trying to equate these struggles, but one is very much not the same as the other. Why should we empathise with Francine whose only problem is that her parents want her to become a lawyer like them when two characters are literally going through issues of actual severity? Maybe if the focus was more condensed which would give more time to explore each character’s arc more in depth, then we’d find something to connect with, but as it stands, we have to ask why is time allocated to exploring characters who make the same complaint in every scene that they’re in without moving the plot forward? The depictions of some of these issues is entirely subtext or exists because there’s a trigger warning sign on the door rather than any representation onstage. We’re given stock images of their lives and expected to glean some deeper meaning from them despite there being nothing to indicate that there is something deeper about the characters.It’s a very uneven show, not only in its plot and character development but the strength between its plot and songs. In its current iteration, Winging It quite dramatically misses the mark.

Burnt Lavender is a queer cabaret, devised and presented by students from the University of Worcester's Masters in Touring Theatre degree. The show asks the question: what is the point of creating social structures which force individuals to live out lives that are not their own. Who exactly does this serve? It is performed by a large group including Olga Hlouskova, Aadil Din, Lin Perne, Robin Cain, Freya Webb, Mathew Cartwright, Jamie Shaw, Charlotte Jeffreys-Hall, Corinne Leigh-Hewitson, Leo Pawlin, Ryan Brunt, and Grace Livermore. The design is simple but effective, consisting of chairs and curtained door frames.Together, the company creates a transgressive night club – a conglomeration of historical queer establishments that, in one way or another, have subverted the prevailing heteronormative culture of the time. This ranges from the famous El Dorado in Weimar Berlin, to London’s Royal Vauxhall Tavern.Unusually, the manager of the club is a totalitarian dictator. He barks orders through his megaphone - trying to dictate the thoughts, feelings, behaviour, sexual identity and gender identity of the club’s performers. This is a device that doesn’t quite work (it feels as if such a character would either steer clear of this kind of career altogether, or otherwise, just shut the whole club down.)However, this is theatre, and we are prepared to live with such a peculiarity because it enables us to witness some wonderful moments of individual defiance and group protest, through the prism of the cabaret.And these performers are super-defiant. There are some pivotal moments when we see them tested - a police raid on the Vauxhall Tavern is satirised using a Keystone Cop dance routine; the absurdity of male-female dance shows is revealed when heteronormative instructions are bellowed down the megaphone by the manager. Some of these routines are spectacular.There some areas that need further attention. With no technical vocal projection support, some members of the cast are struggling to make themselves heard. This is an easy thing to fix. When your voice teacher tells you to practise voice for an hour every day, do it. It will pay off! Also, there are some games that are used in the rehearsal room that don’t transfer well to the stage, but one senses that this can also be fixed, once identified.The students should be proud of their work, which is, at times, moving and profound, a quality, worthwhile production that should be further developed.

Palindrome is Cambridge University Musical Theatres Society’s latest Edinburgh Fringe offering. The production is a little underwhelming in that it is rather confused in what the actual subject of the musical is, and seems to be throwing things at the plot in the hopes something will stick.Set in a small town that has recently come to host a large shipping warehouse, Hannah (Louella Lucas) must navigate the changing relationships with her co-workers and family as the local post office is threatened with closure due to the lack of letters being processed. The closing of the post-office comes off as an afterthought that the main character - Hannah - falls into during the last ten minutes of the show, most likely an attempt to turn the musical into a kind of ‘David against Goliath’ dig at conglomerates, it’s not particularly clear. It’s really hard to tell what we should take away from this show, because on one hand it’s very low stakes but on the other it seems to insert all of these different social issues and messages about identity, relationships and capitalism that make it seem a lot more sophisticated than it is. The very 2010s, almost Eliza Doolittle-esque score doesn’t help with the confusion, making the overall musical seem both joyful and full of angst all at once, a score that after a few songs becomes a little formulaic in its instrumentals. A lot of different plot points are thrown together to cobble a coming of age story about saving a small business. The issues of Palindrome centre around Chekhov’s gun, the rule being if a gun is shown in Act 1, it must then go off in Act 2. Another way of putting it is that everything shown on stage must have a purpose and be tied up in the end. Palindrome does follow this rule to an extent, but ignores the issue at the centre of this musical with Hannah’s focus on palindromes in themselves and what it says about her as a character. From what we learn about her, it seems like she possesses many neurodivergent characteristics, but this is never confirmed or explored beyond her fascination of palindromes, and is eventually dismissed as selfish and self-absorbed by neurotypical characters including her mother, which is a severe mishandling of the musical's main issue and plot driver. Instead, Jas Ratchford and Neve Kennedy have tried to include a several other issues and themes but ignore the one at the very heart of their own musical. It would be a lot more meaningful if Palindrome did do more to develop and explore Hannah’s character, rather than the low stakes plot it currently has, which is a little unsatisfying. The cast are very talented singers, and they make the songs the best part of the musical. Their training is very apparent, something that Isaac Jackson in particular demonstrates very clearly, as he appears to use classical vocal techniques during his solo, proving that there really is no small role. Palindrome is a little messy but has a strong foundation to develop. Further steps would be to disentangle the plot and themes as well as develop the main character and make her a more active part of the show than she currently is.

In true Fringe spirit, The Oxford Belles bounced back from interruption to deliver an hour of punchy girl-power anthems partly marred by issues with balance and mixing.This all female and non-binary a cappella group definitely know their niche. I appreciated the blue ribbons on their costumes, and their choreography instantly brought back Pitch-Perfect nostalgia. Their medleys of big-hitting feminist chart-toppers are in turns sultry, joyful, and compelling celebrations of queer and feminine power complemented by evocative lighting and sassy, well-executed choreography.Unfortunately, a fire alarm put the brakes on this fast-paced show almost as soon as it had begun. The Belles didn’t let this interruption take the wind out of their sails, rallying together to take charge of the situation. They established clear new boundaries with the audience and wasted no time in bringing back their feisty feminist atmosphere.The Belles’ musical choices are commendable. They incorporate clear nods to the original songs, like the vocal percussion of Janelle Monae's Make Me Feel. At the same time, mashups and creative harmonies, like the almost cathedral-like setting at the beginning of You Don’t Own Me, take familiar songs to new and unexpected places. The arrangements, complemented by choreography, also consciously celebrate each singer’s particular talents and vocal qualities. From beatboxing to rapping, powerful high belts to mellow vocal tones, I was really impressed by the sheer range of talent on display. I particularly enjoyed the duets incorporated into medleys like Pynk. What’s better than a sassy diva solo? Two divas sharing the spotlight and uplifting one another in gorgeous harmony! Moments like these really embodied the messages of self-love, confidence and female friendship expressed in their song choices. It also matched well with the Belles’ values of empowerment, “Aca-ting Out” against traditional hierarchies of soloist and backing singer. Bravo! Where the performance didn’t quite live up to its potential was in its fuller sections, which sometimes felt more like eleven individual performances than a unified piece. I appreciated the decision to divide up solo moments, but it was at times difficult for the audience to follow the tune. More coordination of the tone and dynamics in those denser textures would further allow individual performances to shine. Similarly, the use of reverb, while definitely in keeping with the diva style, had the effect of slightly muddying the execution of up-tempo songs, as well as deeper and more staccato parts of the texture. There were also a few issues with pitch throughout, which jar the seamless illusion of any a cappella performance. That said, it's likely this will be ironed out in future, less stressful, performances. Similarly, there are particular challenges to achieving precise balance in new performance spaces.The Belles’ charismatic stage-presence and enthusiastic delivery were still able to shine through, particularly in their anthemic rendition of Independent Women. Their supportiveness of one another was constantly evident in their performance and their resilience. Aca-ting Out is a lively and uplifting hour full of heart and vocal potential – definitely worth a watch.

Thomas is excited about tonight; so excited that he has called his parents and his brother with the time to look out for biggest meteor storm in 33 years that will fill the night sky he adores. His obsessive passion and the fascination he has for stars, along with all the other stuff out there, is the sort of thing that might appear on his eponymous list: Everything That Annoys Me, and You. It doesn’t of course, because it’s his annoying trait, but it’s probably high on the list of his family’s and friends’ (if he has any) and if they are equally neurotic.He’s an amateur astronomer with a cheap telescope that nevertheless looks the part. He’s probably amateur at most things, including life itself. He has a detached relationship with both his mother and father and his phone calls to them usually end in some form of disagreement, with each call further fracturing their bonds. He’s deeply attached to brother Marky, however, but every attempt to call him is met with the same recorded apology for not being available followed by a bleep. Dan Daniels, both playwright and performer, reveals Thomas, or Tank, as he likes to call himself, as a self-conscious and nervous young man, given to rambling discourses that reveal his tensions and, of course, all those things that annoy him which he has listed in volumes of notebooks. It’s an odd, random collection of pet hates, but then that is in the nature of idiosyncrasies. As an expression of his eccentric mindset they serve their purpose, but they seem strangely unrelated to the thrust of the play, as does the title, which places undue attention on this one aspect the discourse. There is a far deeper side to this play that revolves around Tank’s mental health and his inability to reconcile himself to the realities of life and the circumstances in which he finds himself; to come to terms with his academic and social shortcomings and his inability to successfully communicate. He has a flat, a job and some existential moments, but he is still a loser. After some time spent wondering where this play is going and whether Romeo Rygolski’s direction is going to lift it to another level, the big twist occurs and the long build-up finally leads into the grand revelation. The various elements, however, lack a level of coherence that could be added to Tank's list of niggling little things.

Based on the short story by Charles Dickens, Unexpected Places Ensemble’s adaptation of The Signalman is a creative if confusing adaptation as the creative team tries to create a chilling atmosphere within the theatre. Re-told by a sudden visitor to an unnamed sleepy English town, we hear a story of an isolated Signalman, who is plagued by a spectre whose appearance precipitates a tragic event. The Signalman is a stylised tech-heavy theatre piece. The default setting is a blackout with the lights flashing every so often in order to show us the tableaus created by the cast, which is only brought into context by the sound effects and voiceover narration. The only problem with this is, being plunged into sudden darkness is not particularly scary, especially if it's repeated several times. The confusion at what is being shown onstage comes from the fact that the tableaux are not always particularly identifiable, but this problem mostly occurs when the voiceover goes into the narrator’s own musings rather than the events. Whilst all of this is an interesting artistic choice – to have the cast to act out scenes silently so that they almost become restless spirits in this reenactment – it’s not exactly chilling. There's a great lack of clarity surrounding the figure. At no point is it explained particularly well and we never quite make the connection about why it appears. Also, at some point it seems like there are two of them, or the ghostly figure is someone else. It’s also not a vengeful spirit in any sense, it’s just kind of there and it’s very possible that the creative team are trying to turn Dickens' story into something it’s not. It’s a unique attempt at trying to recreate a ghost story onstage. Unfortunately the creative team miss the point of what makes other theatre recreations of ghost stories so great; it’s not only the technical aspect by the unrestrained malevolence of the spirit. The Signalman is more of an exercise in how more stylised techniques can be used in theatre rather than a ghost story.

What a wonderful play is DNA. Dennis Kelly puts together a story akin to a modern and co-educational Lord of the Flies, digging deeply into characters and relationships to prompt reflections on human behaviour. The play was first presented in the Cottesloe at the National Theatre in 2007 and has become a staple of the GCSE Drama curriculum since then. No wonder, given the power of its storytelling.We meet a gang of schoolchildren, a wide range of characters. Something has happened. Someone is dead. The children must respond to events as they unfold and, as they respond, their characters take shape.The play is presented to us here by students from the University of Southampton, where theatre is clearly booming, one of a string of their productions at the Fringe. The production uses a series of boxes to set the scene - it is also simply but effectively costumed and lit.The company work together wonderfully as an ensemble, supporting each other very well and often physically, in a series of Frantic Assembly-style movement pieces. The relationship between the ruthless brooding Phil (Xander Searson) and gabbling Leah (Belle Priestley) is played out well by two excellent actors. Saskia Bindloss gives a nuanced performance as Mary, with a wonderfully judged pause just before she reveals who is in trouble. There are plenty of interesting and well judged performances delivered by the cast.At their best, the movement pieces so central to this production are excellent. We enjoy seeing Adam fall (is this intended to be a biblical reference?) and his movement through a dark passage is powerfully presented and interestingly lit. At times, however, the movement is overplayed and feels unnecessary, even unwelcome, such as in Leah’s flight piece. At one point, there is an effective shadowing piece with four couples mirroring Phil and Leah’s movements. How disappointing that these are all conventional male-female pairings, with the woman ultimately always sitting subordinate to the man. The movement is lovely but a chance to tell a more nuanced story of different types of relationship seems missed.As we approach the latter stages of the play, the performance becomes very heavy and loses the subtlety that has so effectively built early tension. There is too much shouting for me in this final third, and it takes away from the overall power of the piece. I would prefer more light and shade.At their best, the boxes are effective at facilitating set changes but at times, the process of redistributing the boxes to make a slightly different picture becomes overly lengthy, and the accompanying drawn out blackouts slow down the pace.Despite all this, the Company are doing the University of Southampton proud in this production and there is much to enjoy in a well told tale of child’s inhumanity to child.

This is a little treasure, the sort of performance that is easy to overlook but which enriches those who root it out. Dressed in a lush green velvet jacket, Neil O’Shea presents not just a one man show but a one man show-and-tech crew to tell the human story of Ireland’s perhaps most influential writer.The device here from writer-producer John O’Byrne is to use an extended monologue from younger brother Stanislaus to build a picture of the familial influences that helped to develop James Joyce, he of Ulysses fame. Much of the focus is on the father, and a picture is painted of a deeply traditional patriarchal set up. Mother gets just a passing reference, her reward for ten births and three miscarriages before her death at 44. But the father clearly sits astride the Joyce family, his favouritism for James driving forward the older boy while leaving younger brother Stanislaus (or Stanny) jealous, embittered and alienated. We hear the story of family life in Dublin, together with the brothers’ later relocation to Trieste. Stanny gives us James’ views on Wilde (popularity that is superficial and unsustainable) and Shakespeare (similar), together with the more domestic view of James’ literary alter ego Stephen Dedalus that “fathers were a necessary evil”.The language is rich and authentic, with a convincing voice found for a literary Irishman of the early 20th century who would go on to be a writer and Professor of English. “Fecundity was the Joycian norm”, we are told, with the family “always on the run from the bailiffs and the bankers”. Such lilt and flow is typical of the text. There is a gentle Irish wit sitting amidst a discourse that sometimes rambles but continues to engage. We hear of the distillery that went into liquidation, the accountant who couldn’t count, the meeting that was frictional but not fictional. It is as silky as Irish whiskey and slips down the ear very nicely indeed.What a lovely forty minutes this is, carried gently along as we are on a tinkling stream of Irish storytelling and reminiscing. Next stop should be a radio play or podcast but for today, it is a story well told and well suited to a James Joyce or literary enthusiast.

Ed Patrick starts his show Catch Your Breath with a simple, “I’m a doctor, so I’m running late,” a rather light-hearted, if telling, joke that puts us at ease with its self-deprecatory if depressingly realistic tone. This show is a great insight into what it means to be a junior doctor, and the pressures and failings of the NHS. Within the hour, Patrick manages to share stories that outline both the problems within the NHS and the ridiculous situations that a junior doctor might find themselves in. In Catch Your Breath, the overall delivery of the material is incredibly measured; they’re funny but they’re not hilarious, and the segues between topics aren't always entirely clear. The anecdotes are humorous, but there is an edge to them because Patrick isn’t just making observations for comedy, but he’s describing a very real problem with the NHS. And not in the funny final exam way that Patrick so helpfully – if a little shockingly – describes. Luckily, Catch Your Breath ends on a positive note, because otherwise this would be a slightly depressing show, one that would be difficult to laugh through.Because of this atmosphere that Patrick creates, some of the anecdotes do seem a little out of place, especially when Patrick describes some of the more awkward positions he has been in when training to be a doctor. Patrick shares scenarios and positions that no one should be in, but the note he ends on is hopeful enough, not necessarily to restore his faith or ours but to show that what we have is still better than nothing.

Ireland has magnificent spirit, particularly when supported by the French. This has been demonstrated throughout the centuries and is no less true in buzzing pro-European Ireland today. The high-spirited Garryowen attack strategy was named for an Irish rugby club, and if the two nations play to their very best, there is every chance that the forthcoming Rugby World Cup Final will see France and Ireland battle it out, this time in opposition. Irish spirit lives in the pubs and fiddle-players of the Temple Bar, in the music of the Dubliners, and in the lush green fields of the glorious West coast.And so a show by French entertainment company Indigo Productions promoting the Spirit of Ireland should sparkle and fizz with Irish spirit and energy. There should be history and folklore and mythology, cultural insight and ceaseless folk songs, held together by gentle Irish quips, all just for the craic.This production gives us a bit of this but just like the whiskey, the stories and the songs feel rather rationed out. The scene is set with a pub bar, a band in the corner and some wonderful barrels. The lighting is powerful and professional throughout. We are presented with a programme of Irish dancing and songs in rotation. A Landlord holds it all together, with the premise that he is passing his wisdom on to his son, together with the keys to the joint.There is much to enjoy. The five professional male dancers give exhilarating performances of Irish dancing throughout the show, magnificent in their footwork and boundless in their energy. They are by far the best thing on show. There is a haunting playing of the pipes, evocatively lit. A final rendition of The Parting Glass is lovely to listen to.And yet it all feels a bit transactional and formulaic, something designed for the tourists on a cruise ship outing into Dublin. Songs are rationed out one at a time when we are crying out for a medley. Some of the dancing feels like padding. And there is little cultural insight. The brush dance is great but what’s the story behind it? What were the pipes that were played? Who were all the Irish figures named by the Landlord? The role of girls in the show seems fairly old-fashioned - dance and be pretty so that the Landlord’s son can choose one for his father’s approval. Is the Irish spirit quite so misogynistic as this?I have an even bigger problem with the treatment of the Titanic in the show. The pub and the music bears all the hallmarks of southern Ireland, evoking Dublin and the surrounding countryside. And yet the Titanic is emphatically a Belfast achievement. We learn that the Landlord’s fictional grandmother was aboard, survived and came home, as if she had been on a light cruise for her health. But those Irish aboard the Titanic were emigrants travelling in third class, usually disadvantaged young men seeking a new life in America. The lazy treatment of this in order to create a link to the Landlord feels like cultural unawareness or insensitivity.If you fancy an hour of great dancing and a very few folk songs, you’ll have a pleasant Irish hour at this show. But like a good night in an Irish pub, you may not remember much about it in the morning.

Little Ward of Horrors, unfortunately, seems to somewhat fall into the category of sketch shows that sell tickets due to their name, The Malignant Humours. This 45 minutes of short sketch comedy turned out to be somewhat inconsistent in side-splitters and medical humour alike. Half the sketches were either unrelated to the title of the show or the selling point of it being ‘a medical comedy’. However, in saying this, that does mean the other half was what was to be expected and there was certainly laughter heard throughout.They had some undeniably original and surprising sketches, which were the highlights of the show and it’s fair to say there was definite promise if the same standard could have been held throughout. Whilst, some sketches seemed awfully close to past sketches by Monty Python or Lee Mack that could have been cut to make room for more original work.The performances by the cast were enjoyable to watch and their energy and enthusiasm were a substantial reason for many of the good sketches getting the quality reception they did. The musical numbers were possibly a step too far out of their comfort zone; although the lyrics were certainly funny and the musicians were surprising impressive the vocal strength did present itself as a slight distraction.The humour specific to the field of medicine and the life of a doctor was certainly what garnered the best reception. I think with a full 45 minutes that catered to their audience, their life experience, and what was expected when walking in the door they could have really created a show to be remembered.

