4 Star Reviews on Broadway Baby

It feels very strange now to know that, in the Sixties, the BBC had such a monopoly on radio that Radio Caroline, the most famous of the pirate radio stations, was founded to give young people the pop music they wanted to listen to. Shaking up the establishment, it was anchored three miles off the Essex coast and provides excellent locality for this first production by the East Anglian Touring Consortium. Caroline arrives at the Mercury Theatre and is a historically fascinating show, although a little too formulaic in places, particularly in an overlong first half that perhaps contains a few too many jingles to make the point that this was a commercial radio station. But writer Vikki Stone has created effective references to the period (the DJ Robbie is a nod to Tony Blackburn, the Postmaster General an amalgamation of MPs), and the songs are woven very well into the narrative.Encountering their own choppy waters, Craig Mather stepped in at 24 hours’ notice to play Robbie due to the indisposition of the original actor. He went on with the book, was excellent and deserved the standing ovation. The cast are multi-talented, moving from instrument to instrument and playing a lively bunch of characters. As Robbie’s girlfriend Caroline, Claire-Lee Shenfield soars with excellent vocals, particularly in the second-half solo You’re My World, and Eloise Richardson is a good foil as her best friend Mary. Gareth Cooper brings the jeopardy as the Postmaster General, his extreme snobbery and conviction that he speaks for the nation perfectly portrayed. The founding of the station is fascinating and conveyed well by Nicola Bryan and Joey Hickman, and Perry Meadowcroft is scene-stealing in a succession of roles, particularly a “racy” voiceover. The song selection, overall, is excellent, and the direction by Douglas Rintoul keeps the pace smooth.Although the first half does plod a little in places, things really get going in Act Two, beginning with a storming version of My Generation, which allows the talent to stretch and entertain us. As legal challenges begin to block the broadcasting, the real legacy of Caroline becomes clear: the founding of four new radio stations, especially Radio One, central to my youth. With up to twenty million listeners daily, Radio Caroline was huge and is given deserved recognition in this highly entertaining show.

After a day wandering the sun-soaked streets of Prague, with heavy legs and increasingly heavy eyelids, a one-man biographical drama about a seventeenth-century French playwright did not, on paper, feel like the ideal antidote to exhaustion. Yet Molière: The Last Laugh proved unexpectedly engrossing - part history lesson, part theatrical memoir, and consistently engaging throughout.Most people will know Molière through the reputation of plays like Tartuffe, but far fewer are likely to know much about the man himself. This production, performed entirely by Gordon Duffy-McGhie, seeks to fill in those gaps, tracing the playwright’s life from the son of an upholsterer to one of the most celebrated - and controversial - figures in French theatre.Structured around the conceit of Molière collapsing backstage during a performance of The Imaginary Invalid, the show unfolds as a kind of final reckoning. Duffy-McGhie guides us through the playwright’s rise to fame: the adoption of the Molière name, the formation of his theatre company, the patronage of Louis XIV, and the scandals and critics that followed him throughout his career.What could easily have become static instead feels remarkably fluid thanks to both the performance and several inventive theatrical touches. Duffy-McGhie gives a confident and intelligent central performance, balancing humour with moments of weariness and reflection. More importantly, he manages to make Molière feel human rather than purely historical - ambitious, flawed, occasionally vain, but deeply devoted to theatre.The production also finds clever ways to avoid the visual inertia that often plagues one-person shows. Powder becomes a representation of hostile critics and public scrutiny, while recurring feathers and prop work help create movement and texture across the stage. These small visual flourishes give the storytelling a theatricality that lifts it beyond straightforward narration.What I found most satisfying, however, was the sense of discovery. The evening often felt like watching a particularly well-acted documentary - educational without becoming dry, informative without ever feeling overly academic. I left knowing far more about Molière than when I entered, and crucially, wanting to revisit his work with fresh perspective.At times the pacing occasionally dips, particularly during some of the denser biographical sections, but the warmth and intelligence of the production carry it through. By the end, Molière: The Last Laugh becomes less a history lesson and more a tribute to the strange immortality theatre can offer: an artist long dead still managing to command a stage centuries later.

Last year, Chris Sainton-Clark filled Prague Fringe Festival’s largest venue, Malostranská beseda, with his hugely successful and highly entertaining Tales from a British Country Pub, for which he deservedly picked up the 2025 Creative Award in recognition of his remarkable inventiveness; one of 12 theatre awards he now possesses.The show had a simple formula. Draw on your years of working behind the bar, observing and listening to customers from all walks of life. Eavesdrop on them, engage with them, note their idiosyncrasies and quirky behaviour, and use your comprehensive ability with words to form narratives in rhyming couplets. Combine your virtuoso talent as a lyricist, singer, guitarist and composer to create songs that form a highly amusing hour’s entertainment that everyone can identify with.He continued touring the show around the UK and then went on to a sell-out run in venues all around New Zealand, picking up multiple awards along the way and many more stories. The boundaries of his material have now gone beyond the pub to include encounters with people rooted in everyday life and situations occurring on his travels. Hence this year he was back in Prague with his sequel, appropriately and simply called More Pub Tales with Chris Sainton-Clark.The show contains some of the most popular material from the original and remains true to form, bearing his hallmark blend of guitar-backed songs with cutting lyrics that lay bare the human condition. We are introduced to Paul, the classic pub geezer, and Bob, who loudly displayed his bright red Arsenal shirt while cruising up the stunning Milford Sound with his back to the most spectacular scenery. More amusement comes from New Zealand in Confusing Interactions I’ve Had With Kiwis; an exposé of the pitfalls of not fully tuning in to their vowel sounds. Folks from the USA also come in for some stick in A British Bartender’s Guide to Americans.These and many more acutely observant pieces keep the light-hearted show rolling along with our host’s charismatic charm. There are a number of opportunities to see him on tour around the country and he’ll also be in Edinburgh again for the Fringe, where, additionally, he is performing his gripping five-star crime drama, The Night Ali Died.

I’ll admit it: when Euan Fraser pitched Arthur Vinegar: Good Boy at Prague Fringe’s Meet the Media event, I was sceptical. The description appeared to involve clowning, carrots, and a man in a vest asking whether he was “a good boy.” This did not, on paper, sound entirely like my thing. Still, I had a free hour and very little self-preservation instinct, so off I went.It’s fantastic.Or at least, fantastically daft.Fraser’s show exists somewhere in the overlap between clowning, physical comedy, absurdism and stand-up. There’s a loose premise involving Arthur Vinegar waking up every night in front of an audience armed only with carrots and an overwhelming need for approval, but trying to summarise the actual contents of the show makes you sound like you’ve had a minor head injury. There’s a cow called Daisy. At one point an audience member shoots her. There’s an extended sequence involving Arthur trying to locate his missing trousers somewhere amongst the crowd. None of this sounds funny written down. In the room, it absolutely is.What makes the show work so well is Fraser himself. Audience interaction can often feel like a dangerous game of roulette at the Fringe - either electric or painfully long - but Fraser handles it with the confidence of someone who could probably have become a very good stand-up comedian had he chosen a slightly less carrot-intensive path in life. He has an excellent instinct for callbacks, gently teasing audience members without ever tipping into cruelty.One woman, asked to define a “good boy” quality, offered the phrase “being responsible, not irresponsible,” which Fraser proceeded to mine for comedic gold for the rest of the performance. The joy comes partly from watching how quickly he can transform an accidental audience contribution into a running gag that keeps evolving in increasingly ridiculous ways.There’s also something oddly endearing beneath the chaos. For all the slapstick and nonsense, the show’s central idea - a grown man desperately seeking reassurance that he is, fundamentally, “good” - gives the absurdity a strange emotional grounding. Not enough to make this a deeply moving meditation on masculinity or self-worth, thankfully, but enough to stop it becoming pure sketch-show randomness.If there’s a weakness, it’s the ending. A final sequence underscored by Lou Reed’s Perfect Day slightly overstays its welcome, and the show loses a little of the relentless comic momentum that carries the earlier sections so effortlessly. Fraser himself even jokes at one point that he’s running out of ideas while performing an increasingly elaborate cow-milking routine, and the final few minutes do feel as though the show is searching for a conclusion rather than hurtling towards one.Still, that’s a small complaint in what is otherwise a hugely entertaining fifty minutes. Most importantly, I never quite knew what was coming next - always a good sign in comedy, and even more impressive in a Fringe landscape increasingly full of carefully engineered quirkiness.As we left, audience members were loudly singing the show’s praises. Slightly annoyingly, they were right.

There is something slightly disarming about seeing a comic who has racked up tens of millions of online views performing to an audience of seven in a basement at the Prague Fringe Festival. Yet that intimacy ends up working very much in Saikiran’s favour. By the end of the hour, the room feels less like a Fringe comedy crowd and more like an extended family gathering - albeit one where somebody has handed the funny cousin a microphone.Saikiran arrives in Prague with an interesting challenge. He is one of India’s most successful English-language stand-ups, shot to viral fame through routines about dark skin and marriage that struck a chord with millions online. But comedy rarely travels cleanly across borders. Jokes that kill in one country can feel oddly flat elsewhere, stripped of the cultural shorthand that made them sparkle in the first place.To his credit, Saikiran seems entirely aware of this. Early on, he admits he has come to the Fringe partly to test whether his style of comedy works internationally. The answer, broadly, is yes - though perhaps in a slightly different form than it does back home.What makes the set land is not edgy provocation or razor-sharp satire, but warmth. This is resolutely family-friendly stand-up: no aggressive crowd work, no parade of swear words, no desperate attempts to shock the audience into submission. Instead, Saikiran mines humour from family dynamics, middle-class aspirations and the peculiarities of growing up in India. His mother, father and older brother become the heart of his show, and the material taps into something universal enough that the cultural specifics rarely become a barrier.There is also something refreshingly unpretentious about the performance. Saikiran has clearly spent years honing this act through corporate gigs and mainstream audiences, and that polish shows. He is immediately comfortable on stage, relaxed with the audience and adept at creating an easy rapport. Even in a tiny room, he never appears rattled by the modest turnout. If anything, the smaller audience seems to suit the conversational tone of the evening.Not every joke lands with knockout force, and there are moments where the material feels a little too safe. The show rarely takes major creative risks, and those expecting a boundary-pushing comic voice may leave slightly underwhelmed. While I laughed consistently throughout, there were few moments that genuinely blindsided me with originality or bite.Still, there is real skill in making an audience feel comfortable for an hour, and Saikiran achieves that with ease. The comedy is gentle, personable and consistently likeable. More importantly, the hour passes remarkably quickly - often the clearest sign that a comedian knows exactly what they are doing.Whether Saikiran becomes a breakout global comedy star remains to be seen. But as an introduction to an Indian comic voice that feels accessible without becoming bland, Saikiran LIVE is an engaging and thoroughly pleasant hour in good company

Just before the show, the audience is invited on stage to have a drink at the bar, mingling with actor-musicians who entertain with Irish and Czech songs. It’s just a little foretaste of the Dublin-set show, which is built around the performers and the making of music.The musical, written by Enda Walsh, with music and lyrics by Glen Hansard and Markéta Irglová, is based on John Carney’s 2007 film.Premiering on Broadway in 2012, Once went on to the West End and Dublin and amassed a slew of awards on both sides of the Atlantic. Now it has its Scottish premiere as part of PFT’s 75th anniversary season.It is something of a coup for Pitlochry’s Artistic Director, Alan Cumming, to have brought this production, which reunites the original creative team from Broadway and the West End, to the theatre in the hills to open his inaugural season.The plot is a sort of romantic fairy tale, what might have been but never happened, taking place over a week. Boy meets girl and they do make sweet music, but only of the literal kind. They are called Guy and Girl, no names.Dylan Wood plays Guy, a busker wanting to chuck in his once-beloved music after his girlfriend leaves him. His first song is a self-pitying, high-pitched, lovelorn lament, which does not bode well, but then Girl (Lydia White), a dynamic Czech immigrant, enters and gives him a good talking to.Girl has her Czech mates and Dublin chums with whom to make music. She plays the piano while Guy sings and plays the guitar.The pair grow closer as they try to make an album together with their friends. Girl encourages him to go back to the ex who dumped him. She has a child and a husband but falls for Guy, telling him in Czech that she loves him, but of course he does not speak her language.While the plot may baffle, it is the execution of the piece by a flawless eight-strong ensemble that brings it to fruition. At the helm is director John Tiffany, collaborating with choreographer Steven Hoggett as they have done since first making the show in 2012. Some of the cast are Once veterans too, all displaying great musicianship and wit in their roles.It’s all set in the huge dark wood-lined pub (designed by Bob Crowley), so authentic you can almost smell the Guinness.

It’s almost 30°C and Brighton isn’t lacking sunshine, but the smile of Adunni Alaalo - played by award-winning performer Bola Stephen-Atitebi - still fills the Fishing Museum with even more brightness and warmth. Her smile is so compelling that you can’t help but smile back.We first hear Adunni before we see her as she glides down the steps of the Old Net Loft into the Fishing Museum, where her audience awaits, calling out to us in song. It quickly becomes clear that we are not just her audience today, but also her friends and co-performers, as she teaches us to say ‘ẹ káàbọ̀’, a greeting meaning ‘welcome’ in Yoruba. We repeat it together as Adunni beams and sings to us, while her assistant plays a Nigerian talking drum, creating a steady beat to underpin our chanting.As she introduces herself, Adunni tells us that her first name means ‘the sweet one to have’ and that Alaalo means ‘storyteller’. Certainly, throughout the performance we come to understand what a sweet gift it is to be in her presence. We follow her back up the stairs and take a seat - on a chair or the floor - ready to listen as our master storyteller weaves her words.She recounts traditional folktales from the Yoruba people, as well as stories from across wider Nigeria, including the tale of how the lion became King of the Jungle over the elephant, who was tricked by a wily little tortoise, and the sad story of a brother who tears his family apart through jealousy. Adunni brings these stories vividly to life through her storytelling, but also by casting members of the audience to reenact the characters’ tales.Adunni tells us that her mother visited the day before and reminded her of a lullaby, which she proceeds to teach us just as her mother once taught her. Indeed, Adunni herself takes on a maternal mantle: teaching us, guiding us, coaching us. She encourages us to join in, have fun, and play. Much of the audience is shy, a little unsure, and reluctant to step forward and participate. However, Adunni is wonderfully persuasive and gently cajoles us into pushing past our awkwardness. It is genuinely joyful to watch adults become silly and playful when they are so often held back by social convention and a fear of failure or ridicule.Listening to Adunni’s tales, told with such spirit and joy, strikes deep at the heart of our society. At the end, she tells us that we need to preserve the stories and songs from our childhood. She relates this to the oja cloth, an important rectangular strip of fabric that serves many purposes but is most commonly used for carrying babies. Adunni explains that our fates are all bound together, as though tied by an oja. Yet we see so often in modern life that this connection is under threat. Children watch AI-generated cartoons on iPads - stories not created with moral guidance or cultural longevity at their heart, but designed simply to secure the next click or view. Reminiscing with Adunni Alaalo is suitable for the whole family, but it is the adults who most need to attend: to unlock their inner child, reaffirm their roots, and remember that - regardless of our cultures or histories - we are all connected.

Move over Taylor Swift. Girl Boss God is on an epic world tour and, as the ‘CEO of the universe’, she invented eras. Determined to reclaim her position as the world’s top influencer (she’s currently trailing in sixth place, just below Kris Jenner but above Kid Rock), she plans the biggest comeback imaginable: the Second Coming, with her son, Jesus Christ - the ‘original nepo baby’ - as the star guest.As she excitedly awaits her reunion with ‘Baby JC’ (sadly, he’s always favoured his foster mother, ‘that dumb bitch, the Virgin Mary’), God shares her story as a working mother with her believers - or ‘VIP superfans’. She has moved on from her Old Testament days of starting plagues for fun (apart from Covid) and is now on a journey of personal growth. She recounts her enlightenment through a mixture of song, stints as a game show host (‘Saint or Celeb?’), and product placement on the Heavenly Shopping Network. Her return to number one influencer seems inevitable until JC has his own personal awakening about his pushy mother, prompting God to have a public meltdown.Written and performed by Alison Arnopp, the character of Girl Boss God is a brilliant comic creation. Arnopp masterfully satirises both influencer culture and Christianity in its most extreme forms, highlighting the misogyny of both worlds. Justifying her hatred of other women, God explains, ‘If I don’t hate women, how will they know to hate themselves?’The songs are as catchy as ‘hell’. Like Swift, God has a repertoire of tunes inspired by ex-boyfriends, including ‘bad boy, Nathan’ (aka Satan), whilst her ‘Who makes that happen?’ (answer: biblical ‘girls’ like Sarah, who gave birth at 90) is reminiscent of a certain Beyoncé anthem. As well as being a talented comic actor, Arnopp has a fantastic voice. Her training in classical singing is apparent in a Rosalía-inspired lament towards the end of the show.The show finishes as it began, with God desperately seeking new followers. God may not be able to rely on her son for support, but her creator, Alison Arnopp, has a new believer - aka VIP superfan - in me.

Opening in the West End with goth sass raised to 11, Beetlejuice The Musical is peppered with contemporary digs at the UK and other musicals. This includes filthy and hilarious jokes about Paddington that will make fans choke on their marmalade sandwiches.This production at the Prince Edward Theatre is full of life, even if its subject is death. Based on the enduringly popular 1988 film, the music and lyrics by Eddie Perfect and the book by Scott Brown and Anthony King gleefully tap into the original source, and while some elements are firmly established goth tropes, it doesn’t feel dated.The success of the evening is due mainly to David Fynn’s wonderfully manic performance as Beetlejuice, his connection with the audience firmly established from the outset in a striking opening that quickly wrong-foots the audience. Meta-theatre is joyously employed, and he has a striking Robin Williams-type energy that never drops throughout the show.All the principals are strong, especially Hannah Nordberg as grieving teen Lydia, with soaring vocals, and Aimie Atkinson’s superb life coach Delia. The duet No Reason, performed by Lydia and Delia, is a show highlight. David Hunter and Chelsea Halfpenny are perfect as the boring ghostly Maitlands, and Alisdair Harvey exudes great fun as dad Charles. What is particularly striking is how hard the ensemble works, with costume changes and character switches performed with aplomb and panache.It doesn’t break ground within the gothic musical tradition, the design is quite conventional, and occasionally the material is stretched a little thin. The Netherworld number What I Know Now, although beautifully executed, feels very much like filler. Fynn is also so charismatic as Beetlejuice that I occasionally found myself impatient for him to return on stage. However, it builds very well to the wedding scene and Beetlejuice’s final exit. Just as you thought Paddington was safe, it is worth being in your seat for.The show seemingly has a built-in fanbase and it’s wonderfully atmospheric to see some cosplay in the auditorium. It delivers exactly what everyone wants and should settle in for a long run.

If you’re a fan of fairytales and mythology, then prepare to get swept away into a musical tale with Norwegian folklore at its heart. Nocturne begins softly, much like the dawn that gradually lights the stage before us. However, the arrival of the Nøkken — played with elegant mystery by Em-J Smith — leaves us in darkness and starts our story. Our central heroine, Solveig, is a familiar character for fans of Belle in Beauty and the Beast. A headstrong outsider, she is more preoccupied with singing to the mountains and looking after her herd of cows than joining her peers at a local dance. When one of her cows doesn’t return home, she looks for her in the forest her father always warned her about, embarking on an adventure that sees her meet a colourful cast of woodland characters. The central star of the show is the multi-talented Hedda Rustad Carlsen who is not only credited as co-creator, composer, producer, and writer, but also plays Solveig. Her flute-like voice rings through the auditorium with clarity and precision, but is also warm and bright. There aren’t any real earworms in the score, but the songs are all pleasant to listen to, evoking the glistening Nordic fjords with ice-clear melodies. Certainly, Once Upon A Time, sung by the mice, has a catchy refrain and Espen’s song is delightfully comedic as his self-important ‘hero’ tries to impress Solveig.The forest set design is simple, but evolves as the forest spirits – acting as stage hands – as Solveig continues her journey. She meets sidekicks Town Mouse and Country Mouse and even meets a polar bear. The creatures she encounters are often brought to life with winsome puppetry crafted with storybook charm. Occasionally it does threaten to all become a bit too twee, but Saskia Douglas’ sassy witch steps in to pop the saccharine of the moment with a funny aside. It might be unfair to ask a fairytale to be held too accountable to accuracy, but there are a few under-served plot points that leave you with loose ends, making it difficult to sometimes invest in the concerns of the characters. Hedda’s motivations at the beginning of the musical are forgotten by the end and it’s unclear exactly what the playful cast of characters’ stories mean in the wider context.However, the final showdown is genuinely dramatic, with balletic choreography as Solveig and her friends fight against the powers of evil. Although you may not be humming the tunes on the way home, this Nordic musical is sure to enchant the whole family.

Sir Arthur Conan Doyle might not have imagined his two most enduring characters – Sherlock Holmes and Dr Watson – to be in a will-they-won’t-they gay relationship, but Sherlock Holmes vs Arsène Lupin: A Drag Crime Caper brings the dreams of a thousand Tumblr slash fiction writers to life. The game is a farce; we start off across the pond in France with the arrest and then almost immediate escape of Arsène Lupin, the gentleman thief created by French author Maurice Leblanc as the dapper and rakish criminal counterpart to the more forensical and detached Holmes. Despite its longer than the Fringe average runtime of 120 minutes, it doesn’t outstay its welcome. In fact, after a slightly sluggish start, the performance soon warms into its impressively fast-paced witty repartee once Lupin and Holmes meet and it could be said that the second half is even better than the first. Occasionally, as the jokes come in thick and fast, they’re not always given the space to land. However, too many jokes is a good problem for a comedy to have and if you miss one then another zinger will be sure to tickle your ears before too long (or is that the feeling of the feather duster belonging to Alex Scarrott’s five o’clock shadowed, chain smoking Mrs Hudson?) Chully Mullock is suave and seductive as the disguise master Lupin; their lip sync to a cover of Fiona Apple’s ‘Criminal’ is a classic burlesque-inspired treat. On the whole, the show’s needle drops are well chosen, with a swing cover of Lady Gaga’s 'Bad Romance' becoming the excellent accompaniment for a very amusing montage of crime escapades. However, it’s when Maria Evans’ Sherlock Holmes enters that the fun truly notches up a gear, lighting up the stage with their energy as a rather foolish version of the iconic detective, fully dressed in tweed cap and deerstalker. It would be easy for John Watson’s more sedate narrator to be drowned out by these bigger characters, but Esther Dracott more than holds their own in the midst of all the chaos, perfectly embodying the earnest doctor in the middle of a love triangle. Special mention must also go to Emma Howarth’s boat rowing mime as the gullible Inspector Ganiard , Michael Grant’s glamorous and occasionally Jack Lemmon referencing Irene Adler, and Phaedra Danelli’s wide eyed love sick Josephine, the woman that Lupin will never fall for. What sets this performance apart is the sheer love and joy poured into every corner of it. Writer Samuel Masters has clearly done his homework and isn't shy about deep cuts, even naming the show's Escape Room after Herlock Sholmès, Leblanc's copyright-dodging stand-in for a certain pipe-smoking detective. Every prop, too, has been crafted with loving precision in the noble pursuit of maximum silliness.Anyone in the mood for a gloriously silly night of double entendres, show-stopping numbers, and fabulous drag versions of familiar faces will have an absolute ball. The only real miss? No Lupin belting out Piaf's ‘Non, je ne regrette rien’, though perhaps they're saving that for a sequel. And on this showing, there's plenty of scope for one.

Kidnapping someone and then offering them a smoothie is, admittedly, quite a strong opening move. Binding Agent understands this immediately. Harry Smithson’s dark comedy drops us into a hostage situation that is equal parts threatening and absurd, before steadily revealing itself to be one of the sharpest pieces of new writing I’ve seen at the Fringe this year.The set-up is deceptively simple. Simon, a corporate employee of sorts, wakes tied to a chair and is joined by the unnerving Herne, who refuses to properly explain why any of this is happening. Later joined by Annette, a language teacher with strong opinions, the trio spend the evening locked in a bizarre conversational tug-of-war that veers wildly between politics, philosophy, workplace culture, Nixon, smoothies, and increasingly fraught attempts to make sense of their situation.Smithson’s script is exceptionally well judged. The dialogue crackles throughout, packed with sharp observations and genuinely funny lines that land naturally rather than feeling engineered for applause. One anecdote about Annette’s after-school language club — where students translate poems into their own languages before reading them aloud to an audience who cannot understand a word — drew one of the biggest laughs of the night. The packed crowd responded enthusiastically throughout, with the humour arriving consistently without ever undermining the darker undertones of the piece.The performances are equally strong across the board. Sam Hill gives Simon an anxious, slightly defeated energy that works perfectly against Matilda Tucker’s more grounded and quietly exasperated Annette. However, it’s Joseph Reed who dominates the room as Herne. He manages the difficult balancing act of being charming, ridiculous, and deeply unsettling all at once. At no point do we fully trust him, yet the show wisely avoids turning him into a cartoon villain.What impressed me most, though, was the play’s restraint. Many Fringe shows built around mystery eventually collapse under the pressure to explain themselves. Binding Agent resists that temptation entirely. We never receive neat answers about Herne’s motives, but the ambiguity feels deliberate rather than evasive. More importantly, the show actually knows how to end — a surprisingly rare achievement at the Fringe. The final moments land perfectly: satisfying, unsettling, and earned without overexplaining.A smart, tightly constructed dark comedy that deserves a long life beyond this festival run.

The Winner Rolls It All is a fast-dealing ABBA property board game musical, because why not? The board game shall not be mentioned because if you say it three times, presumably a lawyer appears and sends you straight to jail.Directed and produced by Staunch Theatre’s Nathan Camilleri, the show takes a concept that could easily have been a fringe in-joke and turns it into something remarkably complete. ABBA songs are reworked into a story of property management, greed, romance and rebellion, with enough wit in the script to make the parody feel specific and timely.The production needs no expensive set, elaborate props or theatrical camouflage. Performed a cappella and without vocal amplification, it relies on the cast’s precision, timing and sheer collective force. That risk pays off. The harmonies are sharp, the energy is generous and the young performers look as if they are having the time of their lives. It becomes infectious very quickly.The game pieces are given proper character rather than existing as one-note novelty turns. The little metal icons become the emotional centre of the piece, while the property empire is ruled by the gloriously avaricious Madame Moneybags. House and Hotel are reimagined as rough enforcers, Chance and Community Chest get their moments, and even jail becomes a frequently visited location.The ABBA references are handled with affection. Money, Money, Money fits the capitalist logic of the story almost too neatly, while Dancing Queen is reimagined as an ode to property. There are love stories too, including a nicely skewed connection between Moneybags and the lonely prison officer Fernando, and mismatched pairings between the mischievous game pieces.The show’s real romance, however, is with ensemble performance. Everything and everyone works; nobody drops the dice. By the end, as the characters rise against Moneybags’s greed, the piece has earned both its silliness and its moral structure.The Winner Rolls It All is ideal for parties, ABBA nostalgics and anyone who has ever taken a family board game far too seriously. It has the confidence of a show already eyeing a larger stage, so thank you for the board games!

There is a unique aspect to British comedy that perhaps does not translate well into other cultures. From Up Pompeii!, the Carry On films, Morecambe and Wise and many more, innuendo is king. Kenneth Williams famously said: “If I see an innuendo in a script, I whip it out immediately!” There is no chance of that with Mischief’s first musical, Thespians, premiering at the Mercury Theatre, Colchester. In fact, the puns are impossible to count in this glorious entertainment.We are taken back to the island of Icaria and the creation of theatre itself, meeting Thespis, widely considered to be the first actor, who becomes a hit at the Festival of Dionysia by stepping away from the chorus and engaging in dialogue as a specific character. The whole situation is spoofed perfectly by an outstanding ensemble. The book and lyrics by Jonathan Sayer crackle with jokes, while the music and lyrics by Ed Zanders are tight and witty, with poignancy when needed.There is not a weak link in the cast, and the lead actors are comedy gold. As Polly, the real talent behind the success, Claire-Marie Hall brings humanity and gravitas as everything escalates around her. Mia Jerome is outstanding as the seer Melampus, her visions reducing the audience to hysterics, while Luke Latchman and James Spence are wonderful as star-crossed lovers Atlas and Thespis.However, the evening belongs to the comic genius of Marc Pickering as Adonis – not his real name – who plays the delusional fish-out-of-water character to the hilt, physically and vocally perfect. Rhys Taylor is excellent as The Tyrant, campy and fun, bringing a pleasing Diana Rigg-like quality to the role, while Mischief stalwarts Matt Cavendish and Allie Dart are tremendously entertaining narrators.The musical numbers celebrate silliness while also moving the action forward. The Dionysia is staged like the Eurovision Song Contest, with different styles and genres, while the Old Man Tango is a delightful spoof of Cell Block Tango from Chicago. The pace never drops – assured direction from Robyn Grant – and the second act progresses brilliantly, with the pressure of fame and the threat of death hanging over the troupe. There are also plenty of theatrical jokes to keep fellow thespians happy.Performed on Jasmine Swan’s outstanding, colourful and highly functional set, Thespians could well join Mischief’s other successes in the West End.

It’s striking how completely a full character can be conjured in almost complete silence. Ross Ericson holds the stage effortlessly with a combination of stillness and a glimpse into his inner thoughts through subtle physical shifts. Never has a man eating bananas been so gripping. It’s almost unnerving, yet he draws us into his world with no invitation or coaxing: by simply being.Samuel Beckett’s one-man play, alongside his other work, can be taken on so many levels. A man confronting his own past and reflecting on his life is the uppermost, yet like his other work, this stays with you long after it’s finished. Like great art, this reflects back to us all, challenging us not only to see the man at the desk but to see our own lives through this prism. He listens to the tape of his 39-year-old self reflecting on the year with so many different reactions: much of what the tape tells him has been lost to him, including a word which causes him to pause the tape to look up in the dictionary. Thirty-nine is a significant year for him, being the year he lost his mother.The tape is eloquent and also hints at depression, which looks like it has gripped the man we see before us. Yet it’s hopeful of the future, believing he is at his writing peak and that things will continue to get better and better from here. The pivotal point is the discovery on the tape of a romantic encounter, which changes the man before us, as he had not remembered this; and now repeatedly relives it. We are left reflecting on his choices and perhaps our own in the derisory tape he tries to make for this year, which he gives up on.He wears his emotions, rather than speaking them, yet in that subtle and restrained way in which he meets the world. This play offers us a mirror to ourselves, at whatever point we are in our lives when we meet it: whether we are the hopeful young one with aspirations and plans, or the older one reflecting on our choices. It subtly asks us about regrets: the choices we made when younger which have led to where we are, and recognises how harshly we sometimes judge ourselves. Aside from the strength of the play itself, Ericson gives a masterclass in subtle, natural, yet powerful acting.

Outside, it may be the last day of a mostly sunny Bank Holiday weekend, with Brighton’s many merry revellers enjoying the dry weather and longer evenings. However, Ghost Light at the Lantern Theatre purposefully draws you back deep into the gloom. We’re thrown into 1865, an era long before electric lights and camera phones empowered naysayers to ask for evidence of anything you claim they should be afraid of lurking in the dark.A busy audience, drawn in by the promise of something spooky, is silenced by the dark surrounding us as we watch the horror unfold. This original play is written by Ian Tucker-Bell, who also appears on stage as the lovesick Jonathan Henning. It leans into the traditions of gothic ghost stories: Victorian repression, letter writing, and a haunted house all come into play. Some may find the style a little melodramatic, but fans of the genre will understand the effectiveness of these formalities. Those who enjoy the television series A Ghost Story at Christmas, remarkably revived in recent years by Mark Gatiss, adapting the works of masters of the craft such as M. R. James will know exactly what they’re in for.The key to this show’s success is its staging: it is played almost entirely in the dark, only lit by flickering lanterns, which are carried by the actors, with some also placed strategically above the stage. The actors’ faces appear in and out of the shadows, reminiscent of oil paintings such as An Experiment on a Bird in the Air Pump by Joseph Wright of Derby. Like the subjects of that masterpiece, the lighting heightens their expressions of terror and dismay with dramatic shadows. It is perhaps a shame that this story, at least partially inspired by the tradition of stage ghost lights, isn’t actually set in a theatre. The narrative itself could easily be told as a radio play, especially as the characters already paint out the scenes with their words. However, sitting in the dark side by side with your fellow audience members – your eyes straining just a little to make out the detail of the faces on stage as you watch in a constant sense of heightened awareness – builds the crucial atmosphere that will leave you with a shiver running down your spine. The actors are engaging enough to make the necessarily dialogue and exposition heavy script compelling: you want to catch every word of the seemingly knowledgeable elderly stage hand Edward Price (Paul Ackroyd) or every movement of the terrifying Victor Sands (Pierse Stevens). However, occasionally the accompanying score overcrowded the performances on stage: Mia Sand’s (Bizz Portlock) emotional outburst was powerful enough alone without needing emotionally leading strings throughout. Although very professionally crafted, the audio could use a little polishing to intensify its ghoulish nature: it at times felt a little modern for the period setting. This probably only stood out because everything else felt so in line with expectations, from the costuming to the speech. There aren’t really any jump scares. This production ditches cheap thrills to explore horrors such as gaslighting and abuse that are unfortunately still present in today’s society. However, Ghost Light is the old-fashioned kind of storytelling you wish there was more of. Its simple ingredients combine to be creepy enough to make even the most skeptical a little wary of turning off their bedside lamp at night.

There are worse ways to watch cabaret than rising above Brighton seafront in the British Airways i360 at sunset. For one night only, C’est Magnifique took its hotel-cabaret glamour into the sky, where the city, sea and sinking sun supplied a spectacular opening number before anyone sang a note.The setting, however, was a mixed blessing. The i360 gave the show novelty, height and a memorable sense of occasion, but old-school cabaret will benefit even more from a theatre hall with soft lighting and a little smoke in the air. Sightlines in the pod were inevitably imperfect, with a better view of Brighton than of the performers.Fortunately, Chocolate Box Theatre do not rely on the view. Directed by Emma Edwards, who also appears as the indomitable Zelda, and choreographed by Nathan Potter, who plays Gaylord, *C’est Magnifique* is a polished, high-kicking revue built around an imagined cabaret haunt somewhere between 1930s Paris and Berlin.The singing is exceptional. Every performer can hold their own, and the harmonies have the confident sheen of artists who could walk straight into a West End ensemble. The live band gives the evening proper cabaret muscle, especially in the swing and jazz numbers.Cyril, the master of ceremonies, keeps the tone saucy without letting it slide into cruise-ship blandness. One highlight, a Titanic pun in the style of Celine Dion, is precisely as silly as it sounds. Zelda is a commanding grand dame with vocal force and comic authority, while Potter’s Gaylord is a sharply drawn comic creation with impeccable timing. There are no weak links in the cast.In fact, with such strong characters, their individual stories could be explored in greater depth. The musical numbers offer a stylish musical theatre mishmash of genres and eras: a little swing here, a Queen medley there, a musical number elsewhere. A firmer commitment to one dominant genre would give the evening more dramatic shape.This is stylish, skilful entertainment delivered by performers with serious vocal power, comic nerve and technical polish. There is still one chance to catch this crowd-pleaser at the WundaBarn. Take it, as they don’t just can-can; they will-will entertain.

Not so much a cabaret performance, Felix & Friends is more like a rummage through the stranger cupboards of Brighton performing arts. Hosted by Felix Le Freak, it promises song, surrealism, and smut and delivers all three with the cheerful disregard for good taste.Felix presides over the evening as ringmaster, confessor, and resident chaos merchant, pulling the audience through a carousel of musical comedy, clowning, ventriloquism, and deliberately unhinged character work. Her persona is all legs, bad accents, and filthy digressions, with the restless, argumentative energy of someone conducting a committee meeting inside their head. It should be too much. Often it is too much. The strongest pleasure of the show is its variety. Richard Melanin The Third brings a strain of old-school circus absurdity, complete with Edwardian box-beard, silent showmanship and a knowingly terrible clown act. The material plays with the basics of clown school: disappearing and appearing items, missing fingers, physical slapstick comedy, but there is ageless charm in the commitment.Lachlan Werner’s Ventiloquest is the sharper and more surprising turn. Brew, the witch puppet, begins as a filthy-mouthed comic device, but the act develops into something stranger: a puppet hypnotising and hacking into the ventriloquist’s subconscious and inviting the audience to join in the rummage. It is rude, funny, and oddly exposing. Beneath the gag is a touching number about control, vulnerability, and the peculiar intimacy of ventriloquism.The musical material balances the other acts nicely. There is a hilarious rendition of Like A Virgin first made famous by Al Yankovic, and an erratic lip-sync of Queen’s Bohemian Rhapsody. Felix’s grand finale, a doomed love story set in a Brighton gay sauna and climaxing with You Can Wreck My Hole Again, is exactly as delicate as it sounds. It is the kind of ending that knows its audience and refuses to blink first.For all its deliberate vulgarity, the show has a clear understanding of cabaret as a space for risk, oddity, and transformation. It is not polished, but it has pulse, personality, and a strong sense of its own queer, chaotic ecosystem. At the centre of it all is Felix herself: obscene, restless and oddly magnetic, a character who does not invite you into the madness so much as make it clear you are already part of it.

It’s a sold out theatre at SpeigelGardens and there are at least five men on stage who must be grateful that this Bank Holiday has been a sunny one. After all, they are completely nude except for a carefully placed shoulder pad clinging perilously to the most sensitive area of their body with the help of some highly trusted elastic string.2Shoulderpads hail from Japan. As they introduce themselves, they claim that COVID meant that they couldn’t afford costumes – and what could be cheaper than a simple shoulder pad? The female body is often sexualised in our society, shown nude or partially undressed to titillate – if you can pardon the pun. However, besides Michelangelo’s David, the male naked body tends to be a lot more elusive. Japan may be famous for onsens (public geothermal baths typically experienced naked), but how will an altogether more British audience react to this bold move? Well, this is Brighton Fringe, so at least those who have wandered up into the Kemptown adjacent area of the beach won’t be so surprised by the male form proudly displayed in (almost) all its glory.The truth is, you soon forget about the nakedness. By stripping back their clothes, the performers of 2Shoulderpads reveal a vulnerability that allows the audience to be vulnerable in return. The show is a mix of English words, some Japanese, and occasional big sketchbook English-language captions to aid understanding. Crucially, however, they also reassure us that, 'you won’t understand everything, but that’s fine.' By baring almost all, they ask us to trust them in their storytelling and – even if you may not follow every moment of this surreal enterprise – they provoke laughter and poignancy all the same. The story – told through a mix of song, dance, and physical theatre – follows a young boy named Giovanni, who is played fully clothed in an oversized white suit by the only woman on stage, Chobi Natsuki. The fairy tale narrative that follows reflects that it is based on Night on the Galactic Railroad, a popular children’s book in Japan, written by Kenji Miyazawa almost 100 years ago. Natsuki’s compatriots form the ensemble and dive into fantasia of characters, such as Giovanni’s sick mother with white-painted face and a ridiculously long wig, Giovanni’s best friend at school Campanella, and many other humorous and memorable appearances including children orphaned by the Titanic disaster, and even a nun (with carefully chosen stockings and wimple to supplement the shoulderpad). They are fascinating to watch, with movements that are as impeccable and masterfully rehearsed no matter whether they are performing pratfalls or graceful pliés, their effort and precision clearly reflected in the visible tensing and flexing of their muscular bodies. Alongside a lot of laughter and silliness, the show also promised to bring a tear to your eye by the end. Although I had enjoyed everything prior, I suspected this wouldn’t be the case for me. That was until Campanella’s final speech. Its message of ‘we are all one’ may not be unique and the accompanying score was certainly pushing you towards an emotional denouement. However, in this ever divided world, it did feel touching and magical to have visitors from Japan sharing their talents and their hearts with us here in Brighton. As RuPaul once sang, 'we’re all born naked and the rest is drag': by baring all, 2Shoulderpads reminds us of the universality of emotion that unites us all beneath our adornments.

Arthur Miller has been gripping the London theatre scene this year, with his plays appearing across the city. At a time when shows are shorter, overwhelmingly topical, and increasingly minimalist, returning to a dense, cluttered drama, complete with a wonderfully detailed set that must give any stage manager nightmares, felt both nostalgic and deeply satisfying. I found myself thoroughly entertained at the Marylebone Theatre.From the outset, the music and richly arranged set draw us into the world of a long-abandoned 1960s home, with father Franz’s chair sitting ominously empty centre stage. Victor (Elliot Cowan) and Esther (Faye Castelow) establish the emotional landscape early, laying out beat cop Victor’s deep-seated resentment toward his brother Walter (John Hopkins), as well as Esther’s frustration toward her retirement-age husband. The New York accents are stylised but effective, and Cowan in particular captures a convincing Bronx edge.That said, I did find my attention drifting slightly during the early back-and-forth between husband and wife, until Henry Goodman enters and completely seizes the stage.As Gregory Solomon, Goodman is beyond perfectly cast. Equal parts charming and incorrigible, his elderly Jewish furniture appraiser haggles with infectious energy, drawing consistent laughter from what had previously been a quiet audience. His comedic timing, physicality, and sheer presence are a masterclass, and without him, the play’s 2 hour 45 minute runtime might feel its length.Walter’s arrival at the end of Act One shifts the play’s momentum. In Act Two, the brothers confront years of buried resentment and unresolved conflict, while Solomon rests offstage. Hopkins is particularly compelling here, bringing nuance and authority, and playing off his castmates with precision.The play builds toward a conclusion that is satisfyingly ambiguous and thought-provoking, exploring the cost of our choices and the price others pay for them.Where the production falters slightly is in its sustained emotional intensity. While clearly talented and committed, Cowan and Castelow at times become locked in the tragedy of their characters. Their performances feel tightly wound, with little release. A greater variation in tone, with moments of lightness or levity, would have provided contrast and made the emotional peaks more effective. As it stands, the constant tension can feel exhausting and occasionally muddies the clarity of the piece.That said, the production remains gripping for much of its runtime, and Goodman’s performance alone is worth the ticket. A true master at work, and well worth seeing.