Manikin is Saltire Sky’s latest production, following on from their acclaimed show – 1902. Manikin is a solo piece, written and directed by Nathan Scott Dunn and performed by Josh Brock. The play begins with a call for the protagonist, Fraser, to go back to the start and explain his life’s journey. Beginning with his birth, we are taken through key moments in Fraser’s development, centering primarily on his experience at school. Fraser is bullied because of his weight, and this affects his behaviour, which in turn creates further isolation.Much of the blame for this chain of events is placed squarely at the feet of Fraser’s mum. It becomes apparent that throughout her life, she has been dogged by issues surrounding her diet and lifestyle culminating in a diagnosis of type two diabetes. She regrets this, and often tells him ‘to do what I say; not what I do’, but lacking the awareness and resources to resolve her issues as a parent, she has unwittingly passed them on to her son who is now suffering the consequences.Josh Brock’s performance is powerful, emotionally committed and energetic – playing Fraser, his teachers, his friends, and most charmingly, his mum.There is understandably a lot of anger and resentment to be shared. At times, this can come across like a relentless tirade. The piece overall might therefore benefit from finding a little more performative and vocal variation.Manikin is not really a play about body-weight or diabetes or bullying. At the core, it’s an honest exploration of unresolved generational trauma, and how this affects our behaviour and well-being.In our own lives, it’s often hard to ‘see the wood for the trees’ in terms of our own psychology, but plays that zoom out to look at the bigger picture offer us a perspective that can be both useful and cathartic.

More written about than performed, this is a rare chance to see a version of Caryl Churchill’s 1997 play, This is a Chair.The play is famously oblique, consisting of eight independent scenes, each with a title card referring to an important political issue or event. However, the action of each scene has nothing to do with its title… or does it?Described as being ‘brought up to date’, this production highlights how the demands, and self-centredness, of our domestic lives push the world’s great events to the periphery of our attention.Scene titles have been changed from the original text. Some of the changes seem a bit pointless: Genetic Engineering becomes Designer Babies. Other changes are more significant - The Northern Ireland Peace Process becomes Meghan and The Press - or pointedly contemporary - The Impact of Capitalism on the Former Soviet Union becomes Russia’s Illegal Invasion of Ukraine.Each scene is followed by a pop music dance interlude, and the use of a soundtrack is significant. The audience is treated to a refrain of the insanely jaunty tune, Popcorn, which on each repeat becomes more sinister and jarring. The final scene (Russia’s Illegal Invasion of Ukraine), has no words in the text of the play, but is here soundtracked by a Putin speech, followed by real news broadcasts of the invasion and the ongoing war. Through all this, the actors stand silent, listening to their iPods.The acting is variable, though it gets better as the scenes progress. Some options of interpretation have been lost, like the sinister slant of some of the dialogue. However, a specific focus on the ‘attention deficit/ attention distraction’ issue is timely: something we all face and a problem that will only get worse.

Dead of Night by Hurly Burly is a traipse through gothic romantic literature in an exploration of the nature of humanity and monsters.A young girl is taken beyond The Edge to the world of sleep by two guides, where she meets a host of characters from classical literature that have been relegated to the role of ‘monster’ in their respective novels.As far as musicals go, Dead of Night is fine, and most of its weaknesses as a musicla stems fro, the fact that doesn’t quite make sense narratively. Whilst the distance that the dream creates to make the extraordinary believable, it’s not needed. In fact, it’s probably the weakest part of the musical. Sure, it explains Dead of Night’s thematic purpose, but in doing so, it’s a little patronising - we’re smart enough to figure it out for ourselves and the time could be used to add another character song. It’s very episodic but the characters explored in each song become clear very quickly, so we are able to make the most out of their direct speech and communication with us, telling their side of the story. There is definitely a development in the degree of monstrosity that each character has, increasing with each song, starting with Frankenstein’s Monster and ending with Dracula, whose He’s a Vampire (rather obvious) is by far the most fun in its ownership and boastfulness of the character’s evil deeds; a complete 180 from Frankenstein’s Monster’s angry ballet.The point of the show seems to be to explore human nature and how we decide what are monsters and what aren’t. A very abstract musical, Dead of Night, is a little tedious to watch.

This is a heartfelt piece, in which a group of intrepid teens set out to discover monsters… and discover them in the last place they thought to look.Fringe veterans Newbury Youth Theatre take us on a dreamlike journey through the myths and legends of sea creatures, dream-granting imps, and even dodgy Edinburgh tour guides as this enthusiastic bunch bounce around the stage, using a range of techniques to maintain audience interest. The most successful of these is the shadow puppetry which is deployed to tell the story of the Wulvers, a benevolent band of women who have a close kinship with wolves and help distressed travellers by sharing their catch with them. This was a delicate and engaging scene in which the nature of the Scottish folklore and the medium balanced beautifully to suggest the supernatural elements of the story.This is very much an ensemble piece, in which the spirited team ebb and flow together to showcase their nascent storytelling skills. Special mentions should be given to Amber Karasinksi, Millie Underwood and Henry Trigwell-Jones for confident and involving characterisations which maintain the pace of the narrative admirably. The mystical elements are punctuated by intense mini-monologues in which members of the cast relive the monsters in their own lives; in one of the live music interludes, Isabel Adams getting toes tapping with a catchy folk song dedicated to one of the characters. There is a scene stealing turn, too, from Hugh Farrel who chews the scenery with gleeful aplomb.Here Be Dragons is an interesting little number which works hard to pack in lots of dramatic surprises for its audience; and in the best spirit of the Fringe, allows us to showcase and support vibrant and emerging young performers.

A community of actors are staging a theatre version of Lars Von Trier’s film Dogville. But they want to question the film’s treatment of the powerless outsider and try to find a more tolerant way of unfolding the events of the film.The director-figure, Tom, has secretly found a candidate to play the part of the outsider. Graça is a Brazilian woman who has fled the semi-fascist regime of her country (the program notes make clear this was under the regime of Bolsonaro).Graça is plucked from the audience and brought on stage. Will the actors abuse this refugee in the same way as the character Grace is abused in Dogville? The play intends to grapple with many ambitious themes. Graça is a refugee, and the refugee context is touched on in the play. In the programme notes, the director, Christiane Jatahy, references the return of fascism to Brazil, and the world’s quiet acceptance of the growth of the extreme right. She writes of facism played out in the most intimate relationships.Unfortunately, the nature of this production undercuts the power of its themes. It’s made clear that we are watching actors playing the part of actors. So their reaction to Graça is scripted and not their ‘real’ reaction to an outsider. Moreover, the parable of Dogville is about holding personal and intimate power over a person, it relates to the Stanford prison experiment rather than the refugee situation. Clearly some refugees are horribly, personally abused, but the refugee issue is more about government policies and their popular acceptance, which relates to invisibility of refugees and the lack of personal interaction rather than abuse at a personal level.As to Tom’s experiment in finding tolerance for the outsider, I really can’t tell you what the result was. The actors are simultaneously filmed and displayed on screen. But we soon learn that the action on stage is not necessarily the action that appears on the screen. So in the most dark and upsetting moments from the film, the action on stage does not follow the worst aspects of Dogville, while on screen we see the actors copy the film fully. So does the community pull back from the brink, or do they follow their worst impulses? As an audience member it felt like we were viewing alternative possibilities. Christiane Jatahy writes that she uses the pre-recorded film to reference history. So have the events on the screen happened in the community previously? In which case has the action already occurred and the experiment is pointless?The closing scene of the play is the most emotional, where Graça reads aloud in 'her own language' her personal statement on fascism. This should have the power of authenticity, but by this time I was too distracted by wondering if this French speaking actress, pretending to be plucked from the audience, reading words that she had pretended to write during the play, was actually a refugee or just an actor reading a script.

Dogfight follows the exploits of three marines who are about to be deployed in the conflict in Southeast Asia. These boys are putting on a "dogfight", to see who can bring the ugliest date to the party. Thistle N’ Thorn Productions takes on this musical, by Pasek and Paul, composers of Dear Evan Hanson and The Greatest Showman with fierce enthusiasm and solid technique. This production followed the original story fairly closely, whilst having both a simple set and orchestration. They also created a slightly larger ensemble than you would see in some versions of the show, which was absolutely no detriment to the story.The level of performance was fairly apparent from the first full number, Some Kinda Time.The cast are incredibly energetic, throw themselves into their parts and are singing with charm, however, I could hear the harmonies crunching in certain parts where they shouldn’t be. Generally the ensemble cast did a good job supporting and would rarely distract or mess up their parts, as well as being honestly enjoyable to watch. It was just unfortunate that at times in their solo moments I felt slightly drawn out of the show, due to lack of character.The leads were understandably the standout performances in this show. Scott Binnie as Eddie put on the best performance, his vocals were rarely shaky and he managed to reach the high notes in Come Back with extraordinary clarity and precision. His performance was full of emotion, but he also brought the necessary charisma, especially when alongside Riodha Walsh, playing Rose. Walsh also put on a great performance and her solo was another incredible display of talent and vocal control. The show suffered slightly from being cut down from its original two hours and ten minutes, to the hour and a half that was performed. The pacing sometimes felt slightly rushed, however, I only noticed as the show concluded that I felt like something must have been missed. Overall, this is a good amateur performance of Dogfight and it’s possible with a few more runs under their belt, they could have something that would be far more difficult to fault. As it is, this is still a truly enjoyable watch.

Written by Kira Mason and directed by Matthew Attwood, Graveyard of the Outcast Dead is a musical play that tells a series of connected Gothic folktales.It's performed by a young, talented cast who work well together in using folkloric traditions and language to take us on an atmospheric journey. The play is not as frightening or spooky as the title suggests, but it does deal with dilemmas, suspense and mystery.There is also a strong, metatheatrical element: the narrative is disrupted by commentary and objections from the performers, bringing a refreshing feminist perspective to cultural medievalism which denied women their agency – a time when women were at best chattels, and at worst, persecuted as witches. For this reason, the story has a contemporary feel about it.Eilidh West gives a spirited performance as Blood; Alexander Tait plays the lover with a charming innocence; Olivia McIntosh plays Rust with a mixture of vulnerability and defiance; Brick is played by Clare Wootton who gives a feisty and pragmatic performance, driving the play forward; Ewan Burns uses a spritely energy throughout, but also manages a sinister malevolence when playing the wolf.The play has a lovely dreamlike quality, but, at times, this is used to veil some of the more confusing gearshifts, making the plot quite hard to follow.It’s heartening to see a show like this at Edinburgh - a young company cutting its teeth. And while the show needs some work, this is definitely the best place to present a first look.

Many people wish to be famous, successful, or simply stand out from the crowd. Mr Dennis, however, only ever dreamed of being ‘normal’, or at least the kind of normal dictated by his south west Kansas upbringing. This story is told in a show combining original songs with the story of how Mr Dennis pursued a ‘normal’ married life at the expense of his true identity as a gay man. Out of the three shows brought to the Fringe by Dennis Elkins, A Trilogy: blood (line) is the only musical, and the only one to see him joined on stage (in this performance he is accompanied by an assistant on the keyboard). This otherwise solo venture combines original songs with the kind of autobiographically inspired storytelling which will be familiar to anyone who has seen A Trilogy: bag-- or A Trilogy: box.The show opens with a jovial number that pays tribute to everyone who has had an impact on Mr Dennis’ life, whether positively or negatively. It’s a warm hearted performance that sets the scene for the generally gentle tale to come. Elkins is excellent at painting a picture for his audience. The characters he introduces – such as his piano-teaching grandmother (‘mom-mom’ as she’s known) – come lovingly to life through his recollections. That’s not to say that everything is sugar and spice; Elkins manages to avoid becoming saccharine. For example, the nautically inspired categories he places people into are not entirely complimentary. He describes some people as anchors: they ground you, but still give you the option to sail your own path when you need to. Others are moorings: securing you to a steady place, which might seem safe, but can also be very dangerous in a storm. He also says he occasionally meets a barnacle...let’s just say that’s code for someone who is really rather irritating indeed. These segments give the show some much needed edge, as well as an interesting framework to help you understand Mr Dennis’ outlook on the world.Elkins is reminiscent of a kindly uncle, enthusiastically telling you a story by the fireside, with a glint in his eye and a spring in his step. The songs are varied in style, although they’re unlikely to burrow their way into your memory. Perhaps the most successful is the humorous ballad dedicated to his mom-mom’s formidable bridge playing neighbour, an arch exaltation performed with glorious gusto and receiving plenty of laughs as a result.Although there is one brief but moving allusion to the AIDs epidemic in the 80s, Elkins likes to keep his narrative light-hearted for the most part. It’s clear to see that he has a glass half full approach to life, and is happy with the outcomes he’s reached so far. However, living a closeted life, the loss of his son, the break-up of his long-term marriage (even if it’s clearly for the best): these events all feel as though they are deprived of their expected emotional weight. Elkins clearly has the acting chops to not always have to be so whimsical, and it would be interesting to see him draw deeper into his range to bring more contrast between the light and the dark times recounted.Seen just on its own, A Trilogy: blood (line) is a testimonial to the fact that there’s no one right way to live your life, as long as it’s lived with compassion and an open mind. Seen alongside the two parts of the ‘trilogy’, you get to understand another piece of Mr Dennis’ puzzle only alluded to in the other works. Either way, this hour spent with Dennis Elkins is unlikely to change the world, but it’ll reassure that it really doesn't matter if you’re ‘normal’ or not.

There’s popcorn and candyfloss on sale as the audience make their way into the Lafayette big top at Underbelly’s Circus Hub. A mic’d-up carnival barker is giving it the hard sell and ensuring there’s a long line of families ready to fork out £3 per portion. As I had made a point of arriving early for this sold-out show, I watch this for over 20 minutes and realise that there’s possibly more money to be made in sideshow snacks than circus stunts. But now that the children have been filled with sugar and expectations are high, we open with a Rube Goldberg machine that kicks things off and sets the stage for what is clearly going to be a very silly show.The Revel Pucks provide a fun and energetic hour of classic circus with a hint of a contemporary edge. Highlights include Annie Bachman bringing a hint of classic flying trapeze on the cloud swing, a fun ensemble tumbling routine with a swinging chainsaw, and a beautiful straps routine from Imani Vital. Fiona Thornhill’s cyr wheel act is solid and draws applause and gasps but it’s preceded by a skit where the wheel has supposedly gone missing and not much happens until it’s resolved without any punchline when the wheel is simply rolled onto the stage. A hand to hand acrobatics routine is perfectly serviceable but it’s essentially a huge man lifting a tiny woman which is a bit of a played-out cliché from which most contemporary circus has been trying to avoid. Unfortunately, one of the opening gags is a male-presenting cast member in a dress. It gets the requisite laugh, but it feels cheap. I would hope that we’re past “bloke in a dress” being a punchline in itself and when the performer then spends the rest of the show in clearly male-coded clothing, I’m left to wonder what was the point? We get a similar moment later in the show when Luke Hallgarten draws a laugh from the audience by stripping off their outfit to reveal a sparkly leotard before performing an admittedly fantastic juggling routine.The star of this circus is Arielle Lauzon’s often put upon clown. Lauzon is the hardest-working person in the show as they work the audience with playful charm, run around cleaning up after the rest of the cast, and literally flip around the stage in a very cute battle with a cuddly lion. The interactions with the lion seem to be the main thrust of the show’s theme and every time Lauzon is on stage is a highlight. The Revel Puck Circus: The Wing Scuffle Spectacular is a long enough title, and in an opening voiceover duologue, we’re told that there’s another subtitle: Lionheart. The intention being that this show is all about facing your fears. It’s a lovely concept for a circus show aimed at children but, apart from a couple of routines which attempt to show the performers struggling with fear of what they're about to do and the ongoing battle between Lauzon’s clown and the toy lion, the theme is generally ignored by most of the acts. The show as a whole feels disjointed and more like a series of vignettes rather than an integrated performance. The set-up and striking for each routine is often clumsy and drawn out with little to engage the easily distracted children in the audience. With some tighter direction or a little work from a dramaturg, this could be an incredible show with a real message about facing your fears, no matter how small. I’ll be watching this young company with interest and genuinely expect great things.

A song cycle inspired by the photographs of Matthew Murphy, 35MM: A Musical Exhibition is a unique concept and the perfect choice for the Edinburgh Festival Fringe. The music covers a range of genres, themes, tempos, and emotions, giving Musicality’s five-person cast the chance to experiment and push themselves to the limit. It’s also a slightly eerie musical at times, lending itself well to the cellar venue in which it was housed.Anyone who has attempted to sing along with the original Broadway album will know that the pieces are deceptively tricky. Despite the passion and enthusiasm of the ensemble, there were quite a few sticky moments - particularly in reaching high harmonies or sustaining long notes during the more dramatic power ballads. That being said, each performer gave it 100% and I’m excited to watch their talent grow and develop at future Fringe events.Some particular highlights included Riley Halls Backler’s comedic portrayal of a nanny in Coralee, the intense and bizarrely supernatural duet between Backler and Evie Mace in Twisted Teeth, and the captivating dramatisation of Leave Luanne. At times the female voices were drowned out by the male leads, something that might have been solved with microphone assistance, but the performers of Twisted Teeth did a wonderful job of matching each other’s level and really convincing us that vampires deserve love.The Ballad of Sara Berry, a real favourite for fans of the original musical, fell a little flat when Bella Crowne’s melody was drowned out by the ensemble, and at times it seemed like the performers were more focused on their own part of the harmony than in listening to each other. I’m sure a longer run at the Fringe would have ironed out many of these problems, so it’s a shame that their last show was on Saturday 12th.Overall a very passionate ensemble with a bright future ahead. I’ll be on the lookout to see what Musicality bring to Edinburgh next year!

If you still chuckle at those Twilight memes making fun of Kristen Stewart’s awkward portrayal of Bella Stark, or harbour some nostalgia for the immortal (and problematic) YA series, then Dusk: A Bite-Size Love Story should be top of your list for the last few days of the Fringe.Morgan Kennedy and Daniel Ruffing have put together a lengthy original musical with a lot of entertaining moments and pop culture references. Fans of the original book and movie series will enjoy spotting little tributes - like Bella’s famous cactus and inability to use a ketchup bottle - as well as bigger scenes, like the famous baseball game set to punchy music with an energetic and well-choreographed dance number. While the parody element is pretty strong, the music is quite bland and the songs feel indistinguishable from each other. But musical lovers will appreciate the subtle homages to famous Broadway shows like Wicked, Hamilton, and Les Miserables.Some creative choices throughout the show include: replacing the car crash scene with an interpretive dance, creating a passionate but unrequited romance between Charlie and Carlisle, and using cast members in morph suits to fill in as props, other characters, and even the elements! The entire cast seems so committed to background acting that they often overshadow the main characters, but this adds to the general loopiness and fun of the whole experience. At almost two hours, the show is absolutely too long and would do well to condense to just the strongest scenes, perhaps removing the narration interludes, for a tighter performance that leaves the audience wanting more. Overall, an enthusiastic cast giving a tongue-in-cheek performance of an iconic fantasy series.