If Shakespeare is truly not just of an age but for all time, then it stands to reason that his plays will forever be viewed through the rotating wheel of happenstance. Thus, Henry V – both the oft-quoted play and the roistering, rousing warrior king himself – is destined to be seen through the prism of both our personal and societal views on warfare.Tamara Harvey’s take on the play comes at an apposite time: as one man decides to renew old hostilities and take whatever he believes himself entitled to. Simply because he can – and to heck with the acres of dead bodies strewn in his wake. Olivier gave a call to arms when the nation needed blind patriotism. Branagh gave a searing panorama on the horrors of battle. And what lies at the heart of this interpretation is emptiness, pointlessness, and a flat disbelief that we have evolved so little.As Henry, Alfred Enoch seems a calm, dependable, rational sort of chap: already far removed from his riotous past and dismissive of his erstwhile chums. Harvey’s deconstruction of the text awards him the "O for a muse of fire" speech, which opens up a new dynamic between our young sovereign and his nascent empire-building. Originally something of a ‘get out of jail free’ card for an audience too unimaginative to conjure the vasty fields of France for themselves, here it becomes a realisation of possibility. No longer a "cockpit," we see Henry pondering whether the "O" of the coronet can hold his ambitions. This "O" becomes a repeated motif throughout: a symbol of awe but also shock. Encompassing everything yet containing nothing. A hollow crown indeed.This is underpinned by Lucy Osborne’s huge, scaffolded set design. The storeys and multitudinous passageways might suggest the magnificence of a castle, but this is one we common folk can see straight into. And crucially, therefore, straight through. This is a fortress of metal might and sturdy rigidity, but utterly devoid of real life or comfort. It is also, as we later see, interchangeable; there is nothing new under the sun.And it is against this bleak backdrop of assumed grandeur that Henry launches his campaign against the French. But as the ruminations on the coronet foreshadowed – and despite his apparently stolid exterior – this is fundamentally just a little boy playing with his toys. All agog for the swelling scene, but with little understanding of the heavy reckoning that will follow.As blood spills at Harfleur and then Agincourt, the choreographic eye of Annie-Lunnette Deakin-Foster weaves creativity and dynamism into the narrative, highlighting lost life with unrelenting predictability: albeit with a gnawing penchant for traumatic physical collapse, which would make a GCSE drama candidate blush. Kate Waters’ battle scenes begin in slow motion; a dream-like, rhythmic quality creating the performative nature of this land grab. The men are ordered, elegant, purposeful: the naïve Henry’s idea of an invading army before the fact.With the English clothed in earthy reds and yellows, and the French in a palette of murky blues and greens, it is – at the outset at least – easy enough to identify which army is which in the multi-roling cast. However, as time passes and the speed of battle pushes ever onward, the differentiation becomes less obvious, and it is harder to tell which troops are collapsing. Somewhat frustrating, but perhaps this is the point. Given the chaos of the field and Henry’s own uncertainty as to the outcome, this mishmash of bodies reduces nationality to a mere detail of existence. We are all the same when lying broken in the dirt.And it is this filth of war which turns the calm, dependable, rational enough Henry into a man now fully prepared to break an age-old code and execute his prisoners. Whether by expedience or heredity is unimportant: he is now little more than a war criminal masquerading as a hero. For four hundred years, lauded and lionised due precisely to the poetry which now marks him as a rather different creature. Hoist with his own petard.This cyclical, gloomily inevitable mood pervades Harvey’s vision. Henry’s famously stirring speeches may be delivered with a charm and righteous elan which galvanise his own men, but they no longer have the power to warm audience blood so much as trouble the collective mind.It is Jamie Ballard’s spectacular Michael Williams who challenges the dulce et decorum est rhetoric, turning in both a performance and a character far more heroic than the King himself. Williams speaks for centuries of ordinary people sent out to die for a whim, fully aware they are dying for folly, yet prepared to do it anyway. This – this is nobility.Ballard also impresses as the Archbishop of Canterbury and the feeble French King caught up in a web of diplomatic intrigue far beyond his understanding. Paul Hunter evokes a seedy little Pistol, picking his way through devastation with light-footed irreverence. And Tanvi Virmani presents a moving picture of innocence as she tries to navigate a world gone mad. Knitting the ensemble and plot together with haunting redolence is Jamie Salisbury’s achingly melancholic score.There are few of us in 2026 – with perhaps the exception of the darkest corners of Truth Social – who would seek to celebrate needless bloodshed. And whilst the history itself may remain constant (even within the inconstancy of Shakespeare’s particular lens), our relationship to it cannot help but be coloured by the worlds in which we are living. This production understands this fragile relationship and never seeks to impose upon the text, but just lets it breathe with its own complexity and nuance. For this is a play which ends with victory but no real peace. There are only those who seek to hurt, and those who seek to heal. And there are those who seek to heal what they have hurt. And only at the close, as Henry’s legacy and stunted dynasty stretch ahead of him, does he finally realise that the rest is sadness.

There’s a quiet expectation when walking into a theatre showcasing new writing: that it will surprise; that it will disrupt, subvert, or challenge the form. It’s an unspoken demand placed on contemporary theatre, to be new, to be daring, to justify its place in an already crowded landscape. It’s this preoccupation that I found myself grappling with while watching Dear Jack, Dear Louise by Ken Ludwig.What I found instead was something far gentler: an enjoyable, heartwarming, and utterly unsurprising production. And, in a theatrical climate often filled with work that is ambitious but undercooked, I found I didn’t mind that at all.The play charts the real-life correspondence between Ludwig’s parents during World War II, a relationship built entirely through letters before their eventual meeting. Preston Lyman as Jack and Eva Feiler as Louise deliver believable and engaging performances within the constraints of a two-hander that denies them direct interaction. It’s a difficult task: to generate chemistry, tension, and emotional progression through the writing and reading of letters alone.Yet, through carefully conjured imagery and a genuine emotional investment in the text, both actors succeed. Under the considered direction of Simon Reade, the piece maintains steady engagement, allowing us to vividly imagine these characters decades in the past. Feiler leans into a heightened, stylised performance befitting Louise’s identity as an aspiring actress, before grounding herself in more affecting emotional territory as Jack is reported missing. Lyman, by contrast, offers a steadier, more restrained counterpart.My only real criticism lies in the accents. Perhaps as a Canadian, I’m more attuned to it, but the strain of maintaining an American cadence felt restrictive, limiting them to a one-note diction. Feiler, in particular, stumbled over the rhotic ‘R’, that familiar transatlantic obstacle. One wonders whether casting native speakers might have freed both actors to explore the language with greater fluidity, rather than anchoring them in careful mimicry.Narratively, the play is inevitably bound by its real-life origins. The stakes rarely extend beyond the everyday rhythms of correspondence, and the drama at times borders on the mundane. Yet it is rendered with such care that it never becomes dull. Instead, it feels like a cosy act of remembrance, a gentle reconstruction rather than a visceral interrogation. Ordinarily, this is something I might resist. Here, I found it rather disarming.The design work by Robert Innes-Hopkins, with costumes supervised by Katherine Watt, beautifully anchors the production in its period. Even when the accents falter, the visual world remains convincing. The physicality of the performances, fluid yet controlled, further complements the tone and setting, evoking a bygone theatrical style without feeling antiquated.I spent much of the play anticipating a twist that never arrived. But by the final moments, a simple and deeply satisfying image of the two finally meeting under the red petals of victory, I realised that perhaps that wasn’t the point. The play doesn’t seek to upend expectations; it forced me to reconsider my need for them.In an era so focused on stakes, innovation, and narrative subversion, there is something quietly radical about a story that simply unfolds with sincerity.It left me wanting to write letters again.If you’re in search of something warm, nostalgic, and gently restorative, Studio 1 at the Arcola Theatre is a fine place to begin.

From its ensemble cast, led by the equal parts captivating, abrasive, and charming Aaron Pierre as the divisive Randle P. McMurphy, One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest at the Old Vic is driven by magnetic performances.Director Clint Dyer reimagines the text through a more overtly political lens, introducing transitional sequences in which the mute Chief Bromden, played by Arthur Boan, gives speeches on Native oppression. The production also bookends the play with striking movement sequences set in Congo Square, the historic Black and Indigenous site in New Orleans. These choices mark a clear departure from the original text, relocating the hospital to the American South, making the residents of the institution Black, and linking the story to broader political commentary.While there is certainly space to expand the scope of a work through adaptation, this already rich story, full of themes of camaraderie, misogyny, Indigenous identity, mental health, and power, did not need so much added material. The production is least effective in Bromden’s speeches on oppression, where the messaging feels too explicit. The text already contains its political force, and the powerful Congo Square sequences, combined with the casting choices, are enough to invite reflection. The additional material slows the plot, dilutes the original themes, and occasionally confuses the story.However, much of this is forgiven because of the dominating, endearing performances and the strength of the staging. Dale Wasserman adapts the text effectively for the stage, Benjamin Grant’s sound design weaves in a wonderful score, and Chris Davey’s electrifying lighting punctuates each heart-dropping moment beautifully. Yet these elements mainly serve to open the door for the true heart of the production: the touching performances from the ensemble of misfits occupying the hospital’s plasticine, institutional walls.Led by Pierre, each cast member complements the others beautifully. Their troubled, standoffish behaviour gives way to genuinely cathartic moments of reunion and rebellion. Their eagerness to connect, and the tenderness with which they do so, holds the show together and kept me engaged from start to finish. Despite knowing what was coming, I was still devastated when it arrived, hoping somehow that the story might change and these lovable “boys” could get through it together.Olivia Williams is terrific as Nurse Ratched, countering the patients’ chaos and lunacy with a beautifully reserved, clinical evil. Pierre, meanwhile, is the locomotive powering the production, dragging it from one scene to the next with irresistible force. Without him, the interludes interrupting the action might have sunk the show. Instead, it pushes through, remaining something beautiful and brilliant.While the political commentary sometimes misses the mark, the original themes and story are delivered righteously, and I enjoyed every heartbreaking performance on stage.

Oh dearie me, it cannae be thirty years since The High Life flew on to Scottish TV screens for a short stop. The surreal sitcom introduced us to a quartet of Air Scotia staff, in cockpit and cabin, as they flew the exotic Prestwick–Gatwick route.It was written by Alan Cumming and Forbes Masson, who played the two air stewards, uber camp, vitriolic Sebastian Flight and Steve McCracken, passionately pursuing flight attendant Heather.Now the so sullied crew is back with a wonderful new stage musical rating high on the bonkers scale.Johnny McKnight, Scotland’s prince of panto, joins the writing team of Cumming/Masson. It is a wonderful script, joke-rich from topical cracks to the silly, lewd, rude, infantile and sheer daft.A panto isn’t just for Christmas, as The High Life hilariously demonstrates. Music and songs, dance and movement all come together on the travelator of entertainment.Intrinsically Scottish, with what director Andrew Panton describes as a deep affection for characters who are gloriously flawed, this new creation has an excellent ensemble of comic actors, dancers and singers joining the original four.All praise to Panton for bringing all the elements together, with each and every member of the cast excelling.A great band under the baton of MD Sarah de Tute keeps the tunes coming as the plot (no spoilers from me) unfolds amidst Colin Richmond’s cleverly adaptable set.The original four are at the heart of the hilarity. The Cumming/Masson double act is a joy as Sebastian and Steve navigate their complicated relationship.The lovely Siobhan Redmond returns as senior stewardess Shona Spurtle, hilariously taking no nonsense from the boys as the dictator of the air, land and sea.Patrick Ryecart excels as the totally unhinged pilot, clueless as to his whereabouts; he randomly pops up to reference Scots life of yesteryear.Special mention to Louise McCarthy also, as Heather, Steve’s former love interest gone rogue. Another great comic performance.Forget the BAFTAs, Alan, this is top of the DAFTAs.

Uncertainty sits at the centre of Michael Frayn’s ambitious piece, Copenhagen, at the Hampstead theatre.Frayn’s play feels uncannily prescient, with Trump’s threats to destroy an entire culture dominating today’s political landscape.Where does science end and philosophy begin? The splitting of the atom, the 20th century’s seismic scientific achievement, ushers in the possibility of unprecedented destruction, forcing moral questions to be confronted.By 1941, Nazi Germany had conquered most of Europe, including Denmark. The production of an atomic bomb seemed to be only a matter of time, and the global race was on. The stakes were beyond high. The first to produce such a weapon would be well placed to destroy their enemies. It is doubtful that Hitler would have shown restraint.Nazi ideology had driven many leading physicists from Germany, leaving Werner Heisenberg (Damien Molony) as its leading light. He travelled to Copenhagen to meet Niels Bohr (Richard Schiff) and his wife, Margrethe (Alex Kingston). A Nobel prize winner, Bohr was an expert in this field, while the formidable Margrethe had a master’s degree in mathematics.Joanna Scotcher’s stage is striking: a backdrop of scattered hanging lamps and distorted glass, and a circular stage containing two embedded turntables, sparsely furnished and flanked by water.What follows is not a re-enactment of the famous 1941 meeting, however. Instead, the setting is akin to purgatory, with a fragmented series of conversations between the protagonists, interspersed with their thoughts, mainly focusing on that meeting.Bohr had refused to co-operate with the Nazis, fearing the obvious repercussions of Hitler procuring the bomb, and resents Heisenberg’s presence. For her part, Margrethe does not trust Heisenberg.Molony’s performance is assured, but despite Bohr and Heisenberg’s relationship being akin to father and son, the chemistry between Molony and Schiff never quite ignites. Kingston delivers a measured performance, in turns arbiter, narrator and participant. She anchors the play’s emotional core.The turntables serve to inject dynamism into this long, intellectually challenging but fascinating play, moreover facilitating Bohr and Heisenberg’s jousting – at times converging, then drifting from each other with barely a glance, adeptly worked by director Michael Longhurst. The water is allegorical to the heavy water required as part of nuclear fission, but is also suggestive of the expanse of water in which one of the Bohrs’ children perished.There are countless themes explored in Copenhagen, but none more than uncertainty. Heisenberg developed his famous uncertainty principle out of epistemological philosophy. Scientists pursue truth, while philosophers study and debate existential matters designed to understand the world. Their spheres of interest overlap, however: both disciplines consider the relationship between the observer and the observed, and this is brought into focus when the two scientists meet in Bohr’s apartment. Their conversations are ostensibly being monitored by the Gestapo, so they go for walks to talk more freely, the observers having changed the behaviour of the observed, leaning into the uncertainty principle.Frayn continues to ask why Heisenberg went to Copenhagen. Postwar accounts from both men diverge significantly. Herein lies a paradox: we have two of the most brilliant scientists of the day, with consummate attention to detail, who are unable to agree on the content of their conversations.We may only speculate as to why this is; Copenhagen’s ambiguity poses questions that remain unanswered.

In an age of on-the-nose commentary and spoon-fed, often bludgeoned messaging, Poppies offers a refreshingly nuanced exploration of toxic masculinity, colonialism, and identity. It delivers humour, provocation, and emotional depth, all while embedding its themes within a believable friendship and spirited debate.The play centres on a conversation between two friends: Jim, who is English, and Johnjoe, who is Irish. Their discussion of the poppy serves as the focal point, while their personal relationship and the tensions of the outside world simmer beneath the surface. A glance at the programme reveals that the characters share names with their writers and performers, suggesting an autobiographical undercurrent. This proximity to the material lends the piece an authenticity that strips away any sense of theatrical artifice. What we watch feels lived rather than performed.The range of subjects explored is as expansive and layered as the history between England and Ireland. As a Canadian, I found the discussion both enlightening and engaging, offering insight into a complex and often painful shared past. From potatoes to bombs, the characters exchange arguments, insults, and unexpected moments of tenderness with abandon, creating a raucous and illuminating theatrical experience.Poppies is a compelling piece of theatre, rich in both ingenuity and heart. It embraces the full artistry of the stage, occasionally stepping beyond dialogue into more stylised sequences that deepen its impact. It is a production that lingers, and one that will undoubtedly shape how I think about the poppy come Remembrance Day.

Claybody Theatre bring their adaptation of Arnold Bennett’s novel The Grand Babylon Hotel to the Mercury Theatre, Colchester, and it is a fun-filled, riotous evening of slick physical comedy.A cast of five perform Deborah McAndrew’s deft adaptation with panache and excellent comic timing. Shady business in the swanky Babylon Hotel is exposed when multi-millionaire Theodore Racksole buys the hotel outright simply to ensure his daughter gets the birthday meal she wants. The plot almost seems incidental to the characterisation, though, as events pile up and the chase begins. From a wonderful opening sequence of dancing chambermaids, exposition is delivered with fun and energy, and the pace never drops.As Theodore, Bill Champion is the eye in the storm of a madcap adventure – stylish and dignified, while also displaying impressive physicality and dance ability. Alice Pryor is equally effective as his daughter and soon-to-be plucky heroine, Nella, with on-point comic timing. Shelly Atkinson shines in every role she plays, especially the Germanic nanny Heidi, and Thomas Cotran oozes nervous sophistication, particularly as Prince Albert of Posen. But the evening really belongs to Michael Hugo, a comic chameleon who switches between his several roles with rapid ease, each creation a comic delight. His physicality is astonishing, and credit is due to movement director Beverley Norris-Edmunds and physical comedy director Nick Haverson for keeping the comedy crackling and the pace lively.The company clearly relish the material, and director Conrad Nelson’s wonderfully inventive eye is a constant source of delight. The lighting and projection, by Daniella Beattie, take us on a clear and graphic journey through the bowels of the hotel, while composer James Atherton supplies lively period tunes.It is a work I was unfamiliar with, but I would highly recommend Claybody Theatre. This production is in association with the New Vic Theatre. Catch it on tour if you can.

Chat Noir marks a departure from the typical formula at The Lost Estate, ushering us into a bohemian celebration of emotion and art: electrifying and energising, rather than merely entertaining and fortifying.That said, the tried-and-true method of The Lost Estate’s previous offerings is not entirely abandoned. Guests are still treated to good food, served by energetic, in-character staff, all within an atmospheric and beautifully realised space, complete with every trappings of 1890s Paris one could imagine.With a room dressed to the nines, we were utterly enthralled by the performances and encouraged to bellow, respond, and participate in the increasingly lively atmosphere shaped by ringmaster and host Joe Morrow as Rodolphe Salis. Funny, infectiously clever, and relentlessly energetic, he banters with performers, quips with the audience, and drives each segment forward with ferocious enthusiasm.The evening’s entertainment features a Muse (Issy Wroe Wright), Dancer (Coco Belle), Mime (Alexander Luttley), and Magician (Neil Kelso), each taking the stage both individually and together to titillate us with their respective talents. These classic cabaret performances are underscored, quite literally, by a brilliant band of musicians whose constant presence adds to the sense of immediacy and life in the room.Every performer and musician remains fully engaged throughout the three-hour runtime, reacting, bantering, and playing with us in a way that keeps the energy high and steadily building toward a fittingly bohemian finale.Throughout the evening, Morrow urges us to shed our inhibitions and surrender to the experience. Despite my instinct to resist such instruction, I found myself doing exactly that. From course to course, including my first taste of period-appropriate absinthe, complete with sugar cube and slotted spoon, I was swept up in the fanfare. By the end, I was no longer a critic observing the evening, but a simple denizen of Chat Noir.There is very little plot, the performers are not always given enough time to fully settle into their acts, and the stage occasionally feels too small for the possible scale of their craft. Yet none of this detracts in any truly meaningful way. The links between food, drink, atmosphere, and performance feel intentional and cohesive, and it is clear that a great deal of thought has gone into every choice presented to us.Midway through the evening, just after the main course, the frenetic pace softens into a more imagistic and reflective sequence. This shift is welcome, tying together the energy of the opening and the chaos of the finale. Highlights include the surprising wit accompanying Neil Kelso’s awe-inspiring illusions, and the sharp, interactive humour of Alexander Luttley’s mime work.There is a risk that the constant promises of abandoning social norms and throwing caution to the wind could fall flat in what is, at its core, a commercial offering. However, the humour - particularly the vulgar cat poem - along with the overall tone of the performances, fully delivers on that promise. I did not feel short-changed in the least.If a trip to Paris feels out of reach, you do not speak French, or you simply want an incredibly enjoyable and decadent departure from your usual night at the pub, Chat Noir at The Lost Estate is a brilliant place to go.

Christopher Hampton’s Les Liaisons Dangereuses arrives at the National Theatre in a lavish new production with a cast and creative team of esteemed pedigree.The rivalries and the manipulations of the idle rich in France in 1782, as depicted in Pierre Choderlos de Laclos’s epistolary novel, require an intimacy and closeness, and the challenges of staging it in the large Lyttelton Theatre are met with a grand design and an abundance of movement and choreography combined with some sublime acting.Rosanna Vize’s exquisite set mirrors the audience, with an excellent ensemble of servants moving rooms and walls into place, with a huge chandelier hanging over them, a globe full of gossip and manipulation. Choreography by Tom Jackson Greaves brings great style, and I particularly enjoyed the army of servants, the men in black, prowling, smoking and eavesdropping on their masters and mistresses.Leading that sublime acting is Lesley Manville as the Marquise de Merteuil, a woman whose favourite word isn’t “revenge” but “cruelty”. She foregrounds her ability to portray cool, calculating characters, and is utterly convincing in her enjoyment of the havoc she wreaks in conniving with the Vicomte de Valmont to destroy lives. As Valmont, Aidan Turner brings out the comedy of the piece, with many a double entendre, sailing dangerously close to pantomime.Given his sex appeal, this is a strangely unsexy production. It all feels too cautious and unmessy, and when love intervenes and spoils their machinations, the emotional impact is missing. Darren Hand is particularly effective as young, initially innocent Danceny, and Monica Barbaro is excellent as Madame Tourvel, in love with both God and her husband, whom Valmont seduces for the sheer challenge of it. Hannah van der Westhuysen’s conversion from trainee nun to established vamp is a little too broadly portrayed, especially in a misfiring lap dancing sequence. In fact, as the play progresses, the dance sequences feel as if they are increasingly taking the place of dialogue, often interrupting the emotional building rather than fully enhancing it.Still, there is much to admire in Marianne Elliott’s confident production, and perhaps that is the problem: it shows rather than tells, and the emotional pay-offs don’t feel fully earned. However, the downfall of the Marquise de Merteuil is superbly played by Manville, and the masked ball framing of the show ensures the circle of bored corrupters will continue.

There is a brooding air of mystery delicately placed beneath the seemingly simple surface story of Miraculous at the Red Lion Theatre, Islington.The sound and lighting of the opening suggest a murder mystery or horror of Gothic proportions, and designers Pierre Flasse and Amy Fisher are unrelenting in crafting mood. Yet here we are at a Christian summer camp, so what will unfold over 60 minutes of meetings between young Josh (Luke Stiles), a high schooler brimming with arrogance, insecurity and theological angst, and Paul (Diego Zozaya), his older mentor, a devout young father wrestling with the challenges of spiritual leadership? With each scene the question becomes more pressing. Many possibilities exist, and once the pair have hilariously re-enacted the story of Elijah and the priests of Baal and Paul has introduced Josh to his son, the mystery only deepens. The denouement, however, is almost certainly nothing that comes to mind and avoids obvious and clichéd predictables.Meanwhile, you can enjoy their interactions around sex, belief and divine intervention, along with the embarrassing questioning of someone lured into pouring out more than he ever bargained for, in the reverse of what might be expected. On day one of the camp, Paul has 10 questions for Josh by way of initiating discussion around the religious, personal and moral issues that will occupy the week. Paul has done this many times. He starts out with the confidence of a man whose position places him in control and is ready to receive some stock answers, until the politely unassuming and playfully nonchalant Josh becomes increasingly beguiling, irreverent and cocky, fully turning the tables on him.Yet that is something of a veneer, under which lie insecurities and doubts, particularly about his ability to get on with others. They emerge in passing lines. His parents have decided to holiday at Lake Como without him and send him to camp. There was his cousin’s wedding, which they attended but to which he was not invited. At the camp, despite being appointed dorm captain, he is shunned by the other boys.Paul, too, has his vulnerabilities. When exposed, his marriage has a few surprises and a miracle, while his embodiment of Christian principles turns out to be less than perfect and his use of scripture selective.Stiles and Zozaya give captivating and intriguing performances. They are a well-balanced double act who know how to play off each other while crafting two contrasting characters rooted in Stiles’ distinctive writing. Through precise delivery, they give full vent to the humour, dropping off-the-cuff one-liners while not shying away from depth in emotionally charged scenes.Director Toby Clarke maximises the confines of this theatre, creating identifiable locations and managing movement with natural fluidity. The set, managed by Maia Thompson, allows room for Jon Aaron’s tightly staged fight scene.Miraculous is a refreshing departure from many exhausted contemporary themes, bravely using an overtly religious setting to explore the frailty of human nature.

The District Line will never be the same again, having passed through so many stations with writer/performer Freddie Haberfellner as Frankie on his frenetic ride home from a night of partying.This was an opportunistic one-off performance at Camden People’s Theatre of his show F*ckboy that has travelled to fringe festivals in Prague and Edinburgh and graced venues around the country. Having just used that word, it occurs to me that we talk about gracing somewhere with our presence, which implies not just being there but making a significant contribution to the surroundings, enhancing the setting and making it better than it might otherwise have been. And that is precisely what Haberfellner does, even as Frankie just poses in the corner of the stage waiting for us to take our seats. Dressed in fishnet tights, a low-cut black top and a green jacket, their pale face has glitter-embedded make-up in all the right places that sparkles under the lights. Is this a hooker waiting for passing trade or simply a reveller waiting innocently for the last train?Then blackout, rapidly followed by bright lights and Frankie has come to life on the other side of the stage in an acrobatic freeze-frame. The blackout repeats. They’ve moved again, this time legs spread wide in the air, lying with their back on a chair. It happens twice more and then, alert and gripped by their physicality, we are set to go on a kaleidoscopic, movement-intense and relentlessly action-packed journey with someone who is anything but innocent.Under the imaginative direction of Isobel Jacob every inch of space is used and the high-octane tempo is enhanced by compositions from Marta Miranda and sound design by Gareth Swindail-Parry, while Rowan West’s lighting design colourfully matches the pace and settings.You’re going to be drawn into the story without being picked on, but you might just become a latter-day personification of their fixation with Andrew Garfield or be chosen for a meta-theatrical engagement because it’s time they involved the audience more intimately as one of the characters in the narrative. Just keep your eye on the pair of scissors that hang aloft like the sword of Damocles for symbolic rather than surgical reasons. Although the two come together in what follows, for, like Dionysius, this partygoer who seemingly has everything also has a weighty issue hanging over them.Underpinning all the events is Haberfellner’s existence as a person en route to transitioning, someone in a female body longing to be the man they truly are. Meanwhile life has done anything but grind to a halt for Frankie. On the contrary, like any queer person they are immersed in the scene and every excess it offers. This is not an inward-looking, self-indulgent piece of navel gazing, but rather a celebration of discovery, of gender dysphoria turned on its head, of realising who you are and what you want to be, of knowing that a process, no matter how complex, radical and maybe even dangerous, can set you free and give you a lifetime of being the person you know you should always have been.For those wondering about the name, Haberfellner is Austrian, whose impeccably enunciated English combined with the occasional quaint alien intonation gives his voice a cute charm and turns him into a forceful yet endearing storyteller who relishes all things queer in a performance that gives a whole new meaning to a Viennese whirl!

Yiddish writer Isaac Bashevis Singer, who gave us Yentl, said of the Streisand film that it had “nothing but a commercial value” and seriously questioned the “kitsch” ending. The current production by Melbourne’s Kadimah Yiddish Theatre, at Marylebone Theatre, is not that musical. Instead, we have a tragic play of enormous complexity that sees faith, longing, gender, desire and sacred learning intertwined in an emotional outpouring.  This international premiere reunites the acclaimed Australian creative team of co-writers Gary Abrahams (director) Galit Klas and Elise Hearst, with set and costume design by Dann Barber, lighting design by Rachel Burke, and original composition and sound design by Max Lyandvert. The Yiddish translation is by Professor Rivke Margolis. For this staging of the UK premiere, originals have been adapted. The stark simplicity of the set and traditional costumes by Isabella Van Braecke, ensuring that our attention is kept focused on the story, which is enhanced by the subtle tones of Julian Starr’s abstract soundscape, also saw drawing on Jewish tradition, and the rich, sultry mood lighting by Tom Turner. Yentl is overwhelmed by her love of God, her adherence to her faith and her hunger for Torah – for the knowledge that will make her life complete. The only obstacle is being a woman and, as such, someone who has no access to the yeshiva and no opportunity to debate with rabbis. Her solution is to assume the guise of a man and, in so doing, challenge her conscience in order to follow her passion. She crosses boundaries not in an act of contempt for tradition but because she wants to be immersed in it and, in so doing, leads herself into agonising situations of dishonesty and betrayal, creating the classic dilemma of whether the end justifies the means.Amy Hack is captivating in her multifaceted performance as Yentl. She oozes intelligence, is consumed by an inner fire of spiritual restlessness, wounded by emotional attachment and scarred by deceit. She carries us with her on every inch of her painful journey as she battles under the guise of her invented scholar, Anshel.Much of the struggle whirling around in her head is highlighted in a remarkable performance of impish agility by Evelyn Krape, in a newly created character arising from the Yetzer Hara concept – the force of desire that, when left unchecked, can lead to destruction. Known simply as The Figure, she hovers as narrator, tempter, alter ego, provocateur and shadow self, with an Ariel-like presence, giving psychological depth and visibility to Yentl’s inner turmoil.The interpersonal complexities of Yentl’s situation begin when she is adopted as a study partner by Avigdor. This academic arrangement is soon overwhelmed by intense feelings for each other, he believing her to be a woman. Now we see the queer undercurrent emerging that persists to the end and deserves an essay of its own. Ashley Margolis brings warmth, vitality and emotional energy to the role in a thoroughly masculine yet charming performance.The love triangle is completed by Hadass, whose engagement to Avigdor falls victim to circumstances. Genevieve Kingsford’s beautifully understated portrayal is full of tenderness, innocence and openness of heart.Both the breadth and depth of this play are quite remarkable, providing food for thought and reflection long after the curtain comes down. There is something of an imbalance between the energy of the two acts, but it will go down as a truly memorable production that is compelling, intelligent and often haunting.

Contemporary Ritual Theatre (CRT) is an exciting and highly imaginative company from Great Yarmouth, founded in 2022 “with the aim of creating innovative and challenging theatre projects”, of which SALT, at Riverside Studios, is a fine example.From the outset we are transported into another world. The year is 1770 on the East Norfolk coast (although there is an amusing line that says Cromwell is dead, Charles is on the throne and “whoring is back in fashion!”). Man Billy (Mylo McDonald), a violent young fisherman, lives among the dunes with his domineering mother, Widow Pruttock (Emily Outred). It’s a brutal world where the people live on the land but depend on the sea for their survival. It’s a tightly knit fishing community where everyone knows everybody else and their business. Rumours, gossip and superstition are rife, and witchcraft is still a very real threat, as witnessed by the arrival of Sheldis (Bess Roche). She is a wild young woman with supernatural gifts – a travelling singer in colourful, shredded clothes, with a feathered hat and masks. As an outsider she is automatically treated with suspicion by Widow Pruttock. Billy becomes increasingly obsessed with her while his mother believes Sheldis to have bewitched him and will do anything to break the spell.The situation opens up a host of scenarios that further the plot, while also giving insight into the period and the everyday life of people whose existence depends on the seasons, the weather and the tides, along with the hard work and bravery of men who subject themselves to the perils of the sea and women who labour endlessly preparing and selling the catch while maintaining homes and families.The studio space is set out with a single circle of chairs, two deep in only a couple of places, for this immersive, in-the-round experience. As the lights dim the cast enter and survey the scene. They strike up the first of many songs that are woven throughout the narrative. Composer and musical director Anna Pool has compiled a collection that embraces the rich folk song and sea shanty traditions of the region, arising naturally out of the narrative and giving a sense of time, place and circumstance. Attention focuses on the thick, heavy mooring rope piled up centre stage that the trio gradually unravel to create a ceremonial ring, all the time engaged in song.Over the course of two acts they assume multiple roles, the complexity of which can at times be confusing, but the overwhelming joy of being immersed in another world – of hearing fine voices strike up a cappella tunes and seeing characters brought to life by three highly accomplished actors – far outweighs any concerns in that area. These actors know their craft and deploy it fully.Credit must also go to writer-director Beau Hopkins for his creativity in shaping the story and the poetic, vivid use of language, and to Cameron Culver for casting three outstanding performers, whom Amanda Harrold has costumed in suitably rustic period attire. Lighting design by Tim Tracey creates moods with subtle tones, while Lucy Cullingford’s movement direction makes maximum use of the space both within and outside the circle, employing rhythmic beats and step patterns to enhance the script and sense of ritual. Meanwhile the many props, created and stage managed by Lucinda Bray, simplistically befit the period and the actions of daily life.SALT is a theatrical treat from a company that deserves recognition and support for its remarkable work in bringing to life both history and an oft-overlooked region that possesses a wealth of traditions and stories.

The New Diorama Theatre is currently hosting what is described as “an absurdist descent into the paradox of modern life”. It comes in the form of The Uncontainable Nausea of Alec Baldwin, a world premiere from migrant-led experimental theatre company TG WORKS.They provide helpful information about the play, which is useful in concisely describing what might otherwise prove elusive. The play “combines fractured narratives, physical theatre, and multimedia design to create an urgent interrogation of guilt, responsibility, and moral decay in an age where we confess to algorithms instead of each other”. This has to be understood in the context of a company that “champions experimentation where content dictates form and form is constantly questioned, disrupted, and reshaped, creating work that reflects a turbulent world and asks what theatre can – and must – be today”.The company is led by Lecoq and RADA trained artist Tommaso Giacomin, whose style is to work “through collaborative and highly physical processes” that blend “new writing, fractured narratives and multimedia elements to create bold, urgent work that interrogates contemporary socio-political realities”.In academic terms that work exists in the realms of existentialist European experimental theatre and theatre of the absurd. Don’t imagine for one moment, however, that this is something in the order of Pinter or Beckett. Rather it is the realm of what might be called “bonkers theatre”. It is mad, overstated, chaotic and enthusiastically energetic, but not silly or stupid. It is also visually exciting in terms of set, costumes and lighting. There is an abundance of sound and visuals, including a projected transcript of an AI interrogation and a full-scale dance routine, brilliantly choreographed and executed. A red chair drops from the ceiling and an enormous red plastic armchair is pumped to life and treated rather like a bouncy castle.Amid all this there is a storyline – somewhere. The title might suggest that it revolves around the tragic case of Alec Baldwin, who accidentally shot cinematographer Halyna Hutchins. There are times when the AI therapist seems to think this too. But there is another Alec Baldwin who has done something he truly, deeply regrets. We assume that, with no one else to turn to, he spends his days outpouring his guilt to a chatbot, even though it was not his fault.James Aldred gives a heartfelt, commanding performance as the eponymous hero, grappling with self-inflicted nausea and an overwhelming digital world of multiple outputs all screaming at the same time, with Stefanie Bruckner wildly playing the crazed victim of the incident. Meanwhile Bartel Jespers, in a blue shellsuit, captivatingly traverses the stage with a “Henry” vacuum cleaner, and Mathias Augestad Ambjør wanders around in white pants and vest sporting a giant smiling piñata headpiece to comic effect. Much of this is captured on a roving camera by Manuela Pierri and relayed on to the back wall. All combine in a kaleidoscopic frenzy of modern life that ultimately leads to a psychological breaking point.Two culminating monologues seem strangely out of place amid the mayhem. The first makes some significant points and offers a fine ending, but another follows that could easily be discarded. Is the production as cohesive as the company suggests? Probably not. Is it a thoroughly enjoyable and entertaining romp? Yes.

Adapted from David Nicholls’ hugely successful novel, with book by David Greig, and music and lyrics by Abner and Amanda Ramirez, with additional lyrics by Jeremy Sams, this musical is imbued with the human warmth that characterises Greig’s work. The show radiates joy before it even starts; with the Lyceum reconfigured as an Edinburgh student bar, you can even buy a drink on stage.The story is of Em – working class, clever, serious – and Dex – charming, rich and determinedly superficial. The perfect couple for a romcom, except these lovers are star-crossed – by fate and their own characters. Following the novel, the musical is structured as snapshots of their lives over nearly 20 years, each occurring on St Swithin’s Day.The show opens with a joyous high: Student Graduation Day. The leads and the supporting cast start as they continue – terrific choreography, singing and acting as they show the joy of youth – with the world stretched out before them, yet secretly anxious about the challenges to come. And even in these first moments the actors are delineating the characters of the ‘Rankeillor Street gang’, who reappear throughout the story. The musical routines on joy, satirical comedy and celebration are exceptional – although this is not to detract from several other standout numbers on the themes of yearning love or maternal love.The leads are superb musical actors. Sharon Rose as Em perfectly captures that admirable stubborn pride to be a good person – no matter what – but it is that pride that prevents her from accepting the inevitable and running to Dex. Jamie Muscato as Dex manages to transition from Hugh Grant-style charm in his younger years, through debauched and useless in his later years, to honest grafter towards the end. Muscato is helped by spot-on costume design (Rae Smith’s set and costumes are efficient, evocative, witty and characterful throughout).Where the balance of the show falters is with too much time spent with Dex being obnoxiously selfish and self-centred. Even Muscato’s undisputed charm cannot redeem the character. You wonder if this leopard can ever truly change his spots.Spoiler alert for those who do not know the novel, film or TV adaptations: there is no happy ever after. Years of potential and happiness are wasted by bad timing, bad circumstances – and, in the case of Dex, bad behaviour. The ending is elegiac: what might have been… if only. That remains an open question.

With an adulterous king on the throne, a prince stripped of his title and under police investigation, along with a disgraced peer of the realm, Gilbert & Sullivan’s satire of power, privilege and parliamentary democracy, wrapped around a story of forbidden love, resonates as much today as it would have done when Iolanthe was premiered in 1882, though by modern standards the mockery is mild. Back then the audience might also have been distracted from the lyrics by seeing the first production ever to be lit entirely by electricity, allowing for a range of new effects.It’s a trivial story of the improbable surmounted on the impossible. The lower echelons of the fairy world are lamenting the banishment of their dear friend Iolanthe (Eleanor O’Driscoll) for having married a mortal, contrary to fairy law. Her son, Strephon (Matthew Palmer), top half fairy, bottom half male, about whom the father knows nothing, is an Arcadian shepherd who has fallen in love with Phyllis (Llio Evans), whom he wants to marry. She, however, is a Ward of Chancery, well known to their lordships for her beauty and sought after by them all. As fairies don’t age, events take an unfortunate turn when Phyllis sees Strephon embracing a seemingly young woman who, unbeknown to her, is his mother. Chaos and confusion ensue before all is inevitably resolved after a few more revelations.What director John Savournin doesn’t know about performing and directing G&S probably isn’t worth knowing, and he’s assisted by revival director James Hurley. Designer Rachel Szmukler’s centred Palace of Westminster bookcase, looking a little isolated, cuts the stage’s depth, so that Savournin moves the action forward with maximum use of the double apron and split levels. This makes for a more intimate production, though cutting the large chorus of peers and fairies is a loss. Simplicity is the order of the day. We have the company’s own chamber orchestra under the enthusiastic baton of David Eaton. Ben Pickersgill’s lighting rises to the challenge of Wilton’s Music Hall's vast expanse, while Molly Fraser’s costumes are imaginative and functional.The show abounds with opportunities for virtuoso performances and these were not missed. Matthew Kellett, as the Lord Chancellor, fulsomely expressed his embodiment of the law, comically telling his story in When I went to the Bar and faultlessly delivering the nightmare tongue twister When you’re lying awake. Meriel Cunningham, as the controlling Queen of the Fairies, used the depths of her powerful contralto to create a figure not to be contradicted. She is fully controlling yet merciful at the bidding of the harmoniously matched, giggling fairy duo Celia and Leila, played by Sarah Prestwidge and Martha Jones, into which O’Driscoll blends perfectly.Back in the real world, Evans and Palmer give vocally powerful, assertive performances, with the latter doubling as Willis the librarian and giving a delightful rendition of When all night long a chap remains… to open the much faster-paced Act Two. The fine-voiced David Menezes entertains throughout as Earl Tolloller, but it is the brilliant gender change from Earl to Lady Mountararat that allows Catrine Kirkman to give a highly amusing Thatcherite interpretation of the role.Charles Court Opera, with a wealth of experience and well-versed performers, deliver a joyous, if minimal, production that celebrates the remarkable collaboration that bequeathed us lyrics that flow easily from comedy to heartache and music that has us still singing memorable melodies weeks after the show.

The Post Office Horizon scandal is ingrained in the minds of millions of people thanks to the TV series Mr Bates vs The Post Office. It may feel that there is nothing further to experience about the shocking miscarriage of justice, yet Rabble Theatre’s Glitch by Zannah Kearns, at the New Wolsey Theatre as part of their UK tour, proves otherwise. A powerful script and excellent production keep our shock and anger active.Focusing on the experience of sub-postmistress Pam Stubbs of Barkham Post Office, there is an almost forensic approach to the amount of information conveyed, but it’s delivered with crystal-clear clarity, and when it focuses on individuals there is an emotional depth that defies its 80-minute running time.The cast of four are excellent, a smooth ensemble who pay tribute to the victims but avoid stereotyping the accusers. The interesting aspect of Pam Stubbs is that she is a difficult, feisty heroine who manages to avoid traditional notions of “victim”. Sparky and barbed, Joanne Howarth is completely believable, thrumming with authenticity that keeps us with Pam throughout the play. The other three actors multi-role superbly, aided by a simple but effective design in which boxes contain costume items and totems that indicate the person portrayed. Laura Penneycard, with just a change of gilet, transforms characters. Naveed Khan, currently dazzling viewers in The Great Pottery Throw Down, displays his fine set of acting skills, from kind customer David to Sir Alan Bates, with whom Pam shares many a bloody-minded quality. Sabina Netherclift is outstanding in all her roles, from prosecutor to the widow of a Post Office sub-postmaster who took his own life. This really underlines that we still don’t know everything about this scandal, but we do know that at least 13 sub-postmasters have died.The design by Caitlin Abbott is powerfully simple, the lives in boxes symbolic not just of the huge amount of data, but the lives the Post Office seemed determined to pack away and lock up. Gareth Taylor’s direction is beautifully judged and sensitive, and the play grips us throughout.Pam Stubbs was angry that it took a TV drama to bring this scandal fully to light, and the main takeaway from this outstanding production is that none of the perpetrators is behind bars, having been found guilty of corporate manslaughter.

The strong ensemble cast of Theatre Paradok’s production of The History Boys breathes new life into a classic and offers a welcome change of focus on its themes.The production, directed by Lauren Green, takes a light hand in adapting the material, which at first seems unfortunate. The much-praised script has not aged well. Alan Bennett’s play about boys in a grammar school preparing for their Oxbridge entrance exams is dark academia indeed, raising issues of predation and abuse of power with dismissiveness. Nonetheless, subtle alterations allow other elements of Bennett’s complex writing to come to the fore.The biggest change here is that some of the boys’ characters are played by women. The choice to do it openly is an excellent one. It’s surprisingly natural, and it emphasises that these are youth on the cusp of adulthood, unsexed, unformed (as their teacher Hector might say), and only just attaining individuality.Visually, this academia is riotous rather than dark, and this, too, works well. The energy is reflected in the set, which, while static, is a joyful ebullience of educational paraphernalia and paper cranes and aeroplanes. Clever costuming by Naoise Gilpin and Sophie Slight helps establish different roles and identities for the many students on stage all at once.The large cast handles the difficult material well. Bella Burgess gives the devout Scripps insouciance and spark, and her piano playing complements the musical scenes in which Darcy Chong’s expressive singing infuses tenderness and vulnerability into Posner’s unrequited love for his classmate. Eric Parker, as Dakin, the love object, strikes the perfect balance as a young man overly pleased with himself, cognisant of his many admirers, and yet still callow enough to wildly mispronounce Nietzsche’s name. Megan Crutchley as Dorothy delivers world-weariness convincingly and acquits herself well in a too-small role.Zephyrus Pettitt (Hector) and Lucas Knepper (Irwin) both depart from how their characters are often portrayed. Pettitt’s Hector carries the trademark erudition and bonhomie, but never comes across as a broken man. Knepper, wonderfully nuanced as Irwin, brings such depth to his role that the character’s usual glibness is not in evidence. Their reinterpretations offer thought-provoking new perspectives.The production does carry a few hallmarks of being a student company. The most serious issue is with sound: some lines are rushed, insufficiently projected, or too frequently delivered upstage; music drowns them out too often. At times, across the players, speeches seem recited rather than embodied, and some dialogue gets stepped on. Video screen translations for a hilarious scene in French are barely visible behind the cast.These are, on the whole, minor flaws. The exuberance of the company is infectious, and their propulsive energy and high spirits make for a vibrant and entertaining show. At the same time, thoughtful choices by the director and actors create a production that rewards close inspection and lingers in one’s mind long after the curtain closes.

The show that initiated Rupert Goold’s tenure at the Almeida as artistic director is now revived as his last before moving to the Old Vic. He described that premiere production of American Psycho as “an over-ambitious show for the space”.Now the first two rows have been taken out to accommodate a matt black raised thrust platform consisting of embedded LED panels. These are the vehicle for some very impressive sequences by designer Jon Clark, who creates stunning lighting effects throughout. LED concertina curtains at the rear open to reveal various sets, while two floor panels form a trapdoor from which the meticulous, yet minimalist, sets by Es Devlin emerge, often with a character in situ. The otherwise bare stage also provides space for some tightly choreographed numbers by Lynne Page, in keeping with the period, locations and moods of the plot. With music supervision by David Shrubsole and director Ellen Campbell, sound design from Dan Moses Schreier, who perfectly judges the volume, and video design from Finn Ross, the achievements of the creative team take their place among the highlights of the production.The show is dominated by Arty Froushan, who reveals his character in opening words from inside the shower: “There is an idea of a Patrick Bateman; some kind of abstraction. But there is no real me: only an entity, something illusory.” Froushan is as fit as Bateman boasts himself to be. He exudes privilege, money, class and expensive taste to a level that makes him somewhat obnoxious, in addition to being an investment banker. Nothing he owns or uses is ever mentioned without the extravagant designer name adjectivally attached. He epitomises the saying, “If you’ve got it, flaunt it.” That includes his glamorous, strikingly dressed fiancé, Evelyn Williams, assertively played by Emily Barber, whose costumes are some of the many fabulous numbers designed by Katrina Lindsay. Together they might look the part, but we become increasingly privy to stresses beneath the surface. The only thing missing in his life is the highly lucrative Fischer account. That jewel in the crown went to Paul Owen, and Daniel Bravo wears it with casual pride, knowing that it turns Bateman green with envy.In addition to foot-stomping original electropop music and lyrics by Duncan Sheik, there are well-known songs from the period, of which In the Air Tonight is the most poignant, marking a turning point in Bateman’s behaviour. In a chilling moment listening to: “I can feel it coming in the air tonight, oh Lord. And I've been waiting for this moment for all my life, oh Lord.” We remember his words from the shower and the psychopath is let loose. Add to that Phil Collins’ own words that in the song “there's a lot of anger, a lot of despair and a lot of frustration”, and it becomes the perfect fit for Bateman.Goold’s production is packed with energy, moves at a pace and has a stylish ensemble.

Cambridge University’s European Theatre Group, under the direction of James Allen, delivers The Comedy of Errors with pace, humour and physicality at the ADC Theatre.The production was devised for performance not just locally, but also on tour in several European cities to audiences that include children listening to an archaic version of a foreign language. The Theatre Group's desire to preserve authenticity combined with accessibility is well met in this two-act version.For clarity, a modern preamble explains the problem of finding two pairs of identical twins, which is overcome by costume coding. Give one pair matching T-shirts and the other bright yellow sou’westers and all becomes clear. Additionally, explain that a shortage of actors means that one part will be played by a seagull puppet, while others double up parts by a change of hat or by wearing a mask, and you have a comic introduction that sets the tone for what follows. This, and the ensuing action, witnesses the ingenuity and imagination that Allen has given to this production.All playwrights have to begin somewhere and the consensus for Shakespeare is that The Comedy of Errors was among his first works. Dare one say that it shows? Notwithstanding, it is not without its admirers. The renowned critic Harold Bloom maintained that it “reveals Shakespeare's magnificence at the art of comedy” and shows “such skill, indeed mastery, in action, incipient character, and stagecraft, that it far outshines the three Henry VI plays and the rather lame comedy The Two Gentlemen of Verona.” Humour has clearly changed over the years, but there is plenty of fun to be had in it. The story was taken from Plautus and is rare in its adherence to the classical unities of time, place and action, giving it an inherent focus across the board.The set reflects the simplicity of this production. Two trestle ladders of different heights are arranged asymmetrically, one labelled ‘The Phoenix’, where Antipholus of Ephesus lives with his wife, Adriana, and the other, ‘Porpentine’, where Antipholus of Syracuse is meant to dine and to where the gold chain is delivered. Entrances and exits are frequently made under the ladders’ arches, and this adds to the element of superstition in the play.The ensemble cast are full of energy and enthusiasm but, as might be expected from a university society production, they comprise a mixed bag of talent. While they each have their commendable qualities, special mention has to go to the former National Youth Theatre member (Rob) Marques Monteiro for a commandingly idiosyncratic performance as Antipholus of Syracuse, full of measured pauses, artful gestures and mesmerising eye contact.Overall, Allen and the company have grasped the comedic aspect of this minor Shakespearean work and have turned it into fun-filled entertainment. Good job done.

Previews of Sir Tom Stoppard's Indian Ink at Hampstead Theatre began just a few days after his death, and through this sad coincidence, a story is highlighted that gives the production an added dimension.Originally a radio play, this revival celebrates the thirtieth anniversary of the stage debut, in which Felicity Kendal played Flora Crewe. She and Stoppard were in a relationship for many years. He wrote the role for her and dedicated the play to her mother. Now, she plays the role of Crewe’s sister, Eleanor Swan, who outlived her by many years. Their story unfolds in two time frames, until the very end, when Swan travels to India and stands over her sibling’s grave in a poignantly moving scene.Taking on Kendal’s original role, Ruby Ashbourne Serkis brings an air of the debutante. Arriving in India for health reasons, she inevitably attracts the attention of all the important people in the region. The English colonial official, David Durance, clearly has his eyes set on her. Tom Durant-Pritchard gives him the etiquette of the Raj, which comes across with hesitant politeness in her presence. Balancing him is Nirad Das, a local artist who paints her portrait. Gavi Singh Chera captures both the customary respect given to the memsahib and the informality of a man with whom she freely engages, enjoying his company and conversation. It’s a delight to see their relationship develop in a way that will never happen with Durance. Irvine Iqbal exudes the presence of an Indian aristocrat, with a charming manner in making advances that, ultimately, will go nowhere.Meanwhile, back in her English country garden in a later period, Eleanor Swan is serving cakes and cups of tea to Eldon Pike, a literary researcher from the USA eager to lay his hands on any material about her sister, particularly her correspondence. Those were the days of revealing all in letters. Donald Sage Mackay plays Pike with the ineptitude of a man unaccustomed to the pleasantries of English society, in complete contrast to the lady of the house. Kendal exudes charm, politeness, and tolerance, interspersed with wit and her hallmark cheekiness — sadly wasted on the interloper but not on us.There are some delightful moments of banter among servants and lackeys, and director Jonathan Kent excels in capturing the appropriate period feel in both locations, highlighting the various levels of relationships between the diverse characters.An unmissably brilliant aspect of the production is the stunning and highly versatile set by Leslie Travers, which copes with multiple locations in India and the parallel English venue: a split stage that merges into one, adorned with an abundance of flora. Costumes by Nicky Shaw add to the atmosphere and sense of period, while lighting designer Peter Mumford bathes the entire production in the most delightful hues.It's a delightful entertainment with captivating performances and a fitting tribute to the late author.

Fresh off the announcement that Into the Woods will transfer to London’s West End this autumn comes the production's first cast change at the Bridge Theatre. It is a remarkably strong ensemble, featuring Melanie La Barrie (Hadestown) as the Witch, Rachel Tucker (Wicked) as the Baker’s Wife, John Owen-Jones (Les Misérables) as Narrator/Mysterious Man, Jack Quarton (The Curious Case of Benjamin Button) as the Steward, and Jodie Jacobs (Fiddler on the Roof) as Standby. Hughie O’Donnell (King Lear), previously performing as the Steward, assumes the role of the Baker.The new performers are more than a match for these theatrical woods. The production remains a vocal-first endeavour; Rachel Tucker provides a riveting stand-out moment with her rendition of Moments in the Wood, while John Owen-Jones deftly weaves the vocal and spoken-word requirements of his two roles in an approach that feels almost effortless.Melanie La Barrie’s Witch succeeds in achieving scene-stealer status amongst an ensemble that is already uniformly excellent; she is both horrible and horribly entertaining. Her layered approach to the character fully earns the lyrical pay-off in Last Midnight, in which she eviscerates her fairytale companions for their binary approach to good, evil, wrong and right.This production remains a clear standout among theatre shows in 2026, with eleven nominations and two wins (Best Revival, Best Lighting Design) at the recent Olivier Awards. It offers exceptionally creative choices across lighting and video design, allowing all creatures, big and small – from twittering birds to roaring giants – to roam the auditorium. The set design is equally enchanting. The bold, magical forest of Act One falls victim to the rage of a giant in Act Two, driving the thematic shift of the musical from sprightly fairytale to a precarious confrontation with real-world troubles.The only lacklustre aspect of this production is its own book and score. Into the Woods makes an engaging and challenging move with its mid-point tonal shift; however, the ending is mildly anticlimactic. Without unprecedented intervention to the original work, this is something with which all productions must contend, and Jordan Fein’s production does not seek to rework the original story structure. Accordingly, this is a brilliant adaptation of somewhat underwhelming source material.Into the Woods, directed by Jordan Fein with set and costume design by Tom Scutt, plays the Bridge Theatre until Saturday 30 May 2026, before transferring to the Noël Coward Theatre this autumn.

Greenwich Theatre’s latest trip to Neverland takes the familiar tale, gives it a vigorous shake and watches the glitter fall where it may (much of it down the back of my neck at the show finale). This time we follow Wendy Darling’s great granddaughter, also called Wendy, who toils in the Neverclean car wash for a miserly boss. A family heirloom necklace lights the way for Peter Pan, who sweeps her off to Neverland in a flying Vauxhall Astra. From that moment the show gleefully abandons Barrie’s map. Tinkabell slips Captain Hook a vial of the elixir of youth. Hook feeds it to Polly his parrot who becomes an egg. Naturally Hook sets out to find the source – the Fountain of Youth – and the whole plot sidles into a cheeky Indiana Jones spoof.The staging leans into the mayhem with a confidence that says this is panto season so buckle in. Olivia Williamson’s Tinkabell heelys across the stage with a brilliantly sulky Gen Z scowl. Louise Cielecki’s Smee bursts with energy and bounces off Paul Critoph’s endearingly inept henchman Starky. Samuel Baily’s Peter Pan arrives with a frontman swagger and a Boy Scout sense of decency. The show, however, belongs to Anthony Spargo. His Captain Hook minces, sashays and deadpans through every scene with weapons-grade comic timing. He corpses his fellow actors, comments on the wobbly special effects and whips the audience into delighted submission. It is a masterclass in villainy with a wink tucked into every line.The comedy lands with reliable regularity. The double entendres are pitched with just the right level of mischief so the adults roar while the children remain blissfully oblivious. Viral memes jostle with digs at Plumstead, Lewisham and even the Rose and Crown next door taking friendly hits. The musical numbers come thickly layered. Some classics appear in gleefully rewritten form while a few newer tracks feel more like filler although the younger members of the crowd seem perfectly content.The night offers plenty of fun, yet the production cannot quite shake the sense of something missing. Greenwich last tackled Peter Pan a decade ago when the unbeatable pairing of Andrew Pollard and Anthony Spargo set a high bar for dame and villain. Pollard’s departure to bigger stages has left a gap that is increasingly felt. This version lacks a dame, which removes the joyous parade of outrageous costumes and denies Spargo the sparring partner who once matched his gleeful mischief. Without that counterbalance the panto feels thinner. The story is loose, the spectacle lighter and the whole enterprise sits closer to a spirited Gang Show than the full-throttle Greenwich pantos of old. Spargo’s magnetic Hook keeps the evening afloat, yet even he cannot disguise a slightly watered-down return to Neverland.

Ice and fire: just what we need at Christmas. Scottish Ballet’s The Snow Queen is a wintry treat, now in its third outing since the premiere in 2019. The Snow Queen’s icy world is contrasted with the warmth and colour of circus performers, Romani travellers and the heart-warming love between Kai and Gerda. Choreographer Christopher Hampson has welded together Hans Christian Andersen’s fairy tale with Disney’s Frozen, adding a storyline concerning the rivalry of the Snow Queen and her sister the Summer Princess for Kai, now an adult.Unfortunately, this subplot rather confuses the action. That said, the Summer Queen, disguised as Lexi, a pickpocket in a green jacket, is superbly performed by Marisa Poulson. Her malicious and fierce vitality dominates the stage, reducing poor Gerda (Kayla-Maree Tarantolo) to a wimp. No wonder Kai prefers the icily glamorous Snow Queen (Jessica Fyfe).There is much to admire: the breathtaking set designed by Lez Brotherson, the sisters framed inside a jagged broken mirror, animations of ice shards, the tracery of forest branches and the ice throne. The snow creatures’ costumes are terrific, especially the wolves with their grimacing masks and stylised fur, and the scary Jack Frosts. There is as much glitter as you could desire in the Snow Queen’s attire and the Snow Fairies, and in contrast there are colourful circus and Romani costumes and the latter’s encampment.However, a dull first act is mired in developing the Lexi pickpocket story, and the Snow Queen’s entrance fails to inspire terror. But the show comes alive in Act Two, in the Romani encampment, with a terrific Spanish-flavoured dance of males leaping and the skirts of the females swirling. An additional bonus is Gillian Rissi playing the fiddle live.Kai (Bruno Micchiardi) and the Snow Queen (Jessica Fyfe) perform beautiful pas de deux where her spiky moves and some heart-stopping lifts held upside down are impressive. However, there is no chemistry between them. He looks bewildered throughout and she fails to be scary, only smug. It is unclear how Kai wakes from the Snow Queen’s spell. As for the Snow Queen and Summer Queen’s reconciliation, it hardly registered.A muddled plot, a mistaken substitute for real drama, and a failure to delve into Hans Andersen’s exploration of evil and the symbol of the ice shard in one’s eye mean that this show lacks any depth. But does it matter? The kids won’t care.

Puppetry, song, dance, silly jokes and pratfalls, Cinderella: a Fairytale by Sally Cookson, Adam Peck and the Original Company, directed by Jemima Levick, is certainly original. This Cinderella is Ella, surrounded by her friends the birds (puppets designed by Matthew Forbes), who teach her how to fly – that is, how to be herself – which of course means gaining her Prince (an engaging Sam Stopford), a twitcher.The human characters are in brightly coloured modern dress, with Ella (a charming Olivia Hemmati) in shorts, but the setting is timeless, as in a fairy tale, an imaginative canopy of trellis-like brooms and brushes designed by Francis O’Connor. Scaffolding, also featuring brooms, represents a tree where Ella sits in the forest to see the magical puppet birds swoop ahead on long poles, or larger birds with characterful beaks perch on her hand, manipulated skilfully by puppeteers on stage. There is also beautiful shadow puppetry to show Ella’s growing up.The story moves swiftly from her happy childhood with her widowed father (a twinkling Richard Conlon) to the arrival of the ghastly stepmother (Nicole Cooper), almost a panto dame in her tight-fitting, garish green and pink suit and over-the-top acting, which make her cruelty amusing. Her children, a boy (Matthew Forbes) and a girl (Christina Gordon), are both hilarious in their prim and proper ways. All three make Ella’s life miserable, dubbing her Cinderella, forced to sleep in the cinders. Ella scrubbing the floor and tricking her stepbrother and stepsister to take part is clever and funny, with the charm of the earlier scenes now replaced by knockabout comedy.Until this point the show’s charming atmosphere and humour suit all ages, but it now takes a more adult turn. Even from the start, the joke of the twitcher Prince’s use of the Latin names for birds is more suitable for older children. Now we have the stepmother’s overtly sexualised flirting with the Prince and finally the Gothic horror of the stepsister determined to squeeze her large foot into the small shoe, having her toes cut off and shockingly presented as bloody stumps on a plate. It’s a shame, as there is so much else suitable for all ages, particularly the audience participation, with cast roaming the stalls to see whom the slipper – in this case a sparkling trainer – will fit.I would definitely not take a child under ten to this show.

It’s Nutcracker time of year, and for those who fancy a novel take on Tchaikovsky’s original, Carlos Acosta’s Nutcracker in Havana is currently on tour. On a chilly November evening, the Victorian Baroque splendour of Richmond Theatre stands in sharp contrast to the opening video projections of life in the heat of Cuba and the forested area where the show is set.Pepe Gavilondo’s arrangement of the original score retains the most famous and popular tunes in clearly recognisable form, while other sections are given more varied interpretations. What dominates are the rhythms and sounds of Caribbean music, along with heavy use of woodwind and brass. Modern post-jazz age and regional sounds are assimilated into the score, and while there is ample, perfectly executed classical ballet, no opportunity is missed to incorporate contemporary styles that provide freedom of movement and a more relaxed feel. While not in the league of La Fille Mal Gardée, there are even numbers featuring wooden-soled shoes and a maypole to add to the festive village atmosphere. Clearly relishing the light-hearted fun of this piece are members of Acosta Danza Yunior. Their obvious enjoyment is infectious, and it’s a thrill to see the next generation’s passion and talent on display.Meanwhile, the well-established Alejandro Silva gives a commanding performance as the Prince, acting as a master of ceremonies and calling forth dancers to perform their set pieces for Carla (Adria Diaz) after the main story has unfolded in Act 1. Alexander Verona delivers a delightful character performance as Drosselmeyer. The second half dances are the highlight of the evening, however.Amisaday Naara is enchanting as the Sugar Plum Fairy, alongside Melisa Mordera and Alexander Arias as the lead Flower couple. The scenes follow in rapid succession as the entertainment builds up. The Four Cooks (Aniel Pazos, Noel Sánchez, Edgar Quintero, and Anthony Quevedo) provide a light-hearted interlude. The Spanish Dance is delivered with Iberian passion by Thalia Cardin and Frank Junior, while Ofelia Rodriguez and Paul Brando provide a contrasting set of rhythms in the Arabian Dance. The light, almost comic orchestration of the Mirlitons is given appropriate treatment by Wendy Friol, Cynthia Garceran, and Aniel Pazos. The world tour continues with dances that reflect their places of origin, energetically executed by Leandro Fernandez and Edgar Quintero in the Chinese Dance, and Adria Diaz and Brandy Martinez in the Russian Dance.It all makes for a delightfully light-hearted entertainment in a seasonal wonderland.

It has to be said, not for the first time, that the theatre in the hills is alive with the sound of music. The Rodgers & Hammerstein musical first hit the PFT stage a year ago and was such a success it has won itself an encore.More familiar to most through the movie starring Julie Andrews, the Pitlochry stage version uses a large ensemble of actor-musicians to tell the story, sing the songs and accompany themselves on a wide range of musical instruments.There is something fascinating about having the excellent band and cast of more than 20 embedded on the stage, stepping up to play their parts before returning to their instruments.Last year it was directed by the then artistic director Elizabeth Newman as her leaving present to PFT. This time the revival director is Sam Hardie, who worked alongside Newman.Both productions have the wonderful Kirsty Findlay at their heart as the novice nun Maria. Findlay is a delight as the brave young lassie, kind and caring, determined to do what is right. She wants to share her love of music, and Findlay’s lovely singing voice fits the bill.The songs and the music are impressive throughout (musical director Richard Reeday), from the opening tones of the nuns singing their sacred music to the emotional finale of Climb Every Mountain, given full voice by Kate Mylner Evans as Mother Abbess.The audience is introduced to Maria as a novice nun who is far too free-spirited to take up the vocation and is sent as a governess to the Von Trapp family. She quickly wins over her charges with kindness; their father, the stern Captain Von Trapp (Ali Watt), takes longer.Let us not forget the delights of the Von Trapp children. The youth cast sing and act like seasoned troupers, endearing themselves to the audience.It is set in 1938 as Hitler’s Germany annexes Austria and the Von Trapps flee their homeland. Hardie’s production does not neglect the political element. It movingly builds to the escape across the hills with the poignant finale.

The Lost Estate theatre company is currently hosting their lavish seasonal offering in what has now become something of a tradition. The Great Christmas Feast, with much cheer and a measure of humbug, satisfies not only the senses but the stomach too.For the purposes of Adam Clifford’s adaptation and the theatrical dining experience, we’re the honoured guests of the rising author Charles Dickens. It is Christmas Eve, 1843, and we’re about to hear him share his latest work, A Christmas Carol, while enjoying a three-course meal served between the acts, with a range of cocktails, wines, beers and non-alcoholic drinks also available courtesy of his publishers, who are present and whom he is out to impress.It’s a laid-back immersive event. We are seated in the round at tables in a great Victorian parlour while the performance takes place in all directions, utilising four stages, with waiting staff and hosts scurrying around serving food and drinks and making sure that everyone is having a grand time. You might, however, be asked to perform a short scripted part as one of the characters in Scrooge’s story.Director Simon Pittman has maximised the setting’s potential, creating various locations that feature in the story around the room. There is plenty of movement between them and the excitement of trap doors opening. The action is heightened by the spectacular sound and lighting created by the company and the delightful musical accompaniment of variations on Christmas carols from Guy Button (violin), Beth Higham-Edwards (percussion) and Kieran Carter (cello).This afternoon, playing the role of Dickens, the narrator and many other characters in this monodrama, is Tama Phethean, who along with André Refig is one of two alternate actors to the main performer for the run, David Alwyn. He gives an impassioned performance, bringing characters to life and relishing his role as the host surrounded by so many guests. It is perhaps overly blasted out and some quieter, more reflective moments would add contrast and nuance, but this is ultimately a jolly and festive production.The event makes for a delightfully party-like occasion which would be fun to share with a group of family or friends, or just as a seasonal outing for two.

Imagine: you turn 21 and are moved from a young offenders’ institution to an adult prison, where you share a cell with a man serving 17 years. That’s the setting for Creative Expressions’ play Mind of Man.One of the most impressive things about this play is its commitment to going deeper and wider than the simple stereotypes we see on TV or in popular films.For example, Shug, the man with the longer sentence, has found purpose and self-respect through leading the prison’s drug recovery group and is working towards rehabilitation and parole. Kai, the younger man, has no interests beyond the pleasure of the moment, yet is an attractive and hilarious character.The characterisation is superb. Shug, for all his noble ambitions, battles simmering impulses of anger and violence that he must keep under constant control. Kai is exactly the sort of person you’d find amusing to meet, but would hate to live next door to. Yet beneath Kai’s defensive shell lies a complex human being.Both parts are extremely well performed. Sean Connor captures all the bravado and comic potential of Kai. Adam Robertson, as Shug, does not get the opportunity for jokes but brilliantly conveys the thin line between intense purpose and the brink of violence.Informed by contributions from prisoners, and with workshop co-facilitator Lauren Bianchi, Sam Rowe’s witty and entertaining script shows an admirable dedication to the truth of the characters and the way institutional systems inadvertently trap them.The title, and the tagline “Over half of people in prison are thought to be neurodivergent”, make the theme clear. But, to be honest, among all the reasons I could see why Shug and Kai were in prison, it was unclear how much of their behaviour stemmed from neurodivergence. (This may apply to anyone without relevant personal or professional experience.) This focus on presenting the complexity of the whole story is far more valuable and satisfying than offering an oversimplified message.At the same time, the play forcefully raises the question of how many blighted or wasted lives might be avoided if society adapted better to neurodivergence. The UK has a far higher incarceration rate than other western European countries. Surely that is too important an issue to ignore?Highly recommended as a piece of drama and as a compelling introduction to a vital topic.

Echo suffers a cruel fate in Greek mythology: as punishment for distracting Hera, she is stripped of her ability to form sentences and condemned to repeat only the last words spoken by others. To add to her misery, she becomes besotted with Narcissus who, irked by her lack of speech, spurns her advances and leaves her to waste away in the forest. In this fearless, funny and multisensory production of Play Dead, written by and starring Bailey Edwards, we meet our modern-day Echo in a similar state of entropy.In an act of revenge fitting for the Greek gods, Echo has stolen his ex’s dog and now waits anxiously to hear from him. He emerges from a dog cage, devouring a grapefruit, eaten up by neurosis. The fourth wall is not so much broken as bulldozed by the gifted Bailey Edwards, who impressively manages to build rapport with us after such a startling arrival. Through clever choices early on – a game of catch with the grapefruit, dancing to hold music while on the phone to a salesman – the relationship between character and spectator is quickly and playfully established.Director Mia Hull, who specialises in reimagining Greek myth, infuses the play with physicality to convey Echo’s tenuous link with the outside world. In one remarkable moment, Edwards showcases his talent as a physical actor, holding a complex yoga pose as he recounts Echo’s memory of meeting his ex. His absent sister, who cares for their mother and is a grounding presence, is played with warmth and sympathy by Annalisa Plumb. She too appears from the dog cage – hauled out by a microphone cable – and acts as a foil to Echo and his psychological demise, pulling us back from a Beckettian, abstract space. Both actors are compelling in their roles, their fraught yet loving bond as siblings completely believable.The set – one corner a mesh of cables and broken stereos – is symbolic of severed communication and becomes messier and more unkempt as the play unfolds. Where some productions seek slick, tidy scene changes, Hull makes inventive use of the space to mirror the unravelling of Echo’s mind. Just as Ovid’s gods in Metamorphoses are driven by conflict and impulse, Echo too is plagued with inner turmoil and impetuousness. However, the modern-day protagonist that Edwards has created is not a nymph of the woods but a creature of self-sabotage and malaise.Play Dead peels back the layers beneath the surface with humour and care, deftly showing how stories immortalised in myth are interwoven with our own lives.

It’s always a pleasure to witness a Frantic Assembly play, their trademark physicality adding layers of meaning to any text.In Lost Atoms, we meet Jess and Robbie in their Mind Mausoleum, the set high with drawers and boxes that contain their life together and their memories. They climb, crawl, dangle, lie down and set the scenes as they relive their time together, often interrupting each other to correct the memory. It’s a deep dive into how they met and fell in love after an unlikely beginning; his admission of depression, their emerging love for each other, then loss pierces their world, followed by betrayal and ending.The staging is astonishing, the synergy of movement and memory sublime, and it's a perfect celebration of Frantic Assembly’s 30th anniversary. It is served by two performers who capture the differences, the unlikeliness of the relationship, and ultimately, the love. Joe Layton as Robbie, despite his confident strength and muscularity, captures perfectly Robbie’s vulnerability and loneliness, charting his way through an intense, volatile relationship with no map to guide him.Hannah Sinclair Robinson is equally mesmerising to watch, her contrasting attitude to life laying down a strong marker for their differences. When he wins £500 on a scratch card, their differences are amusingly exposed: he is The Lion King, she is Hamilton.Andrzej Goulding’s jaw-dropping set is effectively the third character. The wall of drawers contains memories, mementoes and delights. The actors balance off them, scale them and push chairs into place to set scenes. It’s a kinetic delight.With such a strong production conceit, there is the danger that the script won’t live up to the visual power, and at times, the constant movement feels a little like filler, stretching out the running time. But Anna Jordan’s script thrums with honesty and rawness, especially when loss and grief hit the couple in the second half. Interestingly, the most powerful scenes are when they sit and absorb bad news, the stillness making the grief palpable. Its exploration of memory, both muscle and mental, will live with you for a long time.

Elias Faingersh’s A Solo from the Pit is an unusual and engaging blend of musical storytelling and personal confession. A virtuoso trombonist, Faingersh reimagines his journey from the orchestra pit of the New York Metropolitan Opera to the intimacy of the Fringe stage – and he does so with humour, technical brilliance and a dash of theatrical flair.The structure is clever: each chapter of his life is paired with an opera he once performed in, from Tosca to Carmen, drawing witty and sometimes poignant parallels between the dramas on stage and those off it. A story about annoyed neighbours and interrupted practice sessions becomes a playful riff on Tosca’s tensions, while other moments – a faltering audition, a lost love – find their echo in the grand emotional sweep of Verdi and Puccini.Faingersh’s musicianship is superb throughout. The opening, a haunting Hebrew prayer rendered entirely through the trombone, is a stunning display of tone and control. His use of looping pedals and vocal layering is inventive, allowing him to build rich soundscapes from a single instrument. A mid-show composition depicting a couple’s argument and reconciliation is especially inspired – funny, textured and musically sharp.If there’s a weakness, it’s one of pacing. At a full hour, the show slightly overstays its welcome; trimming an opera or two would give it tighter focus and a more satisfying arc. Likewise, while it opens with something transcendent, the ending doesn’t quite reach the same emotional resonance.Still, A Solo from the Pit is an excellent piece of musical theatre – a celebration of craft, courage and creative risk. Faingersh’s journey from the world’s grandest orchestra pit to a humble Fringe stage proves that sometimes stepping out of the ensemble can make for the most memorable solo of all.

In Troppo Bella Per Essere Vera, Maria Vittoria Barrella delivers a sharp and engaging performance as a scientist desperate to be recognised for her intellect rather than her beauty. Told entirely in Italian - with an English script thoughtfully provided - this one-woman play moves briskly through a series of witty, tightly written monologues that blend irony, self-awareness, and social critique.The premise is fascinating: a brilliant academic, tired of her achievements being overshadowed by her past as a model, builds a machine capable of erasing every trace of her former image from the internet. Of course, , the plan backfires, forcing her to confront the impossibility of separating identity from perception. The idea might sound abstract, but Barrella grounds it with warmth and precision - her delivery is crisp, her comic timing faultless, and her shifts between irony and sincerity are deftly handled.Director Maura Pettorruso keeps the staging simple but expressive, using music and small visual touches - a fluttering fan, a shimmer of glitter - to punctuate changes in tone. It’s a clever use of minimal resources, ensuring that attention never drifts from the performer.At times, the logic of the narrative teeters on the edge of surrealism, and it’s possible that a nuance or two is lost in translation. Yet the clarity of Barrella’s performance and the sharpness of Massimiano Bucchi’s writing carry the audience through. Beneath its humour lies a clear-eyed commentary on how women in science - and indeed in any field - are still judged by appearances before achievements.Tightly written, well-paced, and performed with charm and intelligence, Troppo Bella Per Essere Vera is a thought-provoking monologue that deserves to reach wider audiences. A hidden gem that feels ripe for touring - and one that lingers in the mind long after the glitter has settled.

Italy is a country steeped in tradition and ritual. This manifests in countless ways, big and small: church ceremonies, university graduations and the acceptable times of day to drink cappuccino. And then there’s football.To the non-aficionado, football’s entrenched place in Italian culture requires some explanation. The national side is among the most successful ever, and when they play an important match, everything grinds to a halt. The powerhouse domestic clubs have won everything and enjoy global stature. The top division, Serie A, is scrutinised endlessly: matches are analysed for days beforehand, with key moments debated for days after. Back in the early 1980s, games were covered through excitable radio broadcasts, with audiences across the nation hanging on every word. Each club has deep ties to its community. The importance, therefore, of reaching Serie A cannot be overstated, bestowing exalted status and kudos not just on the club but on the city as well.Come Ogni Domenica (best translated as Just Like Every Sunday) uses the ritual of Sunday football as its backdrop, but there is something more personal at play. It’s 1983 and Catania football club are challenging for promotion to Serie A. When the critical final match comes around, an estimated 40,000 fans – around a sixth of the city’s population – make the 1,000-mile round trip to Rome.Adriano (Samuele Gambino) is listening to a radio football transmission as the production opens, his body conveying silent contemplation. Ciccio, Adriano’s brother, had died in an accident a year earlier while following the team. The brothers had been quite different: Adriano is interested in music and not a football fan, but he follows this potentially historic season on Ciccio’s behalf.Gambino is an accomplished storyteller, engagingly and charmingly bringing Ciccio’s story to the Catania Fringe. Partly through the use of dialect, he paints a picture of the Catania community and the position of an everyday family within it. He fuses physical theatre, character work and a touch of clowning, but it is the depiction of Adriano’s journey that is most striking. He finds comfort through football, paying tribute to his brother and posthumously reconciling their differences. In doing so, he matures as a human being.Gambino sensitively explores themes of belonging, aspiration, community and loss. His performance is occasionally rather heightened, but that aside, the self-written production represents an impressive debut and promises much for the future.Ciccio’s mother continues to set his dinner plate, while Adriano relays the football action to him – rituals of a more personal kind, helping the family to live with grief.

Lucia Raffaella Mariani enters the stage tentatively, almost nervously, wearing a robe over a swimsuit. She begins by asking what at first seems a simple question – whether she can make the audience fall in love with her before the production ends. The reason for the red roses we were given soon becomes clear: we are to adorn the stage with them by the show’s conclusion if she has succeeded.The premise posed by Mariani is more complex than it first appears. The suggestion that a stranger can fall in love with another within 60 minutes is fanciful at best. But is that really the question being asked?There is nowhere to hide on a theatre stage, and in Freevola, Mariani chooses to share her anguish and inner conflict under its unforgiving spotlight. Like many adolescent girls, she experiences her body changing and the first inklings of body awareness as she begins to wonder what others see when they look at her. This feeling, it seems, never fully dissipates.Her journey into womanhood brings no relief: constant judgement and assessment from men; competition with other women that follows few discernible rules; and the weight of familial and societal pressures. Suddenly, the idea that dressing for a party might require strategic planning seems obvious.She describes herself, disconcertingly, as “averagely attractive” and, despite the assertion via song that she “was born this way”, she relentlessly scrutinises opportunities for improvement – diet, surgery and pharmaceuticals.She alludes to Marilyn Monroe, the epitome of beauty and sex appeal – and yet, Monroe was a victim, reportedly constantly unhappy.This introspection probes myriad modern issues. At its heart lies the need for approval – particularly male approval. Alongside it come addiction, insecurity, introspection and body consciousness. Her belief that she is nothing without male validation is especially uncomfortable.Male harassment is never far away – in the workplace, on an ordinary street. This behaviour is normalised, and Mariani describes dressing specifically to avoid harassment.Her performance is strong, slipping in and out of characters, engaging with the audience and exposing her fragility. One audience interaction in this #MeToo era felt awkward – perhaps intentionally – but even so, might benefit from rethinking. That aside, her playfulness, stillness, skill and humour shine through.Mariani’s journey within this patriarchal world is mirrored by women across the planet and throughout history. This hour-long inner scream ultimately asks a different question from the one posed at the outset: can she learn to love herself?

The essential elements of good theatre come together in Luigi Orfeo’s Pene, Sofferenze del Mondo Contemporaneo at Fringe Catania Off, which he co-directs tightly with Roberta Calia. The obvious translation of the title, Pains, Sufferings of the Contemporary World, loses the Italian pun in which the plural pene also means “penises” or, colloquially, “dicks”.Focusing entirely on the male of the species, this neatly structured solo work consists of five vignettes exploring different aspects of the male psyche, framed by a prologue and an epilogue. As the lights come up on Luigi Orfeo’s dramatically dim stage, we see the contorted, naked figure of Stefano Sartore. He resembles the muscular depictions of St Sebastian before the arrows pierce his body. Pain and suffering are incarnate against a vivid, blood-red wall.He tells us that scientific studies from the University of Wisconsin prove “that the world is beautiful but humanity is shit”, and references Cain and Abel to show that the “genesis of humankind is disgusting” – that we have inflicted pain on one another since the dawn of time. And the source of all this? The “dick”. “The dick is not only that proboscis part of the body, it’s a way of thinking, it’s an attitude.” He offers several examples before the prologue ends.Thereafter, wearing costumes carefully devised by designer Augusta Tibaldeschi, we meet a succession of characters embodying contrasting aspects of masculinity. First comes a gruff, deep-voiced man with fascist leanings, irritably finishing a game of solitaire. He explains that just as he cannot turn a king into a knight, so the natural order of things cannot be changed – that there is a place for everyone and everything. He laments the fluidity of the modern world.He is followed by a racist killer pleading his innocence, and, in stark contrast, a loving father nursing his baby daughter after being abandoned by his wife. Then comes an elderly gay man who, having little to do with women, reminisces, indulges his memories and offers his perspective on life. Finally, we meet a man dealing with noisy neighbours while recounting the horrors of war.The piece ends where it began – back at the University of Wisconsin – with the thought that perhaps we should start all over again, but in a different world, one without the supremacy of the “dick”. “And this time, from the Garden of Eden, let’s try not to get ourselves expelled.”It’s a provocative production that reflects on mentality, masculinity and power, in which Sartore creates strong, credible and gripping characters who bear the burdens of life. Their maleness has shaped the contemporary world – if not on a grand scale, then certainly in their perceptions and their effects on others.

As winter settles in and the days grow shorter, London’s theatres have turned inward too, offering audiences comfort through mood and nostalgia. The Assembled Parties by Richard Greenberg arrives on British shores after its 2013 Broadway debut, delivering a compelling and encompassing performance on Hampstead Theatre’s broad main stage.We are transported to the 1970s, where a Jewish family and friends assemble for Christmas dinner. There’s humour in the very premise, and Greenberg’s intelligent, finely tuned script wastes no time drawing attention to that contradiction. The first half ambles along with witty dialogue, presented in largely static “sit and chat” staging. Director Blanche McIntyre orchestrates the piece confidently, yet before the interval I found myself craving more doings – more cooking, more refilling of drinks, more shifting of chairs – the small acts that make a performance ring true. Those moments were there, but could have been explored further. The repartee, though sharp, functions like the laying of bricks, each one adding a layer of information about relationships, status and personality. But as the characters settled into their seats and the familiar rhythm took hold, I occasionally found my attention drifting, wishing each brick weren’t laid in such a similar way.That said, David Kennedy (Mort), Sam Marks (Jeff) and Tracy-Ann Oberman (Faye) give exemplary, lived-in performances. For a show that depends on immersing us in its world, these actors succeed in fully inhabiting theirs. Kennedy’s stint in an armchair eating nuts while blackmailing Daniel Abelson’s Ben is a standout moment – a perfect display of power and vulnerability, armed with nothing but a handful of trail mix.The set’s early sparseness appears to be a deliberate choice: a large rotating stage, minimally furnished and surrounded by unadorned black walls that leave the actors adrift in what feels like a vacuum. Later, walls are erected and warm yellow light replaces the ghostly whites of the opening. Perhaps this shift marks a transition from memory to the present. Whatever the intention, the atmosphere benefits greatly once the space feels fully realised. I only wish that richness had been there from the start.After the interval, we jump to December 1999 – a familiar time for me, two months after I was born. While some of the first half’s Jewish New York accents felt a touch exaggerated and the staging occasionally stagnant, the second half solidified my admiration for the piece. Magnetic performances and deftly delivered twists involving familial love and acknowledgment strike deeply but tenderly. Faye’s strength, humour and compassion; Jeff’s steadfast support; and Julie’s whimsical, keen-eyed optimism all shine as the once-crumbling house fills with light, chasing away the literal darkness of the first half.In the end, the play achieves its aim: to illuminate the commingling of grief, expectation and love within a family. Witty, wistful and quietly moving, if you’re in the mood for a dose of holiday nostalgia and a gentle tug on the heartstrings, The Assembled Parties is a fine candidate.