With so many improv troupes at the Edinburgh Fringe, it’s difficult to set yourself apart especially when you’re competing with the likes of Austentatious and Showstoppers!. Hysterical Artefacts is a comedy improv show where the troupe is given a historical time period and an object as prompts to create a show around.It’s difficult to know what to expect when going to watch improv. We have to expect, of course, that there will be some stumbling, reaching, doubling back etc. but the Bronze Age seemed a particularly tricky time period for the troupe. Jack, the Curator is there to make sure scenes don’t drag and that the cast work towards a conclusion. Why he decides to pick the Bronze Age and the contradictory object of steel as the suggestions to go with is not entirely clear, but the troupe do their best to make sure that we enjoy ourselves.There are a few members of the troupe that are a few steps ahead of the rest, trying to create songs that rhyme out of thin air, figuring out why steel is called steel in this universe that they create and basically creating a legal drama that is the high point of the entire show. They challenge each other in order to move the plot along, and really commit to the ‘yes and..’ rule of improv, which leads to amusing results.There are better improv shows than Hysterical Artefacts, but there are also worse ones. There is fun to be had here, as it is ultimately an increidbly ambitious task that the group set for themselves here.

This intensely personal show is a fascinating performance with hints of a lecture about it and a suggestion that it is really an audience, in this case with Simeon Morris, as he invites us to share his space and life.Morris says of the show, “Essentially, Square Peg is an ouroboros, a snake eating its tail. It charts the story of my life, really, since coming out of a fairly traumatising childhood, how I set about trying to get love and attention through making beautiful objects and then trying to get people to love me through those objects”. His creations are mostly in the forms of dresses, several of which adorn the stage on mannequins, and some leather handbags, a material he discovered later in life and which he found to have a special appeal and that required a different method of working.He demonstrates a small part of his skill when cutting a square of muslin that is dramatically transformed into the basis of a flowing dress, with the deft use of a pair of giant scissors. He explains the important art of cutting on the bias, that give dresses the ability to stretch yet hold their shape. Depending on your upbringing, (mine was with a dress-making mother), there are potentially many moments in the show that will revive often fond memories of childhood. Morris’ early years and several decades that followed were not so happy. They were characterised by trauma, abuse and loneliness that left him yearning for love and belonging; for being part of family and for enjoying the intimacy it might bring; for finding a situation that would quell the heartfelt craving to be seen and cherished.But these were not forthcoming and so the image of the ouroboros enters his mind; the realisation that perhaps the answer lies not in others but within himself and the power of poetry. He learns Hardy’s The Darkling Thrush that talks of ‘blessed Hope’; something which another knew, but of which the writer was unaware and Morris seeks.His style is conversational, laid back, reflective and understated; perhaps even too underplayed for a show, but the openness he has in sharing so much of his life is captivating.

On the surface, this is yet another 'coming out' story. This time, the 'boy' is Australian, the conservative parents are from Brisbane, the bars are in Melbourne and the apps are Grindr and Hinge. Having once experienced love as a teenager, the ‘boy’ heads to the big city, trying to find it again. In the process of doing so, he has to navigate the universally confusing transition into adulthood, with the added obstacles of gay shame and homophobia while trying also to balance the (sometimes opposing) exigencies of his heart and his libido. No wonder life seems tough.The pressure makes him anxious, exciteable and needy.Everything comes to a head when a health emergency causes him to go back home to visit his parents, and this precipitates an outbreak of emotional honesty within the family. This represents the boy's first step towards integrating so many conflicting internal and external demands. He begins to realise what he has to do.There are some nice moments in Rupert Bevan’s writing - particularly the tender descriptions of the boy's teenage crush; the somewhat confusing demands of his gender studies course, and the brief moments of honesty with his ailing father. We realise that the search for identity comes not from associating with any particular social group, identity label or political movement, but in having the freedom and the courage to identify as ourselves - nothing more and nothing less.Bevan gives a lively and engaging performance, holding the stage single-handedly. He veers easily from high camp and flirtation, to moments of vulnerability and confusion. The question for me is this: do we need to see yet another play about the struggle for an individual to express their sexual identity with integrity and without shame? Unfortunately, until social attitudes and parenting skills have reached a point where coming out is no longer a traumatic event, I think we do. If theatre is a place where we process, or come to terms with trauma, then seeing this kind of play repeated - albeit with different characters, different locations, different music and different humour - is entirely necessary. And Rupert Bevan should be applauded for doing so.

ERA Productions returns to the Fringe this year with a familiar act that sees the lively quartet of Megan (Mia Taylor), Nicole (Catherine Hutchinson), Amy (Abi Price) and Olivia (Molly King) – whose various personalities quirks and clashes provide the bulwark of the humour – relish in the chaos of nightclubs, hangovers, and Ricky Martin in a mishmash display of female camaraderie, set to the tune of noughties classics. Vividly displaying the pitfalls of booze-fuelled party resort shenanigans that test the group’s friendship, the all-female production is pleasant and energetic, resembling a cross between The Inbetweeners and Derry Girls. Calling this a musical, in the conventional sense, would be disengenous as it angles closer to a noughties-themed hen-do singalong. And like any hen-do it sounds like, well, as you’d imagine: a group of drunken women singing karaoke poorly. And surely, as the title suggests, poorly sung drunken lyrics are what one expects in Magaluf, which the well-choreographed inter-clubbing scenes purposefully imitate in unnervingly accurate fashion, complete with an assortment of inflatable props.Surely that’s the point though, isn’t it? Drunken crooning on a shooter-saturated night out on the Magaluf strip? But in various places the show attempts genuine musical talent without invoking this deft sense of irony, offering a confusing fallacy. Perhaps the billing’s conceit is to blame, but any attempt by the cast to offer genuine Broadway talent is immediately rebranded a singalong given the memory of wandering pitch on many other numbers. Truly, it is this cheesiness which makes the act so appealing – especially on the cringey, thoroughly butchered but hilarious rendition of Shaggy’s It Wasn’t Me – but something it inconsistently exploits.The show rarely misses an easy, clichéd noughties target – Shrek, Britney Spears, and Peter Andre to name a few millennial tokens – but these are what make it enjoyable, eliciting laughter and applause from the audience in its infectious, happy-go-lucky nostalgic appeal to bygone days of Busted and Girls Aloud pre-2008 crash.Ultimately, the crux of the show rests upon the purported choice of genre: Musical? Drama? Comedy? One Week in Magaluf eagerly strives to be all three in one, but succeeds in stretching itself thin in its 50-minute slot, weakening the end product. Does it show promise in any one of these genres? Absolutely. The story – though messy in places – is moderately engaging; there is strong acting output from the likes of King in her portrayal of the prudish Olivia, reminiscent of Motherland’s Amanda; lighting and sound is well orchestrated; there is versatility and raw musical talent from Price in her portrayal of the boisterous and flirtatious Amy; and there is a goldmine to be exploited in the comedic writings of director Amy Nic. As a piece of musical theatre, it is regrettably benign, lacking a rudder to steer it towards conceptual gratification. But as a bustling noughties throwback brimming with vitality and catchy numbers, it is otherwise a fulfilling performance that strikes many a chord with its audience.

Certain Death and Other Considerations is a poor execution of an interesting premise. What is initially a novelty becomes confusing as the stakes for Armageddon are lowered by the fact that none of the characters will be alive to see it happen.80 years before the end of the world, two couples - Tom (Scott Lipman), Krysta (Kyrie Dawson) and Steph (Emma Pierce Rempel) - try to live life with the looming spectre of the apocalypse hanging over them. Certain Death and other Considerations follows how this knowledge affects their choices and relationships. There's a dark, biting kind of humour that underwrites the play, the kind of banter that occurs between close friends.There is a philosophical argument here; is it ethical to bring life into a world that is doomed? It’s a question many young people today are asking themselves, and there is an exploration of this moral quandary throughout the show, but it keeps going around in circles. There’s a brief, vague explanation of the countdown, but it feels like that is the most interesting part of this play, and in the end, I would’ve preferred to hear more about the events surrounding the apocalypse or how the 80 years was calculated in the first place rather than following the lives of couples who are just ordinary and underwhelming in comparison. Also, the fact that the world’s supposed to end after the couples’ own lifetimes makes everything a little less urgent. The focus is too broad for the time frame allocated, and more world-building is needed, and would frankly be more interesting to watch. The non-linear structure is a little confusing as the years jump around, and the action doesn’t particularly indicate this clearly. At some point the structure choice registers, but pretty late in the show. There always seems to be something we’re missing or just not shown but it’s hard to know if it’s because of the structure or the script. The overall concept of Certain Death and Other Considerations is curious, but the characters themselves are rather bland and because of the time frame, the sense of urgency that the characters are constantly trying to communicate never really presents itself.

It was a long and winding road, but by the time I left David Colvin’s Thunderstruck, I was – well. It does what it says on the tin. In getting there, though, we seemed to pass through several different shows. Was it an introduction to bagpipes for an international audience? A music lesson? An auto-biographical solo show exposing the hazing and alcoholism rife in the piping world? A hagiography? A concert? All of the above?Colvin’s triple subjects are the bagpipes, himself, and Gordon Duncan, a legendary but controversial bagpiper who revolutionised the instrument before taking his own life in 2005, at the young age of 41. Given the centrality of the instrument to both Colvin and Duncan’s lives, it makes sense to start with some introduction which is the point at which you will suddenly realise why exactly you’ve never heard a bagpipe indoors before. It is LOUD, and the three-piece band backing Colvin is mixed to match. If extremely loud noise is a deal-breaker for you, turn back now. The groundwork laid, we proceed into the tale of Colvin’s love of the pipes and constant bullying by the older boys in the band, alongside his school band’s ascent into travelling the world-class competition circuit and the brushes with Duncan he had. Colvin tells the beginning of the story like a comedy, a hard line to draw when bullying and alcohol feature so prominently, though the comedy slowly fades away as the violence escalates. The story also complicates Duncan, introducing him with outrageous anecdotes of piping escapades (“all true,” the Gordon Duncan Memorial Trust cheerfully claims) before shading into more personal stories of encountering both Duncan’s genius and alcoholism up close, in the sort of glancing encounters whose memory is entirely one sided. Colvin imbues his tale of first seeing Duncan play with and deep pathos.Colvin’s performance is strong and his stories are absolutely worth hearing, but his pacing left me a bit confused. The early part of the show felt weighed down by exposition – including an extremely drawn-out bit explaining the acceptability of the word ‘cunt’ in his home county of Fife clearly targeted at an tourist audience. By the end however, I was struggling to keep up with the complexity of his timeline and feelings as the focus of the show shifted from his own experience writ large to specifically his memories of Duncan. The emotion was absolutely there, but I’d be hard pressed to recount the tale in order.The song that gives the show its name and elicits the titular feeling is an AC/DC tune which Duncan adapted for the pipes, in Colvin’s words “transforming them into a heavy metal electric guitar.” While the effect is perhaps less shocking than it was when Duncan premiered the tune – the Red Hot Chili Pipers have built a global career on the same premise – it is no less stunning. You’ll never look at a bagpipe the same way again.

Boasting the tagline, “who hasn’t thought about killing an ex?”, Emilie Biason’s I Killed My Ex shows us about the practical difficulties involved in such an endeavor.After being left at the altar, Tina (Alexandra Ricou) and her best friend, Lola (Rachelle Grubb) scramble to hide Tina's ex-fiancee's (Matthew) body, racing against eagles and being found out by the police. It’s a dark comedy that comments on the nature of relationships, mental health and social expectations.Biason’s writing has an underwritten dry wit which is created by utilising the 'ordinary people in extraordinary situations' trope. The main problem is that this show doesn’t know how to navigate serious topics lightly, and its dramatic shift in focus and tone brings the show down in pace and loses whatever it is that makes it interesting in the first place, especially considering the fast paced and stylised scenes we’ve already seen. These stylised scenes work well to maintain our interest because I Killed My Ex is so dialogue-heavy, we're constantly being told what's going on that in order for us not to just switch off, there needs to be some differentiation - all of which occurs right at the beginning after the point where we can leave. The second half of the hour is completely relegated to exposition and it becomes incredibly repetitive. By the end, everything that we believe in the beginning has been contradicted, all character development is undone and the novelty of the situation has worn off. The comedic capabilities of Ricou and Grubb make for an interesting give and take between their characters which they build on the characters’ completely opposing personalities. Their straight-faced delivery of one liners provides some amusement. I Killed My Ex aims to be and do everything, which is ultimately its downfall. Not every show needs to be profound or have depth, and this one is an example of just that. Sometimes comedy can be comedy without having to speak to larger messages, and if something more profound is written, it needs to be given the proper time to develop and not just thrown in.

Mix one of cup of Eat, Pray, Love with three tablespoons of The Best Exotic Marigold Hotel and you’ll get something a little like A Trilogy: bag--, one of three standalone shows from Dennis Elkins at theSpaceUK.Feeling lost and looking for an epiphany, Mr Dennis is charmed enough by the sparkling smile of a Belgium friend to decide to explore India for a month upon his recommendation. Despite considering himself to be well-travelled and open-minded, he finds himself completely overwhelmed and bowled over by India.It’s easy to get carried away by Elkins’ narration, undimmed even by the warmth of the venue, which bubbles over with irrepressible energy. In full storytelling mode, we join Mr Dennis on his Asian adventure, but it’s not all miracles and Maharajas. In fact, much of it seems to be pretty miserable. We often get to hear the audio of his inner thoughts: a bold move as they appear to be transparent and unfiltered. As a result, they are sometimes mean and fearful, and often negative and complaining, as his conventional sensibilities are shocked by his experiences. He feels as though he’s been thrown into the deep end: having to sleep on concrete slabs, forced to relieve himself in public, and left slightly disappointed by the previously unannounced appearance of his good looking Belgian friend’s girlfriend and their Indian companion, which transforms a presumed pairing into an unexpected quartet.There’s a purpose to this griping: the timing of his journey corresponds with the 2016 American elections. Yes, the one which saw President Trump claim a place in the White House. As an American, white, man on the other side of 50 and brought up in a relatively conservative and traditional Kansas home, Elkins uses bag to examine what makes his compatriots embrace the rhetoric of fear over love. Although he considers himself to not have “a racist bone” in his body, and feels he is more inclined to love than to hate, he is vulnerable enough to admit to foibles he believes he shares with those venerating a different kind of elephant. Upon further examination, it seems that he hates more than he thought: there’s mosquitos for a start, and taking his clothes to the laundrette, among a host of other annoyances. Trying to understand the perspective of Trump voters, he comes to a realisation that fear, ripe for exploitation, is never far away for those feeling out of place.This critical assessment of himself and his own privileges as a white American of European descent is to be applauded: not everyone in his position has this level of introspective insight. However, although his final conclusion is a positive and hopeful one, it draws a rather simplistic portrait of a country as diverse and complex as India. Calling the locals he encountered people who were “always smiling” despite their difficulties is a hackneyed encapsulation. In the end, this can only be the perspective of one white American man in India, a singular personal journey. In lesser hands, it might feel too clichéd, but Elkins has a self-depreciating charm and warm sense of humour that makes him a very enjoyable travel companion.

God Done Opened the Sky is Jersten Ray Seraile's tale of young boy realising that his inner world and outer world are painfully conflicted – the way he sees himself is not the way that others see him.The maternal figure in the play instills faith into the young boy, and thus creates his unbreakable connection to the divine. The connection opens up many unforeseen pathways and leads the protagonist down a magical route of discovery – where he connects with powerful previously unseen ancestors who offer him wise counsel.The story has a lot of potential and Seraile, even more. I really think that Jersten would shine brightly, even amongst a stage full of talented actors (like himself), but I'd lose the one-man show, especially for a concept like this, it was just all a bit too confusing.Yes, this is a one-man show, and Jersten Ray Seraile's energy is certainly enough to keep you entertained throughout. However, I believe that the story would have been a little easier to follow had there been some more actors on the stage. Having just said that, I understand the logistics behind including more people in a stage performance, and the practical simplicity that a one-man show brings. So I believe that Seraile did the best with what he had (himself and the lighting designer). I would recommend the show if you had some free time in the late afternoon, but don't expect too much (think minimalism and the blissful peace of mind which accompanies it) and be prepared to be entertained by Jersten Ray Serailes's inspired performance.

Dancer and performer Elliot Minogue-Stone presents pop art, contemporary dance and cabaret in his brand-new mish-mash show, Groovicle at Zoo Southside.He runs his own tech desk and has perhaps the most laid-back, informal and casual of openings to any show at the Fringe. It’s a style he sustains throughout his performance that sometimes makes it difficult to appreciate that this is actually a show rather than an invitation to just pop round and meet him for a chat and pickle: he opens a fresh jar each day and invites us to partake. It’s an interesting gimmick, but one gets the feeling that biscuits might have gained more partakers.A series of seemingly unrelated. random scenes take us on a journey or, as he describes it, a ‘search of collective discovery about who we are, what we like and how we co-exist’. Nothing that profound seems to exist but there is a jolly interlude when he sings over the ever-amusing The Laughing Policeman, revising the 1922 Charles Penrose song and choosing people to join him in the chorus of laughter; for a few stirring up fond memories of listening to the the record on the gramophone. Somehow, St Teresa of Ávila is roped into the discourse along with a holdall containing mementos from his life; odd and ends; bits and pieces; Geraldine the puppet and various T-shirts. OK, time for a dance. And he takes to his feet to perform one of a number of routines in contemporary style with hints of classicism that presumably express more of himself, for the show is indeed all about him and verges on the self-indulgent. But that too is a reflection of his life that goes back to compensating for wasted time in his childhood classroom by devising games; to overcoming his stutter by using the language of music and dance to express himself.The gigs he invented in those early years seem to have flowed into adulthood, where he still relishes putting stuff together in an attractively quirky show that is oddly pleasing. And don’t forget, as he points out, that to add to his credibility he is the son of the ‘comedy legend’ Ian Stone who also has a show here this year.

Chopped Liver and Unions tells the story of workers’ activist and trades unionist Sara Wesker, now largely lost to the footnotes of twentieth century history, but in her time a noted crusader for equal rights and social reform. Born into the East End of London in 1901, this firebrand campaigner is brought to life in an appealing performance by Lottie Walker; with support from James Hall on a piano which both signposts major events in her life and echoes of the solidarity songs of the picket line.A century on from the events recounted, and the themes still have strong resonance: strikes, equal pay for women, the value of immigration, the audacity of the far-right. This leads us to an uneasy sort of reassurance that the more our battles have changed, the more they have stayed the same: and an inevitable frustration that despite the very best efforts of some of the fiercest radicals of the time… not enough has improved for the (wo)man in the street.Wesker’s charm endeared her to all who met her. A friendly and accomplished machinist on the shop floor, she was also an intelligent and impassioned speaker whose energised oratory mesmerised her seasoned Communist comrades, and a community stalwart whose ability to converse with the older Jewish workers in their Yiddish mother tongue helped to engage a wider demographic in the cause. Her skills in militancy and negotiation led to several successful walkouts, and she became something of a celebrity in the East End throughout the 1920s and 30s.Lottie Walker guides us through Wesker’s life and works: the strikes, a doomed relationship with Union activist Mick Mindel, and her presence at the Battle of Cable Street. Indeed, so intoxicating was her personality that her nephew Arnold would later commit Sara to literary as well as political history as one of the lead characters in his 1956 play Chicken Soup with Barley. The play chronicles those pivotal moments at Cable Street, in which East London rejected Fascism: and looking back, there seems to be an inevitability that it premiered the very year in which angry young voices began to reshape British theatre on behalf of the working man.This is a lovely and well-researched little piece, whose central message is delivered with a brisk cheeriness and good humour which gives a good insight into the sort of woman Sara was, and why it is important we revisit her contributions to society.