The more things change, the more they stay the same is a maxim perfectly suited to John Godber’s Teechers. Written in the 1980s, it is now a staple of British theatre, and this Eastern Angles production, with subtle updates, powerfully demonstrates its relevance today.The story follows three pupils at a struggling comprehensive who, with the encouragement of their drama teacher Mr Nixon, stage their own end-of-term play about their life at the school. Although essentially a comedy, the piece is still a powerful examination of the inequalities in the education system, and a huge appreciation and call-out for drama in the school curriculum. A play within a play, it was heart-lifting to hear and see how engaged the large number of school pupils in the audience were.Three actors play the pupils and all the other people in their school world, and all three demonstrate superb characterisation, physicality and versatility. Isaac Franklin as Salty alternates between the pupil and Mr Nixon extremely well, showing how they are both affected by the challenges of comprehensive school life. Chileya Mwampulo as Gail is outstanding, and Eloise Richardson as Hobby is particularly strong as the headteacher – colours clashing but with a love for drama. What the three do particularly well is show the fear about leaving school as they move from reluctant learners to stars of the drama department. This is a moving cornerstone of the play that isn’t just delivered for knockabout comedy.The pace is excellent, allowing the play to breathe in moments when the poignancy is held, and delighting with a trip down memory lane. School is still recognisable to all who watch this production, and director and designer Jake Smith creates an environment that draws everyone in from the start.

Modern theatre rarely fuses blood, gore, humour and family with such gleeful precision. Meghan Tyler’s Crocodile Fever is a fever dream of sisterly connection and patriarchal dismantling, a hallucinogenic, high-temperature descent that ends in a way I genuinely did not see coming.Good writing often follows a formula; one walks into a theatre knowing roughly what to expect. Great writing, however, understands that formula so deeply it can break it with confidence and clarity. Crocodile Fever does exactly that, bending and twisting familiar tropes to create something wild, funny and unpredictable. It is a testament to Tyler’s fluency and command of form.The play opens in a meticulously detailed Northern Irish home: a kitchen and living room rendered with astonishing realism by Merve Yörük’s set design. Staged in traverse, with audiences on either side, every inch of the space feels deliberate and alive. Realism with onstage props can be as fragile as glass; one mistake and the illusion shatters. Yet through murder, dismemberment, flying debris, crunched crisps and stewing limbs, the veneer never cracks.The story begins when Fianna (played by Tyler themself) crashes through the window of their sister Alannah’s (Rachael Rooney) pristine home. Alannah wants her gone, but Fianna’s chaotic charm and buried affection eventually win her over. What follows is a drunken night that unearths their traumatic past: a dead mother, a paralysed abusive father and a terrible secret. Alannah started the fire that killed their mother, but Fianna took the blame and served the sentence.Rooney gives a brilliant, grounded performance with a difficult, stylised character, making Alannah richly human and heartbreakingly funny. Fianna, by contrast, feels less defined, more a gesture toward the archetypal reckless younger sibling than a fully realised character. Some of the play’s political allusions to the IRA and British authorities also feel underdeveloped and tangential to the emotional core, which is the sisters’ relationship.Stephen Kennedy, as their paralysed father, is a standout. His blood-soaked crawl down the stairs after being shot is both grotesque and magnetic, his performance balancing menace and charm with masterful subtlety.After a long intermission of around twenty minutes, the play returns for a frantic, surreal final act filled with cooked limbs, deafening music and a life-sized crocodile voiced by Kennedy. The chaos is thrilling, even when not every word can be heard. The extended intermission is understandable given the scale of set changes, but the play might be even stronger without it. Removing narrative elements unrelated to the sisters, their parents or the crocodile (including a well-acted cameo by James Pedley-Holden) could refine the experience into an intense hour of dark sibling discourse set against a backdrop of mayhem and murder, rather than the hour and a half we received.Despite some pacing issues and narrative excesses, Crocodile Fever remains a bold, brilliantly acted and darkly hilarious piece of theatre. It is a rare, bloody gem that bites hard and lingers.

An inspired choice by James Brining for his inaugural production as artistic director of the Royal Lyceum, Chekhov’s The Seagull marks the beginnings of modern theatre. The elegant adaptation by Mike Poulton is accessible and light-footed, aiding the subtle balance of comedy and pathos that is the hallmark of this production.John Bett, playing Sorin, the owner of the summer estate where the play is set, is one of the highlights of the show. His handling of complaints makes us laugh sympathetically. But Caroline Quentin is undoubtedly the star of the show, playing Arkadina, a narcissistic actress past her prime, with just enough hamminess to be funny without losing credibility. Constantly posing and looking round for effect, she also betrays her insecurities. She can be both cruel to her son, Konstantin (or Kostya), talking over the play he wants to impress her with, but later demonstrating her love in the moving scene where she changes the bandages on his head wound. This ambivalence is also successfully demonstrated by Lorn Macdonald as Kostya, both scornful of his mother and desperate for her approbation with his unintentionally ghastly play, searching for ‘new forms’. Likewise his volatility means he is unable to take rejection by Nina resulting in suicide. Trigorin’s explanation of his writing process, as an obsession, will resonate with would-be writers. Dyfan Dwyfor, rather too low-key before this, at last comes alive.Other characters make pleasing cameos: Michael Dylan as Medvedenko, the neglected schoolteacher; Steven McNicoll as Shamrayev, the blustering estate manager; and Irene Allan as Polina, his bullied wife, who is having an affair with Dr Dorn but is now neglected. Sadly, Forbes Masson as Dorn is so unpleasant it’s hard to believe he was once a seducer.Full plaudits to Tallulah Greive as Masha, with her deadpan ‘whatever’ delivery, a precursor of goth, all in black. Harmony Rose-Bremner as Nina contrasts the necessary overacting in Kostya’s play with naivety and hero-worship for Trigorin, the famous writer. However, her last encounter with Kostya is so overwrought it’s garbled.The sets by Colin Richmond and Anna Kelsey are not entirely successful. The opening scene by the lake is cluttered with reeds that look more like rye. There are also strange water sound effects - real lakes are silent. However, the sparse interior that follows is spacious, with the distressed look of an old country house. The last set, reduced to a small central space (perhaps to suggest Kostya’s confined life as a writer), is again too cluttered.Overall, this is an involving, though not overwhelming, production, and it bodes well for the Lyceum’s new era.

Walking the streets of Milan at this year’s Fringe, I stumbled upon the Wall of Dolls. A memorial to victims of female violence and femicide, members of the public are encouraged to pin dolls to the wall and, hauntingly, there are photographs of some victims. It’s all rather sobering.L’altro ieri (which can be translated as The Day Before Yesterday) recounts the story of Franca Viola, yet another victim of female violence. However, she and her family displayed enormous courage in the face of mafia and societal pressures to ensure that these acts did not go unpunished.In 1963, at the age of 15, Viola had been betrothed to Filippo Melodia. However, he moved away to Germany, most likely due to his involvement with organised crime. Upon his return, Melodia discovered that Viola was now betrothed to Giuseppe Riusi and therefore unable to resume a relationship with her. Undeterred, he hatched a plan.In 1965, still aged just 17, Viola was abducted in a raid on her family home by a group of armed men orchestrated by Melodia. She was held at the home of a relative of Melodia and repeatedly raped by him over the course of a week. Her family was then contacted by Melodia, proposing that she marry him.With the benefit of modern perspective, this may seem surprising to say the least. However, at that time Italian law allowed for the crime of rape to be annulled if the victim was a virgin and proceeded to marry the perpetrator (the so-called “rehabilitation marriage law”). Such were the societal pressures in Sicily at that time for women to conform, it would probably not have crossed Melodia’s mind that this scheme would not be successful. However, Viola’s family arranged a police operation for her safe recovery, whereupon she refused his proposal and insisted on denouncing him and pressing charges.This course of action brought many risks and pressures. Melodia had mafia connections and Viola’s family were subjected to threats and intimidation. Furthermore, the family were ostracised by the community, as she was now deemed to be a dishonoured woman. However, Melodia was imprisoned and murdered on his eventual release. It was not until 1981 that the “rehabilitation marriage” law was finally repealed.L'altro ieri is performed by the Capolavori company, played on different days by two actors, Aurora D’Arrigo and, in the version I saw, Alice Canzonieri. Viola’s story is re-imagined skilfully and powerfully, yet respectfully. Canzonieri is an engaging performer, her physicality impressive. She displays subtle character changes and switches between animated and stillness with ease; credit to Salvatore Greco’s direction for the pace of the production.Franca Viola tells us that “nothing changes unless you take a risk”. She decided that she was not Melodia’s property, pushing back against the patriarchy. She did not allow her ordeal at the hands of Melodia to define her; instead, she found the courage and fortitude to strike out towards emancipation. Society and the legal framework have, of course, evolved since the 1960s, but the Wall of Dolls reminds us that violence against women remains depressingly prevalent.

This latest Mercury Original continues the excellent support the venue has given to writers in bringing their work to the stage. Tessa Deparis’s effective play Swallow the Lake, produced in association with HighTide, is powerful in its gentleness.Joanna and Joseph have just relocated to a quiet town in Essex with their young children and are hosting their first dinner party. Beautifully structured, what follows is a series of flashbacks, from when they first met as children, returning to the dinner party and its aftermath. Yasmin Hafesji’s sensitive direction honours the fragility of the piece, as Joanna has suppressed the racism endured by her and her family, and those racist voices are becoming louder as she struggles to hold on to a stable life.The play is beautifully performed, not least by Lydia Bakelmun as Joanna, skilfully showing the danger and disrespect she receives, even though she is a doctor. Her stillness is the power of the performance: even when you may want her to shout louder, it is her dignity that is maintained as her world begins to unravel. Matt Jewson as Joseph matches her perfectly with a realistic portrayal of a man who doesn’t understand how his wife’s silence is undermining their relationship, and together they convincingly portray the pair as children and adolescents. Liam Bull multi-roles with ease, crystallising both casual and deep-seated racism, and Krupa Pattani is excellent as sassy female friends still unable to grasp Joanna’s attitude and shyness.William Hamilton Tighe’s elegant design adds to the nuances of the piece, and the action flows seamlessly from one scene to another, the themes becoming clearer as the play progresses. Perhaps occasionally Joanna’s anger and distress could be heightened, but the damaging effects of internalising racism – of accepting a standard of abuse just to survive – are powerfully conveyed.When Joanna reveals what happened to her brother, the title of the play is brought into crystal-clear focus. It’s a powerful piece that shows the lake of the title is racism itself.

R:Evolution is four pieces exploring the development of modern ballet, of interest to anyone seeking an introduction or refresher course. What a great idea from Aaron S Watkin, artistic director of the English National Ballet.Balanchine’s Theme and Variations, set to Tchaikovsky’s music, sparkles – not only with chandeliers, tutus and tiaras, but with precision of technique and geometric patterns that respond to the score, whether swirling woodwind or later horns. Two fine soloists, Emma Hawes and Aitor Arrieta, effortlessly shine. Redolent of the St Petersburg Balanchine came from, it is a superb start, showing the classical roots of ballet.In complete contrast, pointe shoes are abandoned for bare feet in Errand into the Maze, which exemplifies Martha Graham – the mother of modern dance – and her visceral, raw style. A reinterpretation of the Minotaur myth, it follows Ariadne as she discovers her subconscious desire symbolised by the Minotaur. The music by Menotti is equally raw, all drums and syncopation. The set is modernist, bare apart from a treelike abstraction, a pole and a Picassoesque bird. Movingly danced by Minju Kang, with Graham’s signature contortions to her core – twisting and at one point climbing onto the Minotaur’s thighs to dominate him – while Rentaro Nakaaki, as the Minotaur, falls vanquished to the floor. In its day it would have been shocking. Now, perhaps, it seems a little dated, with a limited range of movements, but the birth of modern expressivity is clear.William Forsythe’s Herman Schmerman (Quintet), set to music by Thom Willems, is a joy and, along with the Balanchine, a highlight of the evening. Sassy and slick, it gives classical ballet a syncopated shake, echoing the music. There is connection between the five dancers as they smile at each other, the males swagger and the females throw knowing looks at the audience.Sadly, David Dawson’s Four Last Songs lets the evening down. A strip of glowering cumulae suggests Sturm und Drang, and the dancers look naked in flesh-coloured bodysuits, perhaps to evoke the elemental. But the choreography is pretentious, overblown hype. There is no authentic emotional connection between the dancers, far too much running in circles with outstretched hands, repetitive moves and some dangerously high lifts – perhaps a desperate attempt to match Richard Strauss’s soaring music. However, live soprano Madeleine Pierard’s rich tones were wonderful.

Erica Burns' new production of Measure for Measure for the RSC gives Shakespeare’s problem play a clear and wholly unproblematic treatment. Laid bare is the feeble, dangerous reality of ‘godly’ men who all too happily commit the very acts their purported virtues refute — and which, moreover, they deny to the mere mortals they preside over.Zakk Hein’s opening video montage of abstemious luminaries such as Epstein, Trump, Weinstein, and Andrew Windsor ignites the burning anger at the heart of the piece, receiving a ripple of cathartic applause from the audience for its trouble. Burns layers this further by suggesting that Duke Vincentio’s speedy departure from Vienna at the outset of the piece is, in fact, a ruse to detract from some dodgy photographs seemingly about to hit the press.His replacement is Angelo: a goodly man whose own monastic demeanour informs the puritanical tyranny that will underpin his leadership. Bad news for young shagger Claudio, promptly arraigned and sentenced to death for impregnating his girlfriend. And even worse for Claudio’s virtuous sister, Isabella, whose pleas for her brother’s life result in a proposition from this outwardly sainted deputy.As Angelo, Tom Mothersdale assumes a snivelling, weaselly demeanour somewhat at odds with his grand position. This odious little twerp would be hard pressed to get elected to the Village Hall tombola committee — and yet here he is, dangling the keys to the castle. So far, so familiar to anyone invested in British politics across the last few years. Dunning–Kruger would have a field day.Isis Hainsworth plays the unhappy Isabella with a nervous energy and outrage that chimes most effectively within the contemporary framework. However, in choosing to downplay the faith that informs her very essence of being, the extremity of Isabella’s plight is also reduced, as is the true horror of Angelo’s controlling, perverted lust. This is one of the few missteps in an otherwise stunning commentary on the sanctimonious babblings of those who weaponise religiosity to further their political ambitions, and it minimises an opportunity to juxtapose the quietude of real belief against its flashier, emptier cousin.Burns has played fast and loose with the original text, but without the risible trend for deploying modern slang and expletives that has so insidiously worked its way into the canon. Generations of GCSE students are now primed to believe Will was liberally sprinkling his parchments with a hefty dose of ‘bollocks’ and ‘okays’. And while this particular interpretation may not please the textual purists, there is no denying that liberating lines and concepts from other Shakespearean texts and repurposing them is nothing if not... well... Shakespearean. Burns ably demonstrates that Shakespeare himself is always enough, and her adaptation certainly offers enough toe-holds for an audience to climb the tree of understanding both her own vision and sufficient of the original.Frankie Bradshaw’s bleak, greeny-grey set of straight lines and steel panels underpins the rigidity of supposed virtue extolled by the state: there is right and there is wrong. There are strict parameters. There are punishments measured to fit the crime. And yet, the very dynamism of the set — and its ability to shape-shift — points to the fluctuating morality of those who sit at the heart of government.And no one embodies this posturing more than Vincentio himself. Adam James is quite magnificent as the deus ex machina of the piece: in this iteration, elevated to a gratifyingly more central figure than in the more traditional takes. His early swaggering pomposity lends a particularly seedy edge to his later vicar cosplay: performative Christianity writ large as ineffectual and hollow.The nightmare realisation that this strutting, self-satisfied charlatan is indeed where the buck stops is not a new one, but its magnification is something this text has been crying out for for centuries. The relationship between Vincentio’s assumed role of simpering, voyeuristic priest and those of real faith is something that could have borne closer inspection had Isabella’s sisterhood been given its rightful place in the plot.Oli Higginson as the unfortunate Claudio and Douggie McMeekin as the shambling Lucio provide standout support. There are also strong performances from Natasha Jayetileke as a Provost bemused by the foolishness of those she serves and Valentine Hanson as a (one presumes genuine) man of God relegated to the sidelines as others steal his religious thunder. But this is fundamentally James' show: sharp of suit and slick of soundbite, Vincentio has perfected how to smile and smile and be a villain, as exemplified by the repulsive sham he forces Isabella through in order to unmask the patsy Angelo and take any heat away from himself.Shakespeare’s prescience in imagining a sex scandal that focuses on the hypocrisy of the elite and the silence of the abused needs shamefully little invention to make it relevant to a contemporary audience. “Who will believe thee, Isabella?” slimes the prenzie Angelo upon having exhorted a novice nun to yield her virginity to him, immediately conjuring the power imbalance that can constrict victims from reporting their abusers for many years. It weighs heavily. “Who would believe me?” echoes Isabella miserably, uttering not only her own cri de cœur, but a survivor’s anthem for the ages.

There’s not a free seat in the house at the Dundee Fringe for this performance by the Four Magicians. In a magic world full of Colin Clouds, Penn and Tellers and Dynamos, it is refreshing to see that some old-school charm still sells out a room.These confident tricksters do not just perform the classic “pick a card, any card” tricks you might expect. From haunted dolls to plunging a sword through the neck of a spectator (yes, that’s right), every illusion is carried out with professionalism, leaving jaws on the floor. For the younger audience members down at the front attending their first magic show, to the seasoned adults in the back – including one who had brought his keen grandson – this show truly has something for everyone. Although, the children asking about the punchline to the Prince Andrew joke may have to wait a few years.From start to finish, this show is an absolute delight. The Four Magicians are skilled, funny and charming. It has been a long time since I have felt such boyhood wonder.

Helen Shapiro was aged just 14 when she shot to fame in 1961 with two No. 1 hit singles, You Don't Know and Walkin' Back to Happiness. Voted “Number One Female British Singer” in that year and in 1962, record sales in excess of one million copies for each song gained her two gold discs, and she went on to become the teen sensation of the ’60s.Her story is faithfully related in Kingdom Theatre Company’s biographical play Helen Shapiro, Walkin’ Back at Dundee Fringe, following a sell-out run at this year’s Edinburgh Festival Fringe. The production is an imaginatively devised piece of theatre that honours Shapiro while going beyond the style of a tribute show, performed by a company of student learners, not professional performers – though many have considerable experience for their years.Despite the tight confines of the venue, and with help from CEO Lorraine Brown as stage manager and Lorna Cairns as production assistant, director Izzy Brown creates a split stage of a period classroom and the recording studios at Abbey Road. Costumes and hairstyles further faithfully confirm the age we are in.A reflective prologue, complete with song from Erin Gilliland-Patterson as a mature Helen, sets the scene before we are taken back to her school days. Four girls sit at desks, one of whom is Lily B. Martin, also aged 14, playing Shapiro. How’s that for authenticity? She acts and sings with confidence beyond her years, while reminding us that Shapiro was just a very ordinary schoolgirl with dreams and the good fortune to be discovered. Martin’s command of the Shapiro songs and the many others specially written for the show by Willie Logan is remarkable. The new songs are well crafted and blend effortlessly into the musical genre of the day and John Murray’s script.As we move through the years, her classmates (Mya Harley, Sadie Lax and Betsy Simmons) grow with Helen and display their outstanding vocal talents as her backing singers and in songs of their own. We meet her songwriter John Schroeder and hear some fine vocals from Theo Hart in that role, also doubling as John Lennon. Scott Hunter, meanwhile, reveals the politics and pressures of the business as the astute producer Norrie Paramor at Columbia Studios. Meanwhile, Anne Hart as Helen’s teacher remains left behind as a doubter of Helen’s dreams.The show is slightly cumbersome in places, but there is nothing that couldn’t be made smoother and slicker in a more expansive venue. All the elements make for an entertaining, musically rich, multimedia experience.

Perhaps contrary to expectations, Do Astronauts Masturbate in Space? is not about the sexual activities of those circling the Earth in spaceships, but, in the words of the company, “a dystopian, dark, physical theatre comedy”. It premiered at this year’s Edinburgh Festival Fringe after a London preview and is now at Dundee Fringe.The play’s setting is a future Britain ruled by an authoritarian regime whose control the people fear and whose intervention in their lives is absolute. A law, innocuously called the Parental Act, requires all couples to apply for a licence in order to have children. Trying to see a lighter side to this invasion of privacy, the people refer to it as a Stork Card.Under different circumstances, as a young couple, Lily (Briony Martha) and Gareth (Zak Reay-Barry) might be looking forward to raising a family. Instead, the unexpected pregnancy instils panic as they face the prospect of attending the week-long mandated Retreat, in a bid to gain their Stork Card, and a government-imposed abortion should they fail the various tests and questionings they are subjected to. Their initial attitude of “Oh, it can’t be that bad,” and “Everything will be alright” is soon eroded, and no number of Digestive biscuits can allay their concerns. They are placed under the auspices of The Voice (Torya Winters), whose tone and questioning become increasingly threatening as the process grows destructive to their relationship.Under the impactful direction of Megan Brewer, this first project by the couple is packed with humour and physicality, using only a couple of light cubes and various costumes for effect – an appropriately minimalist and clinical setting, suitably lit by Ruben Sparks. Reay-Barry plays a phlegmatic, rational male in contrast to Martha’s often hilariously emotional and hysterical female, with outbursts that lighten the dire situation. They make a well-balanced double act of opposites.As to the title, it is given voice and almost elicits a sigh of relief as we finally hear where it fits in and our curiosity is satisfied – a great moment. The play is a triumph in tackling serious and increasingly credible threats to freedom and issues of state oppression, brought home through familiar personal relationships and comedy, and augurs well for future works.

Huddled together in a cell, using toothpicks for poker chips, three prisoners serving life sentences pass the long hours ahead of them playing cards: Norton (Sam Cox), a brash inmate intent on winning the game through trickery and subterfuge; Baxter (Ricky Fearon), more amenable but not above stacking the deck to his advantage; and Lenny (Peter Wight), whose Zimmer frame is an early sign of his vulnerability in this bleak environment. Lifers, thoughtfully written by Evan Placey, initially withholds the nature of their past crimes, allowing us to get to know them first as individuals, not offenders. Amidst bouts of verbal jousting and goading, we glimpse moments of fraternity and warmth between them. Yet always lurking are flights of temper and capriciousness, leading us to ponder the real reasons behind their incarceration.The story centres on Lenny in this Synergy Theatre Project production, a company dedicated to exploring issues related to the penal system and social justice. Plagued by incessant headaches, Lenny pleads with Sonya – the overworked and disillusioned prison doctor (Mona Goodwin) – to see a specialist. But under pressure from the governor to keep costs down, she is reluctant to grant him a referral, instead prescribing ibuprofen and a course of antidepressants. It’s only thanks to prison guard Mark (James Backway), who has witnessed firsthand the insidious onset of Lenny’s dementia, that he is eventually taken to hospital. Peter Wight plays Lenny terrifically, showcasing the scope of his acting ability by pivoting from unadulterated fury to heart-rending confusion, doubt and remorse. His performance is matched by a uniformly strong cast, each bringing a nuanced perspective to the moral complexity of the play.Under Esther Baker’s smart direction, the action moves between the prison cell, the local bar – where Mark and Sonya share a bottle of wine on a Friday – the hospital, and ultimately the end-of-life suite. The interplay between warm light and hostile shadows guides us through these transitions effortlessly.An unexpected bond between Lenny and Mark provides some of the most evocative moments. As Lenny’s grip on time and place fades, Mark comforts him by letting him believe he is his son. With a compassionate, tactile approach – at odds with how he is supposed to conduct himself as a prison guard – Mark learns the contours of Lenny’s recurring memories, knowing it brings him solace in an otherwise disorientating world.When Lenny’s son visits him in prison and reveals the truth behind his incarceration, our perception of his character, however naïve, is shattered. Yet Mark, convinced that ignorance will allow him to carry out his role without bias, has chosen not to learn why Lenny is serving a life sentence. And it is upon this question that Lifers ultimately hinges: should the treatment of prisoners – especially in the last stages of life – be contingent on the crime they committed?

Searchlight are always a dependable, instructive and quietly moving choice at the Fringe, and in Chamberlain they use their characteristic narrative solidity to explore the legacy of British prime minister Neville Chamberlain and the terrible decisions he was forced to make in the 1930s.In the latter half of the 20th century, Chamberlain’s reputation seemed unlikely to recover from being the man prepared to appease the Nazi machine. He appeared destined to be overshadowed by the showman who succeeded him in Number 10, and who contributed to its defeat. Against Churchill’s naughty smile, the cigar, the homburg, the oratorical skill and the victory against fascism, Chamberlain’s quietly spoken personality never really stood a chance.But just as revisionist interpretations are now prepared to acknowledge the complexity of Churchill’s imperial and racial views and frequently questionable strategies, Chamberlain’s famous declaration of “Peace for our time” is slowly being allowed the room to breathe and be re-evaluated.At the distance of nearly a century, our analytical goggles may be clearer, but life has moved on little. Land ambitions by deranged dictators still see neutral countries struggle to strike the balance between political savvy and humanitarian indignation. Races still deem themselves inexplicably superior to others. Innocents are still being sacrificed on the altar of one man’s hubris.So it is horribly apposite that we spend an hour in Chamberlain’s Downing Street office, the hour immediately prior to his declaration of war on Germany. David Robinson is a thoughtful Chamberlain, running through moments of his personal and professional life as if searching for approval for what he is about to do. The gravity of declaring war and sentencing thousands to their inevitable deaths weighs heavily on him: he would of course prefer peace. But he must do what he must do.He confides in his assistant Jack Colville (Freddy Goymer), while wholly aware that Colville too will soon need to distance himself from the Chamberlain administration and throw his lot in with Churchill. He longs for the anonymity of the Birmingham suburbs. He worries about the delicate health of his wife and the likelihood that his son will have to fight. Robinson cleverly suggests the unbearable layers of anxiety peeping through the repressed emotional register of an Edwardian patrician soon to change the world, and we are gently encouraged to feel for the awful decisions he has little choice but to make.The enormity of the moment naturally means the text is heavy with historical detail, and the company change up the energy with numbers from the BBC light programme, which was interrupted for Chamberlain’s declaration. Michael Taylorson brings a lightness of tone and charming vocals to these moments, switching between the silliness of George Formby and Ivor Novello ditties and the yearning of White Cliffs of Dover with lyrical ease, reminding us that life – in all its glorious technicolour – still plods on even in the darkest times.

A birth is danced in The Nest at theSpace @ Niddry Street, marking the first professional show by the company Ale Martín, dedicated to building bridges between Butoh and contemporary dance.In an interview with Broadway Baby, Spanish performer Alejandro Martín de Mier explained that Butoh is a Japanese style of dance dating from the 1960s. “It’s characterised by slow movements and an abstract way of showing ideas and meanings. It really goes to the subconscious part of the mind.” There is no formal technique to Butoh, but he has a background in contact improvisation, contemporary dance and physical theatre, which is evident in this performance.Speaking of The Nest, he said, “It's about birth and transformation. It is a way of living. Imagine each moment lived as a baby trying to come into this world; a small chicken cracking the egg. In my show, I present reality, rawness, struggle, enthusiasm, joy and pain.”His movements are a study in the art of control. Positioned mostly on the floor or, when standing, bent in two, we witness a series of foetal contortions with minute and intricate movements of the feet, hands and fingers, along with rotations on the spot. Shaking and quivering occasionally give way to stretching sequences that suggest the unborn’s struggle and hope for birth and release from the confines of the womb, though that moment has not yet arrived.The soundscape, combined with music created and performed live by his partner JULI(o), attempts to capture the feelings associated with birth: “pleasure, contractions, fear, pushing, heaviness, excitement, release, intensity.” He explains, “First, we just use guitar and amplifier, drone style with a little bit of hardcore. Second, absolute silence. And third – oh! I love it! – it is a loop in crescendo with different instruments like Tibetan singing bowls, claves, shaker, hand drum, voice and other sound effects.” The effect is both ethereal and earthy, reflecting and enhancing the moods associated with birth, with the help of simple lighting that ensures the focus is always on the movement.These elements combine in a fascinating and hypnotic dance, a slow-motion evocation of the first tentative movements of a new life.

For a play that starts just after nine o’clock in the morning, you might be forgiven for thinking the cleaners have forgotten to put their trolley away, but it is actually a clue that Romeo & Juliet: Out of Pocket at theSpace @ Surgeons’ Hall is going to be an irreverent take on the Bard’s great romantic tragedy.The two-person adaptation begins with an exchange between the professors who co-teach the Shakespeare course. Eduardo Zucchi plays the visiting Mexican academic who sees and emphasises la pasión of the text, while his British scholar counterpart, Felicity Ison, is obsessed with structure, language and grammar. What follows is a high-energy, eccentric and bonkers romp through the play that debates whether it is one of hope or despair but ends with the pair overcome by the sheer romance in the air.The aforementioned trolley, complete with cleaning items, mops, gloves and a host of other bits and pieces, is actually the props repository and the couple waste no time in deploying it. Director Alonso Iñiguez has them frantically using everything they can lay their hands on to create over-the-top characters and boost the comedy.The accomplished performers work well as a physical theatre comic duo, bouncing off each other’s energy to create a fast-paced, frantic farce that is mad but fun. Some lines and speeches from the original play are also given a twist in delivery, confirming that even the most sacred text can be abused and distorted.Do not be deterred by its being advertised as bilingual. The bulk of Argentine playwright Emiliano Dionisi’s script is in English and the few lines that remain in Spanish can be understood by context and add to the humour.Grab a coffee and enjoy a light-hearted, lively start to the morning that should put you in a good mood for the rest of the day.

Prepare to be transported to another world – or at least to deep space on an enterprise of the starship Theseus with just one person on board, August. Having visited the Edinburgh Festival Fringe, the mission has now reached Dundee Fringe, where Shallowspace Cryotech Feverdream is receiving similar recognition as a startling debut work from trans writer and performer Callie O’Brien and the team at Elastic Fantastic, who created Deeptime Atomic Waste Pleasure Party.August’s mission is to protect a deep-space digitised archive of civilisation. Although rigorously trained and theoretically prepared for the task, the reality of isolation and cryogenic stasis becomes a deeply disturbing experience. The monotonous drudgery of repeated routines and the recurrent recitation of data begin to take their toll. In a performance that is both physically demanding and mentally taxing, O’Brien personifies how August’s psyche becomes increasingly tormented by resurrected dreams, memories of home and wonderings of what it must now be like – all accompanied by strange feelings in her limbs, as though on a rack.A complex and evocative original synth-wave soundtrack of noises and diegetics, co-created by O’Brien and sound designer Fraser White, pulses over projected visuals, interspersed with voiceovers and songs composed by the highly talented Ronan Goron. This ambitious soundscape is played in cold steel lighting, colour effects, blinking bulbs and icy mist – the multi-talented O’Brien also being responsible for lighting.Although alone in person, there is the ever-present AI voice: a menacing, chilling and uncompromising presence in a pre-recording by Ally Haughey. What comes through the loudspeakers is a constant and demanding reminder that there is no turning back, no chance to abandon the project – only to endure whatever the mission requires and, if necessary, suffer.Referred to by the company as a “Trans Sci-Fi Body Horror Play”, it more than ticks all those boxes, but rather than falling into any narrow genre, it has universal appeal. Depending on where you’re coming from and the area that most appeals to you, there is plenty for everyone in each of those descriptors.Beyond any content or message, however, is the grippingly powerful and commanding performance of O’Brien that evokes a deep “wow” exhalation.

Fragen Network bring their distinctive style of experimental theatre to theSpace on the Mile with Hunger, an adaptation of Knut Hamsun’s late-19th-century groundbreaking novel.Their reimagining begins with the anonymous Writer sailing away from Kristiania on a boat bound for England as a deck hand. He is exhausted, wet from the rain and waves, and has a fever. The book he will go on to write is only just formulating in his mind as he relives his memories of poor choices and the cruelty of his time in Norway.Stylistically intense, physical and immersive, the cast are already performing as we enter, surrounded by an array of masks. The sounds of seagulls and crashing waves accompany sweeping and cleaning movements on deck. Verbal engagement with us recurs throughout. While carrying out mundane tasks, phantoms of the past appear. He would like them to go away, but knows that the intrinsic value of all he has endured is the key to the masterpiece he will soon pen. For now he experiences an in-between state – a latter-day Janus marking the points between two different times and the dualities of suffering and hope.The performance is divided into four parts, with three memory sections each assigned a dominant colour: yellow, green and red. The fourth part, under natural white light, weaves between them in the present. The vignettes illustrate events in his life of poverty. We meet a limping beggar, a cake seller, the organ grinder’s daughter who calls the police on him, and we witness the famous parade down Karl Johan, a daily ritual in which the leisure classes of Kristiania meet and greet one another. He plays a prank on two sisters, follows them home and falls in love with the one who looks out of the window at him, naming her Ylajali. Next, he finds lodgings, where we are introduced to the landlady, her husband and father, whom he taunts, before a sailor arrives to lodge and seduces the landlady. Finally, he fantasises about Ylajali. In trying to understand her, he applies makeup and dons a glamorous dress.Hunger is an extraordinary and complex piece; a niche work that may not have mass appeal but will certainly impress theatre buffs. It is influenced by German Expressionism, the Neue Tanz of Mary Wigman and Harald Kreutzberg, Butoh pioneers Kazuo Ohno and Tatsumi Hijikata, as well as Munch and Käthe Kollwitz. There is even a flicker of Chaplin’s tragic Tramp.Writer and director Roland Reynolds performs with Zaza Bagley, Angel Lopez-Silva and Anastasiya Zinovieva, with design by Denis Girenko, lighting by Zidi Wu and photography by Yijia Fu and Xin Wei.

This is no Taggart detective drama, but suffice it to say, “There’s been a murder!” and a small town in Fife is shaken to its core. The place is riddled with police; the net curtains are quivering and the tongues are wagging. Thus, Without Compromise Theatre sets the scene for Derby Day, which makes its debut at theSpace Triplex.For one tight-knit group of friends, however, the event is too close to home for comfort, and matters need to be resolved. The victim is their lifelong friend. The investigation is dragging on and those conducting it have met a wall of silence, as anxiety mounts within the group. They have already been interviewed, but have given only the bare essentials of the night he left them and was later found dead.Jade is pregnant. Kirsty Stevenson creates an appropriately calm, motherly character who seems to be the main source of stability, given the chaos that is to come. She talks comfortingly to her sister-in-law Chloe. Maria Woodside balances her vulnerability as the victim of sexual abuse with the durability she demonstrates in living – if not coping – with the trauma.The tension in the air is amplified incrementally with each scene, an artful writing skill that makes the narrative increasingly captivating. With the entry of father-to-be Danny, Xander Cowan takes us to the next level. Clearly all is not well with him, not just because it is Derby Day and he has to shout at the TV in support of his team. He knows things he has not told the polis. Cowan starts by appearing nervous and on edge before he explodes in the next scene, when his buddy Harris pushes him too far and confronts him with the harsh reality of the mess they are in.With Kieran Lee-Hamilton, at his impassioned and forceful best, barking reason brilliantly opposite the irrationality of Cowan, we are soon thrust into perhaps the most confrontational, aggressive and chilling argument at the Fringe. The hair-raising rammy, as they might call it, is a stunning piece of theatre. All that remains is for painful decisions to be made and for events to take their inevitable course.Writer Michael Johnson more than fulfils the company’s aim of telling honest, working-class stories for working-class audiences and beyond. He tackles abuse and criminality head on with credibility, staged against a stark white set designed by Danny Menzies and Loz that allows nothing to detract from the intense dialogue. Meanwhile, director Lucy Pedersen superbly builds and relaxes the tension in a model arc.There is a side to the story that remains unfulfilled and leaves a question hanging, but maybe, like Taggart, there will be another episode. Let us hope so.

The Fiascoholics are bringing the world to an end with a brand-new crazy comedy 4’S A CROWD (Or What Not to Do When Stuck in a Bunker During the Apocalypse) at theSpace@Surgeons Hall.Which means it’s really all over before it starts, but that doesn’t stop the company from dutifully regulating admission to the bunker and devising rules for living together in an apocalyptic age, where the only survivors are the people you might have wished dead. There’s a young lad, described as just a geezer (which says it all), a zealous Welsh boy scout who certainly didn’t earn his management skills badge, a C-list actor who even at that level is overrated, and two billionaires claiming to be the same person, whose wealth has clearly increased at the cost of their brains. If these remnants of humanity are the gene bank of the future, there is little hope.Given the choices available, who would you kick out of the bunker, as thanks to another chaotic mistake, five people have turned up to take four places? Would it make any difference anyway? But critically, the supplies of Wotsits are dwindling rapidly.As the creators say, “The show aims to subvert conventional apocalyptic storytelling by rejecting the idea of heroic protagonists and instead throwing together a chaotic, selfish and deeply flawed group of characters… it is an ironic and witty satire – mocking elitism, privilege and performative activism.” I couldn’t have said it better myself, which is why I’ve left it to them, but I would quite simply add that it’s fabulously bonkers.The show clearly emerges out of an imaginative, chaotic flurry of creativity, abounding in absurdity to create a comedy that never takes itself seriously in its drive to provide exuberant entertainment. If you appreciate The League of Gentlemen and Accidental Death of an Anarchist combined with the Commedia notion that character creation reigns supreme, then this is for you.

Translating real events into a drama for the stage is a challenging quest, but the Lace Market Theatre have succeeded with a clear and compelling presentation in Once Upon a Bridge at theSpace at Surgeons Hall.On 5 May 2017, a jogger inexplicably shoved a woman into the path of a London bus on Putney Bridge, leaving the driver to narrowly avoid tragedy. Caught on CCTV, the assailant ran on as though nothing had happened. Dubbed the “Putney Pusher”, he was never identified, despite a police appeal and widespread media coverage.Sonya Kelly’s play reimagines this random act of violence in a powerfully chilling and intriguing “what if?”. Director Beverley Anthony seats the three characters most intimately involved in the incident on evenly spaced chairs, face-on to the audience, resembling interviewees. It is a starkly simple device that appropriately reflects the gravity of the situation. In turn, they provide backgrounds to themselves, relate their side of the story and reflect on how it has affected them.Luke Willis creates a cocky, self-assured jogger who almost manages to remain oblivious to the possible consequences of his actions until the horrors finally overwhelm him and he breaks down emotionally. Clare Moss sensitively and delicately relates the traumatic experience the woman endured, wondering why it had to happen to her. Gurmej Virk similarly describes events as the dutiful bus driver – a family man who takes pride in his work and punctuality and always seeks to do his very best.There is great imagination in the creation of the characters and their lives, which draws interest in them as people. Their narratives eventually collide, and the first exchange of words towards the end comes as a dramatic breakthrough.It is a reminder of how easy it is to become part of life-changing events in the impersonal urban jungle.

What would you do for love? Would you travel back through time, or sink into the mossy depths of a peat bog? Bog Body, the debut production at the Edinburgh Festival Fringe from women-led company Itchy Feet Theatre, takes this premise and runs with it, weaving together myth, history and personal grief into a darkly comic solo performance.Jen Tucker’s script is bold, ambitious and thematically dense. Love, belonging, justice, decay and mental health all surface in quick succession, each treated with wit and a sharp philosophical edge. But while the writing is nuanced and robust, the 40-minute running time feels too compressed to allow any one theme to fully unfold. Instead, the audience is presented with a multitude of ideas. Fascinating? Yes, but occasionally overwhelming. One can’t help but feel this is a story that would benefit from a little more room to breathe.As Petra, Maddie White is captivating. Alone on stage, she balances emotional depth with comic undertones, shifting from nervous bride-to-be to grief-stricken sister and obsessive truth-seeker with skill and immediacy. White is a natural storyteller, and her performance ensures that even as the narrative grows increasingly layered, the audience remains firmly tethered to Petra’s emotional truth. She handles moments of audience interaction with ease, building a spontaneous, believable presence that draws spectators into Petra’s unsettled world.This is Itchy Feet Theatre’s first time at the Fringe, and it marks a strong start to their festival journey. There is much to admire here: a complex script, a committed and talented performer, and a production team clearly unafraid of taking risks. That said, the constraints of a short Fringe slot mean that Bog Body doesn’t quite reach its full potential. Still, what emerges is an evocative and unsettling piece of theatre that lingers in the mind long after the performance ends.For audiences seeking something experimental, haunting and brimming with potential, Bog Body is worth the journey into the moss.

If charming storytelling is your thing, then The Light Catcher at theSpace on the Mile could be the perfect start to your day. Sensitively written by Niranjan Pedanekar and delicately directed by Sanket Parkhe, this English solo play traverses the world, introducing us to fascinating people as we visit a number of diverse countries.Ritika Shrotri plays a celebrated photographer who goes on an emotional search for her favourite shot. But where might she find it? She travels from the Indian sub-continent to the UK via Ethiopia, Venezuela and North Korea, relating the sounds and sights and creating vivid portraits of the people she meets: a lady in one country, an immigration officer in another, then a police officer and child, and the attractive Alejandra. In all, we are introduced to ten people for whom she devises idiosyncratic voices and characteristics, and we see her in evocatively lit scenes and silhouette, enhanced by a soundscape that creates appropriate locations and mood.The characters all have stories; some heartwarming, others hard-hitting, but they are always combined with a visual element. Since childhood she has seen things in frames, with images delineated in black and white and all the shades in between. She had a Polaroid that captured those magical moments, and now she pursues the ultimate image.Shrotri moves effortlessly from one scene to the next and from one character to the next in a series of graceful vignettes set to a pertinent soundscape in this delightful production.

Pink Floyd’s Wish You Were Here plays as audiences pile into theSpace @ Niddry Street’s studio, of course. The song speaks for itself; its themes are self-explanatory and somewhat foreshadow what’s to come in this new play from Without Compromise Theatre.Wish You Were Here – the play, that is – unfolds in Glenrothes over the course of one tense engagement party. Three working-class men are brought back together after three years of estrangement: one now lives in Edinburgh and works in theatre, while the others have remained in Fife; one a reformed addict now engaged and expecting a child, the other an unemployed couch surfer dependent on his friends for shelter, food, and drugs to forget the trauma of his mother’s passing. Once a tightly-knit group, these men’s relationships are tested in brutally tense and surprisingly hilarious scenarios throughout the domestic gathering, often toeing the lines between dark comedy and bona fide tragedy.At its best, Wish You Were Here settles into theatrical naturalism, where dialogue sounds almost impromptu and off-the-cuff – perhaps some of it is – using the Central Scots dialect and slang to draw attention to the difficulty of genuine emotional expression, or at least clarity of expression, in male friendships. An example might be two of the male characters hugging it out very frankly, with one of them fighting back tears by saying something along the lines of, “You’re the best cunt I’ve ever met.”Moments like these are laugh-out-loud funny, as audience responses attest, but also deeply heartfelt and earnest in delivery and impact. The relationships are fully sketched, characters developed, and themes extracted: from queerness and self-acceptance to drug addiction and cycles of violence. By the end, every narrative turn feels legitimate, if slightly rushed, and unapologetic based on the complexities of these characters’ actions and motivations. Having disarmed its audience with boyish humour, the dreadful realities of grief and addiction catch us off guard and offer some semblance of perspective come the play’s close. This is a brilliant and critical entry in this year’s Fringe; one of the first I have seen that deals head-on with contemporary Scottish themes, culture, and society.Needless to say, Without Compromise Theatre is a company to watch.

Edinburgh has a rich history – and an even richer natural world to observe. That’s the focal point of Hutton in Edinburgh. Using James Hutton’s ideas on nature and the evolution of the Earth, this walking tour invites people to see the city through an entirely new lens.Hosted by Angus Miller, the tour takes us on a journey through Edinburgh’s landscape, exploring how Hutton saw the world hundreds of years ago. But it’s not just Miller who leads the way – James Hutton and his sister Isabel also join the tour. Through actors and an original script, the pair are brought vividly back to life. It’s a great way to share information while blending storytelling with immersive theatre. I was pleasantly surprised when we turned a corner and found two actors in period costume recounting their life stories.The walking tour itself is peaceful and slow-paced – perfect for those who want a gentle stroll through nature, mixed with history and a chance to learn more about geology and the Earth. It’s easy to take the landscape around us for granted as something that’s just there, but this tour made me stop and really think about what Arthur’s Seat means in a geological context – and how beautiful Edinburgh truly is.This is a tour led by people who have a clear passion for Edinburgh’s natural history. As someone with little background in Hutton, science or geology, I never felt lost or confused. Occasionally, the script felt a little clunky – but I always had a smile on my face whenever the actors playing James and Isabel appeared.This is a tour worth doing. It’s a calm, engaging walk in a peaceful part of the city, offering a moment to breathe amid the hustle and bustle of daily life. Hutton in Edinburgh is easy to follow and an easy way to learn something new.

Imagination, not history; hugely inventive; the chutzpah of gender-swapping; visually stunning, with flashes of brilliance – Scottish Ballet’s Mary, Queen of Scots, choreographed by Sophie Laplane and co-creator James Bonas, is Mary’s story reimagined as the dying Elizabeth’s memories in flashbacks. It should have had everything going for it, but somehow the relentless pace of angular, jerky choreography became tiring, and the relationship between Elizabeth and Mary failed to move.Why not have the younger Elizabeth played by a tall man (Harvey Littlefield)? To be a stronger ruler, she had to deny her womanly side. Eye-catching, with long auburn hair, bare legs and puffy pants, sometimes on stilts to symbolise the gap between her and her courtiers, she is above them but also constrained. In contrast, the older Elizabeth (Charlotta Ӧfverholm) is a frail woman in her underclothes, her wigless, wispy hair revealed, wandering in and out of the action. Mary (Roseanna Leney), always in black, is young and lively. The Jester (Kayla-Maree Tarantolo), in lime green, is a highlight: it is inspired to make her Death, skipping and playful, rejoicing at each character’s doom.What one remembers are the visual details: Catherine de’ Medici in a steel hoop; spies as flies; Mary a spider consuming Darnley; a steel cage that descends on her; the dead Rizzio suspended from the ceiling; secret codes as graffiti. There is also some hilarious relief from the drama, such as old Elizabeth in her bath with the Jester washing her underarms and tickling her, and Mary’s baby (James) portrayed as a white balloon. Old Elizabeth (childless) is also shown cradling a baby – a white balloon, which is then popped.The two main duets are strong. Mary’s dark, fatal attraction to Darnley (Evan Loudon) is brilliantly conveyed: flinging her head back as she is lifted, then falling in a roll to be caught. This submission is then reversed as she exits, dragging Darnley behind her on the floor – genius. Rizzio (Javier Andreu) and Darnley’s bi-sexual relationship is less stunning, but still fascinating as they vary the power dynamic. Apart from a formal dance of the Elizabethan courtiers, it is a shame that this quality of choreography is not maintained in the uninventive ensembles, which become tedious.Warning: it is essential to read in advance the detailed synopsis online, or via QR code (the sheet given out at the show is useless) to understand who and what is going on.

“This is a love story,” Jess and Iona tell us. Well, it’s probably two love stories, in truth.Iona (Leyla Aycan) and Jess (Catriona Faint) met at an Edinburgh bus stop during the Fringe. They continued to run into each other in queues and at a box office where Iona was working, and became friends. They reconnect every August at the Edinburgh Fringe and revel in its chaotic and often frantic environment.They recount how they go to bars, clubs, random Fringe shows – all set against the backdrop of late-night chips, fights, spires, hills, crowds, queues and drinking. Their friendship seems assured. Jess is spiky, visceral, sharp of tongue. Iona is more measured, perhaps a little introspective. Their different personalities give rise to a harmonious yin–yang balance, their chemistry palpable as Jess struts and Iona dabs. The queer sexual attraction is obvious – so why are they not together romantically? What’s holding them back?Their hedonistic adventures at the Fringe are only part of the story. Jess and Iona are recreating these August moments in a theatre environment, interspersed with real-time dialogue. Róisín Sheridan-Bryson’s fragmented, time-lapse writing places the audience inside the headspace of our protagonists. Their hopes, fears and desires are intimately conveyed, resulting in a simultaneously disjointed and fluid narrative.And yet, if this friendship is to adopt a romantic dimension, they are in danger of running out of time, as Iona is contemplating moving on. They are open about their identities, but strangely apprehensive about taking a decisive step – seemingly fearful of creating a fault line in their friendship.Laila Noble’s direction is excellent, the whirlwind pace contrasting with genuine stillness and tenderness. But what elevates this often blisteringly funny production above much of the Fringe is the wonderful pairing of Faint and Aycan. Faint conveys her extrovert and fragile nature in turn. Aycan’s performance is equally strong but more still, touchingly conveying hurt when Jess kisses a man. Their chemistry is palpable – they simply bounce off each other, charmingly and lovingly.But can they find a way to finally say what they’ve always wanted to say?Ah yes – what’s the other love story? Lost Girls / At Bus Stops is also a love letter to the Edinburgh Fringe itself: its joys, disappointments and contradictions unconditionally embraced by Sheridan-Bryson.

Mary: A Gig Theatre Show brings Mary Queen of Scots back to life in a story we think we know, but told in a fresh and inventive way. A dynamic group of performers use new music to reimagine the life of the famous queen.Each of the performers had moments where they held the audience’s attention. From striking guitar solos to powerful vocals, the sound of the show felt full and balanced. Nothing dragged, and no one on stage looked like they weren’t having the best night of their lives. Often, they included the audience to make sure we were too.The concert atmosphere worked well. The performers used their space beautifully – taking over corners and aisles – in a way that felt engaging. The concept of Mary Queen of Scots telling her story through a gig was executed with flair. Audience involvement was frequent, from clapping along to even a brief singalong. At no point did I feel separate from the action.An hour may not feel long enough to tell the life story of a queen – and I found myself wishing it lasted two hours, it was that entertaining – but the show did cover many key moments. Still, I wanted more storytelling, both in terms of structure and in my sheer enjoyment of the production. Some transitions felt abrupt, yet the history being told, combined with the music’s emotional pull, kept me invested.This is a must for anyone who loves inventive storytelling and live music. If you think you already know the story of Mary Queen of Scots, Mary: A Gig Theatre Show offers a bold and surprising new way to hear it.

How do you make theatre about a catastrophe that is still happening? An ongoing genocide, where the tragedies of each day outpace your rehearsal notes? Cutting the Tightrope attempts to answer – urgently, if imperfectly – by refusing to pretend distance. A compendium of short pieces assembled at speed and staged with momentum, it gathers artists who won’t accept that “neutrality” is the safest posture. The evening is part rallying cry, part reckoning with the limits of art when the news keeps getting worse.The project’s roots matter. It was born out of growing censorship in the UK arts funding climate – those chilly memos and guidelines about “political activity” that have landed like riot shields in the halls of UK cultural and political power, aggressively pushing back on protest against the massacre of Palestinians. The show treats that context not as preface but as subject: programmers second-guess themselves, a festival official engages in an increasingly unhinged battle with a watermelon, artists argue over language while counting bodies. You can feel the fight over what art is for running through the veins of the production.As an experience, it’s deliberately rough-edged. The bill – eleven pieces by a dozen writers – doesn’t chase polish so much as pressure; quality varies, but purpose doesn’t. Self-reflexive sketches about timidity in middle-class homes rub up against testimonies that carry the broken lives of Gaza, where hope lies strewn across the rubble like rose petals in the ruin of a bombed-out florist’s shop. At times, the meta-theatrical handwringing risks indulgence. Yet just when you think the night might turn inward, a monologue lands with a thud of lived detail – like a Walthamstow cat-sitter finding hope in a community united against fascism.Is it uneven? Of course. But that unevenness feels ethically honest for a work made in the blast radius of an ongoing atrocity. What lingers is not a single killer scene but the collective refusal to look away and ignore what’s happening – not only on the ground in Gaza, but in our own halls of power, where state-mandated silences and profit-protecting agendas make this country complicit in the killing. Cutting the Tightrope may not tidy the world, but it makes the case – loudly, vulnerably – that art should risk its voice when lives are at stake.

So many of the UK’s top comics and satirists have cut their teeth in the Oxford Revue that the alumni reads as an embarrassment of riches… Rowan Atkinson, Sally Phillips, Stewart Lee, Armando Iannucci, Al Murray, Alan Bennett, Dudley Moore, Michael Palin and Terry Jones are just a small sample of those who have gone on to become household names.Now in their 62nd year at the Fringe, the OR’s current gang treat us to 45 minutes of innovative sketch comedy, ranging from the observational to the musical to the absurd. Seemingly going through something of a hiatus on our screens at present, with fewer water-cooler moments than earlier iterations, sketch comedy is nevertheless alive and well in Edinburgh, where the new kids on the block are writing and performing their hearts out to appreciative audiences who enjoy the box-of-chocolates nature of the genre.The eight-strong cast are fresh-faced and witty, with some standout performances suggesting a healthy career in comedy performance may lie tantalisingly close. At its best, the writing is sharp and gratifyingly unpredictable, the essence of sketch work meaning that each scenario lands differently for every audience member. Joining the gymn; New Year’s Resolutions; the overthinking husband; and I’m Too Sexy are particular high points, with The Very First Christmas as the sparkling star on top of the tree.Watching emerging young performers find their feet is the very DNA of the Fringe, and as such, shows like this are not to be missed.

With a nomination for Best Show at the Edinburgh Comedy Awards, it’s safe to say that Ruaridh Miller is riding the high of an excellent Fringe debut. With fresh eyes and remarkable promise, Doonhamer-turned-Edinburgher Miller makes a powerful statement to the global comedic stage this August with boisterous vigour and irresistible droll charm. There are local points of interest and Scottish humour. There is a wealth of social commentary. There are webbed toes. Miller’s Fringe debut is anything if not a delight to behold: a passionate display of industriousness, tightly written gags and creative reflexivity working in brilliant harmony.From the offset, Miller’s energy is playful yet commanding, concealing a wit as sharp as his catty claws with early blood drawn from his swipe at the royals. Structurally, the show is airtight, reflecting excellent rehearsal on Miller’s part as he coolly handles the larger setups while leaving himself open to creative deviation with playful audience interaction. “I realise this room is like a sauna,” Miller remarks, chiding the lack of windows before gifting the AC remote to the enthusiastic women in the second row. “I leave it in your capable hands if we freeze or melt.” Miller has a natural read for people and is acutely aware of his audience’s mood, with an inbuilt state-of-the-art crowd radar that knows when to move on or double down.That Miller chooses to draw from the local comedic well of inspiration – his vanguard a ripping anecdote on Edinburgher self-loathing – lends a welcome voice to the Fringe’s all-too-often London-dominated circuit. The local skits provide a launch pad for the next fine set piece, which introduces the act’s namesake: his oft-mispronounced forename, the bane of every airport passport clerk, swiftly leading into a riotous dispatch on his misadventures in Poland.We could dismiss another early-30s comic rueing the death of their 20s, but Miller’s response to this is uncharacteristically upbeat in the face of lifestyle changes. He negotiates grey hairs and the rules of veganism, twisting them just enough to be both satirical and original.A font of political intrigue, one could be forgiven for deeming our cheery-grinning comic for sententiousness in the third act with a clarion call for social justice in the face of increasing fears for civil rights under Trump’s America. But he forestalls preachiness just at the right moment to return well-earned dividends, landing bullseyes on Elon Musk that bleed into a roasting of Neuralink and the prospect of Pornhub mind viruses. Similarly, his take on smoking-advertisement warnings is a slow burner but ignites laughter from every corner of the room, and sets up a larger bit on his amusing disavowal of LinkedIn.Is there a little wear and tear in the show’s joints? Possibly, with the topic sentences of “I want to talk about” casually thrown in. But Miller doesn’t succumb to the comedian’s curse of disconnection and poor timing, bypassing any spare moments with the fluidity expected of top-brass comics. No, Miller is that long sought-after act who blends candid real-life stories with the charisma to match – and he has all the hallmarks of a future comedic triumph. For now, we give thanks and praise to have his debut grace the Fringe, but it’s undoubtable that in time we’ll see his act ascend to higher comedic planes.

Blood on the Clocktower is a social deduction game in the vein of Werewolf, Secret Hitler and The Traitors, but with the added twist that every single person has their own secret role with hidden powers used at different points in the game. The aim is to deduce who the Demon is and kill them before the end, while the evil team win by keeping the Demon in play. I’ve played it a few times with groups of 10 to 15 gamers, so seeing five top comedians run it promised to be a Fringe highlight.Today’s event had an impressive line-up. A couple of comics didn’t have much impact on the entertainment side, but the stellar cast also included the quick-witted Alice Fraser, American comic Gianmarco Soresi and modern-Fringe, future-Taskmaster-legend-in-waiting Bec Hill.Hosted ably by Jon Gracey, the godfather of live gaming formats, the rules were explained clearly and succinctly enough for unfamiliar audience members to grasp before the fun began. Each of the comics shared hilarious stories of morally questionable wrongdoings, including Bec’s embezzlement of arcade tickets and Gianmarco’s full method acting portrayal of Daniel Day-Lewis’s Oscar-winning turn as Christy Brown in My Left Foot – in a restaurant.The banter between the comics was sharp, with Alice pointing out that there were two female Australian comics on stage, before “killing” Bec with the Highlander line: “There can only be one.”There was some opportunity for the audience to get involved, with the generic shout of “Too many sherries” when the drunk character was mentioned. But it felt as though more interaction could have been built into the format, perhaps with on-stage roles that allowed the crowd to engage directly.The team played through two games, with a few roles repeated across them. This felt like a missed opportunity when there are so many characters available, or that could have been created especially for this format, to give more variety to the gameplay. A few sound cues were used, but more effects could have enhanced the atmosphere further and pushed the show towards becoming an unmissable cult hit.If you’re familiar with Blood on the Clocktower, or like similar formats, this delivers everything: comedy, drama, murder, betrayal and twists. And if you’re considering going next year, you’ll likely find some games you can join at your local board game café or social group – it’ll be the most enjoyable market research you do all year.

Lost in Translation is a simple-sounding show that just screams ‘Edinburgh Fringe’. The script of a classic movie is taken, cut down to 60 minutes, translated into other languages and back into English. A cast of performers from across the festival is then invited to come and read the script on stage without any preparation time. It’s a chef’s kiss of a concept, and with a wealth of capable performers available to them, should be a guaranteed riot every time.Today’s performance was of a sleeper hit from the 90s called Titanic, and starred five acts plus a regular host. The performers were Sophie Allison as Jack and Sarah Baber as Rose, with Amy Sinclair, Nathan Stavridis and Keiran Bullock in supporting roles.The show is very enjoyable, with a lot of time and effort clearly going into the script – much more so than simply translating back and forth a few times. It’s well controlled for continuity and exploiting humorous understatements – such as referring to the ‘Ship of Dreams’ throughout as a ‘canoe’. I was curious about which languages had been used for translation at various points, but suspect a fair amount of creative license was taken in the writing than the premise suggests. Too many jokes just felt written rather than happened upon, and for me, this lost trust in the format, as one could never be sure what was a genuine golden nugget and which references were written under the pretext of the translation process.One thing that was never in doubt, however, was that the audience was fully into it. There’s a lot of concentrating involved – a 60-minute scripted summary of a 200-minute movie is pretty intense, and yet almost every single line got laughter from the majority of the room. Any comedian getting this much consistent laughter for a full hour would be looking at strong odds to sweep the awards; I’m not sure I’ve ever heard anything quite like it, especially as I wasn’t quite as into it as most.The actors didn’t all aim to embody their characters, and the supporting roles were only used for about a quarter of the show. The audience, who could easily have been brought in with props such as ice cubes or cues to chip in one-liners, were reduced to just being invited to boo when Cal came on.If you’re planning on seeing Lost in Translation in the future, you’ll definitely want to browse their film schedule in advance because having a good understanding of the movie they’re parodying is a prerequisite to enjoying the show, and they do a different one each night.If this were performed in a small room without a supportive audience, it could be a challenging hour, but with a total amount of laughter from the crowd today that rivals anything I’ve ever heard before, it’s clear that this ship won’t be sinking for a while.

Brilliant and ambitious in its range, Dancehall Blues combines dance, text, voiceover and film. It is choreographed, with input from the dancers, by the acclaimed David Bolger of Dublin’s CoisCéim company, whose work has appeared at the Sydney Opera House and the Venice Biennale. This is dance theatre for our difficult times. Yet anger is tempered with lyricism and, surprisingly, the magic – perhaps illusory – of a burgeoning love affair, symbolised by a dance hall mirrorball.Set in a fictional 2030, it harks back to Orwell’s dystopian 1984. The two dancers first appear clad in hazmat suits, suggesting a post-nuclear apocalypse has occurred. Film projected on the back wall shows crowds and police in riot gear with shields. It is then revealed that the couple are in a dilapidated hall, possibly a former dance hall. The mirrorball makes a dramatic entrance. Throughout, sirens wail and the noise of angry crowds reminds us – in between the more playful and hopeful relationship developing – of the threatening world outside.The two dancers complement each other beautifully. Emily Kilkenny Roddy is more lyrical, while Alex O’Neill is a bad boy from hip hop, street dance and jazz. Yet she can rise playfully to match him, and there is great chemistry between them. Delightful angular armography is topped by witty chairography. O’Neill is mesmerising: angry, expressive and endlessly inventive, his rapid movements include krumping, chest popping, swinging arms and contorted fingers, but he can also melt into the lyrical love duets. Their relationship has an ambivalent edge, though. Is it real or imagined? A large gilt-framed mirror, tipped forward, projects images of the dancers in hazmat gear alongside the reflection of their ordinary attire, suggesting the world of the mirrorball – and of their love – is illusion.John Gunning’s lighting design is striking. The stunning music and sound design by Ivan Birthistle creates atmosphere, from a thudding bass to Pergolesi’s uplifting Stabat Mater sung by Philippe Jaroussky, and finally Jacques Brel’s sentimental, quintessentially French Ne me quitte pas. The show ends on a note of hope. The couple finally take ballroom hold – so clever to leave this to the end – and waltz around the lowered mirrorball, spinning and twinkling until its scattered light fills the space. A magical, ecstatic ending.With a bit of tightening of the hazmat beginning and some longueurs between the action, this could be a five-star show.

Written by Tim Harris and directed by Jordan Lewis, A Most Pressing Issue is a farcical comedy set in a single office amid a raging prison fire, following four hopelessly inept prison workers who confront catastrophe with anything but sense. Rich in absurdist humour and tinged with existential threat, the show builds to a satisfying conclusion where the hysterical illuminates the historical.Harris shines as Ward Preston, the fervent yet slippery “head honcho”, evoking a Harry Enfield-esque caricature with bizarre facial contortions and impeccable comic timing. Matt Williams’ Orly, Preston’s loyal sidekick, is both endearing and ludicrous, displaying a flair for physical comedy. Their double act thrives on mutual folly, each amplifying the other’s absurdity. Natasha Mula’s Celeste, the lone sensible intern and only female character, acts as the voice of reason – though even she cannot withstand Preston and Orly’s chaos. Her role takes on greater weight towards the end, offering philosophical grounding that deepens the play’s impact. James de Burca’s Sergeant is another inspired addition, initially promising salvation before revealing himself to be just as inept. Together, these 'fools' bring distinct comic textures to the text, their interplay honed by Lewis’ sharp, astute direction. Greater earnestness in characterisation and less self-aware performativity could elevate the work even further.The humour is deliciously dry and absurd, especially when laced with deliberate winks to the audience. The script employs classic absurdist devices – most notably the ever-present existential threat just beyond the stage (the fire) – to skewer our deeply human tendency to dodge serious problems by losing ourselves in trivialities. The central metaphor is compelling, and Harris sustains momentum while deepening the thematic threads. One philosophical monologue from Orly, however, breaking character, feels heavy-handed; elsewhere, the writing trusts the audience to find the message within the madness, which is far more effective. While some beats feel familiar, the cast’s commitment invigorates the performance.A Most Pressing Issue is witty, tightly crafted, and in Harris’ own words, “too busy to be boring”. A sharply funny dissection of incompetence and denial, this is an absurdist gem well worth catching.

I first saw Chloe Matonis as Lieutenant Love Dr Hotty McTotty at Broken Planet, one of my favourite shows of the entire Fringe. She gave a compelling five-minute segment in the rotating cast of the late-night cabaret, but I had no idea how that would translate to an hour-long show.Suffice to say, Hotty McTotty delivers in spades. Or perhaps hearts, based on the shades, badges and general vibe of the show.The performance operates under the premise of being a futuristic super soldier sent back from the year 2075 on a mission to revive human connection and stop the loneliness epidemic. Lt Love Dr's Boot Camp for Lonely People Like You is a show about bad dates, slightly awkward interactions, and a great deal of heart. Chloe Matonis is a compelling performer who brings a mostly eager performance with just a mite of vulnerability to her role. The performance feels part game show, part boot camp, which had everyone shouting, "Love, yes, Love!" in response to instructions.This kind of show is the beating heart of Fringe comedy. It is zany, out there, and you have to engage with it if you want to have fun. There are also pearls of wisdom here and practical skills – sort of. The whole show is interspersed with great crowd work and a running discourse from the good Lieutenant Doctor so that everyone stayed comfortable. Highlights included speed dating, with a failsafe against incest built in, and first dates for some of the audience.There’s also just a mite of satire baked into the sci-fi, with digs taken at being on one’s phone too much, difficulty with eye contact, and outdoor time restricted to walking one’s Roomba for enrichment. This feels like a solid performance. Matonis is excellent at character work, and I think I wound up as a hand-touching fiend by the end.

Fast Snail Productions, a new Scottish production company, make their Fringe debut with Note of Concern at theSpace on the Mile – an intriguing, dark drama packed with dry humour, wit and intelligence.A ten-year high school reunion is taking place in the main building. One former student decides to revisit his most memorable classroom, where he was taught by his least favourite teacher. One of his former mates, from whom he became estranged after a dispute over a girl, does the same. When the door handle comes off in his hand, they find themselves trapped. An air of nostalgia overtakes them and, as they begin to resurrect the past, some hard truths emerge that neither is prepared for.Meanwhile, they start poking their noses where they don’t belong. Through mysterious clues left on the blackboard, they discover the combination to unlock the desk drawer, where they find old pink punishment slips that recall incidents from their schooldays. When they break into the store cupboard, a pungent odour is released and an unexpected twist takes the play to another level. Will the shared stress of resolving this situation reignite their friendship, or do old scars still run too deep?Note of Concern is tightly written by, and stars, Fringe veterans Will Evans and Jordan Monks. They are an engaging duo and highly accomplished actors – the sort that inspire confidence and convince you you’re in safe hands. The script is focused, developing plot and characters at pace with no excess verbiage. Slickly directed by Stephanie Austin, it is superbly delivered with an air of Orton about it: bizarre events, strange circumstances, stilted conversation in awkward situations, dialogue that shifts from quick-witted to hesitant with the odd faux pas thrown in, well-timed pauses, an irreverent take on situations, and an element of detective work.It all makes for a rewarding, action-packed 45 minutes.

It takes a certain audacity to mash up The Beatles, the first international symposium on gender identity, and the transmasculine experience. In Someone Has Got to Be John, they turn that unlikely combination into something sharp, surreal and thought-provoking.The premise is based on imagining the company as a struggling but committed tribute act to The Beatles, but there is the glaring absence of one important element – John Lennon. But Speakbeast aren’t really here to talk about The Beatles. They’re here to talk about authenticity, and what it means to inhabit an identity that the world insists on misreading. While a trans person is obviously not simply an impersonator, and they make this perfectly clear, it acts as a powerful metaphor for not being seen by the world as how you see yourself. And thanks to their inspiration from The Beatles, it has a phenomenal soundtrack.Structurally, the piece leans into a form of montage or post-narrative collage. They dip between the band squabbling, lip-syncing to archival academic audio recordings, and character monologue. This refusal to hold the audience’s hand makes the show feel a bit like a puzzle at times, challenging the audience to form their own picture, but as you place the final piece of the jigsaw you may discover you lost some of the pieces along the way – who was John the YouTuber again? Have we met this psychologist before? It is beautiful and intellectual, but without a completely flawless execution this style of theatre can leave audiences not fully satisfied. This doesn’t mean it’s not a worthwhile watch – the opposite is true. This is a company who are so close. Speakbeast are such an exciting young company; their style is original and feels truly authentic. They feel provocative but caring, and loaded with undeniable potential.The performers themselves are a delight to watch. They have a great ensemble energy where you can tell that the relationships are fully authentic. For the most part they have an effortless charm and a captivating sense of purpose. In one of the production’s most powerful moments, a performer applies testosterone gel onstage. It’s an act presented without spectacle or apology – just another part of life, as ordinary as tuning a guitar. In the current climate of trans panic in the UK, that quiet normalcy becomes radical.

Rachel Kaly is a melancholic jester. In an hour about their respective neuroses, feud with their dad, and grievances on their own sexuality, Kaly will have you laughing the entire hour.Their tone of voice is like no other comic in the game. A sort of lesbian Larry David mixed with the social criticism of Chloe Petts – Kaly has built an hour that is an absolutely charming way to spend your afternoon.Their discussion of trauma is raw and vulnerable. They never miss a swift slice into landing their punchline. A comedian to watch, Rachel Kaly is a must-see at Pleasance.

Mari Crawford is familiar with labels. She has seen thousands of them on the pill bottles she has worked her way through since being diagnosed with bipolar II disorder at the age of 19. Hundreds of them form an apron around the stage. These labels are inoffensive, unlike some pinned on those who live with the condition they treat. Her show’s label, Bipolar Badass, struck me as interesting rather than inviting, but having it on offer in Dundee, where the spirit of fringe theatre abounds, it was an opportunity to step out of my comfort zone.My fears of having to endure an introspective, navel-gazing lament, with a woe-is-me narrative designed to elicit sympathy, were quickly allayed. This is an upbeat, positive challenge to the monster that tries to dominate her life. Imaginatively and amusingly, she likens her chronic illness to a fire-breathing dragon in her brain that takes on a persona, genetically inherited from her late grandmother, who endured unethical medical treatment. It is a legacy she did not ask for and does not want, but then neither did her gran.Her show is a wide-ranging discourse on how her condition has been viewed, and on the stigma and ignorance that still surround it. She shows how both entertainment and social media have long given ill-informed portrayals of people with the condition, and highlights the manifestations it can take. There are times of losing touch with reality, of aural and visual hallucinations, delusional situations, suicidal thoughts and episodes of self-harm.She performs and speaks with expertise, having studied acting at the British American Drama Academy and worked as a peer counsellor with the National Alliance on Mental Illness (NAMI). Later this year she will study at Ecole Philippe Gaulier, which might give even more energy and physicality to a show that is already fast-paced and full of action – necessary skills in dealing with a dragon.Her coping mechanism has been to embrace the mythical beast and work with it; fighting against it only makes it angrier, she learned. Hence humour abounds, and she exudes a sense of triumphant power that vanquishes fear.This is a well-constructed show that successfully combines entertainment with insight to create an uplifting and inspirational tale of triumph over adversity.

Kumar Muniandy's solo show Second Class Queer is an honest and thought-provoking exploration of life as a queer Tamil-Malaysian man in Berlin. Written and directed by Muniandy, the intimate piece moves between the challenges of being queer in Malaysia and the complexities of queer dating in multicultural Berlin, where every potential partner arrives with wildly differing experiences and perspectives.The narrative unfolds through a series of speed dates, in which Krishna (Muniandy) converses, debates, and occasionally argues with a stream of men represented by disembodied voices. Krishna exudes charm and charisma, yet his partners often focus less on his conversation and more on his appearance. His ethnicity is questioned; at other times, it is his body shape. While these inquiries may be well intentioned, they reveal a deeper undercurrent of cultural insensitivity, reflecting the blunt approach to sex and dating often found in Berlin’s queer community.Muniandy weaves a parallel story using an onstage projector. In the play’s opening, a dedication appears to an unnamed Malaysian teenager killed in a violent, homophobic attack. This figure haunts Krishna’s narrative. Alongside this, memes and images flash up, satirising attitudes toward brown people, particularly those from Muslim-majority countries, with a sharp, dry wit.The result is a piece that is both poignant and empathetic, balancing humour with unflinching social commentary. Muniandy holds the audience’s attention with ease, delivering a script that deftly navigates intersections of queerness, race, and diaspora identity. His storytelling is confident, layered, and altogether human.Second Class Queer offers a compelling portrait of one man’s experiences while speaking to broader truths about belonging and prejudice. It is an engaging, incisive work of new writing – highly recommended for anyone interested in theatre that challenges and connects in equal measure.

Established in October 2024, Cask and Vine present their Fringe Festival debut with an insightful and informative act that delivers a succinct history lesson on Scottish whisky. Our host for the evening, Chris, is as enthusiastic as he is knowledgeable, reflecting his 20 years of experience within the industry. He saves his funniest anecdotes for the latter part of the evening – good timing, given that everyone is merrier by that point – and shows great ad lib in the pockets of open chat that emerge more steadily in the second half of the event. Sparing us the long-winded introductions typical of many whisky tastings, Chris cuts straight to the point by instructing us to simply take a drink to begin.We start with Loch Lomond Spearhead, a young and, some might say, prickly whisky, unpeated with notes of vanilla and nutmeg. Unlike the other whiskies we’re offered (and most Scottish whiskies at large), Spearhead is a single grain – a rarity in Scotland that forgoes malted barley to use cereals instead, typically wheat or corn. Perhaps archaic for our setting, it’s a nice inclusion that allows Chris to comment on Scottish refinements to whisky making from its grain-based roots in Ireland.Glen Scotia Double Cask follows to present a Campbeltown classic: lighter in hue, but with a more oily texture reflective of its coastal location. It boasts sweet, spicy undertones of dark chocolate and toffee with whispers of salt. This is succeeded by our penultimate dram, the more mature Glen Scotia 18: a wonderful follow-up to its youthful counterpart. Compared to the Double Cask, the 18 has a bold honey nose with a sweet body and salted caramel finish.Structurally, the inclusion of the two Glen Scotias is an effective bridging point that gives pause to the history of Prohibition and the Great Depression’s impact upon the once 30-strong distillery bosom of Campbeltown, reducing the Kintyre settlement to just three working distilleries today. Finally, we return to the Bonnie Bonnie Banks with Loch Lomond 18: dark gold in complexion, with a honey-raisin nose and softly peated finish – a brilliant way to round off the evening.The shape of the show is more last-third heavy than an even quartet, with an elongated run-through of distillation between drams one and two. By the end, we’re left with a few filled Glencairns and only 10 minutes to go. But we’re not under pressure to neck these or rushed out the door; rather, we’re given the opportunity to finish at our own pace upstairs. Chris is approachable and coaxes the small group of strangers into getting to know each other better, where even the quietest of dram-lovers will be chatty by the end. The act delivers beyond the billing of a ‘wee dram’ to gift us four tipples in a convivial setting.

The newly written musical I Am Autistic follows the story of three autistic teens going through life in high school. It covers the topics of relationships, bullying and discovering yourself.Being autistic myself, I feel that the show offers an excellent portrayal of ASD, raising awareness very effectively and helping people to understand how to live alongside people who have autism, how to accommodate them, and how to adapt so that all can live happily together.The songs are very upbeat and have a pop feel about them. The three main characters are superbly put together. Their story made me cry midway through the show because I can relate so much to the performance, which just shows how well written this piece is and what an amazing performance has been created about autism.However, I also feel that the show mainly focuses on the negatives of autism – although it does have a very happy resolution (which was the highlight of the show for me). I feel like it could cover some different types of Autism Spectrum Disorder and display other aspects of it in the show as well.I like the decision to cast autistic actors in the leading roles because this gives autistic actors a chance to be themselves without having to worry about other people’s opinions of them. The production could also be improved by showing some aspects of autism in different life stages as well.In general, however, this play means that autistic people who watch the show will be able to see themselves in it, and I love that about it. I think it helps people without autism to live more comfortably around autistic people, so the show was a notable success for everybody.The actors wear simple, everyday costumes to create a normal high school day. The set is very simple, using four boxes of a cubic shape which are rearranged effectively to create different environments. The simplicity of this is strangely beautiful. The depictions of fidgeting, strumming and bullying are very accurate, and this really captures the real-life experience of autistic people.Although the main storyline is rather sad (as it depicts autistic people being bullied), the resolution really gives me personally a new hope for the future of people who are autistic, showing that eventually we can be accepted and that we can, and will, be able to live better in the future.(Editor’s note: This review was written by Clark Dearson, aged 12, who performed in Much Ado About Pirates at the Fringe by Westcliff High School for Boys.)

Modern reality TV contests are well-trodden ground for the public. Shows like I’m a Celebrity: Get Me Out of Here have been on air for 23 years, so their conventions are well known and have been thoroughly parodied before. It’s why Shark Bait Theatre’s Crocodile Tears is such a fun time. While it is certainly not the first show to spoof programmes like I’m a Celebrity, Jess Ferrier has written a tightly polished, hilarious piece that feels refreshing and enjoyable despite its familiar inspiration.Crocodile Tears follows the final few episodes of a survival-themed reality TV show, just before the prize money is about to be awarded, when a sudden, undiscovered illness infects one of the contestants, leaving the final five and host Casia Whittaker (Abi Price) stuck on the island awaiting rescue. The show cleverly uses the formats and conventions of reality TV to its advantage. Frequent asides to “camera” develop character, while familiar tropes like phone votes and Geordie narrators set the scene and add to the show’s strong sense of wit.Each contestant is a delight to watch, from rules stickler Rueben (Rory Drinnan-Murray), to religious fanatic and abstinence influencer Daisy (Robyn Reily), to conspiracy theorist Faye (Darcy De Winter). Though they might initially seem like one-note tropes, each character is fully developed, and their outlandish traits are used to maximum comic effect. Adding to this, the flamboyant and under-prepared Casia’s scenes feel chaotic, raising tension without sacrificing humour.Crocodile Tears is great fun from start to finish. Its writing and direction ensure there is always a laugh to be found. The characters, which could have felt like stereotypes on paper, are fully realised. The show makes bombastic scenarios work without ever feeling absurd or implausible, making the audience truly feel like they are watching the contestants in the jungle and laughing along with every outrageous premise the producers have thrown their way.

Dance People, devised by Omar Rajeh and Mia Habis and performed with the Lebanese-French dance company Maqamat, is essentially a meditation on power relationships between people, especially as they relate to physical space. This sounds abstract and dry, but the show is fun and joyous, with plenty of headspace for thought and reflection.Situated in Edinburgh University’s Old College Quad, the performers constantly redraw the courtyard spaces with floor markings and moving platforms. The audience surrounds the dancers but is restricted by red markings – sometimes encouraged to invade the spaces, sometimes hushed outside them. The boundaries between dancers and spectators are fluid. At the opening, the dancers mingle with the audience, introducing themselves by name, and later bring audience members into the dance, concluding with almost the whole crowd joining in joyous dancing.The text projected on the courtyard walls points out that the crowd has now claimed both the space and the performance.I have attended many shows where audiences are encouraged to dance, but never one where the participation of the whole crowd felt so joyful. This stems from the performers’ infectiously exuberant dancing that breaks down barriers and inhibitions.The performers blend choreographed sequences with solo improvisations, and the show uses digital displays, projected text, live video, spatial microphone effects, a DJ/musician, and recorded and live music and singing.Moments of frantic activity contrast with opportunities for meditation. Once the connection between physical space, ownership and power is established, there is time to reconsider the Old Quad anew: its complex relationship to authority, institutional ownership, and segregated uses by separate public groups.As the show progresses, emphasis shifts from the wider public to the individual. Red letters distributed to each audience member contain individual accounts of mankind’s abuse – for example, persecution in Rwanda, a witness to a murder, or environmental degradation.Single names and dates are projected (presumably victims of abuse), while the dancers improvise superbly as individuals rather than as a choreographed group.Another pause for contemplation features interviews with audience members about their working day, concluding with the finale’s roll-call of ‘dear citizens’ playing their different societal parts – connecting individuals to wider society while showing society as composed of separate people.Although the show creates a coherent whole from an intellectual point of view, for me, the various parts lacked a coherent emotional unity and journey.

Ploughing a furrow straight through the Lyceum stage, FC Bergman’s Works and Days resurrects Hesiod’s agrarian hymn in a startling display of stagecraft that proves – to paraphrase Bananarama and the Fun Boy Three – it really ain’t what you say, it’s the way that you say it.While the central thesis and themes of this spectacular show may not surprise anyone, the way the Belgian company presents them remains breathtaking. A wooden floor is ripped up, animals are slaughtered, a ramshackle barn is erected from torn boards and beams; there is sex, birth, death, struggle, blood, industrial machinery and flying pineapples. It is a breathless journey played out in striking sequences in which ritual gestures land with visceral heft – you can almost smell the overturned earth. Joachim Badenhorst and Sean Carpio’s live score is equally sumptuous: baritone sax drones melt into metallic percussion, steering us from bucolic calm toward machine-age menace.Throughout it all, visual bravura remains the production’s richest crop. Rain lashes from the flies; open flame licks the palms of the performers; blood splatters the front row (wearing that white T-shirt was a mistake). The final avalanche of chaos and the introduction of cutting-edge technology into the ruins of the set offer provocation rather than release. Some spectators may crave firmer anchorage amid the swirling symbolism, but that elusiveness feels oddly faithful to Hesiod’s lament that toil and advancement are forever entwined – and it keeps the thematic soil fertile for post-show debate.The piece may dig no new furrows thematically, yet its sensory force is undeniable. By the curtain call, spectators are left feeling as though history, industry and myth have all marched across their shoes, leaving muddy footprints that refuse to fade. It convinces you that even when treading ancient earth, good theatre can still startle.

The teaching profession in the UK has been in crisis for some time. Current statistics suggest that just under a third of teachers quit within five years. This is the looming scenario for the unnamed protagonist of Meg Coslett’s new play MISS, now playing at the Lion and Unicorn Theatre in Kentish Town. Played by Coslett herself, an English teacher simply referred to as “Miss” struggles through a single day in the classroom, encountering a wide range of educators, students, and parents, all brought vividly to life through outstanding multi-rolling performances by Joe Sefton, Georgia Maguire, and James Coward.Switching between a series of monologues and full dialogue scenes, MISS charts the trials and tribulations of everyday teaching. Each class period becomes a different adventure with its own cast of students. Coslett trained as an English teacher, a background that proves invaluable to her writing. The observations, nuances, and humour of secondary school life are astute and, at times, profound. One standout scene sees Miss confronted with a boy she suspects is caught up in drug running after school. In class, he is lethargic, but she cannot directly address his wider life beyond education, leaving both characters suspended in a painful dynamic where the truth must remain unspoken. The tricky balance of educational and pastoral responsibility recurs throughout the piece – in some scenes more successfully than others – but always with an eye to the professional, emotional, and legal constraints under which teachers must operate.The play resists easy categorisation as either drama or comedy. Yet the comedic crown surely belongs to the School Receptionist (James Coward), who valiantly spins across the stage in a wheelie chair: a loving homage to the unappreciated matriarchs of countless British secondary schools.Interestingly, the teaching staff seem to have less developed interior lives than the students, perhaps a deliberate result of Miss’s perspective as the narrator. While she clearly cares for her pupils, her attitude toward her colleagues is coloured by disillusionment. Her own dreams and motivations remain elusive as well; what is most apparent is how her mental energy is fully consumed by the school day, an environment she frequently contemplates leaving behind.Altogether, MISS is a strong, impactful piece of theatre that concisely explores the complexities, toxicities, and fragile human goodwill underpinning the British education system.

Bim! Bam! Boom! The sheer energy and physicality of the performers is amazing. This is edge-of-the-seat, in-yer-face stuff that leaves you breathless. Both humorous and terrifying, Wee Man, choreographed by Natasha Gilmore of Barrowland Ballet, is both a celebration and a swingeing critique of the ‘rules’ of masculinity. The intergenerational cast, including teenagers and men, moves to the relentless pulse of music composed by Luke Sutherland. Set on a football pitch, the cast wear sports gear, making the parallels clear. Gilmore, as a mother of boys, clearly knows what it’s like to watch the perils your ‘wee man’ (an affectionate Scots term for a small boy) must face to become a man.The ‘rules’ devised by Kevin Gilday appear on screens inside the goalposts, starting with upbeat ones such as ‘wear no colour except in socks’ and ‘walk as if wearing soggy porridge in your sporran’ – but mostly they are negative, carrying darker hints of toxic masculinity and the self-destruction required through the denial of individuality and emotion in order to be accepted. The performers hurl themselves at each other chest to chest, leaping, rolling, punching, twirling almost nonstop, culminating in heart-wrenching scenes of bullying. Sweat glints on bald heads, dreadlocks fly. Testosterone-fuelled and adrenaline-high, it recalls the strength and stamina of Russian and other mid-European dance traditions, or even South American Capoeira and the competitiveness of New York street dance.Gilmore’s work is always intelligent and warm as well as skilfully crafted. Here, the warmth is less evident until a gleam of hope appears at the end. The brilliant script occasionally gets a bit sentimental and squishy, but that’s forgivable as the performers carry each other – even the teenagers lifting the heavier men – suggesting the need to support one another emotionally, even if earlier it amounts to no more than a slap on the back.The cast is made up of members from Gilmore’s intergenerational Wolf Pack, a non-audition company, plus a mixture of professional dancers who have appeared in many of Gilmore’s past shows, including her son Otis (aged 15), and at the end some local community dancers, whom she likes to incorporate at every venue. It was heartening to see an 80-year-old taking her teenage grandson. A must-see show for every male, their mothers and family.