The 20 seater upstairs theatre at Riddles Court provides a suitably tight space for The Typewriter, a play based in a cramped office. There’s enough room for WWII propaganda writer Harry Thomas (Tom Browning), his chair and the desk on which sits the noisy period typewriter whose sound creates memories of a bygone age. Another chair accommodates either his assistant, Angeline Edmund (Charlie Upton) his wife Mary Thomas (Esme Jennings) or evacuee Eddie Smith. It’s fortunate that there are only a couple of occasions when more than two people need to squeeze in.Harry fought in WWI and has good reason for not being on the front this time but this doesn’t prevent him from being vilified. His rigid disposition and stressed condition suggest a man with both OCD and PTSD, but those are just incidental. He is overworked, often spending nights in the office,much to the annoyance of his wife. There is an undercurrent that she expects him of having an affair with Angeline, but that never surfaces. The glares the two women exchange as they pass by each certainly leave us in no doubt that there is no love lost between them. Browning portrays just how difficult it is to live and work with Harry, given his focussed attention on his job and his mind full of secrets that he has to guard. Upton brings a classic interpretation of the secretary, dutifully obeying orders and being respectful. Jennings plays the devoted wife, but also exudes the frustration Mary must feel in living with a man who is distant and for whom children are anathema. The announcement of thousands of evacuees coming from London turns their world upside down and Eddie comes to live with them. The outcome of this cocky fourteen-year-old’s arrival is fairly predictable in changing Harry’s attitude towards children and bringing about a mellowing of his disposition. It’s here that various elements of credibility set in. Allowing for blind casting, it is still disconcerting that Browning is far too young to play Harry and Leigh to old and physically mature to play Eddie. Given the etiquette of the day it’s unlikely that Eddie would speak in such a familiar and insulting way to an older stranger in whose house he is a guest and the transformation that occurs in Harry seems to happen far too quickly.The Typewriter has been created by a cohort of seven creatives from Liverpool Institute for the Performing Arts and the quality of acting and production is of the usual high standard associated with LIPA. There is certainly material here for a fuller piece and indeed, it already forms a sequel to an earlier work, The Bunker.

Describing itself as “a retelling of Rapunzel” for the climate age, Debating Extinction, the first of a double bill entitled Climate Fables, by Padraig Bond, contains several interesting ideas, though presented in a format which doesn’t always allow them to realise their full potential.Miranda and Susan are a mother/daughter pairing surviving on their own in a climate apocalypse. Whilst Miranda seeks to recultivate the earth’s nature and waits for permanent human extinction, Susan longs to escape to the remaining pockets of civilisation alongside her lover Teddy and their unborn child. A compelling emotional core, showing the very human impact of an often-abstract debate about our potential future, the show is at its best when this emotional core is allowed to sit, particularly with the dynamic of the hopeful Teddy and the slightly cautious Susan. However, it is undercut at times by unfitting attempts to introduce elements of mystery and the supernatural into a script which doesn’t need it to succeed.Despite the small stage often making certain scenes feeling a bit cramped, the cast is able to clearly present the impact of a world ravaged by climate change. Kirsten Hoffman’s description of Miranda’s desire to bring back the colour of nature to a world rotted by climate change helps to sell the regret of what was lost, whilst Tibor Lazar’s Teddy presents a strong sense of hope with an interesting description of the world beyond the limited setting of the piece. Penelope Dean’s Susan sells her feelings towards Teddy and her mother well along with the difficulty of the decision she must make, whilst making the emotional impact of giving birth in a world left for dead abundantly clear.Whilst the story at points becomes a little confused and some elements slow down the pace, the core is certainly strong. With a focus on human relationships, Torch Theatre brings to life not only the consequences of our actions on climate change, but the very human decisions those who are left to deal with our actions may have to make themselves.

Set in the unconscious mind of a tortured poet, Mahan Nikbakhsh’s new play Lost in Translation examines cultural and intellectual disconnection that seeks to unpack the British-Iranian experience.The Poet protagonist is in a coma and the audience are guided through the story via vignettes of conversations in his own mind with two separate, self-created characters: a lover and a critic. It is deeply introspective and cryptic, with consistent tongue-in-cheek wordplay that gently reiterates the poet’s self-examination that is continually lost in translation.The play is loosely inspired by the writing of Sadeq Hedayat and how famously challenging, near impossible, it is to accurately translate his work into English. The themes in his most prominent poem The Blind Owl are echoed in Nikbakhsh’s depiction of his poet’s fraught relationship with his imaginary lover. Though she rejects and criticises him, he soothes himself still by dreaming of their love-making, much to his inner-critic’s despair.The play conveys the protagonist’s avoidance of his Iranian roots using intriguing mechanisms. The personification of his inner critic questions him about his family and at one point even forces him to physically interact with a momentum from his childhood, which he does so reluctantly.The dialogue is well-written and convincingly depicts intimate relationships between the poet and the two characters in his mind with witty sarcasm and irony. Overall, however, it seems the play has more to offer in conception than in practice. The script slightly misses the mark of the writer’s aim as it spends a wealth of time discussing the poet’s pompous character rather than the tension between his Iranian heritage and British upbringing. This is not to say that the commentary is not present, but it builds relatively late in the storyline, making the viewer question where the plot is heading.Lost in Translation would welcome more of Nikbakhsh’s insightful comment on cultural isolation and what it means to belong that goes beyond his protagonist’s struggle with intimacy and disillusionment from his poetry. It is an engaging watch that leaves you wanting to know more.

How To Survive and Thrive in an Impossible World – With a Piano! is a self-help, group-therapy show that really doesn’t tell us anything that we haven’t seen before. Essentially what happens during this show is that Steve Bonham and Christopher ‘the Bishop’ Lydon talk through a series of self-help techniques to help us improve our lives and increase our potential. In between their banter there are some songs, in which audience members are encouraged to participate in different ways, which admittedly is quite relaxing and fun, but very context-specific.Being at this show is like having a fuzzy blanket thrown over you; comforting for a short period before it becomes stifling and you have to throw it off and face the real world, as well as the fact that it doesn't really do anything practical to help with the root of your problem. A great show to start the day if you like to start the day with self-help and motivational sayings.

A silly solve-a-long mystery, this is for anyone who wishes their Agatha Christie murders were packed with a few more puns.The performances are knowingly overblown, leaning into the cartoonish characters drawn directly from the golden era of the silver screen. However, if you're expecting to sit back and relax into simply watching these walking talking archetypes: think again. This is an interactive whodunit and you'll be tasked with trying to solve the mystery by trawling through evidence packs and studying the performers in front of you.Although plenty of teams in the audience were whippersnapper fast, it felt as though there was perhaps a little too much information in the pack thoroughly investigate for the amount of time given. It's not easy to set a difficulty level for a mixed audience, but it would probably be helpful if you've had previous experience putting your little grey cells to work puzzle solving and it's likely that younger audience members will not be able to solve any of the clues given. Nonetheless, even if you have to take a shot in the dark when it comes to fingering the killer, the performance is a barrel of fun regardless, and the time will certainly fly by.It's clear that the whole production has been thoroughly thought through. The team behind Highly Suspect leave no stone unturned when it comes to adding entertainment, with puns placed everywhere possible (see the writer named Turner Page), pop culture references littered throughout (the identical twins running the studio are named Tom and Jerry), and plenty of nudge-nudge wink-wink when it comes to the 1940s setting whilst interacting with the audience ("You can find the WiFi code by the door there....and what's WiFi?!")Although the puns might occasionally seem a little fishy (and net a few groans as a result), this amusing mystery is enough to get any amateur sleuth hooked.

Welsh comedian and popular podcaster (The Comedy Arcade) Vix Leyton has the gift of affability. You’d have to be in a really bad mood to heckle her, such is her bright-eyed goodness.Though doubtful of having any kids herself, Leyton relates most keenly to ‘people of the child-bearing persuasion’. Her set is geared towards women but is highly relatable to anyone who’s seen or been on a stag do, to anyone who has ever dated, or had a mother.Despite the watershed not usually being a problem for Fringe acts, it’s a light relief to attend a lunchtime set and enjoy an hour of cheerily optimistic stand-up devoid of the dirty jokes and crude quips happening later on (Prince Andrew Tate Appreciation Hour, I’m looking at you!)Leyton’s is the purist stand-up comedian I've seen in years. Her idea of being bad is pretending to be pregnant at family gatherings, but she admits her mother has a meaner streak. Though Leyton can feel herself leaning towards eccentric bad-mouthery in years to come, for now, she sticks firmly to smiles, people-pleasing and PG comedy.If you’re after some innocent laughs and can forgive her ‘Aussie intonation’, where every observational statement becomes a question, then Vix Leyton could be for you?

If you’ve ever been a corporate cog, this is the show for you. When the pandemic brought in a new, mainstream culture of remote working, many former office workers gave up their exhausting and expensive commutes, kept their pyjama bottoms on, and decided to never darken their office doors again. So what does a production like Ants, set in a traditional office environment with besuited staff, have to say about work life in 2023? Well, in a week where even video conference software Zoom is ordering employees to get back to the office, it seems that there’s still plenty of work to be done.Three workers are given the terrifying task of answering the question: “How can the company maximise its profits over the next year?” There’s a boorish bloke from Accounts (Joel David), someone seemingly snooty from somewhere in the depths of the HR department (Olivia Moon), and a colleague from the research team (Anna van Miert). What are they researching, selling, supporting? Even they’re not sure. And as long as they keep ticking the right boxes, and ‘maximising the profits’ – does it even matter?If you’re looking for a break from the rat race, this show might hit a little too close to home. Writer George H. Manson has cleverly captured the nuances of the profit-driven commercial world, with everything from gargled jargon to shiny but effectively contentless presentations. It might not be completely fresh territory to tear apart – after all, here have been plenty of office-based satires over the years. However, Ants succeeds in embracing the chaos of colleagues forced to work together. Director Tom Mitchell controls the pace of the performance well – starting off slowly before allow it to bubble over into bedlam. There are plenty of laughs throughout, but perhaps funniest were the vignettes presenting their most disastrous ideas as they became ever more desperate.Manson has chosen not to clearly name the characters, bestowing them the kind of blank identity that could just as easily be a payroll number on a spreadsheet, but that doesn’t mean that they’re impersonal. Although seemingly stereotypical at first, throughout the play we get glimpses of their lives outside of their pressed shirts and two-pieces, which challenge our initial impressions.The script is littered with strong language, which may have been more effective if contained within the mania as the evening unfolds – this would have allowed for more distinction between the polite barriers between co-workers, and the bonds that form later.The meaningless of work within a large organisation is ripe for satire, but it would have been more striking to include more modern business foibles for picking apart. Having beanbags instead of chairs in the meeting room was a clear nod in this direction, but this theme could have been taken much further.Ants will give you the authentic heebie-jeebies of the workplace – thankfully it’s a comedy, because if you didn’t laugh you’d cry.

Whilst Colleen Lavin’s Do The Robots Think I'm Funny? is an interesting experiment and indicative of our fascination with AI, it’s not a particularly well-structured or funny show. It’s fine, after all the main selling point is the AI she's developed to heckle her if it doesn’t think she’s performing well enough rather than the comedy, but the lack of it makes the hour very long.It's practically a talk with just the added novelty of an AI analysing and heckling the show throughout. Lavin has an extremely nervous energy that doesn’t quite allow for the narrative to flow, making her jokes feel forced. Whilst some of them are funny, her tone and intonation don’t always indicate where the joke is, so it's hard to know where to laugh. The set is very anecdotal in that Lavin is telling a story about her family and there's the odd self-deprecatory moment but the jokes are less funyn and more statements that you might tell a friend when complaining about life. Rather than sounding outraged or making a joke, it does sound like she’s just venting. Even though the experiment is the focus of the show and not the stand-up, we’d hope that there would be at least something for us to laugh at and be entertained by. In reality, the time passes really slowly to the point where we can almost feel it ticking away. We can see the experiment working better with a tried and tested stand-up comedian who could engage with us and the AI more, but because Lavin herself doesn’t particularly show us that she has the skills to both perform a routine and make an off-the -cuff quip in response to the AI’s heckle, it all seems very stilted that even the AI generated heckles become a little lacklustre.The hypothesis and subsequent experiment behind the show Do The Robots Think I’m Funny? is interesting especially considering the rise of AI and our awareness of what it could mean for our society. This hour clearly shows that AI can be used as a tool for stand-up comedians to hit or determine a certain jokes per minute in a sort of mechanical, sapping-the-soul-from-comedy way.

After a slow and rocky start, Ontroerend Goed’s Funeral becomes an emotionally resonant space for processing a person’s grief. Ontroerend Goed are famous for making interesting interactive and participatory performances. Funeral feels like a continued experiment on that form that was partially successful.The start in particular is a mixed bag, with really good ideas of moments of audience interaction; shaking the hand of each other audience member; washing your hands before entering the space; these sit alongside moments that feel unnecessarily busy. For example, getting the particularly recalcitrant audience to gather round at the start; passing around a series of logs.One of the mistakes made is really not giving the audience enough time to clock that we are being offered a stamina and cardio torture exercise as a seat. We are offered a log to sit on, but the logs are quite small and really not designed for a person with balance issues such as myself. The decision to offer these as seats must have been made by a skinny person without any disabilities. Not to mention the number of audience members with bulky rucksacks. For a chunk of the piece, I am twisting in pain, in the utmost silence as this extremely serious and potent show takes place. I think to myself that it would be rude to fall off my slim log as a performer is weeping their eyes out in front of me. So I sneak ever so slowly to my knees instead. Allocating seats in this way is frankly a rookie error that Ontroerend Goed should not be making. I become considerably more charitable once I am not waiting for the pain to end. The language used to describe those who have passed on is a collection of everyday descriptions, the things you might not realise would remind you of someone who has passed on until they do. It is a smorgasbord of the serious and frivolous. I think it works well for this piece because it keeps things grounded in the everyday, and allows each person time to speculate and meditate on the grief they are carrying. Images and symbols move from one moment to the next with a real beauty and depth of appreciation. Once I realise what was happening, it brings tears to my eyes. I am not going to share the moment in full because of spoilers but the tenderness and care with which the performers treat the audience is essential to creating a space where we can feel free to weep openly. I am not sure if I would describe it as a performance of communal grieving, though. The language used to describe the experience of grief, together with the lost people described or the list of names submitted by the audience to be read out in the performance, felt very individualised. I am extremely susceptible to performances like this and cry at almost anything. It might have been that we are at Week Three of the Fringe and I need a good cry. But I am too thick with crying to join in with the Esperanto song the audience is taught at the start. The audience’s singing is terrible, but feels right for the moment.Moments of pure transcendent loveliness, moments that were less so. I would recommend this show for someone feeling on the fence, but sit on the floor.

Sexy Circus Sideshow succeeds in being sexy, and includes both circus and sideshow. However, it falls some way short of its potential. Host Paul Klaass does a competent job, warming up the audience effectively and confidently generating a positive atmosphere early on. While we are on his side and trust him to hold the show together, he does create certain barriers between himself and the audience, reading acts’ names off his phone on a clipboard, rather than learning them beforehand, and relentlessly plugging the other cabaret shows from the production team from the get-go, before we even know if we’re going to enjoy this one.The main sideshow element was the first act, who deftly banged some nails into her face. Judging from the audience reaction, this was many people’s first foray into sideshow and served as an effective introduction that might cause some queasiness, but there wasn’t a dry heave in the house tonight. Next up was burlesquer Oblivion Westwood, whose creative performance and titillating costume will have memories harkening back to Conchita Wurst and Total Recall.My favourite new act was the cheeky burlesque hooping styles of Anna Fisher, who gave an energetic hooping routine with novel moves that make her stand out from other hooping acts. Burlesquer Legs 11.11 performed an excellent Lucifer-themed straitjacket routine, boylesquer Flynn Vee a solid lip sync followed by fire-infused dance, and headlining fringe veteran Marquee de Saw treated us to her traditional ‘sawing’ vocals, complete with dashings of her show-making musical saw. No doubt this will be the standout memory of the show to anyone yet to experience the wonders of de Saw.Klaass returned to close the show with a fiery climax that tied things together nicely. The show offers a range of decent quality performers and ticks all the boxes in its title, but would benefit from more variety and a host with prepared material to establish a rapport with the audience and who knows the acts well enough to recite their names, thus assuring the audience that they are in the hands of established pros. Nonetheless, this is a trustworthy introduction to cabaret and sideshow, though veteran audience members are unlikely to discover anything to write home about.

At times hard to follow and at others uniquely resonant, Maggie Widdoes’ one-woman show Stay Big and Go Get ‘Em is the perfect example of how the Fringe brings what you least expect, at the time its needed most.Instantly likeable with her wide-eyed energy and unapologetic physicality, Widdoes prefaces the show by saying it is NOT stand-up, but rather a comedic life story. With our expectations set, Widdoes loops us in on her bumpy life path thus far, going from fretful pre-schooler to Korn-loving ‘Good Time Girl’ to the self-aware adult she is today.With the frenetic energy of someone you won’t be surprised to learn has ADHD, an easily distracted Widdoes does herself a disservice by trying to fit so many ideas into one hour. By the show’s end, there are a million ideas scattered across the floor, many of them references to American pop culture that don't necessarily travel that well. While some might find Widdoes’ truth nonsensical and a little perverted, her unabashed telling of her deepest fears and desires makes us all that little less ashamed of ourselves in the process.Skilfully delivered with a linguistic precision that sometimes feels too well rehearsed, Stay Big and Go Get ‘Em is anything but thrown together. It’s a carefully thought-out exploration of life in all its intricacies, with baby Widdoes at its centre, growing and learning in each moment.The show tackles some dark themes, including depression and suicide but stays buoyant with the aid of multimedia slides showcasing cartoon characters in compromising positions. Childlike but mature, chill but not, smart but dumb (by her own measure), Widdoes’ show exemplifies her own contradictions and finds acceptance in the process.And as her therapist says, that is OK.

Conway is a vivacious performer who does not shy away from the grotesque. Her style borders on absurdist, but she does nothing but ‘keep it real’. Amongst the craziness is some poignant feminist commentary that is earnest and insightful. Her unhinged persona is very fun to watch, and the unpredictable nature of her material works to her advantage by catching the audience off-guard with uninhibited sexual content. The most successful moments in Conway’s hour are her remarks about male hygiene. These are outrageous but ring so true to the stereotypical dynamic in heterosexual romantic partnerships, making us squeal in both shock and laughter. Her content could be described as marmite, making you either shudder or shake with the giggles. I don’t like to get political, but the one concern I have about Conway’s show is its potential to alienate the male audience. As someone who is female-identifying and cis-gendered, her comedy is easy for me to connect with and enjoy. Feminism is a philosophy that I hope most prescribe to, and the fewer people that are segregated from that philosophy, the more successful it becomes. Should this premise be accepted, it would arguably be most effective to avoid hindering the feminist mission by expressing one’s feminism in a manner that does not run the risk of turning men away in anger. Laughing at the male expense is fun at first, but for the majority of a comedy set, it makes me nervous for backlash.In spite of this, Conway’s final message is a powerful one that is vital for female-identifying folk but would also benefit from males heeding it. If we permit actions in the bedroom that centre around the male experience and place female pleasure as secondary, how are we supposed to combat inequality in the public sphere?Overall, Eleanor Conway: Talk Dirty To Me is a guaranteed laugh for anyone who has struggled with the pains of heterosexual love and desire, particularly if you identify as female.