Iain Dale’s All Talk has become something of a staple in the Fringe calendar, offering a chance to engage with an impressive array of the most controversial and adored figures in Britain’s political establishment.The latest interviewee is Michael (now Lord) Heseltine: he of the hair, the mace, and the fractious relationship with Mrs Thatcher. There is, of course, far more to the colourful career of this revered elder statesman: not least his most recent role as one of the few big beasts prepared to speak out against the odious march of the far-right in a country that, when he was growing up, prided itself on fighting fascism rather than giving it screen time.We move through Heseltine’s time in parliament and his trajectory through government. He is funny, twinkly, sometimes circumspect, often loyal, and unflinchingly honest in his responses. But more than anything, he remains unafraid of speaking the truth to power that so many baulk at. Now ninety-two, he has spoken out repeatedly about the mistakes being made at the highest point of government, and behind the soft, thoughtful voice lies an intellect as sharp and far-sighted as ever.The piece is characterised by memories which demonstrate a fusion of business savvy and compassion. In one particularly touching moment, Heseltine states his proudest moment was being awarded the Freedom of the City of Liverpool in recognition of his lauded regeneration work in the 1980s.Iain Dale must have interviewed almost anyone who is anyone in the current political arena. But when I catch him helping Heseltine into his car at the end of the programme, he is visibly moved by the quiet dignity of the last seventy minutes. “What a privilege,” he sighs to one of the punters who stops to thank him.What a privilege.

Over the last few years at the Fringe, clowning has grown from a niche artform to award-winning status (see Garry Starr, Elf Lyons and Dr Brown as prime examples) – and this show certainly earns its place alongside these purveyors of the absurd.Los Angeles-based Kym Priess first appears to us in the guise of Dale, an Aussie tour manager struggling to get the show started. Dale is constantly speaking, complaining about technical hitches and struggling with the audio. He encourages us to sit facing each other runway-style (as on a party bus) and get to know each other, while he slinks off to locate the star of the show.After around fifteen minutes of Dale’s delightful muttering and cursing, we are introduced to the fabulously unhinged Loser Lion – a failed Vegas wrestler and very shabby lion, who chain-smokes and has no sense of propriety or personal space. There is a quick aside to arm the less open to interaction with a gesture that lets Priess know not to get too close – a welcome consideration in today’s climate of consent.What follows is Pee-Wee’s Playhouse for the TikTok generation. The party bus gets underway courtesy of a projected trip through the streets of Hollywood, and we are encouraged to join in with some shenanigans that include headbanging to Iron Maiden, Facetiming a famous fictional character, and hearing the story of Dolly the bus driver – Loser Lion’s lover and blow-up doll. However, it all begins to unravel when Loser Lion realises that one of the passengers is, in fact, his old nemesis from his days as a wrestler. At times, looped effects are used to create a cacophony of noise, and a playlist of absolute bangers keeps the energy high.Good clowning should be immersive – and great clowning shouldn’t be afraid to challenge your expectations. Priess has created a character that is confident and yet filled with pathos – furious at the world but just wanting everybody to have a good time. A final reveal from another character late in the show suggests that he, and his blow-up lover Dolly, might just manage a happy ending.

The Creative Martyrs are the sort of show you see once before going back again and again. They’ve well earned their cult-like following in the Scottish cabaret scene, but this was the first time I’d seen them at the Fringe. They did not disappoint; they are some of the best the Free Fringe has to offer.Taking to the stage, Gustav and Jakob immediately give off sad clown energy… before undercutting it with evocative grins on their powdered faces. They almost seem to wink at the audience, as if to say, “You’re in on the joke.” The joke — of course — being that society itself is crumbling before our very eyes. Some might say the end of the world is nigh. That doesn't mean we shouldn't laugh at our situation though, and the duo seem poised to point out our plight while chuckling along with us.This wry satire of the world's current affairs is delivered with Weimar-era panache, blended with hilarious songs and brief verbal interludes. The tunes are catchy and memorable, the sort of thing you'll remember weeks later when watching the news. Many also almost lull you to sleep with their mellow tones, as the duo come armed only with a ukulele and a cello — until the dark irony of the lyrics hits home.With just an hour and a handful of songs, you will fall in love with this duo. They have a certain earnestness that is endearing, and Jakob's baritone contrasts nicely with Gustav's more manic energy. The latter is often among the crowd, leading the way in everything from an exploration of the Overton Window via line dance (yes, really) to adding you to The List.The duo are doing what they’ve always done, albeit with a little more polish these days. If you’ve seen them before, you won’t be surprised or dazzled by their performance. But that’s perhaps the magic of the Free Fringe — you don’t need to be. You can keep coming back to a show and continue to be charmed, year after year. The Creative Martyrs are some of the best the Free Fringe has to offer, and you should go see them again and again.

Who is the teacher who really made a difference to your life? The cast of An Idiot’s Guide To Breaking Your Own Heart at Greenside@Riddles Court all say Mr Perez. Paul Andrew Perez, head of theatre at St John’s Country Day School, Jacksonville, had only just begun writing a new Fringe show for his teenage students when he died a few months ago.So what was to happen to the fragment of the pop rock musical? At first, cancellation seemed the only option, but the flights, accommodation and Fringe venue were already booked, and more importantly, Paul Perez adored the Edinburgh Fringe and giving young people the chance to appear at the world’s biggest performing arts festival.Thus his students, families, friends and staff at the school decided the show must go on. Fellow teacher and friend Todd Twining took over the director’s role and co-ordinated getting the musical stage ready. He introduced the show to Fringe audiences, explaining its staging was their way of ‘healing and of honouring’ the show’s creator.The show looks at what it is like to be a teenager these days, focusing on 16-year-old Simon Walker (played with truly recognisable angst by Nikhil Gupta). He is surrounded by a clutch of female classmates who display varying degrees of empathy. There’s the ever-present Q (Alyssa Walker), somewhat robustly trying to bring him out of his shell; lovely Sandy (Ishta Ramroop), kind and available; and Simon’s crush, the unattainable and self-absorbed Chloe (Amelia Munley). Outside school, we meet Simon’s Cuban mother, a spirited performance from Samantha Richter.The framework of the story is the class being assigned a project on How to Be You by teacher Mrs Hannan (an assured Michelle Nugent Munley). Simon struggles his way through each chapter feeling more and more of a nonentity. A couple of the final headings are What Do You Contribute To Society? and Does Your Life Have Meaning? A couple of facers for any age group, let alone a struggling adolescent! Simon tries to get some answers with his peers.These young people are great singers, with some lovely Todd Twining songs underpinning their emotional struggles. This is the sort of show that the Fringe should encompass: a tribute to a beloved teacher and friend by a highly motivated group of youngsters treading the boards with relish.

Bennett Arron has been a professional stand-up comedian for almost 27 years but, as he admits early on, he hasn’t performed on stage for two years – for reasons he will touch on during his set – and so is actually ever so slightly nervous.Not that you’d have guessed from his demeanour. Arron appears remarkably calm and confident—though not in an arrogant way. To help bring his audience onside, he’s overtly self-deprecating about his driving skills and sex life, as you might expect from a middle-aged father with grown-up children (one of whom is in another Fringe show and helping out “the old man” with the flyers). He’s honest enough to warn us that the show will cover such delightful comedic subjects as dementia, depression and death. But that’s life, to rely on a cliché, and there are plenty of laughs – even if some depend on the apparent stupidity of Las Vegas audiences or people who come into the room about three-quarters of the way through, clearly looking for another show. Arron barely blinks and acts with both grace and decency – which suggests such interruptions may be part and parcel of performing in the Liquid Rooms.As with many comedy shows at the Fringe, I Regret This Already is strongly autobiographical, and Arron isn’t shy to name-drop occasionally. Hailing from Port Talbot in Wales, he claims connections with the likes of Michael Sheen, Rob Brydon and Sir Anthony Hopkins. The latter, in particular, is involved in one of the small regrets that make up the narrative heart of the show – Arron’s feelings of remorse and sadness as much about things he didn’t do (spending more time with ailing parents, for example) as much as the things he did. This, it’s fair to say, is common ground for most of us and certainly a solid basis on which to build a show.There are serious moments throughout – memories of loss and illness, and brief concerns about how we appear to have forgotten how to communicate with each other, especially online. But these are generously balanced by laugh-out-loud moments of observational comedy, along with numerous wry asides in response to the audience. All of which suggest that, despite two years away from the stage, Arron is still on top form and well worth tracking down in the warren that is the Liquid Rooms.

Eight hours of religious choral music: The Veil of the Temple is not so much a musical performance as an experience.The work consists of eight cycles, which vary from 30 to 95 minutes. Three ten-minute breaks were scheduled, but audiences could come and go freely, creating a relaxed atmosphere without the fear of having to concentrate for eight hours straight. Notably, few took advantage of the open-door policy beyond the scheduled breaks.The experience is surprisingly personal – the sharing of the performance is counterbalanced by the length of silence demanded of each individual when listening to a piece of this scale. This is emphasised by the brilliant staging: soloists, instrumentalists and choir members use the entire hall – the main stage, stalls, stepped platforms, the circle balcony and even a corridor entrance – so that each audience member has a different experience depending on their location.Each cycle is performed in a higher key than the last. This rising pitch – beginning with bass parts sung so low they sound like groaning machinery – creates the sense of slowly ascending from depths to ethereal and ecstatic heights, concluding with the eighth cycle.The production effort is outstanding: eight hours of performance using five choirs, along with intricate coordinated performer movement designed and mastered under Thomas Guthrie's direction. The lighting design and execution are also superb.The performance was conducted by the tireless Sofi Jeannin, who – after controlling the music (and occasionally the audience) with command, concentration and precision for eight hours – looked ready to take on another sixteen.The Veil concludes with the Sanskrit word shantih (peace), referencing T.S. Eliot’s The Waste Land. This comparison fits well: just as Eliot’s poem is a survey of the cultural history of East and West, Tavener's Veil – sung in English, Aramaic, Church Slavonic, Greek and Sanskrit – combines Byzantine and Anglican religious traditions with Islamic and Tibetan instruments, Sufi texts, Templar mythology, Jewish texts, the Upanishads and St John's Gospel.Is knowledge of all this required to appreciate the experience? Thankfully, no. Listening and meditating is all that’s needed.There's clear contemporary relevance in The Veil’s coalescence of Western, Eastern and Islamic traditions into one search for meaning – with the final chants of Shantih, Shantih sounding not like a whisper but more like a challenge. The EIF should be congratulated on staging this rarely performed and uniquely demanding piece with such care, imagination and passion.

Stepping inside the famous blue Lafayette circus tent in the centre of the Meadows, audiences are greeted by the sound of songbirds. On stage, the faded walls of an old house and a wall-mounted corded telephone immediately set the scene in the past. As the weather turns, a man arrives at the house, escaping torrential rain, to a cryptic pre-recorded message welcoming him inside.FLIP Fabrique’s Six° is a profoundly moving and poetic acrobatic exploration of life and finding oneself through others’ stories. As Robert, our main character, steps into the house, a sense of mystery sparks – it’s clear there is something not entirely ordinary about this place.Six° is a puzzle yearning to be solved. As the rest of the cast appear, they seem unaware of each other, even as objects move around them. Slowly, it becomes clear the house overlaps decades, revealing the lives of some of its past guests. Through breathtaking acrobatics, juggling, hula-hooping and clowning, each guest’s story unfolds – tales of love, loss and friendship – woven into a heartfelt, one-of-a-kind circus performance.The exquisite set design is a pleasure to view, and its versatility will keep audiences wondering what might happen next. Six° captivates children and adults alike, offering a beautiful reminder that our lives are shaped by the stories we share and the people we meet along the way.

Sophie’s Surprise 29th returns for its final year at the Fringe – and if you haven’t seen it, you owe it to yourself to go. This is some of the best that British circus has to offer: hilarious, self-aware, and packed with dazzling tricks that will leave you amazed as well as amused.If you’ve ever been to a UK house party, you’ll recognise the cast: the jock, the goth, the geek, the popular girl, and the dealer. Except this one is slinging custard creams and hiding serious skills. Sam Goodburn’s comedic unicycle routine had the whole crowd on the edge of their seats and holding their sides, even as clothes flew in unexpected directions.The glue holding it all together is whoever's birthday it is – the titular Sophie, plucked from the audience each night. Ours got right into it, dancing up a storm and blushing appropriately at the more risqué moments.Speaking of risqué, the show has had a few updates since last year. Kyran Lee Walton appears as the strip act in a suitably crumby fireman costume. But he sticks around for a technically demanding and frankly beautiful hand-balancing routine. Injecting an American performer into an established British show always carries some risk – humour can land differently – but the setup is managed with enough self-awareness to undercut any notion that Three Legged Race Productions are getting too pleased with themselves after two sell-out Fringe runs. That said, if there’s any slack in the show, it occurs here – a shame for something so close to perfect.This show knows exactly what it is, and it’s for anyone over 18 who wants to be wowed one moment and giggling the next. It speaks especially to a British audience, but there’s plenty of common ground for anyone who’s been to a party, regardless of generation. It’s packed with in-jokes and blink-and-you’ll-miss-it moments.Nathan Price and Emily McCarthy deliver a tight skating routine that had the front row flinching – but never in danger – before diving into satirical social commentary. Cornelius Atkinson’s straps display is jaw-dropping. Katharine Arnold’s geek-to-goddess transformation gives way to world-class aerial work that will have you gasping.The pace makes you feel like you’ve been up all night dancing. The drama is as riveting as a choreographed aerial routine. And you’ll be telling stories about this house party for years to come. A must-see – this one feels likely to sweep awards and go home laughing.

Imagine if the pages of your favourite cowboy cartoon comic were to come to life and become the script for an action-packed, high-energy drama in your bedroom. There’s one sure way to make it happen: perform it yourselves and call it Cody and Beau: A Wild West Story, then put it on at theSpace@Niddry Street.In two captivating performances, the well-costumed dynamic duo of Dylan Kaueper (Cody) and Will Grice (Beau) blur the lines between fantasy and reality, leading us to forget that this is just a make-believe world of imagination and invention. Transported to 1889, we become immersed in a dramatic tale of cowboys and Indians packed with daring escapes, dastardly encounters, threatening gunfights and a plentiful supply of tacos. The boys set out on a bold journey, forsaking their box of miniature toy cowboys for the lonesome trail across the arid desert from Texas to New Mexico in the hope that their hero, Billy the Kid, is not really dead and that they might actually meet him. In a movingly staged and evocatively lit dream sequence, Cody even has a vision of the man as Beau doubles up in statuesque form.Beneath the gripping action and intense physicality, this heart-pounding adventure presents an intimate portrayal of boyhood friendship and an emotional exploration of masculinity that highlights the fine line between our true selves and who we pretend to be. We start with two pals who enjoy innocently playing together but then experience the intensities of bonding and survival as their characters deal with challenges on the journey and come to rely on each other for survival. They have to face the harsh realities of life and realise that growing up is a demanding process, full of big questions about existence and the nature of relationships. But among all the soul-searching, their tale is littered with comic moments and playfulness, though they don’t shy away from a bravely dark ending.Kaueper and Grice say they have “grown up performing and dreaming up worlds together since childhood”, at school where they began their creative partnership, and now at Edinburgh University, where they have formed their own company, Dylan and Will Theatre, with a “mission to make inventive, actor-led theatre that surprises, provokes and, most importantly, entertains.” This debut show fulfils all of those aspirations, is hugely impressive and great fun. These are two to look out for, with the potential to be enormously successful.

Faustine: A Dissertation, A Breakdown, A Confession, A Mental Breakdown reminds you that sometimes the most horrifying things are what people are capable of. Written, composed and performed by Lydia Brinkman and Sarah Norcross, the show drew me in immediately with an eerie atmosphere and music that made Hell feel very real – and I was going to be part of it for the next 50 minutes.The story follows Faustine, who sells her soul to the Devil for the sake of her dissertation and a good grade. It’s equal parts smart and scary, as Faustine – and the musical itself – question how far she’ll go to get ahead. The answer? A lot.Brinkman and Norcross also offer the possibility of seeing a different show each time. Faustine is already worth seeing once, but it might be worth seeing twice, as the two performers alternate playing the titular role in this one-woman show. I saw Norcross embody the wickedness that slowly takes over Faustine, with a creepy smile that sent shivers down my spine every time she looked at me – and in such a small space, she’ll be looking at everyone. Her transitions between Faustine and the other characters were clear and often deeply unsettling.This show didn’t have me shaking in my boots every minute, but I was frequently shocked by its twists. The actual jump scares are limited, which benefits the tale rather than detracts from it. Be ready to question the morality of higher education, not to be jumped at in the dark.The technical elements are strong and well used, with ominous red lighting and soft blue tones showing Faustine’s initial innocence. The one downside was the volume, which was quite loud at times – occasionally making words hard to make out or creating a discomfort that didn’t feel deliberate. Still, Faustine is a show I’d see again, though it’s worth letting audiences know what to expect.This musical’s strongest moments lie in its ability to leave your skin crawling – knowing evil exists, and that it doesn’t always look the way you expect.

Lewis Major, world-renowned Australian choreographer, director, and creative entrepreneur, returns to the Edinburgh Festival Fringe with Triptych Redux. This year, he takes to the stage himself for the first time in a decade, following a broken back injury that ended his dancing career yet inspired his move into choreography.In true Major style, Triptych Redux delivers a spectacle of dance and movement, paired with a poetic interplay of space, light, and sound. The design feels ominously captivating, with lighting as integral to the performance as the dancers and music. Moving lights play with shadows and shapes, weaving around and alongside the artists to create visual illusions that are magical and mesmerising. At times, dancer, sound, and lights merge into a single, otherworldly entity – an effect that lingers long after the piece ends.Across four distinct sections, separated by brief pauses, Triptych Redux presents shifting visual and sensory landscapes, all uniquely immersive. The result is an awe-inspiring, hypnotic experience that holds audiences suspended between movement and stillness, light and shadow, reality and dream. It is an unmissable exploration of the body’s resilience and the poetry of motion, and a much-anticipated return for Major to the stage.

Was it really 13 years ago that we last saw Rhys Darby perform live? You wouldn’t know it by looking at him – careening across the stage in skinny jeans, a tight black tee, and a much fuller, blonder hairstyle than before – this Kiwi comedy icon remains gloriously ageless.Best known for his roles as band manager Murray in Flight of the Conchords and the gentleman pirate in Our Flag Means Death, Darby now turns his talents to single-handedly thwarting AI-led dystopia, in his first stand-up show in over a decade: The Legend Returns.Darby himself is keenly aware that time is creeping on, opening with observational musings about his place in the modern world as an ageing tech-obsessed dad, using absurd metaphor and loop-station hijinks to get us on side.Despite smoke machines to hint at his professional success, Darby relies chiefly on simple, self-made charm. In a masterclass of sound-effect-laden storytelling, he 'skrrrts' around the stage, weaving apparently disparate anecdotes into a tightly structured story of his own future heroism, with crowd-pleasing callbacks and drone impressions connected by absurd run-on metaphors. It’s silly, yes – but also sharp as a Tesla Cybertruck.When the occasional joke falls flat, Darby gives a knowing goofball grin to earn instant forgiveness from his audience. Groan-worthy Roomba puns aside, Darby is as good as he always was – with an untamable physicality that is both endearing and attention-grabbing.Darby’s latest offering may be nothing more than an hour of escapism from reality – but, armed with the intensely human, low-tech charm of someone making chopper noises into the mic, he proves it’s duly needed.Rhys Darby might not save us from the robots – but, for a bit, he’ll at least make you forget they’re coming.

Mythos: Ragnarok is exactly as listed – Viking gods settling their scores via high-octane wrestling. There’s gratuitous violence aplenty, but a compelling storyline elevates the chokehold.The lead protagonist is Loki (writer-performer Ed Gamester) – a charming, quick-witted hunk, just sly enough to narrate himself into hero status. As our guide through this world of Norse gods and title belts, Loki pulls the strings while pretending not to hold them. Mischief is his weapon of choice, and he uses it to dance around more muscular opponents – giving us a 360-degree view of his fan-club-worthy abs.Odin, played by Howard Drake, is a heavyweight force, and the supporting cast handle both mythological exposition and grapples with equal finesse. In a crash course on Norse mythology, we meet Baldr, Frigg, Hel, and even a thick-headed Thor who wields his hammer like it’s the only tool in the shed.This is no ordinary wrestling match. Alongside spectacular bodyslams that shudder through the tent, there’s a surprisingly coherent tale of shifting allegiances and family feuds, with a bit of underworld death magic thrown in. The agile pacing flips between dense mythic setup and sheer, adrenalised chaos. Immaculate arena staging allows the cast to get lost in their own lesser fights without ever pulling focus from the main action.After four successful Edinburgh Fringes and a world tour, Mythos levels up to the Underbelly Circus Hub on the Meadows, giving the production the gravitas it deserves. The story-heavy opening is a bold choice given the cabaret noise bleeding in from next door, but once the fighting kicks in, it’s pure adrenaline.I learnt things and I gasped – whether because of my investment in the story or because someone just got thrown on their back at terrifying velocity, it’s hard to say. But certainly, you’ll be both intellectually stimulated and slapped right in the lizard brain.

Loud Poets is a Scotland-based spoken word organisation which endeavours to find the best poetic talent across the nation and put them centre stage. After witnessing today’s lineup, I’d have to say they're meeting their mission statement.The Loud Poets running today’s event were Mark Gallie and Katie Ailes, with an illness from co-host Kevin McLean making way for an extra guest spot. Mark opened the show with a glorious poem providing commentary on the nature of poetry, which struck me as the kind of material Stewart Lee might come up with if he ever immersed himself in the world of slam poetry. This was followed by an affectionately self-aware and self-deprecating insightful piece from Katie.By the time we had heard from our regular hosts, it had become apparent that, while accessible to first-time Loud Poets audiences, you needed to be familiar with the brand and performers to fully appreciate it. This first struck me by the brief manner in which the lead performers introduced themselves, while guest acts had their names electrifyingly emblazoned onto the screen. Moreover, Katie’s poem, while excellent, felt like a gift to an ingroup who already knew her, while I would have liked an insight into her style to pique my curiosity before delving into the minutiae of her thought processes.Mark and Katie then performed a stunning duet Dungeons & Dragons poem with vim and vigour, assisted wonderfully by Jack Hinks’s bard. They showed great teamwork and chemistry, and Mark’s dragon voice was something to behold. It’s refreshing to see poetry pushing boundaries and playing around with different formats that help separate it from the type you probably think of when you hear the word ‘poetry’.The first guest act was Ben Macpherson, whose own show, Poems at Adults, I had very much enjoyed the day before. Ben pulled out his three biggest hitters – a trilogy of liquid-themed pieces, with music from Hinks to accompany proceedings. Ben has masterful control of tension, building each piece to an epic conclusion, and his self-proclaimed ‘flex’ poem, the univocalic (one vowel only) O Pos, must be heard live to be believed. If you like poets who deliver a variety of styles and can make you laugh, cry and ponder, you’ll want to keep an eye out for him next year.The final act was Kate Ireland, who has also been taking the Fringe by storm with her theatrical piece Golden Time. Golden Time felt poetic, and so it was unsurprising to see her on this elite lineup. Kate’s performance was a powerhouse, deftly juggling being amusing and personable with powering and inspiring insights into her grandmother and various other aspects of her life.With Mark and Katie returning for swan songs about the Netflix ghost and anti-Trump activism respectively, there was certainly room for another act or two within the 75-minute runtime of the show, but nobody could complain about who we saw tonight. The lead and support poets were all of the standard you’d expect from a Loud Poets event, convincing the whole audience they truly are a few cuts above the standard you might expect to see at a regular poetry night. Perhaps this goes some way to justifying why their audiences don’t need an introduction to the core performers – once you attend their show, you’ll want to come back again.

What if Portia never made it to Venice? How would the trial have proceeded? What might the outcome have been? Writer-director Martin Foreman offers one possibility in A Pound of Flesh at theSpace on the Mile.Foreman seizes the “what if” opportunity and rises to the occasion in his reimagining of The Merchant of Venice. Shakespeare has Portia save the day for Antonio, but what if a tragedy prevents her from completing the journey from Belmont and the trial goes ahead without her? Will it mean that Antonio is doomed, and will Shylock be able to carry out the demand for “a pound of flesh”? “The oft-told tale begins with money ventured ’gainst a bond of flesh. But hold! See now a new path taken, tragedy appears and with sad death marks consequence of greed.”This revised version is convincingly written in a combination of Shakespeare’s words and additional material that echoes the Bard’s rhythm and imagery, seamlessly fitting into the original. In addition to the display of imagination and skill in the writing, the production is blessed with fine actors who successfully carry through the new plot.Antonio (Gabriel Bird) is troubled by his deep longing for Bassanio (Ollie Hiemann). Bird makes this obvious throughout, but always with subtlety and a manifestly aching heart, whilst also battling with his legal troubles. His yearning for Bassanio is matched by Portia’s (Millie Deere) and is easily understood as soon as Hiemann enters. Who would not fall for him? The soft tones and sultry disposition make Bassanio adorable to all.Deere encapsulates Portia’s intelligence, privileged upbringing, delicate scheming and abundant love for Bassanio, while Michael Robert-Brown as the Doge and other characters creates an impactful presence in all roles, adjudicating with precision and equanimity. In a stunning piece of casting, Shylock becomes a female role played by Danielle Farrow, whose dignified and stern demeanour makes for a towering presence as she states her case with legal precision, angry retribution and just conviction.The antisemitic elements of the play are not shied away from, which heightens the impact of Shylock’s impassioned “I am a Jew. Hath not a Jew eyes? ...” and is forcefully proclaimed. Delivery is of the highest standard throughout, with all lines carefully and clearly enunciated.This production is a joy for all lovers of the Bard who care for what might have been.

There are times when, for whatever reason, it’s just too… “neat”.The “it” in question is Sauna Boy, a one-man show based on writer-performer Dan Ireland-Reeves’s experiences of working in a gay sauna. It comes to the 2025 Edinburgh Fringe on the back of a successful international tour, including a sell-out run at Melbourne’s LGBTQ+ Midsumma Festival. Closer to home, it earned Ireland-Reeves an Oscar Wilde Award for Best Writing at the 2024 International Dublin Gay Theatre Festival.Which, is absolutely fair: Ireland-Reeves’s script is sharp, insightful and surprisingly tender on occasions; it’s as strongly paced as the show’s pulsing soundtrack, and even dares to be educational – not least during a brief section where, in rapid succession, Ireland-Reeves succinctly answers “Eight Frequently Asked Questions About Working in a Gay Sauna”. Nor does he hold back in his performance; he imbues his various characters – primarily the small core staff at the sauna, as well as a few of the regular clients – with slightly more depth than you’d expect from their initially superficial “gay scene” personas.And yet, on occasions, the show feels just a little too honed; for example, there’s something just too “neat” in Ireland-Reeves’s time at the West End Sauna lasting one week shy of a full year. Not that I’m saying this isn’t true: it just has the feel of a writerly contrivance to give more impact to his narrative.Nicknamed “Danny Boy” by the staff, Ireland-Reeves quickly rose up the ranks to sauna manager and certainly appears to have taken the job seriously; if there’s one thing we don’t get distracted by in Sauna Boy, it’s any sense of the rest of his life outside the West End Sauna’s doors. (Given the mentions of 12+ hour shifts, this is hardly surprising. Nevertheless, at one point, it’s genuinely startling when Ireland-Reeves mentions choosing to leave his car in the car park and walk home to “cool down” after a particularly stressful day. He owned a car?)Ireland-Reeves has, undoubtedly, created a very enjoyable show; it provides a fascinating glimpse of a unique and self-contained world built on secrecy, desire and – at least for the sauna’s “regulars” – a genuine sense of shared history and community. Thanks to his skill as both writer and performer, we genuinely grow to care about the coterie of characters he describes, in no small way supported by finely tuned stage lighting and sound cues.I just wish everything wasn’t quite so… “neat”.

Release your grief and conquer cancer through pulsating discos and wild workouts in an endless round of partying. That’s the message of Sarah Asante Gregory and performer/co-writer Bex Wall in Life Would Be Pretty Dull Without Sex, Raves and MDMA at theSpace at Surgeons Hall.If that sounds wild and outrageous, it’s because it is. As Wall says: “This story comes from somewhere real. It’s about the weird, unspoken places grief takes us – and how music, madness and human connection can carry us through.” Gregory adds: “We’ve created something raw and ridiculous, but also deeply human. It’s not about tidy answers – it’s about being seen in the mess.”Wall’s slick, psychedelic, leotard-clothed body gyrates to the sounds of the 90s, seemingly possessed of more energy than she knows what to do with. She tries to expend it all in this 50-minute romp, but by the end there is a sense she could do it all again. Her powerhouse performance is unrelenting as we tour raves around Europe, but nowhere can she escape the two fiends that fill her mind.A frenetic lifestyle is precisely what her deceased brother would have wanted her to embrace. It was exactly how he lived and died – in a drug-fuelled, alcohol-driven, sex-ridden excess of partying and clubbing. Her own end might come differently, however, given her breast cancer diagnosis. For her, life is a battle on two fronts, as she lives with a duo of demons who are as likely to attack her head on the dancefloor as they are in the tranquillity of her home or on a lonely walk.The joy of this highly personal show is its life-affirming message and refusal to become self-centred or self-indulgent. There is no navel-gazing morbidity, but rather a challenge to defy the odds. Her dance may be physically on the floor, but mentally it hip-hops between letting go and holding on, as her head grapples with the complexities of grief, the guilt of survival and the joy that can come from embracing both.The show is full of contradictions: of finding alternative answers to a situation; of looking tragedy and misfortune in the face and standing up to them; of defying the obvious. This is a raw and brutally honest dive into life as it is, legal or not. Wall wears her heart on her sleeve, gives it everything and dares you to join her in the dance of life and death.

The year is 1941. France is occupied by the Nazis, who wield significant influence in North African Casablanca. A stream of desperate refugees clamour to leave for America, but only the rich or powerful can hope to make it. European flotsam and jetsam gravitate to Morocco – but once there, they wait. And while they wait, everybody comes to Rick’s…There is an art deco-style set at the lovely Ghillie Dhu venue that evokes memories for anyone who has seen the film – and it’s utterly charming.A chanteuse takes to the stage and performs three songs from the era, including the iconic As Time Goes By.But then the action really begins. What follows is, in essence, a series of key moments from the film: the hustler Ugarte has letters of transit for sale, which more or less guarantee safe passage to America. These are subsequently acquired by club owner Rick Blaine. Freedom fighter Victor Laszlo and his partner, Ilsa Lund, seek to buy them – however, Blaine and Lund have a romantic history, and it’s far from certain he will play ball. All this plays out against the backdrop of the Nazis’ attempts to prevent Laszlo’s departure.The film's central themes of love, sacrifice and moral dilemma are timeless, and it remains a much-loved classic. Yet do not expect a faithful reproduction of the film here. Casablanca: The Gin Joint Cut is a distillation of the action, paying homage to the original, and is interspersed with little-known snippets about the film’s creation. The cast multitask, switching characters and settings in a heartbeat. It is a fusion of drama, comedy, slapstick, song and music – and it works quite beautifully.There is a joy to hearing some of the classic quotes: “The Germans wore grey, you wore blue,” and “Here’s looking at you, kid.” There is also a storming and uplifting rendition of La Marseillaise, complete with audience participation.The pace of the show is relentless, and the quality of performances very strong. Catch it if you can…

Like many Scottish working-class kids, my first brush with theatre was the yearly panto. We’d be packed into a bus from the Borders, courtesy of the factory my dad worked at, and shipped up to the King’s Theatre for their annual slice of festive mayhem. Looking back, it almost certainly sowed the seeds of my love of drama. She’s Behind You, Johnny McKnight’s solo turn at the Traverse, reconnects with that wide-eyed wonder – yet refuses to leave its politics at the stage door.Conceived for the Cameron Lectures in association with the University of Glasgow and the Royal Conservatoire of Scotland, it glides through seventy-five brisk minutes of autobiography, song and sly scholarship, mapping a life spent inside Scotland’s most raucous art form and highlighting the knots he’s determined to untie: cheap homophobic gags, lazy racial caricatures, tired body jokes.John Tiffany's direction keeps the onstage action agile – simple props, sharp lighting cues, a tempo that privileges momentum over pageant. The delight lies in McKnight’s gear shifts: one beat he’s mining pop culture for belly laughs, the next he’s pinpointing exactly where a punchline should land so it “punches up”. His physical clowning and dance feel unforced, the patter honed but loose enough for unexpected sparks.If the piece betrays its lecture-hall origins in places – an occasional explanatory cul-de-sac slows the sprint – it never stays scholarly for long. McKnight’s instinct for carnival wins out, leaving the audience buzzing with both nostalgia and a sharpened social compass. By the curtain call, he’s proved that panto’s broad canvas can still carry sophisticated arguments without losing its anarchic heart.With material that feels both familiar and fresh, She’s Behind You is a fierce reminder that tradition only endures when it evolves – and that nothing cuts through theory like a well-timed quip about getting lucky with an audience member.

Jamie is a good lad: devoted to family and football, a passion he shares with his father. Even his mother has a Saltire flag on a stick she waves throughout every Scotland game.Together, they had planned to attend the opening game of the 2024 European Championship between Scotland and Germany in Munich, but they suffer a setback and the trip is called off. Jamie is devastated, but doesn’t give up on the idea. What follows, in Nick it for Munich at Greenside@George Street, is Jamie’s quest to see the game while handling family and friends in a series of incidents – some of which help him on his way, others that block his path, divert him or draw on every ounce of ingenuity he possesses.The play is written and performed by Aric Hanscomb-Ryrie, a talented emerging artist from Edinburgh, and was developed with the aid of a Keep It Fringe bursary. He plays several roles in the 60-minute solo show as various characters converse with Nick, the sharply drawn central figure. Energy, physicality and humour abound as his story unfolds in a series of twists and turns that make for an engaging, well-paced narrative, delivered with clarity, strong projection and a ringing local accent.Director Aaron Clason draws out all the laddish elements while making Nick an endearing character, and – along with assistant director and movement coordinator Zoë Maunder – has used every inch of the tight space to create an animated production, complete with focused sound and music.Nick it for Munich is an unpretentious, well-told story, performed with passion and pride.

ENOUGH is a bold new drama that follows police recruit Irie as she battles systemic injustice within the Met. But beyond this, it forces us to examine our own prejudices and unconscious biases – exploring which behaviours we are prepared to excuse, and which we are quicker to condemn.The service has come in for a great deal of criticism in recent years – and the fact that almost all of it seems not only justified but long overdue is a shocking indictment of the people who are supposed to be the first and last bastion of civil protection. Following the watershed moment of Sarah Everard’s murder at the hands of a serving officer, more and more examples of corruption and abuse of power have hit the headlines – each one driving another nail into the reputational coffin of the police. With the Met – supposedly the nation’s premier law enforcers – frequently at the heart of these allegations, and repeated claims of assault and institutionalised misogyny, it is a scary time to be a female in need of help.ENOUGH is an episodic piece, perhaps more immediately suited to television in structure. The action unfolds across a series of short scenes that introduce us to the Sarge, Constable Chris and Constable Irie. Irie is new, bright-eyed, desperate to make a difference. But her colleagues are older and wearier – long immune to the charms of doing one’s best, and plodding their way to retirement with as little trouble and as much kickback as possible.Friendly banter, pub quizzes and the requisite reliance on coffee and doughnuts soon start to give way to lies, corruption, bullying and abuse. The piece is short, but so cleverly written that we initially doubt our reading of the circumstances before blaming the perpetrators – a phenomenon already grossly familiar to every woman in every uncomfortable situation ever.The acting is superb across the board, and has a way of seducing us into the worlds and motivations of the characters that threatens our own judgment when things turn nasty. This complicity is a key strength of a piece that is relentless in its layering of truths and uncompromising in its message. The three leads are well defined and distinct – and the final twist is a masterstroke of storytelling and audience manipulation.One of the play’s main aims is to give a voice to those who refuse to be silenced – and as the lights black out on the hopeful recruit brought low by the people she so wanted to be a part of, there is little doubt that it has succeeded.

Written, performed and composed by Jason Woods, Bing! is classified in the Fringe programme under “Theatre”, “Solo Show” and “New Writing” – all of which are entirely appropriate. This is undoubtedly a new-to-Edinburgh, one-man work of theatre. But it’s arguable that he’s potentially missing out in terms of audience by not also including “Children’s Shows”, because I’m sure there’ll be many children out there who would be captivated by this particular magical fantasy tale – although some under-fives might find parts of it genuinely too scary.Woods, in neat suit and long dark coat, initially stands erect before us like some noble theatrical impresario but, as his narrative progresses, he increasingly roams the stage, never failing to hit his mark for a character-styled lighting effect or sound cue. Additional effects and a John Williams-esque orchestral score – also Woods’ work – add up to a remarkably cinematic experience for a one-man work of theatre.Woods’ “mostly true” story – only some of the dates, such as the 34th of October, make you question the scenario – is pure fairy-tale. Our central character, Jasper, is looking for “his true family”, if only to “see his face” in actual relatives. In the course of his quest, he runs into: a blunt witch (herself searching for the Chamber of Priceless Objects) whose favourite magic word is “Bing!”; a mysterious, incredibly intimidating dragon; a vicious boo-hiss queen; and a destiny which he neither expected nor wanted, but reluctantly – heartbreakingly – comes to accept. “You didn’t ask for it, but it was given to you anyway,” he’s told at one point. Joseph Campbell, to be clear, would be proud.Yet while Woods risks cultural cliché in his plot, the details are fresh, the wordplay divine, and the telling often self-mocking – overall, this is a lot of fun. The gratuitously American (and Scottish) accents help – although I can’t help but think that Sir Ian McKellen’s lawyers might want to take note of Jasper’s adopted brother, the self-obsessed, aspiring actor Casper, never one to avoid mis-speaking a long word when a short one would’ve done.Overall, this is a surprisingly uplifting, feel-good work, and a prime example of what a single performer – albeit supported with great material and finely tuned theatrical effects – can do on an otherwise empty stage. Woods leads us on a magical journey – which even younger people deserve to experience. Just beware the “pasture of the deadly coos”.

We are all the Moonkid. At least that’s how it feels watching them stand awkwardly at a party, alone with a red solo cup. Their glowing, round mask is remarkably expressive, and Lucy Ellis, the performer behind it, masters the physicality to punctuate these beautifully sombre moments.Moonkid shifts between four characters: the titular Moonkid, a wilderness safety coach, a pretentious poet and a horny nun. Though wildly different in tone, Ellis connects them all through themes of loneliness, wonder and yearning.My personal favourite is Moonkid – I could happily watch a five-hour show of the Moon going about their daily life – but the other characters bring plenty of comedic charm. The audience is often laughing at Ellis’s quick wit and inventiveness, while the vulnerability they carry through every role is undeniable.This is unmissable alt-comedy, delivered with a rare mix of earnestness and heart. Make your way to Hoots at Potterrow for an authentic Fringe experience from a singularly skilled and utterly delightful performer.

Dan Boerman has one of the most Fringe entrances to his tiny venue that I’ve ever seen: he kicks the doorstop out, walks to the back of the room, announces himself, and walks to the front. A strong start that sets the tenor for the show.Boerman has rocketed to Fringe-wide recognition (hopefully) thanks to pre-Festival flyers promising he would fold a fitted sheet by himself on Calton Hill, for free. More than a thousand people turned up, and it’s to be hoped the exposure is paying off. Tonight, the smaller space in Hoots on the Grassmarket was pretty packed.Great stand-up thrives on audience input, and Boerman was absolutely rolling. He absorbed a DEFCON-5 alarm from the front row, worked it into his set, and was able to callback just enough while playing into his other material.“Do not worry, it will be about a fitted sheet eventually,” is the line he used to keep the crowd as he wove through hilarious stories of coming out of a long-term relationship, the class struggles inherent in John Lewis (who, he hopes, won’t cancel him), and the existential philosophy of four-year-olds.Boerman manages to be supremely confident and just a little bashful – vulnerable even as he laughs at himself. He’s a charismatic and chaotic comedian who keeps the crowd howling and hyperventilating, even as he loses the thread of his performance. Whether it was deliberate or not is beside the point – if he’s able to navigate forgetting an early through-line that handily, then it doesn’t matter. The essence of truly excellent stand-up is the ability to roll with the punches, improvise, and keep your feet. Dan Boerman and his fitted sheet have that in spades.He’s now moved to the UK after his first Fringe appearance last year, and by his third, I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s taking home awards. I can’t bloody wait.

I settled into the comfy seats at Edinburgh’s Dynamic Earth, excited to see how they would incorporate video into the planetarium to enhance one of the greatest albums of all time, Pink Floyd’s The Dark Side of the Moon. A couple of other people have already reviewed the album itself, so I won’t go into much detail about the music (needless to say – would recommend), other than to mention that the sound quality was stunning, and with the enhancements I was able to pick out lyrics in quieter sections I had never heard before. A good start.I had high hopes for the video companion to the album, and Dynamic Earth did not disappoint. They guided us on a stunning journey across the galaxy, with crisp detail at every stop. From the textures as we hovered over the moon during On the Run, to the clockwork mobile of Time, then speeding through the rings of Saturn for 12 parsecs at 1.5 times the speed of light, this was everything we could have hoped for. Every beat of the video was in perfect sync with the music – just think how much better The Wizard of Oz would have been if it had had the foresight to match Pink Floyd’s rhythm so harmoniously.I did feel a little let down at the avoidance of explosive imagery to coincide with the crescendo of The Great Gig in the Sky (the high point of the album for me), but all was forgiven with the next track, as we were put in the perspective of astronauts floating weightlessly in a tin can far above the moon, before being transported into a Tron-like world during Money.At various points, we were treated to psychedelic bursts of colour and sea creature-like figures dancing through the cosmos. It did, at times, feel as though there were creative depths the team could have plumbed further, given the infinite possibilities available to the imagination, and the ticket price is around 25% higher than it should be.The Planetarium Lates: Pink Floyd’s The Dark Side of the Moon is a stunning reimagining of a contender for the high point of 20th-century musical artistry that cannot fail to impress. It is also a great opportunity to introduce your children to what proper music sounds like, so here’s hoping it makes its way to the groundbreaking 3D planetarium at We The Curious in Bristol – surely England’s best science museum – and to every other worthy screen around the nation.

Surprises are not uncommon in shows, but the way Almost Everything suddenly takes off past the halfway mark is stunning.It’s also interesting that a theatre company of young people has opted for a naturalistic, domestic drama complete with matching set, neatly and authentically designed by Tiffany Yu. The sofa, the occasional table with chairs and a chessboard, and another with drinks immediately place us in a comfortable apartment. It belongs to Charlie. He’s an architect, currently looking for a new flatmate, and is conducting interviews. Some he’s dismissed and others have pulled out, which leaves Becca, who is perhaps something of a gamble, but by now he has little choice, and she is determined to move in.Perhaps inevitably, the extent to which living under the same roof can remain a professional landlord–tenant relationship comes into question. Can cohabiting remain purely platonic, or is romance in the air? Will Becca’s excessive drinking and active social life prove too much for Charlie? Scenes move on apace, with incidents building up and the relationship becoming more complex but still leaving uncertainty as to where all this might be leading.Then Becca’s older sister, Emily, arrives on the scene, and the dynamics change – not just in the household. After she is established as a character, events pile up, and an eruption occurs with a devastating wedding speech. Thereafter, the tension mounts, relationships rise and fall, and a couple of twists elevate the drama to a powerfully new level. “Wow! Where did that come from?”The play is written by Lauren Barrie (Becca) and Ben McGuinness (Charlie), who, together with Imogen Eden-Brown, give solid, impassioned performances under the neat direction of Graham Newell. They all benefit from the quality of the realistic conversational writing, clear characterisation, and a well-developed plot.

Have you ever been so frustrated with life that the only way to deal with it is to scream into the void? What if it turned out that the void was listening? This black comedy, from Seattle-based Coconspirator Theatre, showcases the true horror of a modern woman expected to do everything and the existential crisis that follows. It’s a feeling that may be all too relatable to many in the audience.Leah hosts an extravagant Halloween party every year, but it’s all getting a bit much. With no help in sight, particularly from her long-term boyfriend, and work deadlines looming, it would be easier to just cancel the whole thing. But when The Void arrives offering to sponsor the party, Leah might find a way to make it all work. This play is a thoughtful exploration of endings, feminism and what it means to be consumed, or should I say... devoured.Most of the play has a repressed middle-class dinner party comedy style reminiscent of Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf, God of Carnage or 2:22 A Ghost Story for a more recent example. This sub-genre requires sharp writing and subtle tensions in character relationships. For the most part, writer and director Melanie Godsey does an excellent job of pulling this off. Where the show really comes into its own, though, is the psychosexual element. The unresolved lust hangs potently in the space as Leah seems slowly more and more seduced by the prospect of the void.The acting performances are strong. Jed Mathre plays a boyfriend so convincingly gross and dislikeable the actor was booed when he came back on stage to give the post-show thanks. Bringing an elegant, poised and terrifyingly surly presence to the stage is Jenifer Ewing as The Void. The sort of horror villain that isn’t really a villain at all and makes you think maybe the end won’t be so scary. After all, a woman’s place is in the void.

A strong performance from a dynamic and skilled cast, Loose Threads is a homage to the nightclub cloakroom assistant – a faceless figure many people will admit they’ve never given a second thought to, perhaps other than being slightly annoyed when asked to pay £2 to hand over their coat.Framing the cloakroom assistant as the protagonist creates an intriguing perspective from the start, offering a fresh outlook on the subsequent interactions between the attendant and the myriad of characters that darken his door throughout the performance. With only a four-person cast and a significant amount of quick changes and multi-roling, I initially worried there might not be enough distinction between characters. However, credit is due to the three actors who managed their transitions deftly and delivered each character with conviction.While the interactions with nightclub staff and customers take centre stage, a sombre subplot involving a recent trauma in the cloakroom assistant’s life underpins the piece. This layering of narrative adds a welcome sense of purpose and kept me guessing right to the end. In plays under an hour, there’s always a risk that emotive subplots can feel underdeveloped, but I wouldn’t say there was any need for more interrogation here – especially within a Fringe context.The staging is simple but effective, sensibly leaving little to distract from the actors. Likewise, the space is small but intimate, an ideal atmosphere to immerse yourself in the mind of the cloakroom assistant, lurking in the almost surreal, liminal space between the outside world and the frivolity of the nightclub proper. Loose Threads is an example of good, comedic writing and well-paced amateur theatre – exactly the kind of show to indulge in at the Fringe.

Always, Sometimes, Maybe is the clown show I’ve been looking for all Fringe. Subtle, gentle, energetic, funny, with just a hint of sadness and a perspective that keeps the audience riveted. I frequently found myself leaning in, even as it felt the principal performer was reaching back to seek connection.Michele Stine mainly depicts an endearing janitor who turns trash into treasure and makes the mundane into art. With the aid of puppets, also made from cast-offs, and well-tuned miming, they give life to the remaining cast. It all comes together in a giggle-worthy spectacle that will have you smiling fondly as you leave, and perhaps taking a chance on new friends. It is not grand or heavy on effects, but the best clowning isn’t – and this is top-tier clowning full of soul. Mixing the frantic with the gentle, loudness with softness, we get a fun-filled show with room for tremendous depth.The show begins simply, with a headtorch providing the only illumination, before clap-on lights startle the clown by revealing the audience. We walk through the day-to-day of a lonesome janitor, who doesn’t initially seem sad. In fact, the performance is upbeat throughout, if a little timid at times. You can tell from the earnestness of the character that they desperately want to share their findings and favourites – especially with the children in the audience, who were immediately engaged in helping sort loot from leavings in the pile of rubbish. By the end they’re almost conducting surgery, such is the sense of trust and comfort that Stine creates with their expressive features and joyful manner.As we explore deeper, we find things that Stine and their characters struggle with – making friends, or even small talk for two. It somehow manages to stay fun even as we share tender moments of what it feels like to be a little different. The latter half of the show reads like a love letter to the neurodiverse and to those who struggle with acting “normal” when that doesn’t come easily. Without ever using labels such as autistic or ADHD, Stine gives a beautiful and vulnerable performance of what it is to exist outside the norm, the struggles that entails, and the reassurance that it is okay regardless of how difficult it may be day to day. It leads by implication, tugging heartstrings by leaving much unsaid. It doesn’t need to be said – it is written large in everything depicted.Always, Sometimes, Maybe is exceptionally entertaining clowning. It isn’t too on the nose with its message, but rewards those paying close attention.

It is a brave choice for a monologue to thread its narrative frequently with: “But we don’t talk about that.”The particular “thats” in question are varied, but what they share in common are the ways in which women’s lives and experiences are so often denigrated or ignored by systems – especially medical systems – that are invariably designed by men.“Not being believed is part of the package,” performer and writer Olivia Ormond says at one point, as she condenses six years of physical pain – which doctors couldn’t explain or mitigate – into a sharply felt, direct-to-audience monologue. What doesn’t help her situation is that, for reasons she goes on to explain, Ormond had spent most of her life “trying to be smaller, to disappear” – physically as much as psychologically, with the operational scars to prove it.Yet now, for the sake of her own mental health, she needs to deal with the pain, to hopefully get it diagnosed and treated – she needs, in short, to be noticed and understood. But that also means being recognised as a person; as more than a set of symptoms, scan results and numbers. She needs to be actually heard in the silence that inevitably follows giving her medical history for the umpteenth time.Although based on Ormond’s own life experiences, this is far from a diatribe about medical gaslighting or the gender health gap – her approach is both subtle and rounded, as she reveals the numerous, sometimes contradictory layers of a woman so frustrated by the failings of the medical profession that she swore never to return to the “sticky blue seats” of the nondescript medical reception room – and yet, a year later, found herself back in their grasp once again.Ormond intertwines memories of childhood and of her relationship with her mother with some subtlety. As a writer, she gives herself room; as a performer, she reveals depth with minimum fanfare in terms of production. The set is a chair and clipboard; the lighting cues, under director Juju Jaworski, the only overt theatricality, naturally support the transitions in time and focus.Ormond doesn’t always project her voice to the back of the room – and it’s not a large room – but her movements and stillness are concise and telling, contributing to a performance that lingers in the memory far more strongly than you might initially expect.

The play opens with two friends, Natasha and Judith, discussing ideas for putting on a show – the show we are watching. That may sound like a novice fringe piece, but Chunky Jewellery is far from self-indulgent, and very far from unskilled: like the best theatre, it performs the alchemy of turning the specific into the universal.There is plenty of comedy as Natasha and Jude try out different ideas (all brilliantly performed) such as live looping Ed Sheeran-style, and 60s songs like Then He Kissed Me. But these are abandoned for either comic reasons (Jude did not meet her bloke across a dance hall but on Tinder) or because they develop into areas that are too painful (“too much of a downer”) for the show they have in mind.There seems to be no limit to the talents of the performers – there is clowning, dancing, singing, comedy – or touching the heart with pity and quiet sadness as the stories of the friends’ turbulent year are revealed.The stories explore the lives of women, particularly the joys and, in this specific year for these women, the pain of being a daughter and a mother: the stresses of bringing up children alone; the sorrows of break-ups; finding out you are pregnant just as your mother is dying; the ache of disappointed and failed relationships; the guilt of feeling you are failing your children or disappointing your parents.Often, even the moments of greatest solidarity between the two friends hide individual problems and pain.This sounds gloomier than the show is, because it is mixed with comedy, friendship and the joy of performance. But it is refreshing to see the lives of mothers – the good and the bad – presented with such realistic, unvarnished truth, and with no easy answers.A key scene is when the friends chat about Natasha's present of a chunky necklace – the sort of gift mothers receive as they approach middle age. The final scene turns those presents given by loved ones into a ceremony that movingly celebrates the multitude of mothers’ roles, and the strength found to meet them.

A Minor Theft follows the story of Sophie (Beth Mullen, as both writer and performer), a young woman who briefly kidnaps a baby from the local town centre. Although the concept could easily veer into the horrifying, Mullen’s approach is lighter in tone. Sophie, we quickly learn, has no ill intent towards the child; instead, she’s driven by irritation at what she sees as poor parenting by the ‘neglectful’ mother, who seems more interested in chain-smoking than caring for the infant, which, despite being only six to nine months old, already has a broken arm. The situation, though morally dubious, is framed as an impulsive act rooted in a distorted sense of care.In this stripped-back one-woman show, Sophie tries her best to care for the baby, buying her warmer clothes and making sure she’s comfortable. Mullen’s script is well-crafted and sincere, balancing moments of humour with a gradually unfolding emotional undercurrent. We come to understand Sophie’s history and motivations over time, with the narrative revealing just enough at each step to keep us engaged without cheap twists. As a performer, Mullen is charismatic, emotionally agile, and at times electric. With Baby Clementine represented by either a pushchair or a raincoat, she draws the audience fully into the relationship between woman and child.Sophie’s monologues are often comedic, her dry observations and wry delivery masking a far more morose interior world. The writing smartly uses Sophie’s growing rage toward the child’s mother to build tension and guide us toward the final reveal. Mullen shows admirable control in letting the emotional weight land when it matters. Ultimately, A Minor Theft is a sharp, succinct, and affecting play about motherhood, denial, and grief.

Being asked to compose a rhyming couplet about a stranger was an unwelcome reminder of high school English for a lunchtime Fringe comedy set. Thankfully, the comparison between Trevor Lock’s new show How to Drink a Glass of Water and third-set English class ends there, sort of. Equal parts intellectual and banal, Lock takes the audience on a philosophical and personal journey in his first written show since 2011.Questions about how the audience discovered his show quickly derail into confessional, honest declarations that come in the form of questions for the crowd. Lock writes new definitions of letters from the dictionary, imagines a series of surreal hipster restaurants and creates a long list rewriting Shakespeare’s line All the World’s a Stage. Even without a microphone (blame the Fringe mafia for that one) Lock sweeps the audience up in a series of questions, lists and instructions that feel almost like poetic or comedic exercises. From pooing in someone else’s house to feeling like you’ve never truly been known by anyone else, there is sure to be something that rings true in this beautiful hour of comedy.Lock is known for his comedy shows that revolve around audience participation, such as Community Circle, the highly praised interactive social experiment that has appeared regularly at the Fringe since 2017. Although we are invited to put our hands up and share in his frank honesty, Lock also seems content to let the audience sit back and let him take the reins. When he eventually reads out the couplets, they are made touching and funny more by his spot-on delivery than the poems themselves.Prompted by a misspelt text, Lock imagines his life flashing before his eyes in a captivating final sequence. This is something a bit different for Lock, a show that reveals more about the comedian himself than the audience member sitting next to us. Switching masterfully between philosophical musings, spot-on observations and personal confessions about relationships and bodily functions, Lock seems well within his comfort zone despite the new territory.Combining humour and poetry, this brand-new comedy set will have you wondering why Trevor Lock isn’t a household name. Lock’s style of comedy feels like what the classroom could have been in an alternate reality if school was entertaining and taught you how to live your life. Part stand-up, part brazen confessional spoken word, forget genre and leave expectations at the door in this beautiful and poetic hour of comedy.

Like a warm cuddle and a folk gig all in one, Michelle Burke’s Mind How You Go is an utterly charming way to spend an hour. Weaving stories of her childhood in Ireland together with her family’s past, it illustrates how where we come from impacts where we go.The stories of her family’s legacy are scattered with joy as well as sadness. From prison stints to joining nunneries, she presents an intriguing lineage. As she tells each story, she places a representative item onto a wooden ladder which remains centre stage throughout. As the tableau of items builds, it forms almost a shrine to her personal heritage – a beautiful image and a delight to watch slowly build.Burke has a voice that feels as much a part of her storytelling as her words. Warm, lilting and steeped in character, it carries an easy intimacy that draws you in whether she’s spinning a tale or launching into song. The songs themselves are taken from Burke’s forthcoming album, set for release this autumn. On stage, these tracks feel lived-in. At its strongest moments the melodies feel like they have been passed down through the generations, yet still breathe with the freshness of personal ownership. Songs such as The Crow show real depth of lyricism and will stay with you long after you leave the room. Some of the lighter material, while providing a nice contrast in the theatrical setting, simply do not carry the same sort of musical weight. All the songs, however, connect seamlessly with her spoken material, blurring the lines between concert and storytelling in a way that feels entirely organic.The overall effect is something quietly magical: a collage of memory, music and meaning. You leave not only with a clearer picture of Burke’s own history, but with a gentle reminder of the threads that bind all of us to those who came before. Without any grandeur or big gimmicks, Mind How You Go is a testament to folk tradition and the strength of simply good craft.

In The Anti “Yogi”, Mayuri Bhandari takes a graceful but firm swing at the yoga-industrial complex – and lands it.This solo theatrical show weaves together dance, drama, multimedia and a transcendent live percussion score from Neel Agrawal to unpack the contradictions of Westernised yoga culture through the lens of Bhandari’s Indian-American Jainist identity.With lithe physicality, Bhandari plays a younger version of herself – dancer and yoga practitioner – navigating the spiritual emptiness that often fills Western yoga spaces: all figure-hugging aesthetic, no awareness.Effortlessly transitioning through yoga poses and varied character work, Bhandari dramatises the absurdity of practising yoga with classmates who treat it as little more than a way to burn off their kale smoothies.In reflective moments, she calls on the wisdom of Hindu deities, instigating a conversation between Buddha and an LA-accented Krishna to explore what happens when a spiritual practice rooted in compassion, discipline and devotion becomes a commodified lifestyle.In her fiercely choreographed portrayal of the goddess Kali – a figure of both destruction and renewal – she strikes a powerful symbol of cultural reclamation, set to Doja Cat’s provocative Paint the Town Red.Reminding me of a dramatic Hollywood version of Nadia Gilani’s book The Yoga Dissident, Bhandari’s takedown of whitewashed yoga is equally biting in its critique. Though intended to awaken ‘wogis’ (white yogis) to the error of their ways, the show isn’t patronising; it’s immersive and emotionally alive, drawing us into the struggle to decolonise and re-centre a practice that’s been stripped of its soul.If at times the show over-explains, its impassioned, richly layered story asks no forgiveness. Instead, Bhandari is resolute in her message: yoga is not a £100 pair of leggings set to a playlist of lo-fi mantras in a sage-filled studio. It is a spiritual discipline. A radical act of mindfulness. A practice of compassion and non-violence towards all beings. Exactly what we need most.

Why did a young boy, born in the Philippines and subsequently brought up in Hawaii, fall in love with music composed by long-dead European white men? The answer – and indeed the consequences – are at the heart of Jeremy Rafal’s sparkling solo show, The Boy from Bantay. That said, for those in a hurry, he essentially answers the question in the first 10 minutes – because he first heard – and fell in love with – some of the most beautiful works of western culture thanks to their somewhat unexpected inclusion in, of all things, 1950s Warner Brothers cartoons.However, it’s definitely worth staying for the rest of the show. In some respects, Rafal’s subsequent musical biography isn’t particularly surprising. Through a mixture of sharply defined characterisations – of family members, friends and music teachers – plus extracts of the music he’s come to love, he succinctly summarises his school days, his continuing piano lessons in Hawaii, and his growing determination to become a classical pianist.Under the direction of Josh Boerman, Rafal successfully carries us along, but the fact remains that the potentially big emotional hit – that this plan didn’t ultimately work out – hardly comes as a surprise. After all, Rafal is not some globally famous soloist performing with an internationally acclaimed orchestra at this year’s Edinburgh International Festival; instead, he’s performing a self-penned one-man show in a relatively small, very hot room on the Fringe. Though it’s almost overlooked that he eventually did earn his doctorate in piano performance.A central on-stage metaphor throughout the show is the continuing tick of a metronome, used most frequently during the unending practice sessions that form the foundations of his art; a constant reminder, as he puts it, that time moves on with or without you. This line is potentially pushed a little too far on occasions, but equally we see Rafal’s character arc as he learns to not just live with this imposition, but to face it full on – along with the grief he had previously preferred to push away.Rafal is an engaging, full-hearted performer, and his story is one of incident and colour, told with passion, humour and skill. As a theatrical package, he and the show are pretty irresistible.

Darkfield is a company worth keeping an eye on. They are creating some groundbreaking immersive experiences that place each audience member at the centre of their own narrative. Arcade is an experience unlike any I’ve had at the Fringe before, and must be experienced in person to truly appreciate what they have created.The venue is a shipping container on Potterrow lined with arcade machines. On entering, we are briefed that this is a mostly auditory experience in which you are immersed in darkness, guided through a story with headphones, and given the choice to answer “yes” or “no” with the push of a button, as well as to insert coins at various points to drive the story in a Choose Your Own Adventure style.Arcade transports you into a dystopian world where you play Milk, navigating life-threatening decisions through a series of storyline options. I believe the ultimate goal is to get on a boat to safety, but the two times I played it I ended up with a treacherous doctor, or being celebrated at a fateful post-assassination party. Playing through twice really helped me appreciate how much has gone into creating this world, and the many ways that simple decisions can play out. It has as much replay value as seeing your favourite improviser or variety line-up multiple times during the Fringe, and you’re guaranteed to leave wanting to go straight back in and do it all over again.The world they create is dark and as well imagined as you could hope within the 20-minute runtime, with dramatic dialogue and unpredictable shifts in action with each decision you make. At times there is a bit too long between decisions, and as everyone’s story needs to terminate at the same time, conclusions can be abrupt.The tech is flawless, with excellent sound quality that takes full advantage of stereo, flashes of light and sprays of water when someone is shot near you. I think there was a wind effect too, though it was mild. There are probably opportunities for more of a 5DX experience – perhaps future iterations could include vibrating floor panels, smells or even an electric shock handle to further enhance the immersion.Darkfield have been ambitious with Arcade, and succeeded in their mission to create a memorable story with plenty of paths, brought to life with high-quality machinery that pushes the potential to its limits. It’s short and runs throughout the day, so keep an eye out for both the event and the company in future festivals, as you should be able to fit it in between shows. But make sure you leave enough time in your schedule for a second visit.

Let Edinburgh come alive in front of your eyes in a very different way. Instead of seeing the world through the sights, see it through words. Edinburgh becomes a whole new world when walking around places that might easily be missed when you are able to see it through the lens of the poetic word.Local Edinburgh poet Ken Cockburn hosts the literary walking tour of Edinburgh – Embro, and through this, he showed me an Edinburgh alive with literature. Using poetry, Cockburn brings to light the history of Edinburgh through the eyes of poets like Victor Hugo, Edwin Morgan, and even prose from Dorothy Wordsworth. This tour has it all. I was able to see an Edinburgh I had not imagined I would see and was enraptured from the beginning.Throughout the tour the poems become an integral part of understanding Edinburgh. Each stop has history and someone to tell that story, moving through time with every poet. Cockburn made a tour that revealed it is one thing to see Edinburgh and another thing to feel Edinburgh. Each poem or literary piece provided a new perspective to have on some of Edinburgh’s most famous spots, such as Holyrood Palace, Arthur’s Seat, and more. Cockburn himself presents a deep passion for the information he is presenting, always allowing time for questions, comments, and pictures of the sights.This tour allows for seeing Edinburgh through the eyes of others – both through their real eyes and imagined ones. Though it may be a niche not everyone will fill it is certainly worth checking out if the idea of viewing Edinburgh through the words of someone else piques your interest this is certainly for you. It also allows for those deeply fascinated in poetry to find another great Edinburgh spot – the Scottish Poetry Library. So, if poetry, history, and a little bit of Scottish architecture is something you love then think about taking a walk through Edinburgh along with the famous poets Ken Cockburn brings along from history.

As my group of co-agents and I sat in the waiting lounge of the Royal Scots Club, we were greeted by an utterly adorable recruiting agent who came to set the scene. She was a fun and quirky character, and I was intrigued to spend the next 50 minutes with her. However, she was only there to introduce our main agent, Agent Noble, played by Nathan Glover, director of the multi-show theatrical escape room company Agent November. Getting into suspicious-spy mode, I strongly suspect that the lady was meant to be our host, but her handler had her stand down to represent the company as he knew there was a reviewer present. Treachery was afoot. This was disappointing, as I have reviewed him before and wanted to see what his minions could deliver, but I still could not fault Agent Noble in his guidance through the journey.His faux-suave agent guided us stealthily into the venue, where he revealed we had all been poisoned (dum dum dummm) and had just half an hour to solve the clues, crack the case, and find the cure. After an intriguing video introduction explaining the high stakes and crime details, the eight poisonees explored the room to complete puzzles, open padlocks, gather evidence, and conclude the story. The clues are wide-ranging and take the correct amount of time, controlled perfectly to nearly bamboozle puzzle-solving newcomers while still not allowing seasoned experts to fly through.The storyline wraps up neatly, showing that the writing is carefully considered as a counterpart to the puzzle element for which the show was selected. It treads the line perfectly between being engaging and not over-indulgent, and having a live actor with us really enhances the experience. There are no major flaws, but there is perhaps more space for ‘wow-factor’ puzzles with advanced tech or concepts that stretch closer towards the ever-raising glass ceiling of what can be achieved in interactive entertainment across the Fringe.Agent November has four shows of varying lengths running multiple times throughout the day. I have seen two now and feel confident recommending them all, as the company can certainly be relied upon to create high-quality immersive and intellectually challenging escape theatre.

Grand Guignol de Milan, fresh from their recent triumphant, award-winning show at Prague Fringe, export a further series of vignettes, all with a distinctly Italian flavour and themed around the company’s stated raison d’être to revive Italian horror stories.Gianfilippo Lamberti takes to the stage, elegantly attired and with horns on his forehead. The Devil is the host and puppetmaster for the evening; however, he is interrupted by Salvatore (Lorenzo Balducci), not only raising religious concerns, but questioning the validity of the genre itself. The first scene is as much a historical reminder as anything else: the tale of Italian mummification, with its origins covering the peninsula from the Po Valley to the Capuchin Catacombs in Palermo.The action ramps up significantly next, with the tale of The Woman in Black. While we are familiar with the modern take on this story, its roots lie in Milan, where according to legend a woman in black stalked and murdered unsuspecting people on foggy nights.Bram Stoker’s infamous nineteenth century tale was not only a classic in its own right, its influence has proven pervasive for a century and a quarter since and shows no signs of relenting. Cinema, radio, television and literature. Yet, the origins of the vampire story are also Italian and the third vignette introduces a vampire from Bergamo (Stefano Comotti).Salvatore’s dialogues with the Devil continue to punctuate the scenes and he is still unconvinced about the storytelling. However, Lucifer has left the most alarming to last, with a version of Frankenstein. The novel was conceived in Geneva, but once again with significant Italian influence, this time from the San Severo area of Naples. The outstanding Michelangiola Torriani delivers a physical masterclass breathing life, in a somewhat unexpected way, into a reanimated corpse.The storytelling is, on the whole, sharp once the production hits its stride after a somewhat languid start. All the performers are versed in physical theatre and the ensemble is tight, fluid and displays excellent comedic timing, at times perhaps even improvised. The troupe use mime, clowning and physical theatre adeptly, with Torriani’s marionette being a highlight.The company’s creative goals and some stylistic choices may not quite speak to everyone outside of Italy, but this is a fine production, delivered by genuinely skilled performers.We may not have too much sympathy for the Devil, but tonight at Edinburgh Fringe we were most assuredly pleased to meet him.

Paldem appears to be the story of a young couple, enjoying modern life with a healthy and vibrant sex life. Things take a turn, however, when Kevin (Michael Workeye) records one of these sessions with Megan (Tash Cowley) on his video camera. It is a little unclear whether this was unintentional and whether it was livestreamed via OnlyFans (a subscription-based pornography internet platform).Whatever the intention, Megan is turned on by the idea and curious to explore further. The toothpaste can no longer be put back into the tube, and they inexorably dive down the paid-content rabbit hole. They begin streaming and success follows. They have more than 100,000 subscribers and are trending on various tags.And yet… how comfortable are they with their new world? The uncertainty ramps up when they agree to a foursome with an Italian couple (Lewis Peek and Daniela Manuwuike). As the Italian couple wait at the door, there are clear tells that they have not thought everything through. The Italians’ obvious comfort with this streaming and promiscuous environment is in sharp contrast with Kevin and Megan’s hesitancy.Time marches on. Kevin tells Megan he has a date later. Evidently their relationship is polyamorous, yet there is something unsaid in the stilted subsequent conversation, Kevin later conceding that he has invented the date.Megan, it subsequently transpires, is now in a relationship of sorts with George, a man of whom Kevin is contemptuous. But there is a further revelation to come, stretching whatever relationship they still have to its limits.This staging is bold, and credit to Zi Alikhan for the pace of the production. The script can perhaps be tweaked and will doubtless find its sweet spot.There is more than a hint of Pinter’s Betrayal embedded in this tale, not just at the heart of the story but in the silences and pauses, beautifully played by Cowley and Workeye. Paldem is a highly contemporary comedy-drama, but with age-old themes at its core. While it ostensibly is a glimpse into the voyeuristic world of online streaming, the essence of the play is the relationship between Megan and Kevin. Initially, they are playful and symbiotic, later uncertain, strained and dishonest. The arc of their relationship is adeptly performed, and its disintegration laid bare in the charged final moments.

The regal Music Hall at Assembly Halls fills early as anticipation builds for the concert ahead. 27 Club, as the name suggests – and as most audiences will know – pays homage to the famous musicians who died at the age of 27. For those unfamiliar, the list includes Janis Joplin, Amy Winehouse, Kurt Cobain, Jim Morrison and Jimi Hendrix.The live band, featuring Australia’s own rock icons Sarah McLeod (The Superjesus) and Kevin Mitchell (Jebediah), take the stage to perform some of music’s most famous and industry-shaping songs. Four vocalists rotate through the setlist, each capturing the distinct essence of the artists they represent.What immediately strikes audiences and performers alike is the mystery surrounding the number 27. These legendary songs will never again be sung by their original voices, silenced too early, but they live on in cultural memory – kept alive by tributes such as the 27 Club.More than just a rock concert, the show doubles as a living documentary. Between the music, the performers share stories and vital details from each artist’s life, creating a knowledgeable, insightful blend of live performance and cultural history.The room is filled with heads bobbing along as 27 Club delivers a heartfelt tribute and an electrifying experience, striking all the right notes in a dazzling display of skill and talent. It is a reminder not only of the music these artists left behind but of the fragility of genius and the legacy that continues to echo long after.

I have some terrible news: Twonkey has passed away. However, there is hope for fans of surreal humour, scruffy puppets and batty songs in the form of Twonkey’s heretofore unknown wife (now widow), Twonketta. Dressed in an outfit that screams naughty maid from a Carry On movie meets very low-budget Rocky Horror cosplay, Twonketta totters about the tiny stage at Dragonfly in fabulous heels, doing her best to continue her late husband’s legacy.All the regular gags are there, from the Ship’s Wheel of Knickers used to reveal the audience’s sexual proclivities and the play-within-a-play of the Transylvanian Finger Fantasy, to the supporting cast of fever-dream puppets – including the return of puppet Steve Martin, back to predict our future through the medium of his back catalogue of movies. We also get a couple of new characters, including Timothy Horsepiss, the fairground cat who is an inadequate ratter, and Cheeky Chips the fly, who revels in seeing all the things we do in private. All this is presented through the thick haze of some overenthusiastic smoke-machine use, which makes the show seem even more dreamlike than usual.There’s very little plot in the first half, but when the titular zip wire is eventually introduced, it’s in the form of a popular ride at a failing funfair where Twonketta’s own rollercoaster is falling behind. Some shenanigans involving sabotage and a faked death lead to a change in everyone’s fortunes but, as ever with a Twonkey show, the plot takes a backseat to the chaos.To say a show is ‘very Fringe’ is an easy (and often wrong) shorthand for anything weird, unusual or a bit out-there. In the case of Twonkey’s Zip Wire to Zanzibar, Twonkey continues to be the ‘Fringiest’ act on the Fringe.

The twins are back. Rather than mining for satire like last year, this time six-foot-seven identical twins Patrick and Hugo are on a mission to rid audiences of their fears. In a dark room in the belly of Underbelly Cowgate, a neon pear-shaped sign adorns the back wall of the stage, casting a distinct green light across the room. At centre stage sits a cauldron, along with a pen, paper and a note inviting audiences to write down their fears and place them inside. What happens next? You’ll have to face that fear yourself.Following last year’s Edinburgh Fringe debut success, Pear, which won over audiences and critics alike, Pear: Phobia feels like a long-awaited sequel. The pair burst onto the stage with a musical number before launching into a hilarious hour-long show featuring sketches, stand-up and improvised audience participation – often leading to the unexpected. Sketches are the twins’ forte, with about a dozen scenarios that will have the audience doubled over.The show leans into the unpredictable and the unknown, ensuring each performance is unique. Patrick and Hugo’s quick wit is on full display as they masterfully land each punchline. For fans, some sketches will feel familiar from last year’s Pear, now joined by fresh material – making for a thoroughly entertaining evening.

In Aether, TheatreGoose turn Summerhall’s Anatomy Lecture Theatre into a whirling dramatic accelerator where séance tables brush against particle detectors and ideas collide, leaving behind lasting impressions. Emma Howlett’s script darts between a present-day dark matter PhD candidate, a Victorian medium eager for credibility, an embattled illusionist, and the powerful echo of a silenced teacher from ancient times. The threads orbit each other with scientific precision, proving that big ideas needn’t eclipse character.Sophie Kean, Abby McCann, Anna Marks Pryce and Gemma Barnett swap roles at almost quark speed, mining both exuberant humour and bruised pathos from women’s sidelined contributions to science. Ellie Wintour’s clean, chalk-white set morphs with a swivel, while Ed Saunders bathes each timeline in spectral pools of light; together with Sarah Spencer’s supple score, the production acquires an atmosphere that flits between lecture hall and liminal haunt.There is a brief density spike during a particularly esoteric start. The opening section piles on the scientific references with abandon, so newcomers to physics may feel they’ve stumbled into a particularly cryptic piece of theatre. However, once Howlett shifts from exposition to propulsion, the play attains the clarity of a good lab result, making dark matter metaphors land with both intellectual heft and emotional zing.By the rousing finale, the audience is left contemplating Vera Rubin’s quiet revolution – and how many other invisible pioneers may yet tilt the cosmos. Aether doesn’t pretend to pinpoint the universe’s missing mass; it invites us to relish the chase for its discovery, and to honour those whose curiosity outran convention. That invitation rings out long after the house lights flare – proof that good theatre, like physics, thrives on the spaces between the known and the possible.

There are at least eight ways an opera diva can break a glass – and just one involves her vocal cords. Get ready to shatter your expectations of opera as an elite art form that requires well-trained sitting muscles, binoculars and a mortgage for tickets.The American soprano Steph DePrez, currently living in Berlin, is a rare breed: a Wagner-singing comedian. Her show is a masterclass in blending genres, as she effortlessly weaves her vocal talents with sharp wit and hilarious storytelling, making for a truly enjoyable Fringe experience.Though DePrez is more than capable of breaking a glass with her voice, the magic lies in the metaphor. The show is all about smashing the glass ceilings that life throws our way – whether in the opera world, comedy, or simply in being human. Things don’t always come easy. From the moment you declare to your parents that you’re going to become an opera singer and perform Wagner’s Ring, to actually wearing the Valkyrie’s armour on stage, it’s a long and winding road of disappointments, missed opportunities and a pandemic thrown in for good measure.In classical opera terms, a soprano singing Wagner must possess an immensely powerful voice, capable of heroic declamation, soaring lyricism in the upper range and the stamina to sustain long, demanding passages over a full orchestra. In common terms: these sopranos don’t just sing – they summon thunderstorms, bend brass sections to their will, and make the violins quake in fear.So what makes a successful opera diva trade the grandiosity of an opera house for a stand-up gig at the Fringe? The pure joy of performance, the thrill of making people laugh and the desire to explore different facets of artistic identity. The essence of DePrez’s performance lies in genuine connection – whether through a soaring aria or a perfectly timed punchline. With the full-body expression of a Valkyrie, she transforms the small room into Valhalla itself, announcing that Brünnhilde has arrived.Telling her life story through metaphor gives DePrez’s storytelling structure, but loses some of the spontaneity and raunchiness of her earlier comedy performances, which I particularly enjoyed. However, her ability to combine serious vocal chops with relatable humour, delivered with infectious energy, will leave you buzzing for a long time.

Live theatre may be ephemeral, and yet it remains incredibly vital to our culture – as seen in Michael Daviot’s sharply observed take on the legacy of (John) Duncan Macrae.For just two decades following the Second World War, Macrae was one of Scotland’s most recognisable character actors on stage and screen – and yet now, nearly 60 years after his death from an undiagnosed brain tumour, he is fading into obscurity despite his significant role – as an actor, director and producer – in the development of a distinct “independent theatre style” in Scotland during the latter half of the 20th century.Originally performed to great reviews at the Scottish Storytelling Centre last year, this is a slightly cut-down version of A Noble Clown – the original, two-hour version included the dramatic pause of an interval, the ghost of which still remains here. We encounter Macrae in a “bit of a scunner” afterlife, flitting in and out of memories of his biggest roles – both on stage and off. This means we can shift, in the blink of an eye and some carefully choreographed lighting changes, from the memory of the 1960 Royal Court Theatre production of Eugène Ionesco’s Rhinoceros – starring Laurence Olivier, produced by Orson Welles – to a humble wonder at natural beauty while walking with his young daughters on holiday in Millport.As writer and performer, it’s clear Daviot knows his subject well, but he is also aware of the risks inherent in such autobiographical “tell, don’t show” productions – so he deftly leaves it to brief snatches of some of Macrae’s most notable roles – ranging from the serious (such as Inspector Goole in J B Priestley’s An Inspector Calls) to the comedic (Macrae’s numerous Hogmanay TV recitations of The Wee Cock Sparra) – to do some of the narrative heavy lifting.This exploration of Macrae’s life and career is not without its occasional sour notes: his occasional arrogance once successful as a performer – be it comparing a whole theatre company in Dublin unfavourably to himself, or deliberately upstaging his Para Handy castmates during a Radio Times photoshoot. Clearly, there’s much that’s barely touched on – the darker aspects of his marriage to Peggy, for instance – and we naturally yearn for more.Nevertheless, what we are left with is a strong sense of Macrae’s character and motivations, shared by Daviot with deftness, fluidity and without theatrical excess. One senses, however, that Macrae would have expected no less.

Dark, deadpan and deranged, Dan Rath’s Tropical Depression isn’t comedy that tries to win you over... it’s comedy that stands there in your kitchen, holding a bag of compost, asking if you believe in fate.Armed with ADHD gags, rogue one-liners and a brain that seems to ping off in five directions at once, Rath jumps laterally from musing about Sardinian goat farmers to his own introversion, using each oddball observation as a tie-in for some surprisingly poignant reflections – on masculinity, mental health and the importance of community – before promptly getting distracted and moving on.Cutting a socially awkward on-stage presence – a self-identified cuck who gives off “beta energy” – Rath’s comedy persona belies a much deeper confidence and self-awareness. His signature Aussie upwards inflection gives even the bleakest punchlines a tinge of optimism, or at least some ruminative open-endedness.Often tapering off mid-thought, and all the funnier for it, each of Rath’s jokes comes punctuated by an obligatory hair ruffle and an unsmiling expression. Rough crowd work kicks in “a quarter of the way through” – whether a calculated gamble on the audience’s tolerance for awkwardness or a form of sick self-punishment is unclear.Despite appearing rattled when his ad-libbed jokes don’t quite land, we get the sense that the anti-punchline is the point. His whole shtick is comedy at his own expense – he’s “not doing well, folks”, after all.Beyond a few Southern Hemisphere-specific references, Rath’s idiosyncratic humour – self-deprecating, imaginative and occasionally profound – mostly translates with ease. He's bound to make you squirm before he’ll make you think.

What is the difference between trauma and experience?Lauren is a journalist working on a domestic violence story. These cases are depressingly commonplace, but this one appears to have an undertone of male entitlement. The antagonist, Andrew, works for a politician. The victim of the assault once worked alongside him but has not had her contract renewed. Andrew, chillingly, has been welcomed back to the inner sanctum.Lauren prods at the story. Andrew’s boss peddles a party line on events. Andrew displays contrition and has sought counselling. His version of events has a hint of revisionism, as he refers to an open-hand slap. This sounds like spin to Lauren, a polished version of the truth. The victim, Brittany, lost two teeth and says she was sexually assaulted in the aftermath. A neighbour, Gladys, was fleetingly interviewed by the police. When Lauren follows up, Gladys’s recollection suggests something more violent and her character reference for Andrew is damning. Lauren manages to speak with the doctor who treated Brittany, who recalls that her injuries made her look like a car crash victim.Brittany’s voice on events becomes undermined. She is labelled an attention seeker, leaning into the idea that she sought violent conflict. Hints are left trailing about childhood trauma and Lauren is told of her tendency to drink too much. Her name even seems to do her few favours. When Lauren speaks with her, she now seems to doubt herself.Lauren is a professional journalist, but traumatic memory muscles kick in. She was sexually assaulted as a 15-year-old, but familial pressures meant she could not speak up. This is mirrored by events two years later, when she visits her older cousin. She goes for a night out with him, illegally drinking alcohol, awaking to find him on top of her. She is haunted by the event, agonising over whether this constituted rape.Red Like Fruit’s staging is somewhat unusual. Lauren (Michelle Monteith) sits on a spotlit chair on a high stage. She asks Luke (David Patrick Flemming) to voice her words, which he delivers next to a lectern below. They occasionally break the narrative, with him checking in on her, or her interrupting to sanity check the events, or at times her asking him for his opinion.Both performances are strong and measured. There is an obvious empathetic relationship between them. Flemming’s narrative style gives gravitas to the events being recounted, yet delivered with soft hands. Monteith’s physicality is the embodiment of emotional recall, at times haunted, uncertain, traumatised. This is a most powerful piece of writing by Hannah Moscovitch, the themes glaringly obvious and current: consent, labelling, domestic abuse, entitlement.

Sometimes, it's what’s not being said that holds the most power.Mikey Burnett’s Colours Run leans heavily into the “kitchen sink drama” movement of the 1950s and 60s, portraying the struggles of working-class angry young men.The production is set in a Leith flat, where brothers Pongo (Ruaraidh Murray) and Pete (Sean Langtree) cohabit. Both are Hibernian football fans, with Pongo a member of the hooligan firm the Capital City Service, whose motto, “These colours don’t run”, gives rise to the play’s title. The Hibs–Hearts Edinburgh derby may lack the deep-rooted sectarianism seen in Glasgow, but the rivalry is historic, and violent skirmishes between the rival firms occur frequently – usually away from the stadiums.Pongo returns home after a premeditated stramash with Hearts fans. His hand is bloodied, but his body language suggests something is troubling him more profoundly. Pete is coaxed into the lounge, his feelings hurt by not having been invited along. Pete has learning difficulties and is a simple soul. Pongo is unemployed (or “self-employed”, as he sardonically quips), but his main role in life is taking care of Pete. Their mother died young, and the brothers are all each other have.Pongo reveals he did not even make it to the match, as the encounter with the Hearts fans got out of hand. He is agitated, pacing the room and frequently checking the front door.It becomes clear that Pete cannot fend for himself, with Pongo controlling virtually every aspect of his life. Some of their backstory is revealed: domestic abuse, Pete nearly dying as a child, and a father who is still despised. The squalid flat, the baseball bat and general debris all point to their quality of life – Leith’s gentrification has not reached everyone. But it’s their rituals that are more revelatory: Who Wants to Be a Millionaire?, the cornflake counting, the dancing, the music and Pete donning his mother’s dress.Increasingly, there are hints of disturbing and traumatic events from their past, but today’s events threaten to break their fragile ecosystem and pierce their clear brotherly love.The performances of both actors are nothing short of a triumph. Langtree’s exuberant portrayal of Pete, constantly seeking reassurance and approval, is in stark contrast to his cosplaying as the host of the quiz show. It’s a most impressive range. But it’s Murray’s brooding, simmering rage, resentment and frustration that really catch the eye.At the core of Colours Run is the electric chemistry between the two brothers. And here, much credit for this production goes to director Grace-Ava Baker. Murray’s silences, pauses, stillness and barely contained rage have been honed to perfection, with Langtree’s fragility laid bare. It could easily be a homage to Pinter.