Die Hard has long been a pop culture and Christmas movie stalwart, garnering a large swath of fans across generations. Hal Chambers’ Yippee Ki Yay, the unofficial Die Hard parody pokes fun at the movie in an incredibly tongue-in-cheek way whilst exploring the impact that this movie has had on people and their relationships.Off-duty policeman John McClane (Darrel Bailey) is at an office Christmas party when gunmen suddenly attack the building and take over the LA skyscraper. Interspersed with this one-man re-creation of the film, the subplot follows a couple and tells the story of the role that the film Die Hard played in their relationship.It’s a very self-aware show that manages to recreate iconic moments of the film with a fringe budget, fondly making fun of itself whilst setting the tone of the kind of comedy that we can expect for the rest of the show. It embraces the gap between the Hollywood film and fringe stage show, using it to fuel the odd inside joke. Chambers has written this piece entirely in rhyming couplets, which makes it sounds like a children’s nursery rhyme like The Night Before Christmas. There’s a nice rhythm to his words and whilst there’s a personal note to them, it’s really Bailey’s delivery of them that drives the emotional weight behind them home.Bailey takes on an enormous task in this role, having to move between characters as well as plots with incredible speed. Throughout his performance he shows great control over his voice and body, using a range of accents as well as physically changing his body in order to move between the various characters. He performs Yippee Ki Yay with an air of immense joy, to the point where we can tell that he is having fun onstage, in spite of the extreme physical and acting challenge that the piece presents, giving off an energy that means that we enjoy ourselves a lot more as well.Yippee Ki Yay is a very sweet and accessible introduction to the film Die Hard. Anyone who hasn’t watched the film yet, will not only love this version, but will be tempted to add Die Hard to their movie list.

A lot of laughs and refreshingly comfortable seating await you at Friend (The One with Gunther), playing at the Gilded Balloon at the Museum.As a mahoosive fan of the Friends TV series, I had high hopes for this one-man show, which takes the ‘seventh friend’ Gunther and revisits all ten seasons from his point of view. We are first introduced to him as an emotional wreck in the immediate aftermath of the final episode, and he uses our sympathetic ears as an opportunity to go over the previous decade of longing for a Rachel that would never be his, and the five other ‘clowns’ that frequented his coffee shop.Expect lots of impressions of the classic characters and side-characters and a Friends quote every ten seconds. Highlights for me were the game of ‘It’s all Relative’ with an unsuspecting audience member, the cleverly lyricked songs and Gunther’s own ‘alternative ending’.While I could appreciate that the script was working incredibly hard to cram in basically every single inside joke you would hope for and achieved a good natural flow, I felt a little let down by the performer’s eggy accent that was 50% ‘American’ and 50% English Midlands. Unfortunately, I really wouldn’t have identified Gunther’s classic deadpan voice if I closed my eyes.And while I get that the other impressions were ‘Gunther-doing-Janice’ or ‘Gunther-doing-Joey’, I still would have had more fun if they were a lot more accurately executed. Having said that, Joseph Maudsley does give us an excellent dose of energy and passion, and his comic-timing is on point.I can highly recommend this show to casual fans of the show. There are a wealth of jokes and you will definitely get what is being referenced. But the uber-fans like me, with our obsession with detail and ability to perfectly recall the original delivery of every line, may find the re-enactments just a bit disappointing.Either way, it really is a treat to bask in a fellow fan’s love for one of history’s greatest comedies. After all, he'll be there for you.

An acrobatic spoof of the movie The Blues Brothers, with plenty of flips and stunts weaved in alongside some clowning.The show is high energy with even higher acrobatic stunts. The brothers encourage clapping from the audience throughout but the crowd seem a little reluctant - perhaps it is too early in the afternoon; or maybe the act has become overdone. The stunts are impressive though – at one point, one man has three other men on top of his shoulders – but other stunts such as flipping and tumbling don't seem to leave the crowd too impressed. But there’s certainly no lack of talent. These men can do unbelievable things with their athleticism and strength.The show is billed as child-friendly, but about a quarter of the way into the show, the brothers strip down to their boxers. It's a comical gag, but I am unsure if it is really appropriate for kids.Generally the show is accomplished and does have some humourous points, though I didn’t laugh out loud at any point. I think as a group of acrobats they are very strong but having seen the competition in acrobatic and circus shows, I wouldn’t put the The Black Blues Brothers on the top of my list.But that said, The Black Blues Brothers appears to be a Fringe classic; you see flyers for the show almost every year, so they must be doing something right.

Soldiers of Tomorrow tells the story of Itai Erdal’s conflicted relationship with Israel, specifically his time as a soldier and the prospect of his nephew’s future as a soldier of tomorrow. It’s a charged topic and Erdal does a commendable job of outlining the plethora of opposing opinions and emotions at odds with one another. As he explains: Israel was once Palestine (ruled by the British), but before that it was part of the Ottoman Empire, before that it was Byzantine, before that it was Roman, before that it was Israel, and before that it was part of Egypt. Who gets to claim this part of the world as their own? Whoever has the biggest military by the looks of it.Even the most potted of history lessons can become dense and sadly Soldiers of Tomorrow falls victim to this trap. It often feels as though it needs some extra breathing room that the Fringe simply doesn’t allow. Erdal uses an array of toy soldiers to stand in for his army buddies, which occasionally helps bring his stories to life but unfortunately Erdal’s is a more talented storyteller than puppeteer – some of the toy soldiers are simply too small to properly capture the imagination. Emad Armoush similarly injects the piece with a beautiful musical accompaniment but his role and presence in the show feels like a missed opportunity. He hints at his reasons for leaving Syria but never speaks again. Dialogue between an Israeli and an Arab doesn’t seem to be an option or even a possibility. The focus is firmly on Erdal’s guilt and turmoil, struggling to reconcile the reality of antisemitism and the subsequent belief that historical suffering made Israel “the most moral army” with the reality of having to watch Palestinian children die. His belief that leftists need to be in the army so the right-wing don’t commit atrocities is firmly shattered and it more than hits home.Erdal does a good job of explaining his perspetive but it feels like only half the story is being told. Dialogue may not happen in the show itself but hopefully it will spark one amongst the audience.

We spend a third of our lives in bed. It sees us in our most intimate moments, providing warmth and comfort when no-one else will. Alice and Ben are newly-weds who, in place of their honeymoon, bought a luxury divan with a lifetime guarantee. Written by Tim Anfilogoff and Alan Whittaker and directed by Matthew Gould, Bed: The Musical follows the couple over twenty years of their married life, for better and for worse.The musical is sung-through, carried by the two leads Madeleine MacMahon and Drew Elston who are on stage for the entire performance with only their bed for company. The musical is aptly intimate, evoked by the solo piano accompaniment and the restrictive stage space which is poetically navigated by the performers’ sensitive movement work. The minimalist set and costume works to quell distraction and amplify the characters’ storytelling through song. Sung-through musicals are highly challenging for both composers and performers, and the cast do exceptionally well in sustaining their strong vocals throughout the show, especially considering that the entire score rests on their shoulders alone. The music is modern and charming, characterised by the dominant use of ballad. The musical is coloured by a slightly sombre tone as the songs blend into one another at times without significant distinction. The audience welcome the tonal shifts and upbeat numbers in breaking up what could otherwise be a somewhat gloomy picture of married life. The use of a band in place of a solo piano might work in the musical’s favour to convey the broader spectrum of emotion experienced by the two leads, and aid the actors in communicating more authentic moments of climax. There are, however, effective moments where strong beats in the storyline are mirrored in the score, creating dynamic contrast and a greater sense of intrigue.Elston and MacMahon have wonderful chemistry and their voices seamlessly mix in harmony. The acting is naturalistic and heartfelt as the audience encounter both heartbreaking and uplifting junctures in Alice and Ben’s marriage. The story itself is undeniably real and connects with audiences of different generations. It is an interesting concept, known to have seen great success in musicals such as The Last Five Years and I Love You You’re Perfect, Now Change. Bed could benefit from implementing a little more musical complexity as seen in these shows, even if it is a case of adding strings and bass. This might help communicate the story with greater momentum and energy.Bed is a touching musical about love, forgiveness and life’s unpredictability and will intrigue fans of contemporary musical theatre.

With such an emotionally heavy title as An Asian Queer Story: Coming Out to Dead People, I was a little worried what to expect from this comedy show. However, as Ricky Sim walks onstage, there’s a sparkle in his eyes – a sparkle that never dimmed and was one of the shining lights throughout the hour.The main narrative of the shows concerns Sim’s sexuality and the devastatingly hard decision of whether or not to come out to his mum, who has terminal cancer, before she passes away. As I say, it’s heavy stuff. Luckily there are some good laughs throughout. Sim was strongest when he spoke about his life as a queer man. It was relatable and well performed. Some of the other routines felt a little underdeveloped. A potentially brilliant routine about some Urban Dictionary queer terminology wasn’t explored as much as I had hoped. I feel that in the first half of the show, there could have been more of a connection made between Sim and the audience. I felt like many in the crowd didn’t quite find that sweet spot of feeling comfortable enough to know what they could and couldn’t laugh at. As a result, some of the material didn’t feel like it was hitting as it should have been.Where Sim shines is his powerful storytelling ability. The final 20 minutes of the show are incredible. As he speaks about his relationship with mum and her final moments with her, it's clear that so much preparation and passion has gone into this final routine. We as an audience hung on to his every word. Looking round, several tears were being shed from multiple audience members. It was such a powerful few minutes. It was this level of audience connection that I had wished for Sim’s first half.For me, this show was one of two halves. Although I’m incredibly grateful to Ricky Sim that I’ll never think of binary code or the music of Sean Paul in the same way again, I know other material could, and should, have been stronger. In terms of his scripting and weaving in stories of his wonderfully brave mum into his set, it was magical to listen to.

Hello, The Hell: Othello is a dance and physical theatre presentation of Othello's and Iago’s afterlife in hell. It is an intriguing concept, but unfortunately this production does not fulfil its potential.The set is spectacular, dominated by a hellish red, against which Desdemona’s white costume and the famous handkerchief contrast dramatically.In hell, itself, Othello has to abide in a small temple. As soon as he steps out he is consumed by agonising pain. Iago endlessly tortures Othello by dragging or taunting him into leaving the temple. More significantly, Othello is also tortured by constantly having to re-enact the events that lead him to killing Desdemona. In these sequences Iago is presented as having magical powers to influence events.The idea of Iago torturing Othello for eternity is striking, but after the initial presentation it becomes static and repetitive. There is no character or plot development. Iago himself is not presented as a person but like a devil or evil spirit. The nearest thing to a development is when Iago states he has discovered he is not tortured by the sins of his past because he accepts them. Othello, in contrast, can’t accept what he has done and even sometimes tries to change the cycle of death. There is a particularly creepily effective scene where Desdemona taunts Othello and encourages him to strangle her so that the cycle plays out to the correct conclusion.Desdemona frequently appears on stage, but as a sort of projection rather than a character in her own right. Apart from the Shakespeare text before her death and the Willow Song, she only serves as a puppet for Othello’s torture.The show is performed in Korean with English translation projected onto the back curtain. There is a distracting contrast between the subtitles that quote from the original play, and the rather more pedestrian text that has been added, especially with a lot of “eth”s added to the ends of words. (“Sayeth”, “speaketh” etc.)The use of recorded soundtrack for much of the speech and the songs also distracts from concentrating on the performances. The soundtrack is orchestral and rather overblown, and often feels like a filmtrack at war with the intimate staging.Othello himself, is the nearest player in the show to having a character. Amongst the mixture of recorded speech and subtitles, I’m not sure if Iago actually explained to Othello that the torture could be stopped if he just accepts what he has done. But if so, Othello is not shown as grappling with any choices: he just carries on being wracked with guilt and horror. All the actors were lively and impressive in their movements, but like Othello in the show, they are stuck in their environment.

Molly works at Greggs. She is 33 but yet to find a life partner and society is telling her that her time is running out. Katie Akerman’s new play Molly takes us through the daily life of a wistful employee who by the end of each week trades her docile day-job persona for rather more self-destructive behaviours.As Molly, Akerman’s demeanour is endearing. She performs naturalistically and we feel connected to her from the offset. A little ditsy, Molly comes across as kind, yet slightly naïve. Nevertheless, the audience are warmed by her ever-present contentment despite a certain look in her eyes that suggests something darker lies beneath the happy-go-lucky persona. After a while, once the audience are familiar with Molly’s life at Greggs, there is a significant shift in tone as we witness video recordings of her unhinged antics, including the consumption of copious amounts of alcohol, drugs and desperate texts to ‘Dave’ demanding sex. The video is expertly constructed, causing the audience to feel as if they have a birds-eye view inside Molly’s bathroom. Incredibly raw and realistic, it becomes clear that Molly’s tame demeanour at Greggs masks her darker reality that seeks comfort in addictive, numbing behaviours. As if nothing had happened, the plot resumes back at Greggs with Molly again, resuming her chirpy persona. This pattern repeats itself a few times, which has strong potential to be very effective; however, the time spent on each transition drags a little, which impedes the momentum of the piece and leaves some dead air on stage. To amend the energy dip, the time between the video footage and live monologue could be introduced. A stronger sense of narrative development could also be achieved with an injection of further plot points or character impersonations in each of the segments. The story itself, however, is unique and cleverly devised, which is aided especially by Akerman’s dedicated performance that demonstrates some wonderful character work. The upsetting twist in the narrative in the final section of the show presents some hard-hitting themes in a respectful and considered fashion, shedding light on the dangers of isolation and insufficient systems of support. These moments are incredibly powerful, supported by Akerman’s compelling writing. To do justice to this section of the play, I feel that the weighting of the narrative could be shifted slightly to give more space for the catastrophe and resolution to be explored. Perhaps this would aid the aforementioned narrative development, as it would lessen the emphasis on exposition and provide a more in-depth account of the disturbing truth of Molly’s situation. The ending is exceptionally touching, and it deserves more time to breathe on stage. Molly is an innovative new solo play that has buckets of potential. With some tweaks, the insightful storyline could be all the more powerful and have the significant impact that it is so close to making. Akerman should be highly commended for her authentic and gripping delivery—presenting an extremely polished performance.

The Birth of Frankenstein tells us the story of Mary Shelley, the mother of science fiction, on her fateful trip to Geneva with Percy Bysshe Shelley. They are welcomed into the home of the infamous poet, Lord Byron, where they each pass the time by creating their own frightening tales.This is a great idea for a play, and I’m a big fan of stories that take storytelling as their focus. The atmospheric soundscape does a good job of immersing us in their chaotic world, and offering us a glimpse into the creative machinations of Mary Shelley’s mind. Director Nick Hennegan makes very creative use of the space, his staging offering subtle suggestions of a creaking ship, a lounge, a graveyard, a rowboat.Teryn Gray gives a watchable performance as Mary, bringing strength through the character’s pain and adding a compelling element to the ‘story creation’ scenes. Jamie Patterson as Percy has a believable charm reminiscent of a younger James McAvoy, and shares a sweet chemistry with Mary. And Callum Pardoe achieves quite well the tricky job of snapping from Lord Byron to Frankenstein’s monster.I particularly enjoy the portrayal of that most magic of things: the conception and creation of a story. This ability to produce something from nothing is given a powerful new context when shown in the aftermath of Mary’s failed pregnancies.This is an interesting insight into the origins of one of literature's most celebrated novels, and fans of the classic Modern Prometheus will find plenty to enjoy learning about here.

Telling five short tales from the mystical fictional world of Jianghu, Fall and Flow showcases the beauty and physicality of Hong Kong theatrical traditions in combination with Théâtre de la Feuille’s Parisian polish.Director Ata Wong Chun Tat, having studied under Jaques Lacoq in France, works with a combination of Eastern and Western influences. The performance draws on pop culture iconography as wide-ranging as Stephen Chow and Charlie Chaplin, fusing kung fu comedy and slapstick under the atmospheric brick arches of Underbelly Cowgate. Loosely influenced by Chinese feudal history between ~1000 BC–280 AD, Jianghu is a mythic world in which many Chinese kung fu, mystery and romance stories take place. Rich in conflict and fantastical happenings, Jianghu is the perfect setting for theatre.Among the common themes of Jianghu are the forces of good and evil, which the ‘Jianghu-xia’ – knights and wanderers – must reward or punish with violence if necessary. The first story of Fall and Flow is the Godfather and the Swordsmith, telling of the Godfather’s scorn for a Swordsmith who made him a sword he couldn’t unsheathe. The wrath of the Godfather falls upon the Swordsmith and his family and a fight to the death ensues. Representing this binary further is a simple yet effective monochrome wardrobe, featuring layered black robes and linen scarfs to create a textured tapestry thrown into shadow by severe lighting. Contrasting props include a thick white rope and golden fans that find multiple purpose, while a single musician heightens the drama with command of traditional Chinese strings and percussion instruments. The stylised effect is enchanting, drawing us into the stories of Jianghu.While you may not be able to tell where one story starts and another ends, the overall milieu of Fall and Flow is consistent and the fight for good over evil is one we can all follow, even if the two sides – for good reason perhaps – are not always explicit.

Transfixing, she’s staring at us through a doorframe – or is it a painting? We’re invited to draw, then bid…Created by Diana Feng, Tegan Verheul and Clarisse Zamba of the Weekly Women’s Writing Collective, Artist/Muse is a life-drawing class turned exploration of what seems an old-fashioned artistic relationship. Who does the looking? Who merits credit?When Olivia (Caterina Grosoli) bursts through Paul’s (Sushant Shekhar) door, the two begin a tumultuous relationship. She’s an artist’s model: he’s a painter making his name in 1990s New York City. We’re pencil-wielding sense-makers of an increasingly tempestuous relationship. Paul wants to possess Olivia entirely – distil her energy onto canvas, even if it means subduing her. Olivia seeks freeness, and an equal partner in creation. As exhibitions, and their accompanying threat of audience, loom, passion darkens as artist and muse vie for creative control. In Olivia’s words, art is “more real than looking in the mirror”: an alchemic act of “co-creation”.This show is grounded in the physicality of art-making. Movement and intimacy (directed by Kim Wright) explore Paul and Olivia’s evolving relationship – extending the play’s often lyrical writing. I particularly loved the ever-present fluidity of Grosoli’s movement and marvelled at how her incessant momentum translates into static poses – conveyed as effortful only when that pose is not of her own making. This vivaciousness spilled over into a fiery yet playful portrayal. Shekhar, in contrast, puts forward a carefully judged performance as the reserved, mysterious Paul. An excellent muse’s artist, he’s frequently translated to the audience through Olivia’s gaze, or Laurent’s evaluations (a fabulously camp collector played by Luke Oliver).Innovation and beauty abound, too, in the play’s staging. Jacob Anderson and Ching Huang’s repurposed frames and canvases create a moving, liminal space where lighting takes on an impish character of its own. From their subtlest shadows to unbridled brushstrokes of colour, Shu-Ang Yeh’s painterly states and inventive use of projection are breathtaking. Chia-Ching Ho’s sound design harmonises these elements, a brooding underscore to the action. It’s brilliantly directed, spellbinding sensory immersion.With strong performances and striking visual beauty, I felt I was looking for something more from the plot itself. Inspired by Picasso and his muse Fernande Olivier, it remains a collage of well-selected but disjointed elements. Without much more than the rows of a predictably souring artistic relationship to carry it, the play risks stagnancy. Olivia’s moments of punkish creativity were a joy to behold, but insufficient to inject the pace and thematic deepening the show needs.Overall, this is a clever central concept, forcing us to confront assumptions about artistic ownership and process that have long gone unquestioned. In an artistic context that still places unequal value on some aspects of creation, particularly by women and marginalised artists (Yilin Wang’s unattributed translations of Qui Jin’s poetry used by the British Museum spring to mind), it’s a much-needed conversation. Artist/Muse is a wonderful starting point, presented with such boundless energy that it bursts out at us from the stage, cigarette still burning in hand.

In 5 Mistakes That Changed History, host Paul Coulter establishes the self-evident premise, that this will be something of a comical TED Talk about some fascinating moments that shaped the direction of societal evolution. Coulter is a likeable and confident storyteller and moderate comedian, and it’s clear early on, as he defines the role of historians and shares his amusing childhood trauma, that this show is for people who are interested in history and are up for some comedy, rather than people looking for top comedy and are prepared to hear a bit about history. Well, fine by me.This show is a good one to take older children to, as it is entertaining, educational, and all material is appropriate for the inquisitive, regardless of age. Through the meandering journey of over 2000 years of era-defining errors, you can expect to hear about medical breakthroughs, backfiring romantic decisions and the risks of oversleeping. The stories are well-chosen, engagingly written and delivered, and it’s near-impossible to walk out The Crate without having learned a thing or two, and had a few laughs along the way.One part caused my eyebrows to raise when Coulter gave a detailed explanation of the disputed death of an historical figure, confidently describing as fact something that has never been established; but I’d still trust his credibility enough to rely on his trivia in a quiz. The last ten minutes takes a swerve in a very unpredictable direction, with a fun cameo from the talented and charismtic Joanna Olivera that might split a crowd, but shouldn’t impact your decision to go or not.In terms of comedy, there are certainly laughs, though most the jokes come from Coulter juxtaposing points on ancient facts with modern references that grow tiresome quite quickly. Don’t let that put you off though, the show is very much what you would expect it to be for the most part and does its job very well.

It was the first truly beautiful summer’s day of the Edinburgh Fringe. With the sun beating down on the city’s parks, I was hardly surprised to see this noon-time performance was less than half-full with audience members. But I, for one, was happy to sacrifice an hour of sunshine to watch this little gem.Polko by Angus Harrison and RJG Productions certainly deserves a larger audience than it got today, and I expect that it will. The performance space – Roundabout @ Summerhall – is well worth a visit in its own right, and was a great choice for the play. It’s a yellow, round circus tent in a courtyard, but the interior looks just like Who Wants to be a Millionaire?The set is simple yet intriguing; a pair of car seats, one beside the other but facing opposite directions. Considering the in-the-round seating plan, this was a great call. As an audience-member, you really can sit anywhere and still get a cracking view. The actors never forget a single face as they distribute their lines fairly between all of us.The story tells of two ex-schoolmates who attempt to reconnect as adults, now that they are both living with their parents. Rosie Dwyer gives a likeable and cheeky performance as Emma, and her chemistry with Elliot Norman’s Joe is fun to watch. As Joe, Norman gives a compelling performance with a rough-around-the-edges-but-a-heart-of-gold charm. And John Macneill is wonderfully sympathetic as the well-meaning Peter, whose tragicomic recent events really pull on your heartstrings. All three were fantastic casting, and they delivered a wholly natural and believable performance.Praise also goes to the play’s dialogue. One of my pet peeves is speech that sounds fake and forced, so I was glad to see this script never fell into this trap. Natural, pacy and absorbing. The plot, however, I found a bit difficult to summarise upon reflection, as it was essentially lots of nuggets of story all happening near each other, most of them not especially connecting.While I was in the middle of watching it, the story was very much grabbing my attention, introducing fascinating story elements that I was sure would pay off at the end, such as the discovery of a dark family past and a possible supernatural element (which gave me an excited chill and made me lean forwards upon hearing it) as well as a curious medical mystery. Sadly, none of these threads came together or manifested as more than decoration, to my disappointment.And the ending left me feeling just a tad confused, but I shan’t give away any spoilers. While there’s every chance I may have missed something, my eyes and ears were on the performers the entire time, as they were incredibly watchable, and Director Emily Ling Williams did a superb job of staging it so there was always something interesting to watch, no matter your angle. This gave the piece a suitably filmic quality that sucked me in.Overall, I recommend you check it out, if not for its destination, then for the ride. With its strong cast and talented creatives, it’s a great way to spend an hour.

Sophie is at her Grandfather’s shiva where her whole family have come together to pay their respects, including her attractive second cousin. Unable to resist his allure, she finds herself in a rather compromising situation. Adorned with songs, impressions, and a unique sense of humour, Sophie Sucks Face presents an unorthodox perspective on relationships that is sure to intrigue and amuse.Zucker has an undeniably strong stage presence, and a dulcet voice to match. As she confides in the audience about thoughts she doesn’t dare say aloud, you are drawn in by her charisma and confidence. One can’t help but compare Zucker’s persona to a naughtier Danielle in Shiva Baby—more unhinged and playful than Rachel Sennott’s character. The crafting of this personality works incredibly well with the narrative, as Sophie plays on the bathos of the situation she finds herself in to great effect.The singing portions of the performance are catchy, fun and enjoyable to watch; however, their implementation within the show as a whole could be improved to enhance their function in the narrative. This could be achieved by increasing the concision of the songs, making them sharper and thus more comically impactful for the audience. This, I feel, would better represent Zucker’s witty and clever lyrics. Zucker’s finest moments lie in her imitations, recollections of awkward interactions and audience asides, and it would be a delight if the show revelled in these more. It is a shame that she concludes with a perplexing message that feels disconnected from the rest of the performance, leaving us confused and lamenting her light-hearted storytelling. Moreover, though this may have not been Zucker’s intention, the message that is conveyed through her closing song is rather pessimistic towards the concept of a loyal relationship, undermining its entire premise. This feels like a hollow turn in the play in contrast to the richly textured performance she delivered beforehand that humorously played on religious expectation, Jewish culture and female sexuality.Overall, Sophie Sucks Face is an intriguing watch that follows a predominantly well-thought-out narrative and showcases impressive acting talent. With an alternative ending and slight re-direction, the play could be elevated to better highlight Zucker’s abilities.

How to Flirt: The TED XXX Talk is a fun and interactive comedy lecture with a lot going for it. The host Stephen Porters (played by drag king Daisy Doris May) is a well-crafted, likeable and confident anchorman who engages the audience well from the outset. He interacts positively with the audience - a pivotal necessity considering the nature of the show - and it's clear early on that everyone here is up for some fun.As he guides us through the art of flirting, while maintaining respect for the object of your flirtations and the value of consent, it occurs that this show could function as a highly effective speed awareness course equivalent for those flagged up by victims of the #MeToo movement. Despite the comedy nature of the show, there are still valuable underlying messages and useful tips that people can learn from. Consent is a running theme, though it's never rammed down our throats, and is dealt with maturely, while not making any statements of real substance - instead focusing on keeping the show fun and interactive without being too 'lecture-y'. There are sections that don't really go anywhere, though it never drags, and Porters maintains a positive and harmonious atmosphere across the room throughout the show. Audience members are strongly encouraged to introduce themselves to nearby strangers and spark up conversations with compliments or trivia. This was a great highlight as it's rare to be encouraged to openly flirt with strangers in a safe space, and I engaged a lovely young lady in a quick chat, but also felt some resentment towards the venue staff for seating me surrounded by older men who I was less inclined to engage with. This doesn't cost the show any stars, but inspires the suggestion that audience members should be more aware of their seating position than in other shows.Regarding the 'nudity' tag, there isn't any, so don't let that figure into your decision to attend. Some of his enunciations are a little unclear and it never feels like the writing is quite as polished as it could be, but there's never a dull moment and the energetic dance breaks keep the energy flowing effectively. If the show sounds up your street then it's unlikely to disappoint.

Mr and Mrs Love is a jukebox-esque musical that would work a lot better if it relied more on the strength of its actors as singers rather than force a plot on them. Love gurus Mr (James Doughty) and Mrs (Stephanie Marion) Love present their talk show where they incorporate musical and pop numbers into their act as they give advice about what it takes to have a successful relationship. On top of this, they use music in order to try and solve the cracks that have formed in their relationship. This musical would benefit from a smaller stage or if it were turned into a cabaret performance. Whilst there is a lot of choreography that requires space, but pieces of set - like the piano - are just too far back, so when Doughty and Marion move to certain parts of the stage, it creates too much distance that becomes a little unsettling after a while. Even if you’re in the front row, the pair just feel very far away, and it's just a little off-putting, like we don’t feel particularly involved and there doesn’t seem like a particular effort made to bridge the gap between us and the actors. Although, there is a silver lining to this distance in that it means that we're not too close to the simulated sex. It’s still uncomfortable and completely unnecessary but at least it’s not being shoved in our faces. Even though it only happens twice (three times if you count the burlesque number), it's still very very graphic, jarring and doesn’t really add anything except to quickly alienate us.The selection of songs in Mr and Mrs Love is superb, their familiar, catchy and high-energy as well as give the Doughty and Marion the opportunity to show-off their vocal abilities. The pair's musical talent is astonishing, not only their singing ability, but also the sheer range of instruments that they are able to play. This becomes especially clear as the characters go through the difficulties and problems relationships could face in which there is a significant degree of anger and tension that is built up and is released as a kind of musical catharsis. During this part of the show, the pair battle it out through songs like Bad Romance and You Give Love a Bad Name which are accompanied by a keytar and accordion at various points. Doughty and Marion have an easy chemistry and great banter that lead to many humorous moments. This musical is interesting, there does seem to be a kind of cheesy cuteness within the plot, but because of the range of songs covered as well as the strength of Doughty and Marion’s musical ability, it seems it would work better as a cabaret, or at least on a smaller stage without so much explicitness.

Viral sensation Laura Ramoso does her live show FRANCES after conquering Instagram and Tiktok with her character sketches, with the highly anticipated German Mom and Italian Dad being based on her real life parents. This is a miscellaneous show with no particularly overarching theme, aside from outlandish characters. FRANCES compiles different comedic sketches, mixing her social media classics with other new characters. One particular sketch, with deftly performed audience-based improv and a stronger storytelling rather than character quality, gets developed multiple times throughout the run-time and book-ends the show. As soon as the first sketch begins, all doubts of a seamless transition from social media to stage are cleared. Laura’s outstanding performance and committed characterisation makes her creations come alive. Multiple changes of costume help us imagine the characters, but these aren’t even wholly necessary, as Laura has a wide range of interpretation and truly transforms in each sketch. She has a strong stage presence and is a highly physical performer, giving different ranges of movement to every character, as well as remarkable and diverse accents. Most of the stories and characters are not significantly original and often the predictability diminished the humour, even though most of the audience was fervently enjoying the show. When Laura lets the stories and personalities unfold in a surreal and silly way, her sketches become truly surprising and hilarious, and watching her switch from relatable to unhinged is fascinating.German Mom is the most unique character of the bunch, with keen observation that has materialised in a character that is simultaneously stereotypical and incredibly particular - she is intoxicating to watch, especially when she engages with the crowd. Italian Dad is slightly reduced to a more simplistic stereotype of a generic dad. The social media version, completely spoken in Italian with subtitles, was more innovative and engaging, and somewhere in transporting this character to the stage its essence was diminished. It would’ve been bolder to see the character speak in Italian, supported only by Laura’s outstanding physical performance talents. Laura Ramoso is an incredibly talented performer and writer, with unique characterisation and physicality. I am intrigued to see more of her weird side and the surreal places that her characters can reach with the bolder writing that she is clearly capable of.

Juliette Burton opens her new show, No Brainer, clad in a t-shirt emblazoned with the typically Burtonesque "Brains are the new tits". With her traditional upbeat affability and infectious self-deprication, she wins the audience over instantly and forms a strong rapport with everyone in the room, making it clear that this is a Safe Space.No Brainer is a fun and engaging show, great for any self-identifying geeks who would like a bit of insight into psychology, and in particular, Juliette's. Here is an act who has clearly spent vast amounts of time working on self-improvement and getting to know herself, as is evident from her stage persona and the openness with which she confides in her audience. It's a genuine thrill to see someone having so much fun on stage, and she will doubtless prove an inspiration to many who suffer from issues relating to mental health and body dysmorphia and struggle to comprehend or articulate their ailments.Burton is as frank and open about her plight as comics get, sharing deep, personal and relatable struggles with a juxtaposing joie de vive. Even when sharing emotionally weighty monologues, she's unable to suppress atmosphere-enhancing smirks. The content of the show is interesting and you'll come out learning a fair bit about the brain, psychology, and perhaps, even, yourself.The section on the increasingly-discussed Dunning-Kruger effect and its horrifying comedy update was a highlight. That said, although I enjoyed the show at the time, a day later, there was nothing specific that stayed with me, as with her past shows, that had more of a layered moral to give an audience something to really digest and feel a part of. Retrospectively, this felt more autobiographical than an attempt to have an impact on lives after your hour with her. I'm sure other members will feel a deeper connection to the material though, and if you're on the fence, I'd strongly urge you to fall onto the side of: going. Should be a no brainer.

The Disney Delusion is an off-beat stand-up hour from Leif Oleson-Cormack about a less than magical trip to Disneyland, that explores identity, the nature of love and parasocial relationships, although these themes take a back seat to the anecdote. This show consists of an overarching narrative, rather than individual jokes and gags, as Oleson-Cormack centres the trip, and seems to use the hour to talk through it. Oleson-Cormack’s storytelling can be best described as light, stream of conscious rambling. His style is very much grounded in North American comedy, making the punchline part of the story, rather than follow a particular structure that British comedians use. Oleson-Cormack’s very honest and open about his experiences and emotions at that point in time, and delivers his mild jokes in a rather dry and mock-outraged manner. As an anecdote, it’s rather a rather insane night, but it’s less impactful as a stand-up hour rather than just a crazy story you tell as a way to get to know someone. It’s an entertaining if slow-paced show, and over the course of which Oleson-Cormack makes some interesting points about searching for hidden meaning that isn’t there. It’s a light-hearted introduction to someone’s life and it will be interesting to see what Oleson-Cormack does next.

Bad Teacher is a solo show by Erin Holland with contributions from other teachers that follows Holland’s character through a hectic day in the life as a drama teacher. The show makes comment on the suffering education system in the UK amongst witty sketches between co-workers.It is tickling to see a teacher who is simultaneously juggling an awkward sex life, inappropriate students and a system that does not want her to have ‘big pussy energy’ and thrive. Holland indeed brings bags of energy to the stage—her storytelling is strong, supported by her clear diction and projection.The message is an important one, highlighting the trials and tribulations of educators on a personal level. This is clear from the start of the show that is political from the offset. The drawback that comes with such cogent thought is that the jokes feel a little over-worked and the delivery can become affected. I hasten to add that this does not detract from the polished performance, nor is it an irreparable aspect of the show, but it does at first hinder the relationship between the audience and the actor. Aside from this obstacle, Holland’s character work is noteworthy. Her imitations of an array of distinctive personalities is impressive, particularly of an intense Northern Irish member of the Senior Leadership Team. Without giving too much away, there is a rap, and it is brilliant.The show also tackles the poignant fact of the deteriorating mental health in young persons and the limited resources they have to help them. An abrupt ending at the saddest point in the play does leave it feeling unresolved; however, Holland conveys a heartbreaking reality communicated via lighthearted accounts of student-teacher meetings with audio voiceovers of brassy teenagers, effectively walking the line between humour and tragedy.Bad Teacher is one for students, teachers and theatre fans alike as we get an unbridled glimpse into the world of education.

This is a refreshingly new and interesting take on death through the medium of a musical. We met the personification of death in his office looking through paperwork of some of his old cases. Death meticulously plans all deaths to the second and spends the show being incredibly proud of his work, in fact he even complains he doesn’t get enough credit.The under-appreciated ‘Death’ is played by Sam Hooper who does an excellent job at conveying the detached, but somewhat charismatic and funny character. His flawlessly performed singing has a lovely tone and his dance and physical theatre is exceptionally impressive.‘Death’ speaks of six deaths during the show and each one is given a song, poetry, rap, dance, or some form of physical theatre to represent it. The songs make for very nice listening and the live pianist in the corner gives the show some more life, however, none of the songs are ear-worms that stay in the mind once you're on your way home. Another issue was the inconsistency in musical style. Each piece of music seemed to have no connection to the last and it felt jarring as we jumped from rap to a ballad to a slow underscore.The script was overall very tight and the show presented a new look on death and the way people perceive it. There is comedy woven throughout, which usually landed with the audience, although some parts went too dark and the comedy felt slightly more out of place. With slightly more connection and continuity of style between the songs and a slightly clearer direction being presented from the beginning it could be an excellent show.

Organised fun is one of those phrases that can evoke different emotional responses from people. Most of us will have an idea of what it includes, and may even have favourites, and if we take away one thing from this show is that Ivo Graham is vehemently opposed to two truths and a lie. Graham’s Organised Fun fails to deliver on the rather confused expectations that we may have for this show. In a nutshell, Graham tries to combine stand-up and the tradition of organised fun, that is of gathering people together and forcing them to play games. The show starts off well with Graham requesting audience members to choose his outfit in 30 seconds, which seems to set the tone of the show, but instead goes downhill from there. Because whilst we can buy into these short 30 second Taskmaster-esque vignettes, how Graham eventually structures the show doesn’t quite work with the stand-up format, eventually leading us to realise that Organised Fun is less about the practical element and more about Graham’s hyperfixation on games and Top Trumps. Admittedly, Graham’s observations about the form is mildly entertaining, every so often delivering a hilarious zinger that tides us over until the next one, which despite his staccato-like pace only happens every so often.Relying heavily on audience participation is risky, as it means a comedian can’t always control what is going to happen and has to think on their feet in order to maintain the energy. This is something that Graham is very good at, as he’s able to direct and engage with audience members with humorous consequences. Graham is self-aware enough to realise that there is a large degree of faffing about at the end, but it’s to the point where we do feel inclined to check out of the last ten minutes of the show. Because why should we care or want to watch two strangers (volunteers chosen from those who managed to get the venue’s wifi to work and submit Graham’s form beforehand) complete several paltry tasks, most of which are too small for us to really see? More time is spent on Graham's pentathlon than it’s worth, and alongside the arbitrary points system, it makes little sense to include it at all.Organised Fun is an interesting experiment on Graham’s part, but his execution of it is flawed. If anything, it proves as to why when people say ‘organised fun,’ we can very much expect the opposite.

Comedian Mamoun Elagab will not kiss your ass. He makes that clear as the white liberals in the audience begin to sweat, just a little. Now his show doesn't actually coinside with the title really. Elagab, who is from a mixed background, talks more about culture in general, music and his upbringing than cultural differences between races, but pokes fun at every stereotype with an uncanny 'white man' impression.He's very witty and doesn't take the politics of race too seriously. However, as his set continues, it's apparent this show isn't really about race, or funny stereotypes as at first appeared. It's more a show in honour of his mother, wanted to be a comedian, but her life was cut short and she passed away when Elagab was young. In tribute to her, at the end of his act, he shows a video of his mother doing a comical speech at a friend's wedding in what seems to be the 90s.Elagab takes the piss out of drill music, making some points about UK slang and has a whole segment joking about Kanye West and the insane things he has said and done in past interviews.The show is definitely funny and has great potential. There are some references specifically aimed at the younger generation, which some might get, but others miss. It certainly needs to be tweaked in places. A slower delivery would help along with overcoming his tension to give a more relaxed approach.

“This is not a play,” we’re told. But of course it is, really. I love a good meta-story and so the play’s title naturally caught my eye. This one takes a bit of mental gymnastics to get to grips with but good fun is had with it along the way. Overall, the story puts a spotlight on the nature of acting, lying, indulging in your own reality and being complicit in the manipulation of others.Alex Lacey plays Amanda (who plays… Amanda), the daughter of a powerful mover-slash-shaker in the theatre biz. Lacey’s performance elevated the script to greater heights with a compelling and utterly believable delivery. She infuses the haunted character with bitterness, but also tenderness, and it was indeed very tempting to believe that she really was Amanda (playing Amanda).Overall, I quite enjoyed the script, which was served well by Lacey’s excellent comic-timing. The writing did, however, lack clarity. There were references here and there to the character’s father who ‘Did Something’ to a young woman or two, that seems to have ruined their lives in ‘Some Way’.However, the lack of specificity left me wondering what the whole story was really about. There are some things better not left to the imagination, because I had to contend with multiple imagined crimes at once, and no further clues were really given.It was a good idea for a play, but I felt it was let down by the events described. Several elements did get my hopes up, that this would become even more meta, and I half-expected the character to realise that she was but a figment of the writer’s imagination. Alas.Still, if you’re curious, do check it out as the unravelling of the mystery did make for a fun puzzle, and you’ll have a few chuckles along the way.

Stuntman is a high-action piece of physical theatre mixed with reflective storytelling and real heart. It takes us through the stories of two men and their relationship with violence. Throughout it is interspersed with moments of childlike play-fighting. They use various props, real or imagined to repeatedly kill each other in an over the top cheesy action movie style. However these are fully grown men, not children, and with that some of the tricks they are able to pull off in the ‘fights’ are genuinely impressive.It's in these sections of physical work that the actors seem most at home and the piece has its greatest strength. They are playful with each other and their friendship is powerful and obvious to anyone watching. It's clear the men are putting their absolute all into it. The show sustains this high energy approach very well - even when the actors look completely exhausted they somehow keep going. This playful nature is mirrored in the sound design which has elements of video games and film sound effects scattered throughout.At its core Stuntman aims to be a piece exploring masculinity and its links to violence. They use real accounts from the actors' lives which creates a meaningful connection to the work and to the audience. However it’s unclear what the take away of the piece really is. Is the message simply: violence exists? It seemed as though while they were trying to get at something more nuanced but we never quite got there. There is a story towards the end that feels as though it should be the emotional climax of the piece or the nail to hang their banner on but rather than doing this it seems to just fizzle out. There are powerful moments scattered through this piece but they don’t quite build together to create a meaningful whole.This is a work with a lot of potential and the performances are genuinely excellent. It’s great to see men talk about their feelings particularly with such a poignant issue and in this public way. It may be that this is the starting point for a very important conversation and I hope that is the case. These are the sort of stories and topics that should be getting explored more within Scotland's cultural landscape, however I am unsure if Stuntman takes it to the depths that the issue deserves.

In Absolute Monopoly, host Benjamin Alborough proves himself a Milburn Pennybags (aka Mr Monopoly) for the 21st Century. He opens with a fun intro that will appeal to wordsmiths, before presenting an amalgamation of different quizzy, boardgamey, gameshowy bits and bobs.Alborough has a good energy and is a very competent host, but if you attend, it will be for the format, rather than the presenter. The main show starts with Alborough passing 'counters' across an audience, some of whom are wearing hats that denote different properties. Two audience members are selected to play a boardless game of Monopoly with plenty of twists. The show is a very silly bunch of random, madcap fun, with lots of quirky and effective gags and segments, such as the 'undo the last decision' bell and the host's purchase of a contestant's soul.The rules are very loose and adapted to maximise the fun, a wise move to elevate spotanaeity and freshness over a rigid format. While the show is silly, it doesn't feel like the creative depths have been plunged to their fullest - no doubt with such a lucid format, it will continue to evolve throughout the festival though. There's also far too much unnecessary demand for us to applaud - think an episode of Deal or No Deal and keep rolling. There's ample opportunity for the audience to get involved, although Alborough frustratingly squanders more than half of his interactions on one family at the front, neglecting the majority who might be keen to get some attention. That said, by the end, the kids in the family feel suitably immersed to voluntarily get up and join Benjamin and a contestant for some on-the-spot worm dances, which made for a memorable Fringe Moment. If you think your kids would enjoy the show and you don't mind exposing them to multiple 'F'-bombs, then this is a great one for some family bonding and you'll have plenty to debrief over after.If you like the sound of it but are an anti-Monopolist, that shouldn't be enough to dissuade you, while the game inspires the show, this is no love letter to it. Absolute Monopoly is a fun screwball comedy of a live gameshow that any discerning comedy-gameshow fan will enjoy, even if it's not quite maxed out on its potential in this current iteration.

As hypnotist Matt Hale enters the stage to '80s music, in '80s clothing, it is apparent this is going to be a very '80s hypnosis show. It's rare to see a hypnotist running on stage, climbing on chairs, getting the audience to sing along to rock anthems, and establishing a proper party atmosphere mere minutes before he’s required to induce hypnotic trances. But it works. The audience is clearly well-up for it and it very much suits Hale's energetic and confident persona. Hale opens with an upbeat, conversational style and the audience are onside from the outset. I’ve seen every Fringe hypnotist in the past 12 years and it’s rare to find one using unique inductions, but Hale has the quickest, least formal method of guiding his volunteers into a trance that I’ve witnessed. When he has almost half of them under - a couple deeply but mostly mild - it’s clear that they will put on a decent show, though he’s lacking in the legends' department. The second half sees classic hypnosis skits updated with the '80s spin. Expect to see dancing, amusing responses to musical triggers, ranges of extreme emotions, and a full-on classic '80s high-octane dance-routine climax. As with most hypnosis shows, the hypnotist creates the potential for scenarios, but it's the volunteers who dictate the actual quality of the show. Today’s volunteers did fine throughout but didn’t produce any killer moments.This is an ambitious, well-themed production with all the ingredients to be a riotous affair. If you’re up for a hypnosis show in Edinburgh this year, pickings are, as usual, slim. Matt Hale offers a safe choice, unlikely to disappoint, though missing a few tricks to theme it further with unique, fresh concepts. Hopefully you’ll get a couple of volunteers to create scenes worth telling your friends about.

Greek myths have been told and retold, lost, translated and re-translated over and over. Our familiarity with each varies and Cassie Muise and Tyler McKinnon’s God Catcher re-imagines of the myth of Arachne; not only re-introducing us to a myth that isn't as popularly adapted as others, but uses this musical as a way to give us some stark reminders. Arachne (Yna Tresvalles) lives in the town of Hypaepa where she weaves scenes of mythology in the agora against the wishes of the Elders (Adam Makepeace, Mackenzie Thacker and Adrien Spencer) who fear that her weaving might bring unwanted attention. After Hermes (Colum Findlay) delivers the news of Arachne’s talent to Athena (Isabella Gervais) – the goddess of wisdom, strategy and weaving – she challenges Arachne to a competition to see who is the best weaver. The last time the myth of Arachne was considered a piece of pop culture was in Ovid’s Metamorphoses, so Muise and McKinnon do have a difficult task of saying something new about a story that is in some ways familiar to us, where some of us know what will happen before the stage is even set. And in many ways they do well; they find new meaning and make a story that is thousands of years old applicable to us in the present. The score has its moments, especially the parallels that are created between Arachne and Athena. Athena’s characterisation and internal struggle in her songs alone is enough of a reason to see this show, if only it weren’t for the rest of the musical. The pace is incredibly slow, it takes half an hour just for the exposition - and I know this because that’s when the fire alarm went off and at that point, Arachne had not even touched a loom. And it’s not even a particularly interesting or creative exposition, it’s one of those ones that you could come in half way through the show and not miss anything important. The ending itself does not make a lot of sense, it has all the appearance of something that was just written in haste because the writers needed to wrap it all up somehow since they decide to scrap the traditional one from the myth in favour of a re-framing of the narrative. It's a great example of why re-imaginings don't always need to change things. And when the beginning and ending are subpar, what are you really left with? It’s also hard to tell whether the dialogue itself is stilted or just the delivery, but the saccharine falseness mixed with the slow pace makes it really difficult to root and care for these characters.That being said, Gervais and Findlay are incredible in their roles as Athena and Hermes respectively and their performances really infuse the musical with life and gives us something to look forward to. Gervais presents Athena’s internal conflict with such maturity and gravitas that it turns Athena into the most interesting character. Findlay’s rendition of Don’t Shoot The Messenger is such a comically cheeky jazz number that is a real highlight in the show. It’s fun, upbeat and energizes the musical in a way that it really needs. These two make God Catcher worth watching.God Catcher isn’t bad, but between the incredibly long exposition, slow pace, insane ending and some of the cast’s delivery, it just seems very unprofessional and lumped together. It has potential; some of the songs are musically interesting and there is an underlying truth that “the gods lie” throughout the show that’s important for us to hear, but it needs more work to be actively enjoyable than just fine.

The overall concept is a brilliant one. A traditional production of Oscar Wilde’s The Importance of Being Earnest has just begun. It all goes well for about five minutes… until the play’s leading man does not show up for his grand entrance.What on Earth is a stressed director to do? Ah, of course, the only possible solution is to select an audience member to fill in – obviously!This production delivers pretty much everything you’d expect, which to some may be a very good thing, but to me, I felt I’d seen a lot of the gags before, and the various set-ups had fairly obvious outcomes which unfortunately left me cold.I also spent the entire rest of the play trying to work out if the audience-volunteers were in fact planted there. Perhaps I was unlucky in that the (eventually) seven members of the public that overtook the cast happened to be conveniently English-speakers, well-behaved, articulate, and never flapped about in a panic or laughed their heads off. They were also conveniently devoid of whooping, cheering friends in the auditorium, and all their 'mistakes' were conveniently free from swearing. They all managed to say exactly the right 'wrong' thing and the actors always had exactly the right response. But like I say, perhaps I was just unlucky.I will say this, though: the rest of the audience was absolutely loving it. And I certainly can’t deny that the cast was on excellent form. All of them deliver a high-quality act and work very well together. I particularly enjoyed the increasingly chaotic performance of Trynity Silk as Gwendolyn, Rhys Tees as the poor, overworked Lane/Chasuble/Prism/Merriman, and Guido Garcia Lueches as a rigid Algernon who refuses to adapt his performance to the many changes around him.If you’re a fan of The Play that Goes Wrong, then you can expect pretty much the same thing here.

The Hive is not the most pleasant venue to endure during a Fringe show. It is made all the worse if you have to wait an extra 20 minutes for a show that is delayed because of technical issues. By the time the show actually begins, the smell is overwhelming, and personally, the last thing I wanted by the end of this wait period was to watch a comedy show for another hour. In fact the thoughts at the forefront of my mind were counting down the seconds until I could leave and trying to stave off feelings of nausea. Whilst Chris Forbes’ Court Jester did help to distract me from these thoughts, the amount of showmanship and multimedia in the show did not particularly convince me that it was worth waiting for.Court Jester is a rambling retelling of a year of Forbes’ life during the ages of 16-17 as an exchange high school student in America in order to improve his basketball playing skills. We're told from the start that the show is structured like a basketball game, but this is only apparent because Forbes tells us and every so often there’s a klaxon signaling the end of the first quarter, half-time etc, but otherwise this distinction is unnecessary. Considering the show and jokes within it are so anecdotal, all this does is disrupt the flow of the narrative, rather jarringly.Forbes is very relaxed in his storytelling, and the pace of the show itself is quite slow, to the point where it seems less like a comedy show and more like someone is just talking at us for an hour. He takes time to explain every detail and really paints a picture, which really helps bridge the generational divide for those of us not familiar with life in the 90s. Whilst the descriptions are helpful, Forbes almost does this to a fault, rambling on without actually getting to a punchline.This show is a great example of the straight-faced comedy that is quite prevalent in the UK. Forbes takes us through the cultural shock that he faced, leading to amusing anecdotes about Annie - his host family’s dog- to his American basketball coach, and it’s interesting to see the other side of that cultural dichotomy. There are moments where he does let go and allow himself to deviate from the structure, which is when his aptitude for comedy really comes through, but apart from an off-hand and cheap comment about the current war in Ukraine.Court Jester is a show about being dropped head first into a new culture, keeping yourself open to new experiences and basketball; things that we need to hear and consider. The story is enough for it to be a strong show in itself, but Forbes’ reliance on unnecessary accouterments not only detracts from his words, but make the experience far more unpleasant than it needs to be.

Bronwyn Sweeney’s show Off Brand talks about how important branding is, not only for products, but for comedians too. Using comedy to keep the audience’s interest, she talks about the five main factors to consider for branding. Sweeney also uses audience participation to ask questions and to call out each of the steps for successful branding.Sweeney uses the 1999 The Thong Song as an example of how branding can change people’s perspectives on products, as thong sales sky-rocketed after the song was released. She also uses the example of HP sauce, as the branding of the bottle is of the Houses of Parliament, although she next reveals that HP sauce is actually made in the Netherlands.A running theme throughout the show is the branding of herself. Sweeney mentions being born in Blackpool but, having lived in multiple cities across the world as she grew up, she has experienced multiple cultures that she has come to associate with – even calling herself a ‘fake American’ with a ‘fake American accent’. Sweeney also explains that she ‘branded’ herself for specific situations she experienced and schools that she went to, by changing her accent to become more liked. She also recounts her uncertainty about how she should ‘brand’ herself on dating apps, how best to seem appealing. Sweeney also added the secret fifth step to successful branding near the end, talking about how you must be honest and authentic.Sweeney has a few dirty jokes that run through the show and these seem to be slightly off topic. The jokes add some limited humour to the show, but create an awkward edge to the atmosphere in so doing. As some of these jokes seemed to be added just to create comedic effect without fully moulding it together with the other material, the jokes don't land properly on all occasions.To wrap up the show, Sweeney expresses how branding doesn’t equal people, with people being so much more complex than a product. The message is profound and needed for today’s society, as young people appear so often obsessed with branding and presentation.Although the comedic TED talk style may not be everyone’s cup of tea, Bronwyn Sweeney fulfils the task she has set out to do, having made people more aware of the importance of branding, while adding some comedy to the show.

Stark Bollock Naked does exactly what it says on the tin - minus the bollocks. The show opens with the eponymous 'stark naked' Larisa Faber introducing the show and commentating on society's relationship with nudity. Shortly after, her stage partner, Shamira Turner, bandages her bits and Larisa spends the majority of the show fixed in position and acting as a human projector screen. Faber's body hosts a range of impressive projections, from various outfits to some inventive imagery of photos and videos to annotate the meandering journey through the experience of a woman in her thirties and the goings on of the body through this time.Larisa is an expressive performer who, constrained by the required rigidity of her body, uses her face and voice to excellent comic effect, demonstrating a mastery of comic timing and expression. Her commentary is interspersed with effective use of sound effects and she interacts well with Turner, who proves a competent and likely sidekick that may be slightly underused.This show would work well as a comedy piece, but is far better suited to the theatre section in which it has been categorised. It's regularly amusing, occasionally funny but never hilarious and, as you'd hope from any theatrical piece, well constructed and performed, maximising the opportunity for creative and artistic projections with its novel concept.While the performance is engaging throughout, the spectacle and imagery eclipse the theme of the show's spoken content: that of womanhood. The spoken material is neither going to win awards nor bore an audience. Faber makes a point and carries the show effectively, but it is the USP which will put bums on seats. If you're interested in seeing a feminist piece and visually stunning insight into life as woman in her thirties, anchored by an engaging and expressive performer, you can't go wrong with this gem.

Grief is such a powerful and universal part of the human experience. It is tenderly shared and explored by the trio of real life friends that make up the cast of Wild Onion. A production that feels like a warm hug and a cup of tea after a hard day. You feel welcomed into their inner circle and it was truly a privilege to share in such an open vulnerable piece of theatre.Daisy, Rachel and Hayley are immediately likeable and relatable. They build an instant rapport with the audience allowing you to feel comfortable to laugh and / or cry with them. Their on stage relationships are sweet and tender and provide the perfect backdrop for this touching story of teenage, loss and healing.The story is presented in the style of a cabaret with different mini acts forming interludes between sections of the narrative. It was unfortunately these sections where the show, listed under circus, were somewhat underwhelming. This goes even more so when you compare the show to the wealth of circus talent there is available at the festival. These interludes included putting onions down a top, juggling onions and a lip sync which felt significantly drawn out. A highlight of these was a section performed by Rachel where they aggressively smashed leeks against the ground which felt cathartic to even just watch.Daisy warns the audience at the start of the show about the “onion splash zone” and offered anyone who wants it the chance to move further away. While this is greatly appreciated I will give you an extra warning about the unmention “onion stingy eye zone”, I did not consider this and wish I had. The onion metaphor works well and feels genuine while at the same time providing a quirky, engaging gimmick - just how many ways can three people use onions of various shapes, sizes and varieties.Orange skies have created a truly unique and engaging way of delivering a well structured story with a big heart (and a big clear up at the end). Although it may not be the most complex or awe inspiring circus skills you will see it may be one of the most imaginative uses.

Dominique Solerno’s The Box Show is a well-conceived theatrical piece which sees this talented and versatile performer performing a plethora of different characters, all from within a talented and versatile box. Solerno’s range of characters and situations is impressive, with generally distinct personalities reflected through the show, even if many of the voices are a tad similar.As required - and expected - when designing a whole show around a concept such as this, the box is incorporated effectively into each skit, sometimes seeing swinging doors segregating different characters into different sections, sometimes seeing skits framed around box-like locations, such as a car, ring box and womb. Most of the ideas are solid, though the material often feels settled upon, rather than played for maximum comedy effect, or utilising the box in the boxiest ways possible. A sketch about the Trojan War, for example, sees various characters planning the war out, but doesn’t transport our heroes inside the horse, as was expected at the skit’s outset.Some highlights include the one-woman-four-legs segment, while others such as the skit set within a recording booth feel like padding. There are a few lulls towards the middle, though a really solid last quarter ends the show on a high. I’m sure many people’s favourite section would be Salerno’s affectionate take on Frida Kahlo, probably incorporated due to her passion for the subject rather than optimal box usage.The show is consistently entertaining, regularly amusing and Dominique’s performances and manipulation of her surroundings are impressive throughout, though one gets the feeling there are some absolutely perfect uses for the novel set that could make this a five star show which Salerno has yet to conceive. Hopefully the concepts and writing can elevate the show towards its potential in future iterations. If you like the sound of the show and are happy to see a theatrically impressive piece rather than a comically hilarious one, this shouldn't disappoint.

Halloween is still months away, but fear not, Party Ghost is here to suck you right into the deadly holiday spirit. The absurdist comedy show mixes old-school circus into cabaret and drag forming a beautifully macabre aesthetics. The fast-paced hour is packed with grief, ghosts, poltergeists, severed limbs and more ways to kill that special somebody that you dare to count.Party Ghost is a tongue-in-cheek dark comedy, a celebration of all things gothic and grotesque, which pays a notable homage to Tim Burton. It’s concurring sketch turns birthday celebrations into Death Days, where one of the performers receive a birthday present and the other one tries to kill them. Directed by Nicci Wilks and performed by Olivia Porter and Jared Dewey, Party Ghost has some brilliant moments, but lacks general focus and a storyline that would bring it all together.The two Brisbane based lead performers complement each other beautifully, bringing into mind a full-grown version of the twins in The Shining. Olivia Porter is the juggler extraordinaire, whose deadpan comedic persona and innovative juggling style is a joy to watch. Jared Dewey’s genderbending is as refreshing as his aerial acrobatics is impressive. The best moments in the show come right at the start, when Deway portrays a grieving widow with a hilarious set of aerial acrobatics making full use of his expressive and bizarre character. He could for sure give Pedro Almadovar’s hysterical women a run for their money.The pair fit seamlessly together in some impressive ground acrobatics, where one could easily lose a limb or two – in fact, they do. While there are ghosts creeping up and down the isles, the show is more comical than scary. These ghosts are so clumsy that it isn’t any wonder they ended up dead. The show uses very few spoken lines, but includes plenty of screaming. In fact, I would have preferred is to be completely mimed (and screamed). The budget wasn’t blown on costumes or set design, but the impressive use of lights and sound effects makes all the difference. Especially strobe lights are used to their full advantage. The choreographies are excellent, as were the bits were the two artists got to show their individual talents.While the show offered many spectacular ideas on how to get rid of annoying people in your life, it missed a coherent storyline that would have bound the string of sketches together. Besides a few truly memorable moments like a hilarious version of Adele’s Hello, there was too much aimless spooking around in white sheets. This Tuesday's matinee was a tough crowd, where the audience watched the performance mostly in silence, interrupted by a few giggles. A show like this would have benefitted from a late night spot and a drink or two to get the audience involved. Absurdist comedy is a tough nut to crack. The balance of genius and madness have to be just right for it to work its magic. Unfortunately, this show will not haunt me afterwards.

The Improv Fringe is alive and kicking this year, as witty and inventive as ever. One of the most exciting aspects of the Fringe is to watch an Improv show, or its actors, grow up and mature over a succession of years. Mischief Theatre’s Goes Wrong proponents learned much of their trade on the Fringe with their wonderful Lights, Camera, Improvise! and there is so much pleasure to be had watching the various acts at key stages of development. Early career groups Improvabunga and Oxford Imps see performers (often University students) taking their early steps, while shows like Locomotive For Murder are just starting to develop a clear format. The Importance of Being… Earnest? is just about to start a regional tour while Showstoppers! comes back to Edinburgh following a hugely successful West End run. It has always been for me an important and fascinating aspect of the Fringe, watching the careers of shows and performers unfold.Improv is certainly in safe hands when Degrees of Error are in charge. The Bristol based company specialises in comedy drama and improvisations, and has been running this show to the Fringe since 2013. The majority of its performances feature a male detective, such as Willy Solvit, hosting the evening, while a series of colour-based characters (Mr Gold, Dr Green, Miss Scarlet - you get the picture) make up the cast of suspects. Most performances present actors ‘in gender’ but this special edition cross-dresses the characters to provide an alternative perspective.The show follows a well-developed formula to give us a sound night of laughs and on-the-spot comedy. We start off in the hands of host Richard Tective and meet our cast of characters before some grisly murders are committed. The show builds into an improvised denouement with the murderer unmasked. The theme on this particular evening is ballet, and the cast are inventive in the characters they create and witty in the lines delivered. They fold in the audience suggestions given, although there are only a small handful of aspects given to the audience to decide. One senses that the cast would benefit from being given more material to work with. For example, it would be interesting to have an audience suggest a title for the piece. From time to time, the host intervenes with suggestions and these add to the hilarity, being well judged each time. Again, however, there is space for a bit more of this.The audience clearly enjoy every minute of it and there are regular loud laughs. A bit thin in places but enough to keep everyone laughing into their drinks on a Saturday night - a good job done.

Sitting at the front of the queue, an hour before the show started, I was stung by a bee. Don’t panic, I thought. Respond. What would Julie Andrews do? I looked around but roses, kittens, brown paper packages – there were none. Fortunately, however, Out Of The Blue have always been one of my favourite things. The solution lay exactly where I was queuing.OOTB have been a Fringe favourite of mine since I first saw them in the early 2000s and who wouldn’t love a bunch of eleven floppy haired Oxford undergraduates singing enchanting harmonies while dancing funkily? This winning formula has led the group to considerable success, with global tours, television performances, and even a private audience for fellow Oxfordian Bill Clinton. And judging by the large and enthusiastic crowd around me, I am not the only one to simply remember to book a ticket for my favourite Fringe things.And yet. Where does a group like this go when it has gone everywhere already? When does the tiredness creep in? Looking closely and putting aside a fan’s emotion, it seems to me that the edges are fraying. The boys sing a succession of songs, doing all the harmonising themselves. It sounds very pretty (a few croaks can be forgiven mid Fringe). The highlight is a gorgeous Take On Me, led by Angus Millard. Saul Briscoe has prodigious talent. And yet how many of the performers do we really get to know? The performance stops while each one is introduced (a pet hate of mine – why do performers have to tell us their names in the middle of a show?). I would prefer to meet them and learn about their personalities through their singing of songs and characterful mucking about. This only really happens at the very end when real passion and heart is displayed in an emotional and engaging rendition by Josh Babu. But who are the others? What individuals make up the group? Who is stepping Out of the Light Blue?In between the songs, there is a lot of promoting - social media outlets, encouragement to review them online, a CD of last year’s songs. The group reaffirm their support for Helen & Douglas House, the Oxford charity they help fund, and this is laudable. The rest, less so. Get back to the singing please.The boys come out to meet the fans after the show and I think I hear one say that the benefit of success is that they can now do what they want. Sounds like a cash cow to me. Where are the students with a cause? What story are they trying to tell? What does the succession of songs add up to?There is much to celebrate in what OOTB have achieved. This group has been very special but to me here they look a bit tired, starry eyes now a little bit bleary and cynical. That is not to say that their fans don’t get everything they need from the hour, as all the whooping shows. In short, nobody gets stung but for me there is not much buzz.

Award-winning writer Izzy Tennyson returns to the Edinburgh Fringe in the shadow of her previous show Brute to tell the story of two dissimilar sisters who must navigate strained relationships with self-possessed relatives in the wake of their mother’s death.Tennyson, who also plays Jo, offers her lines with whip-quick delivery, barely giving us time to digest the words before a new character takes over with another frustration to share. With themes of death, class and family, The Great Ruckus has much potential to be moving, but confusion is more likely felt due to the sheer number of characters played by the two actors.Though the comedy sometimes gets lost within extended back stories, Tennyson’s writing is incredibly astute, performed with good timing and commitment from main characters Jo and Ida (who also offers up a range of cracking regional accents).The production has an added layer thanks to original hand-drawn cartoons in the style of Ralph Steadman, giving The Great Ruckus the maverick feel of Fear & Loathing in Las Vegas, led by our protagonist who spits long diatribes at the audience like a Welsh Hunter S. Thompson on a lot less drugs.Considering that Tennyson is early in her career, the cynicism in her writing may feel unwarranted, especially as she touches upon the uselessness of a Durham University degree and the shame of stacking shelves at Waitrose, with limited empathy for other family members.Nevertheless, if you can pin your ears back for this wordy marathon of a play, you’ll get Dickensian insight into the pessimistic complexities of the young in our age of individualism.

Battling a brain full of statistics, a society telling her she has to have it all by thirty and alcoholism, Ginny Hogan recalls the journey through her twenties to find her true life goals. Regression takes the audience by the hand as we collectively retrace her steps. The show is sarcastic yet heartfelt, and highlights the power of comedy in helping us find our purpose.Hogan’s show is clearly structured and flows well, with a mixture of one liners and more laid back moments of storytelling. She impressively works without notes and cleverly introduces visual gags via powerpoint, which creates a very polished performance. The one drawback of this is that initially, this approach seems a little too scripted, which risks feeling stiff; however, after some welcomed ad libbing, she eases into a more organic and authentic quality. Hogan’s measured pacing works very well in conveying her comic style, allowing the audience to react multiple times throughout one joke as it builds. Her set ups themselves are funny, and you relish the lead up to the punchline. Her material on female engineers and critiques of sexism are hilariously intertwined with Hogan’s baring all of her tumultuous romantic relationships. Exposing some awkward truths about her escapades, Hogan manages to discuss sobering topics (if you pardon the pun) in a carefully structured manner that makes the audience feel comfortable enough to laugh at.Hogan weaves in statistics, numbers and probabilities as she lovingly teases the male sex, turning what could be verbose content into something distinctly relatable. Hogan’s most triumphant material is often her most silly—her eyes light up and her energy becomes more infectious. At these moments, you can’t help but join her fan-club. This seems to dwindle slightly during the more autobiographical moments in the show, which (as in any performance) tend to be the ones that require more enthusiasm and momentum. Nevertheless, if you love structure and harsh truths tied together in a hopeful message, Regression is one to watch.

Much like a dramatisation of a family game of Monopoly, Dough looks at money with a kind of argumentative helplessness. Written and directed by Molière award-winning David Lescot, we follow main character Me, played by New York’s Zach Lusk, who resents the capitalist game and the parents who force him to play it, arguing and sulking his way through a lifetime condensed into one hour.That’s not to say Dough is not enjoyable. It’s a slick hour of entertainment, made to sparkle with professional pacing from Compagnie du Kaïros’ cast of three, with impressive range from co-stars Matthew Brown and Hannah Mitchell who play as many as 40 characters between them.Bound up in its own momentum much like today’s financial markets, Dough is unstoppable, barely giving time to pause and think. Perhaps this is intentional, a reflection on the way many of us live our lives, slaves to a system that bleeds us dry. Without the time to contemplate, however, none of us has a chance to think differently. Me goes from one failed love affair to another, reluctantly adding child support to his long list of outgoings, seemingly learning nothing beyond the power of money.Working-class characters and communists are played for laughs and lack compassion, in comparison to Lescot’s alter ego who is judged more lightly than he deserves, a victim of his middle-class privilege.Even the decrepit funeral director played by Brown saves his monologue to talk of the economic challenge of selling coffins. This moment has the potential to serve as a philosophical turning point for our protagonist as he enters the latter stages of his life, but all it does is instil more money-grabbing fear in Me.Despite the promise of Dough, the writing isn’t as deep as one might hope. Rather than being a sharp takedown of capitalist culture, instead, Dough reaches only slightly below surface level to grasp at a handful of slimy dollars.

Emily’s life is falling apart. Between knocking back her Xanax with whisky and conjuring an multi-tier unicorn birthday cake for her daughter (with a horn that doesn’t look like a dildo), she is floundering in an increasingly dangerous mental health crisis. Desperate to rehabilitate herself, she books in to a ‘summer camp for broken people’: an intensive, weeks-long therapy course which tests her commitment to fixing herself. The beginning of the piece introduces us to Emily; a wide-eyed, forty-something, single mum barely clinging on to sanity: simultaneously scaffolded and suffocated by the restrictions and expectations of life. On the surface, she is the perfect, cake-baking mum. On the inside, she is a tangle of wires knotted as tightly as her resolve not to crack. She wants to get better: but this forces her to face up to what has been making her ill. She writes pages of achingly articulate prose; has relapses; lashes out. All the while, the impressively constructed set features projections (courtesy of Dan Light) whose significance becomes clear later on. The overall atmosphere - aided by Stacey Nurse’s lighting plot - is of a multi-coloured, tangential chaos burned onto the bones of a nondescript domestic interior. Which, as design metaphors go, is pretty accurate for the vibe of the text and Mental health, then, is the primary driver of this piece, although Emily’s particular episode has been catalysed by a brutal rape some months earlier. This brings an additional psychological layer to the piece and hones in on something very much more specific which only really unfolds in the latter minutes of the play. The first three-quarters of the script is fairly well-trodden dramatic territory in confessional theatre; but is here both elevated and made somewhat stickier by the knowledge that the actor in front of us - Emily Beecher - is playing herself in this brave and unrelenting autobiographical show.The closing minutes have Beecher bringing up the house lights and focusing on the rape and its after effects in angry detail. She recounts the amount of time it takes to grow new cells, nails, hair… noting how very little is physically left of the woman who was assaulted that night compared to the emotional havoc which remains. This raw address is the most successful element of the show; forcing the audience to reassess what they thought they were watching and ask further questions about both their own understanding and Beecher’s experience. It transforms the central tenet from being an exploration of mental health recovery to being a powerful invective against abuse and there is little to argue about as regards the message Beecher is delivering or the passionate manner in which it is delivered. Beecher is a compelling advocate, and is at her best when making eye contact with her audience and intoning this manifesto against male violence. There will be few women untouched by unwanted advances, and this call to action is an irresistible and sadly still much needed reminder that we each deserve full autonomy over our own bodies.

There is a large distance between the impression given in the description of this show on the EdFringe site and my experience of the performance. The show description speaks of a ‘group portrait’ of women trying to maintain balance in ‘contemporary society loaded with expectations’ and ‘a voyage of self-discovery’.Actually the show is mainly a series of well performed but disparate circus acrobat sequences by a female troupe with occasional gestures towards symbolic meaning. There is no apparent continuous thread between the different elements. The individual parts do not make up a whole. For example, there is a skillful acrobatic solo act involving a table. The table has text written on it (translated in the program leaflet). Just a few of these keywords are ‘desire’, ‘feminism’, ‘freedom’, ‘male/father’, ‘stereotype’, ‘envy’, ‘beauty’. But there is nothing to connect these words to the individual acrobatic or dance sections, and there is no discernable thread connecting any themes at all across the different sequences.Although the EdFringe description emphasises the female led nature of the show, there are also appearances by an androgynous solo act. These are along conceptual-art lines and present tableau-style costumes or scenes of repetition. These don’t have any apparent connection to the performances of the solo or group performances of the girls. So there is a mixture of typical circus acrobatics with a few performance-art style pieces bolted on, as if in afterthought.On the positive side: there is a good music soundtrack, the girl acrobats are highly skilled, the choreography is tightly coordinated between them in the dance sequences, and they perform a wide variety of routines from human pyramids to flirty pop videos.If you like pure acrobatics and don’t mind performance-art interruptions then there is something for you in this show. For fans of deep exploration of themes or of performance-art, there are stronger shows elsewhere.

Soup is a stand up hour kicking off with tales of a ‘Soup Sharing’ WhatsApp group and its tyrannical leader. All of a sudden, conversation turns to CPTSD, bath bombs and worms. It’s a smörgåsbord of treats and giggles.Spittle’s stand-up demeanour is refreshingly wholesome, which allows her to comically ebb and weave through topics in the blink of an eye. Her tone is conversational and down to earth, which earns further laughs when the audience is hit with a sudden shift to more gruesome material. The organic and improvisational approach is a wonderful choice.Mental health has become a hot topic for comedians as of late, yet, Spittle’s take is fresh and authentic. The awkwardness of self care and strange internal dialogues build into witty anecdotes that make for laugh-out-loud comedy. The upshot is a touching and hopeful message to not fear the world around us, which is particularly poignant in the current climate.Though Alison’s more haphazard delivery is funny in its own right, it makes her liable to increasingly bigger gaps in between punchlines, which made the second half of the show lag slightly. I raise this issue hesitantly, as I found Spittle’s charisma so bountiful that I almost didn’t mind. Her bright energy and lightheartedness is the spoonful of sugar that we all need—she would earn good money delivering bad news. I am sure it wouldn’t be difficult for the talented Spittle to amend the dip in jokes and the show’s somewhat unclear ending.Her soup material, however, is epic. You would never have thought that the contentious hot liquid could cause such a stir. Tied in to the cost of living crisis and personality profiling, Spittle impressively manages to continuously earn a mighty response from her uplifted audience. It is this that justifies Soup as a hot tasty treat for the Fringe-goer.

After co-directing Edinburgh Fringe-favourite turned international sensation Six The Musical, Jamie Armatage's latest creative project is writing and directing a promising and suspenseful classic crime drama.We start in the interrogation room, two actors sitting at a table in front of three cameras, the clock ticking on finding a killer's victim and the stage set. If they act quickly, maybe they can still save the woman who has disappeared and whose life is now in danger. Visually, the police station looks like it has fallen out of Life on Mars, as does the detective's boss, played jovially by John Macneill. The years of cuts to the police and austerity drag us visually back to the 1970s too. However, the multi camera set-up and the minutiae of police procedure remind me more of Line of Duty in tone, with plenty of time spent describing things vividly for the record. We straddle eras of crime drama here.Bethan Cullinane plays our detective with a hunch to nail, and time slipping away; Jamie Ballard plays a high flying successful CEO, who nobody could fathom being involved in a murder (just look how much he loves and supports his ailing mother). These two performers carry the show on their shoulders. It becomes a real pleasure to watch the push and pull of power and lies, evidence and admissions in the well paced script. A really good use of naturalism, the time pressure of trying to save this missing woman, really turn the screw in tension.For such an elaborate staging, however, I want more from the tech and video. I can see some benefits to such use of technology, as I am now able to rest the head that is being held at a funny angle in order to see round the tall person in front of me and look at a screen to watch both actors' faces. However, I still grow disappointed at its creative use. This technology is certainly able to draw the our focus to key moments but it often simply portrays shots of the room that we can see anyway. Its usage feels a bit as if the production is drawing inspiration from multimedia productions such as Katie Mitchell’s adaptation of Waves, without understanding what made them so effective and transformative.Nevertheless, An Interrogation is a solid well-crafted mystery, brought brilliantly to life by Ballard & Cullinane.

One hundred brave (or not so brave) Trojan Soldiers are trapped inside the infamous giant wooden horse, plotting their escape…. and you get to be one of them! This is the exciting premise for Fishing 4 Chips' new production at this year's festival - Burning down the Horse. The piece is primarily a light-hearted and silly romp most suited to the sensibilities of your typical fringe-goer looking for something a bit different. Overall it engages and entertains, although if you are looking for a truly immersive bit of theatre you may feel this leaves you feeling slightly short-changed. The cast are likeable, with consistently sound comic timing and a range of dynamic characters. In particular, Hannah Harquart is endlessly charismatic, leading the audience through the story with formidable charm and stage presence. The show's comedic element mainly surrounds the delightful use of puns, witty references to classic Greek mythos and exaggerated characterisation. This is generally very strong and makes for a fun experience, leaving the audience giggling throughout and smiling upon exit. It has an undeniable charm and it is easy to see the appeal of this ensemble. The actors are for the most part positioned in and among the audience. This is the primary way in which the immersive experience is created. If you are lucky enough to be sat beside one of the actors seats then you will hear small quips and responses throughout directed at only you; beside this there are occasional moments of audience interaction, however this rarely goes beyond asking an audience member their name or reading a few words out. It felt at times that the script was too stringent to allow for any of the playfulness required for the highest quality audience work, or for the audiences' presence to have any real impact on the performance. There is a political note running throughout in terms of the nature of power, particularly in relation to workers rights. This was predominantly delivered through the character of the carpenter. While this is admirable and provided some well needed depth to the work, it did at times create a sort of tonal dissonance. While the other characters were delivered as over-the-top caricatures, the carpenter was earnest and serious. His speeches felt jarring amongst the rest of the show. This message could perhaps have been delivered just as clearly through subtext to create a nuanced piece of comedy with a more consistent atmosphere.There is good reason for the show to be a popular ticket this festival, it provides a unique setting and is ultimately pretty fun. The cast are good and the concept is sound. If you want to see a bit of horseplay in a play about a horse this could easily be the show for you.