Pretty much the DNA of the Fringe, sketch comedy is one fiendish performance genre to tame. Successfully controlled it can generate an entire subculture of characters and catchphrases. But as an unweeded garden, it can also grow to seed; becoming indulgent, niche, exclusive and (whisper it softly) that most egregious thing of all… unfunny.Happily though, the Manchester Revue – in its fifth year at the Fringe – is none of these things, and delivers laughs aplenty in a vibrant and engaging set. Our five performers bounce off each other with energy and enthusiasm, and a clear determination to engage the audience rather than feed their own egos.With material inspired by the graffiti in Manchester’s public toilets, the troupe make their way through a range of observational humour and more surreal elements. Naturally, each conceit will land differently for everyone; but the deliciousness of the sketch format is that there will always be another scene along in a moment. Standout moments include the heckled hubby just trying to watch the telly; shower thoughts; the unconventional birthday presents; and Noah’s Ark – but there is plenty to choose from on this comedic smorgasbord.The individual performances are strong and involving, although a slightly slower pace at times might offset the occasional acoustical disadvantage at the back of the space. But there is no doubting the intelligence and insight of this work, and the individuality of the collective ‘voice’ which is emerging.

‘Spit spot’ is your safe word in Jessica Barton’s hour of ‘clean’ clown comedy.We encounter Mary Floppins mid-spring clean, finding small moments of joy in the domestic routine: folding pillowcases, sorting laundry and losing herself in the dirty world around her. The more we watch, the cheekier she gets, especially when she is left to her own devices. She has an air of serenity, but what bubbles underneath is an altogether freakier affair.Barton’s clowning leans into this shift: her delivery is full of subtle mischief and physical nuance. She rarely speaks (other than the occasional, brilliantly timed quip), but her expressions do the real work – scolding, teasing, daring the audience to play with her. Throughout, she enlists men from the crowd to help her, guiding them in silent sequences that showcase her Gaulier training. Though audience participation is commonplace at the Fringe, it is rarely navigated as professionally as Barton. There is a magnetic tension in her gaze that flickers between play and provocation, keeping the audience squarely in her grip – the perfect breeding ground for clown comedy.Barton’s physicality is a revelation: she moves with comic precision, unleashing bursts of energetic dancing that inject the piece with punch and pace. She masterfully combines the sweet, charming charisma of ‘the perfect nanny’ with a sharp, quick wit that makes her a joy to watch. It does not take long before we learn the truth behind Floppins’ need to clean, and what unfolds is something far stranger and more layered, underpinning the performance with a chilling, more poignant message.That said, there are moments where momentum dips and the conceit feels stretched a little thin. A touch more variation or escalation would help pack the show more densely with action. Given Barton’s ingenuity, it feels as though this would be an easy fix.A beautifully simple and highly effective concept, Dirty Work is a wonderful hour of play. Confident, relaxed and utterly charming, Jessica Barton is a highly talented performer who is sure to gain a cult following this Fringe.

The sister of a famous pop star, Standing in the Shadows of Giants is Lucie Barât’s personal story – and it’s not quite what you might expect.Barât recounts her adult journey through drama school, auditions, fending off predatory industry suits, an unfulfilled career and part-time jobs. Her brother Carl has formed an indie band, The Libertines. History recalls how they find fame and an endless stream of parties, launches and media hype ensues. Frontman Pete Doherty’s drug addiction was public knowledge, but the pills, drugs and alcohol simply went with the territory – and our protagonist was along for the ride. Barât’s life spirals out of control, in and out of rehab, and bailiffs at the door. At a rehab event, she is asked to write her own obituary. However, it’s 2025 and she is still here, baring her soul at Edinburgh Fringe.Barât takes to the stage and begins to sing a song, but after a technical hitch she stops and appears to go into unrehearsed explanations about the production – although this is, of course, scripted. The upshot is that it gives Barât a harder battle to regain the audience; the uncertainty and the struggle may be an allegory for her life, but it is perhaps a production choice to revisit. However, once she hits her stride, her tale is adeptly revealed.She recounts, iteratively, the myriad poor choices: the bottles of vodka, the cocktail of pills and drugs – all against the backdrop of her brother’s success. There is no hint of envy, just a nagging sense of their close relationship drifting. Touchingly, when she boards an 11-hour flight to South Africa to enter a somewhat unforgiving rehab centre, any apprehension is tempered by her joy at having alone time with Carl.Her acting career never really gets off the ground, save for the occasional minor stage play or advert. She catches a break though – she lands a gig working with a Hollywood A-lister, but her self-destructive undertones kick in and she makes a mess of everything, quite literally.Lucie Barât tells her truth here at Traverse, warts and all. She exposes the abandonment issues, the neuroses, the anxiety, the ego, the misogyny, the resentment, the fury, the sense of a life unfulfilled and, above all, her vulnerability.It must have felt like her adult life was spent in the shadow of her famous brother – and indeed, at times, she was little more than an accessory to the band. However, the touching denouement reveals that Barât has survived and thrived, finally finding her own identity and voice and, as she says, “feels good”.

Equal parts stand-up, wildlife seminar and love letter, 100% Badgers sees comedian and PhD graduate Matt Hobs showcase his deep affection for Britain’s most misunderstood mammal, in a fusion of badger facts, sharp jokes and winning West Country charm.Only at the Fringe could you squeeze twenty people into a tiny karaoke booth and call it a show – but the sweet-natured Hobs makes it work. In his warm Bristolian manner, he instantly wins his miniature audience’s affection, earning belly laughs to fill a much larger room.Despite the tight squeeze, there’s no awkwardness, just a generous, self-deprecating host refreshingly free of swagger. His hand-knitted badger hat and badger-crested cardigan complete the picture of a man who truly, unapologetically, loves his subject matter.Yes, it’s a show about badgers – but this is no gimmick. The visual presentation, combined with Hobs’ unhurried storytelling, teaches us everything we need to know about the species, from the rare ginger badger to the macho honey badger. And, between the cheeky punchlines, there’s a genuine environmental message, urging fellow badger lovers to help conservation efforts by reporting roadkill or emailing MPs.This isn’t a show for kids – Hobs admits he doesn’t like them much – but there’s plenty of dry humour and unexpected laughs for grown-ups. At £2.50 RRP, there’s more value per gag than many of the acts in the bigger, pricier venues.As a result, 100% Badgers is massively oversubscribed. To avoid both yours and Nice Guy Hobs’ disappointment, be sure to buy your ticket in advance.

This two-hander opens with the tropes of a ghost story. Annie has agreed to be filmed for a paranormal documentary. The interviewer wants to record an account of a simple spooky event – Annie’s dead father appearing on the beach. But Annie isn’t going to settle for a simple story.The two actors, James Robinson and Dawn Steele, play multiple roles. Steele is especially impressive, instantly switching between fully formed characters and giving Annie a highly charged, but believable, display of emotions. The device of using the video recording allows close-ups of Annie to be judiciously used: full of grief or guilt, Steele’s expressive face is almost overwhelmingly powerful. Robinson plays the secondary characters with aplomb, but there are times when the portrayal of the key role of Brawn, Annie’s brother, feels like overdone bluster. This may be because the character of Brawn doesn’t quite ring true in the writing. He is sometimes a bit of a plot device, and the impact of his own story’s conclusion is rather wasted.Ellie Keel’s debut subtly yet vividly shows the effects the death of a father can have on each member of the family. There is grief, there are suspicions of family secrets, and there is an unwillingness to let go.As the story progresses, Annie delves ever deeper into her memories, detailing the accumulation of small events, coincidences, and mistakes that lead to a tragic conclusion. The play is subtitled “A Thriller”, but it is not a thriller in the conventional sense. There is no malicious human agency. Instead, the gradual mounting of all those details gives a sense of a family cursed by fate.The play could be accused of being overstuffed with too many incidents and half-developed themes. However, with such strong performances and well-judged direction by Matthew Iliffe, the show is an emotionally raw examination of the hidden currents of grief, guilt, and responsibility.

360 ALLSTARS offers an energetic celebration of rotation in all its forms, blending American street culture with circus artistry. The show brings together BMX, basketball freestyle, breakdance and Cyr wheel in a line-up that showcases skill without losing its sense of fun.This is an energetic, family-friendly production with audience participation woven in at just the right moments to keep everyone engaged. For older viewers, the visual language and music tap into a familiar cultural memory of 90s hip-hop, while younger audiences respond to the energy, tricks and fast delivery.Director, producer, percussionist and MC Gene Peterson anchors the performance, his live drumming and rap lyrics keeping the show on track. Sharing hosting duties, MC Mirrah loops vocals with a soulful edge to her singing, adding a positive message of connection, self-expression and inclusion. Her presence builds a bridge between the high-octane acts and the audience.The acts are as varied as they are skilled, all paying homage to American street culture. Hungarian two-time BMX world champion Peter Söre balances and spins his bike with astonishing control, blending technical mastery with understated showmanship. Guinness world record holder Bavo Freestyles juggles four basketballs at once, his ease with the audience making the act as much about personality as precision.Josh Curtis, with a background in urban dance and circus training, offers a smooth, fluid performance in the Cyr wheel, bringing grace to the show’s more kinetic moments. B-boys Chriss Arias and Links bring bursts of raw energy to the floor, their breakdance battles echoing the street culture roots that inform the whole production. In the grand finale, all acts combine their skills in a whirlwind of talent and pure joy of performing.The compact stage works to the show’s advantage. Its size keeps the tricks close to the audience, amplifying the sense of precision and risk. While the variety of acts means the performance sometimes feels like a sequence of highlights rather than a single narrative, the energy never drops, and the shared enthusiasm of the cast keeps the audience engaged throughout.Part circus, part street jam, 360 ALLSTARS is a show where nostalgia meets momentum and everybody gets swept along for the ride.

Award-winning theatre-maker Victoria Melody returns to the Edinburgh Festival Fringe with her latest show, Trouble, Struggle, Bubble and Squeak, collaborating for the first time with acclaimed political comedian and director Mark Thomas.Melody has a way of dealing with the things life throws at her – usually by taking on a completely diversionary hobby or job. Dealing with her divorce led her to the English Civil War Society, where she was assigned to the politically wrong side for her liking in historical re-enactments – but found a revolutionary outlet in the Diggers, who, faced with poverty and starvation, occupied common land to farm it.It soon dawned on her that the dissatisfaction felt by these 17th-century radicals towards those in power – who had failed their communities – is still rife in today’s society. With that historical background covered, she goes on to tell the tale of how she embraced a deprived area of her own city and ultimately galvanised people to bring about change that would benefit the entire community.Her show is filled with stories of eccentric but real people who became emboldened to challenge the status quo, confront the powers that be, and take on the local council to improve their lives. Couch potatoes soon became activists, helping hands and campaigning citizens who, with every success, became more committed to furthering their cause. With the aid of a colourful, child-like drawing of the area and cardboard cut-outs of people, she playfully rattles off the interactions, confrontations and remarkable contributions that transformed a region, changed lives and enabled a community to reshape its home – making it a place of which they could be proud.Entertainingly told with great clarity and precise delivery, Melody’s show is an inspiring tale that brings history to life in modern times – and demonstrates how people can be empowered to change their own lives and communities for the better.

Back at the Traverse a decade on, Gary McNair’s one-man tale fits the room like it never left. The stage is dressed as a living room – carpet, chair, boxes – and that’s enough. Nothing showy, everything purposeful.During the course of the show, McNair tells us about his Gorbals grandad, Archie – gambler, raconteur, lovable chancer. The stories he relates all arrive with charm: the 1966 windfall on England; the outrageous final bet against a grim diagnosis that he’ll see the year 2000. McNair’s control is the pleasure here. He stretches and snaps the pace just so, flicking between boy, mum, teachers and punters with a tilt of the head or a change of breath. Radio snatches and hushes cue those turns, and images land cleanly without overexplanation. It’s quietly gripping, and shot through with warmth that never hides the cost of compulsion.McNair needles the big question – did Archie “win”? – but lands on something truer: what matters is the story a family can live with. The living-room conceit pulls its weight, too; those boxes stop being mere props and start feeling like the way we all handle a past – opened, sifted, re-packed.Mostly, this anniversary run feels fresh rather than nostalgic: a compact, deft 70ish minutes that keeps its swagger in check and earns its poignancy. The heavy blow lands in the quiet before the millennium countdown, when love and luck are both on the line and no one is keeping perfect score.

Glasgow’s Darren McGarvey has long been a sharp-tongued commentator on class politics and economic inequality. In his latest book and accompanying talk, Trauma Industrial Complex, he turns the scalpel on pain, dissecting his own experiences of poverty, addiction and homelessness, and how society rewards the inauthentic performance of it.Part spoken-word takedown, part academic lecture, the show is a compelling and well-written insight into how trauma gets commodified – traded in for cultural capital, manipulated for applause, and often simplified into a neat, three-act story. But McGarvey isn’t interested in the bow-tied finale. He’s more concerned with the messy, non-linear and often unsatisfying truth of trauma recovery.If he cuts too deep in places, McGarvey makes up for it with the arresting cadence of his rap persona, Loki the Rapper – using lyricism to confront his fury, not just at his own past, but at the systems that continue to exploit it. These moments throb with energy, but within the show’s broader thesis, they become more complicated. We are forced to ask: is he simply feeding a crowd hungry for pain narratives? Is this catharsis, or just another transaction?He knowingly plays on our discomfort here, wanting us to squirm in our new self-awareness. In slyly turning the mirror – on himself and us – the show gets its edge.Elsewhere, he offers fragments of his present life – his struggle to feel joy, to regulate his emotions – as part of the recovery process. Despite saying he won’t, eventually he does: he delivers an indulgent tale of past traumas, set to tense music. The room shifts, uneasy. Our reaction is precisely the point: McGarvey gives us what we want, to show us what it costs.Smart, clear and keenly argued, this is not an anti-woke polemic. McGarvey is suspicious, not cynical – wary of how trauma narratives get hijacked, but empathetic towards those genuinely trying to heal.As Akala does with racial politics, McGarvey does with poverty, addiction, class and inequality. His delivery style – channelling a winning combination of Scroobius Pip and an affable sociology professor – is rewarding. He challenges us not just to listen, but to ask why we’re listening. And what, exactly, we’re expecting to get out of it.

This is a company of superb dancers, with incredible energy, strength and seemingly supernatural powers of synchronisation.Both dances in this double bill were composed by Brazilian choreographer Lili de Grammont, yet they are very different in their tone and methods of dance storytelling.The first piece, Voyeur, is not so much about the watcher but explores the impact of being watched. There are intricately synchronised group dances, and also duets – usually with the other dancers sitting on chairs, coldly observing. Accompanied by aggressive electronic music, the dancing is fierce and thrilling, sometimes with hints of violence.There are implications of surveillance as peer pressure or government control. The observers use torches like spotlights to dazzle the eyes of a couple dancing, to emphasise certain features, and to throw distorting shadows. Being watched inevitably turns the life of the person under observation into a performance. This brings to mind the distortions of life when living under a totalitarian regime or – if I’m not stretching it too far – presenting one's life for public consumption on social media.The dancing in Voyeur may be intricate and joyous in its skill, but the show hits greater heights in the second piece of the double bill – Samba and Love.During the costume change, Grammont explains that during the censorship of the military dictatorship, the 1960s song Samba and Amor, with lyrics by Chico Buarque, was renowned for its critique of the regime, which was hidden within the words to avoid censorship.Unlike the rather abstract Voyeur, the piece that follows is more concrete in its storytelling, yet more subtle in its impact. The choreography is more varied and allows the dancers to display additional skills of comedy and dance storytelling. A superb soundtrack of driving electronic music incorporates vacuous speeches, TV shows, and the blare of street life. Domestic scenes of normal life are shown, but public discourse is trivialised. Important questions may be asked by the TV interviewer, but there is never a coherent answer.Life is normal, but there is something hidden underneath: only the very last scene hints at the underlying menace as one person decides to stand out from the crowd.This is a superb piece of wit and intelligence, with dancing of energy, excitement, and great skill.

Sometimes in life, you just have to push back.Erica (Eleanor Higgins) meets Jessie (Naomi Denny); both lesbians, electricity is in the air along with pounding dance music. They bond over a shared love of Tony Soprano and Lindsay Lohan, but their lives are far from straightforward. Living in urban Croydon, Erica is constantly short of money, maxing out her overdraft. Jessie at least has steady employment in retail… that is, until events conspire against her and she is fired.Erica’s sense of injustice at the universe is heightened when her mobile phone is stolen. The subsequent police interview does little to restore her faith in natural justice. During a visit to a nightclub, a man is overly persistent and, while fending him off, his mobile phone slips out of his jacket. Erica pockets it, probably without thinking about the consequences.Erica and Jessie are sucked into small-time criminality. Their ground rules as to victim selection lend them a veneer of victimless crime: they will only target rich, white men, leaning into a vague sense of pushing back against the patriarchy. After a shaky start, they become proficient at theft and fraud, small-time hustlers now.Suddenly more financially self-sufficient, Erica begins to date Stevie (Kit Sinclair) and becomes smitten. However, Stevie has a more clearly defined moral compass, and once she uncovers Erica’s various subterfuges, there is no future for the relationship.Jessie has got her life back on track and extricated herself from these criminal activities. However, when Erica is robbed of her stolen stock and cash, she is reluctantly pulled into one last job to help her friend, with dramatic consequences.There is a cacophony of noise at the outset: Alabama 3’s Woke Up This Morning competing with police sirens sets the scene for the relentless pace of this production. The action is interspersed with a series of voicemails from the unseen Mark. These calls offer a small insight into the impact of crime on one of the victims, but also serve to ramp up the pressure on Erica.Higgins portrays the rudderless and at times frantic Erica with aplomb, casting light on her life choices. Denny’s Jessie is layered, in turns measured but fragile.Wanted is partly predicated on Higgins’ own experiences, but at its core it is a story about injustice. Gender inequality, wealth division, the criminal justice system and nepotism all come under Higgins’ crosshairs in this comedy-drama.

This year marks the 20th anniversary of the publication of the Ferns Report, an official Irish government inquiry into allegations of clerical sexual abuse in the Roman Catholic Diocese of Ferns in County Wexford. Our Brothers in Cloth, by Ronan Colfer at Assembly Rooms, George Square, reflects on the impact the actions of some priests had on individuals, families and communities in an emotionally challenging drama, sensitively directed by Ryan McVeigh.The play is rooted in harsh reality, rigorous research and much soul-searching. Colfer was deeply affected by clerical child sexual abuse that resulted in the tragic suicide of a close family member and left others traumatised. Rather than tell the story of the victim, however, the play addresses the intergenerational impact of abuse on a family and community in sleepy rural Ireland. Hence, we are given a wide perspective that embraces the personal torment of coming to terms with Chris’s suicide, the revelations about the former parish priest, the cover-ups, and most dramatically, the silence and level of denial within the community and the divisions caused within families.Jake Douglas gives a powerfully impassioned performance as Alan, who carries the burden of knowing what happened to his brother Chris after he receives testimony from an eyewitness friend, Mark Doyle. Michael Lavin gravely delivers the information and shows how difficult it is to open up such a can of worms. Then, armed with the story, Alan’s work really begins. He has to convince the indoctrinated and devout to believe him – parishioners whose families have for centuries looked up to the Church and its priests, and against whom they will have nothing said – most particularly his mother, Martina. Rosalind Stockwell fills her with fervour and blind allegiance in support of the accused priest and the Church, while bitterly turning on her son.Meanwhile, Kevin Glyn hovers around in an understated performance as the disgraced cleric's successor, Fr O’Donovan, reminding us of the ever-present involvement of the clergy in people’s lives. A subplot involving the relationship between Alan and his girlfriend, Siobhan, allows Oli Fyne to demonstrate the anguish caused by having to decide whose side she is going to take, while Gráinne Kelly adds her two penn’orth as a parishioner and friend of the family.Colfer says: “This play was born from the stories passed between generations – what was said and what was kept silent. It’s about the cost of complicity and the fight to reclaim truth in the face of institutional silence.”He has transformed that material into a remarkable social commentary and a gripping piece of theatre.

How do you smuggle a spark of revolution into a place designed to stamp it out? Mark Thomas answers with swagger and pathos in Ordinary Decent Criminal, a visceral, single-handed tour of the life of Frankie, a campus idealist turned recovering junkie and finally a Strangeways inmate. Thomas shape-shifts through a madcap rogues’ gallery – damaged ex-Para Bron, irreverent IRA sympathiser Belfast Tony, and jittery jailbirds who wouldn’t look out of place in the toughest prison wing – while keeping Frankie’s bruised humanity centre stage.Under Charlotte Bennett’s taut direction, the staging is as spare as Frankie’s cell: a grid of steel-grey flats, a single unforgiving toilet for a seat, and a wash of angled light that suggests both interrogation rooms and midnight lock-ups. Lydia Denno’s judicious design choices leave acres of negative space, letting Thomas’s physical storytelling punch through while hinting at the emptiness around him. Elena Peña underscores each segue with low industrial hums and the occasional door-slam reverb, keeping our nerves on alert without ever drowning the narrative. Against this backdrop, we are given a powerful central performance and, if Thomas did trip over a line or two on the afternoon of this review, it barely registered against the overall swagger.Ed Edwards’s text balances bruising political critique with gut-level storytelling. Frankie’s slide from righteous anger to drug-numbed despair feels authentic, yet the play never wallows. Instead, it trumpets resilience: in a newly rebuilt Strangeways, hope is the contraband passed from bunk to bunk, and Thomas gives us a taste of its bittersweet thrill.If the polemics occasionally shout a shade too loud, the production’s heart remains generous – more call-to-arms than lecture. By the time Frankie finds a shaky sense of purpose among society’s forgotten, the audience gets behind every beat. Ordinary Decent Criminal may be staged behind metaphoric bars, but it leaves you fired up to pick the lock.

I was excited to see that Samuel Carroll had returned to Edinburgh with his new chapter in the adventures of Bennett Cooper Sullivan; a Victorian adventurer performed solo by Carroll with boundless energy and sophistication. One of the joys of reviewing is seeing artists grow in their craft.The physical performance was exceptional and grounded, and the storytelling is well written. I was giggling from the start, but perhaps a little too well written for some of the sleepier audience members due to the early start time. However, Carroll was a master of his audience and brought them round by the end, all of us hanging on every word.We started with a jailbreak. Sullivan would be happier exploring the mysteries of ancient lands, but duty calls – the Royal Society – and sadly our hero must return to urban life, and London, when an unsuccessful assassination attempt brings him to Edinburgh. Carroll flourished as a madcap range of other characters such as surgeons, professors and bar keeps.The character has morphed between chapters from a curious civilian bystander to a professional adventurer with a toolkit of improbable skills. He learns much from everywhere he goes, cracking jokes both high and low brow along the way.The show had a wonderful give and take. Sullivan would start to explain the situation he was in, and we were all fascinated to know how on earth he was going to get out of that one (or how Carroll was going to act that as one man?) – and he nailed it every time. For me, the sign of good mystery writing is that I can see how the plot fits together just ahead of the reveal, and this show gave me such a wonderful moment of realisation.What I appreciated this time was the depth to Sullivan. There were moments that had real heart, where he would reflect or have doubts, or face an injustice head on and not be able to change things. In addition to the glorious innuendo.This year the show took place at Summerhall in the Anatomy Lab, in what would have been the Royal Dick Veterinary College in its Victorian heyday. I had hoped, given Carroll’s skill for detailed period script writing, he would be inspired for a historical caper that drew upon the long history of medicine here in Edinburgh – not to mention Burke and Hare and all the skulduggery surrounding them. I couldn’t have been more thrilled.The resonance between story and location was delicious. We were listening to a lecturer regale us with their adventures in unstudied lands and new sciences, sat in the same seats that served the Victorians all those years ago.Storytelling at its finest. The Cadaver Palaver is perfect for fans of Sherlock Holmes or Oscar Wilde.

Broken Planet doesn’t give much away on entry; its fliers do that job. What you see is what you get: a broad, run-down stage contrasting with a lone, relaxed guitar player strumming as you enter. I thought I had wandered into the wrong show.That only made it funnier when the bizarre and bombastic ensemble got to work. Even with alleged full knowledge, I could not have anticipated what was to come. I was giggling consistently throughout.Broken Planet is a truly rotating, cabaret-esque show that leans into the weirdness cabaret is all about. Almost the entire cast is chopping and changing constantly, which gives it a taped-together and silly feel. It also makes it perhaps the most Fringe show I’ve ever seen: confidently chaotic, charmingly cheeky, just a little rough around the edges, while adding a spark of all-too-human hope.The central premise is established early: God (complete with clown nose, beard and goggles) turned his back on the world, it all went sideways, so it’s our job to fix it. How? Through a series of levelling experiences and farcical acts that breed connectivity.Clearly, there are some staples the cast trot out every night and a loose framework here. The magic comes from the oddities and intersections of everything else they attach to that structure. A somewhat harrowed baby floating in space is a key character, as is Safety. Throw in a very Rick and Morty-esque scientist interpretation of God, and there is a strong core. It sparkles when you add the soft and soulful music that seems almost at odds with the lunacy of the performances – but it really goddamn works.As with all rotating cast or guest-spot shows, your mileage may vary. When I saw it, I was pleasantly surprised and utterly delighted. How the hell did Full Out Formula realise they could do that with an egg?! Chloe Matonis was also excellent in her depiction of Sergeant-Lieutenant Love. I hope Nerf Karaoke is included every evening, as it begged utter gay abandon.One element that may have been missed is that the closing moments involve a dazzling finale to the sound of a volunteer audience member’s heartbeat. If they can find a way to tell the audience what they’re listening to, it may well underscore this moment of radical connection – and we just might save the world.

Anyone who has ever built flatpack furniture solo – or, worse, with a partner – will tell you it is no easy feat. It is not something to undertake quickly or while trying to be funny. Certainly not while your neighbour is trying to sabotage your efforts. This is what makes IKEA Wars work: it presents perhaps the worst-case scenario for home furniture construction and tells contestants to have at it.There is no IKEA in New Zealand – which perhaps makes it a little odd that a Kiwi hosts IKEA Wars. Regardless, Kieran Bullock leads the audience with ease, keeping us engaged in the project while also delivering quality standup. His act feels like a well-screwed-together cabinet: there is very little rattle or looseness in its construction. He also seems to know the kind of audience he will draw – from those who have no idea what they’ve wandered into for late-night entertainment to neurodivergents who are here for the love of the game and have big feelings about screw organisation. Falling into the latter category, I was rapt from the start.IKEA Wars boils down to two contestants building a RASTOG wheelie storage unit while undercutting each other with sabotages. These range from ten seconds of wreaking havoc on the other’s construction to forcing an opponent to be a T-rex for four minutes. While the latter stricken contestant was keen to have normal arm usage back, I think he enjoyed being a dino – the mask stayed on and only seemed to empower him.The crowd also knew exactly how to get involved. The space is perhaps not ideal for this sort of conflict – those at the back couldn’t fully see once construction was underway – but a huddle soon formed. It had the energy usually reserved for when someone has gubbed their car in a public spot, or when men have opinions about how charred meat should be at a barbecue. I was especially entertained during one sabotage when the crowd broke into urgent chanting of “Hide the wheels! Hide the wheels!”This was my last show of the Fringe, and I was glad it was a little niche and out there. Bullock was running his own tech, the two flatpacks looked like they’d been through hell, and the crowd were thoroughly entertained. If nothing else, it was a lovely way to close Fringe with a call to support local artists once everyone goes home after the festival. If you can’t be charmed by that – and by a guy in a dino mask “Grargh!”ing as he wields an allen key before a chanting crowd – then I think you’re at the wrong arts festival.

Speed Queen takes place in the Isle of Wight’s last launderette, where Ozzy Algar, as Pet – an islander in her twilight years – folds laundry, shares gossip and spins half-forgotten histories. It’s an intimate hour of storytelling, opening a door into a world at once specific and universal.You might enter expecting a straight hour of character comedy, and the laughs, when they arrive, are plentiful: tightly scripted or spun on the spot, they are always sharp and whimsical. Skilfully directed by Tanika Lay-Meachen, Algar is a natural with a punchline, whether it’s a knowing aside or Pet spinning a yarn. Algar is just as compelling in the quieter stretches. Pet’s monologues about local eccentrics, island history and the private lives of neighbours are rooted in character and never lose their grip.The performance itself is faultless. Algar’s commitment to Pet is unshakeable, with Catherine Tate-level immersion, and her audience work is a masterclass in control. She draws us in with a glance, a pause, a shared smirk – building a relationship that feels unforced but watertight.Original music by Tom Penn, with Algar’s own lyrics, is woven into the show, featuring smoky, lilting numbers that evoke wartime jazz standards. They transport us to the faded glamour of Pet’s youth as a showgirl, adding layers of romance and melancholy. It’s here the production’s themes settle in: the passage of time, the bittersweet nature of memory, the encroachment of change.The show may not leave you skipping out of the theatre, but it lingers. Tender, funny and quietly devastating, Speed Queen is proof of Algar’s deft hand as both comedian and storyteller.

This show is deliciously dumb – in the smartest way possible.Parker Callahan arrives on stage in nothing but a pair of red, white and blue Speedos – his outfit for the entire show – and immediately calls the cops on the gays. What have we done? I honestly still do not know. What follows is a gloriously unfiltered hour of gay brain static. Callahan’s 365 party girl/homophobic Republican/multimedia presenter persona never lets up as he delivers, genuinely, one of the most chaotic hours you will see this year.There is no point in analysing the show too much, as it spoils the experience. However, if there is a queer performance spectrum, Soda Pop breaks it, sets it on fire and inhales a bottle of poppers through the glittery smoke.

There’s something oddly nostalgic about The Dark Room, John Robertson’s interactive live-action video game slash cyberpunk dystopian nightmare.Like a battered VHS tape, it feels both like a relic and a collector’s item. A Fringe fixture for over a decade and touring globally, The Dark Room has gained a cult following of Twitch streamers, bearded men in band tees, and young students with a masochistic streak.What happens in The Dark Room? You play. You die. You try again. Or someone else does, shouting commands to navigate the hellish, low-res world of an 1980s text-based adventure game, hoping to escape the room and win the £1,000 prize, or, more likely, a consolatory baguette.Audience participation is the blood in this machine. “Use door.” “Go north.” “Punch wall.” are our commands and – in all but a few exceptions – lead to our inevitable death. Don’t fret though, pretty soon, you’ll be gleefully chanting “YOU DIE. YOU DIE. YOU DIE.” at the next person.Lit by atmospheric torchlight, Robertson’s stage presence is half stand-up, half Viking warlord, his iconic silhouette the result of a set of spiked shoulder guards and a head of greasy blond locks. His ability to hold the room in an intimidating death stare is what keeps the whole thing from collapsing under its own weirdness.That, and the voice – so hoarse, so guttural. I wonder how his vocal cords can withstand one whole month of this. Then again, this is nothing new for Robertson. He’s been roaring at Fringe-goers for a decade, and he’ll probably outlive us all.A masterclass in crowd work, Robertson commands the room expertly, riffing on generational divides and gaming nostalgia, from Zelda to Sonic. It’s a bonding exercise disguised as carnage. You enter as individuals and leave as cult followers.Chaotic and completely unhinged, The Dark Room isn’t for everyone – but for those it is for, it’s a rite of passage.Long may it scream.

In Jack Traynor’s debut Fringe hour Before I Forget, he promises to share his best stories “before he forgets” because dementia runs in his family. One such story involves how Susan Boyle helps him get through substance-induced comedowns. So, not only is “best stories” used incredibly loosely, you can fear not about this being yet another “sad, but uplifting” comedy show.That qualm is immediately assuaged as our introduction to Traynor is him bursting into the almost sold-out room, screaming “Come on!” and handing out hugs and high-fives like he’s fresh out of a pre-SuBo sesh.Traynor is out of breath for most of the show – as are we. He ricochets around the Pleasance Bunker stage, with no issue crowbarring himself between a couple (because he has a question for only one of them) or staring unblinkingly into someone’s face.Dementia and how it affects his family, particularly his “granda”, is woven in alongside relentless riffs that cover the gamut from his disdain for American tourists to crabs. There is no time to recover from the previous joke – nor his truly impressive range of impressions – before Traynor is hollering about something else. On that note, this show might not be for those averse to yelling.The mood never dips, which is a real testament to Traynor’s talent considering he is, occasionally, talking about “your mind falling out of your arse”. Such is his skill, honed across comedy clubs and Scottish prisons alike, that he can make dementia an utter rip-roaring ride.

Old God is a whimsical fool. How old is he? Where did he come from? Why does he have a fruity little outfit? We don’t quite know. What we do know is that he wants to have fun with us.From Jeff Bezos miming to T. S. Eliot’s The Waste Land, Old God is greatly informed by classical art and physicality. But that doesn’t take away from the lovely idiocy that comes with my personal highlight of the show: the Marzipan Hand song. You’ll just have to go to the show to see this special moment.Played by Alec Jones-Trujillo, the indulgence of the classical clown is joyous to see. It merges thoughts of the old jester with what it means to incorporate clowning in the modern world. There are lovely moments of audience interaction as well as unmasking. Old God spins rhymes and myths as fast as we can process them. The endurance and energy of the show are captivating and impressive.There is a moment of unmasking in the show that steps over a line and made me question the performer’s self-awareness. While Old God never stops building on his bits, this particular moment – involving a description of a Palestinian person – struck me the wrong way. It lacked self-awareness, even if it did further his joke about his unmasked character.

Primal Bog might just be the most subversive show of the Fringe.The show begins with Rosa Garland stepping onto the stage fully naked and weeing into a cup. Before you’ve even processed that, they’re pouring orange slime onto themselves, slapping it across their skin. In a native Yorkshire accent, they introduce themselves as Gwyneth Paltrow, pushing her ‘Goop’ product to the audience.Directed by Posey Mehta, the show is a masterclass in absurd juxtaposition: after an extended bout of writhing in goo, Garland will make a statement that will have you in stitches. When they announce they don’t know where they are or how they got here, the show unlocks into pure chaos. They flirt with worms, perform dream analysis, play unhinged videos on a projector, get a tattoo on stage, and dump yet more goo over themselves. It’s gender-queer, gleefully grotesque, and utterly uninterested in fitting into a tidy box. And yet, despite the filth, slime, and anarchy, there’s an internal logic to follow. This isn’t random shock; it’s an artistic rebellion with teeth, raising a middle finger to rules.Garland dismantles every preconception of femininity, blasting through taboo after taboo with joyful abandon. It’s a celebration of weird, an ode to chaos, and an invitation for us to get as gloriously messy as they are, before rising like a phoenix from the ashes of “normal.” You laugh, you wince, you think—sometimes all at once. Does any of this make rational sense? No. But it does in your gut.If there’s a flaw, it’s in the pacing: occasional lulls in momentum leave you momentarily adrift. But perhaps that’s part of the point—disorientation as liberation. Either way, Primal Bog is a sensory riot, a taboo-shattering revolution that leaves you baffled and strangely elated.

Rapidly rising star Archie Henderson brings his alter ego Jazz Emu back to the festival, in what would be an absolute shoo-in for the Best Dressed Award, were it to exist. He bounds onto the stage with endless enthusiasm and frilly shoulder pads that go on for days, wielding an epic musical instrument, the likes of which I’ve never seen before – an electronic wind instrument (EWI).The Pleasure Is All Yours lies somewhere between an exploration into Henderson’s clown and a one-man variety show. A lot of the material might not appear award-worthy on paper, but in the hands of such a well-crafted character, the audience remain in the palm of his hand. He opens with a hilarious “How satisfied are you?” survey as he announces his mission: to gruntle, and things only get nuttier from there.Aside from the striking visuals, Jazz Emu has a remarkable accent and speech pattern, and one can’t help but hang onto his every word. From epic sight gags (see: the waxing and waning moon) to kooky songs, sharp one-liners and utterly bizarre ideas such as his commentary on the contents and functions of the human body, Emu is a surrealist fan’s dream come true. One could almost be forgiven for predicting that Jazz Emu was extra-terrestrial, though this is disproved when he takes on the guise of an alien in the second half.There was a quite remarkable moment in the second half, when Jazz was just starting to deliver a callback to a comment from 20 minutes earlier about a sneeze. At that precise moment, I gave out my only sneeze of the entire Fringe. Hypnotic stuff. Another 10 minutes later, he blessed me. Now that’s real comedy.The only negatives from the show were that some of the writing didn’t fit onto the screen – which feels like an easy fix – and that the members of the front row he tried to engage with gave him absolutely nothing to work with, and it took him a trifle too long to cut his losses. It would also have been nice to hear a bit more from the EWI.Some of the characters and social media personalities who have exploded from nowhere over the past five years really don’t translate to a live audience, or to a demographic who don’t engage with TikTok and Instagram. But you can rest assured that if you like kooky, quirky and intelligently crafted surrealist acts then Archie Henderson’s Jazz Emu is a keeper. The pleasure really is all ours.

He’s the baddest man in Texas. With spoons for spurs, armed with handguns and a dangerously gravelly voice, Lil Wenker slingshots us straight into the dusty heart of the Wild West, where we land squarely in clown chaos.From the outset, you are immersed. Directed by Bangtail himself, the audience creates the ambience of the desert and infamous saloon bar, complete with bar fights and the clinking of tumblers — we are complicit, and delightedly so. Wenker’s finely tuned instincts guide the show’s rhythm, sparking laughter with the flick of her wrist. She repeats just enough, pushes just far enough, and leaves space for the unexpected to bloom. You guffaw with laughter when you least expect it and are delighted at every turn. Wenker's world is playful and rich in spontaneous invention.All the hallmarks of good clowning are here: relentless play, audience complicity, emotional agility, and fearless commitment. Wenker is finely tuned to the energy in the room and rides the waves of audience attention with ease. There are occasional moments when the narrative thread frays slightly or a repeated gag doesn’t quite land on its second outing, but the momentum never stays down for long.A recurring character throughout is Mr Nemesis — a hapless, hilariously innocent audience member who unwittingly becomes the show’s antagonist. Their relationship is a goldmine for absurdity and callbacks, culminating in a surprisingly tender moment of reconciliation that exposes Bangtail’s tender vulnerability, one of the show’s standout highlights.Beneath the cowboy kitsch and clowning chaos lies something quietly profound — a tale of self-discovery. Bangtail is bold, silly, and wonderfully off-kilter: a rootin’-tootin’ romp where the fun doesn’t stop... even when you’re knee-deep in metaphorical horse sh*t.

Before David Elms can describe a room, he first has to build a rapport with his audience, and he does this with expertise and grace. He appears on his bare stage and explains the novel premise before bringing each of us in to contribute to the development of his surroundings. With each person he approaches, asking us to suggest what item is inside his room, he follows up with thought-provoking questions to eke every ounce of potential from what may initially seem like mundane ideas. But one man’s list of 50 mundane ideas is another’s philharmonic orchestra.One thing that struck me about the format and execution was the incomparable ratio between low quantity of laughs (often multiple minutes of engaged anticipation between them) and high quality (full room-wide belly laughs prompted by passing ad libs or facial expressions outranked the number of titters – no mean feat). Never before have I seen a comedian attempt to garner so few laughs and achieve such high success rates with each foray from the theatrical nature of the show into the comedic interludes.Among the inclusions in the unique room described for and by Elms today are an aggressive, aging cat; coat hanger artwork; Tetris on a Gameboy; and an ancient musket. After 40 minutes, the collaborative effort is fully unravelled, and Elms embarks on a mostly mimed journey through the labyrinthine room, incorporating every detail of every item into a seamless narrative with epic callbacks (after multiple teasings, the cat finally dies), audience participation (seriously, how do children still know the Tetris theme?) and a bloody, murderous finale. One gets the feeling that with an unadventurous audience, the mime could turn out quite tame (indeed, Elms gleefully tells us it usually is, but not so today), but we lucked out in maximising the joy that could be extracted from this unique room.While it’s great to have the room kept in our imaginations, I was also curious to see it visualised and was half-expecting (even hoping) Elms to announce at the end that he would have the room generated by AI to keep a gallery online, both prolonging memories and boosting engagement. But for now, the memory of our bespoke room and the horrors that unfolded within it will remain purely for those fortunate enough to witness it.This is one of those few Fringe shows that benefits from repeat viewings, so make sure when you go, you test Elms to his limits and give him creative and out-of-the-box suggestions to work with, and you too could be part of creating invisible magic.

God bless Kieran Hodgson. With immaculate timing, just as Scotland has gestured goodbye to Donald Trump, Hodgson arrives in Edinburgh to give us his take on the USA.He bounds onto the stage in front of a giant Stars and Stripes with instant affability and proves himself a genius storyteller. Hilarious and highly intelligent to the point of nerdiness (hear his expertise on naming British railway stations), it’s fascinating to see where he’s going to take us.He’s a ‘voices guy’ – a Radio 4 Dead Ringers regular – and language is his way into the States. After an English childhood loving American things while his parents dismissed them as “American rubbish”, he finally makes it to the USA. He’s Sandwich Man in superhero film flop The Flash. Yes, really.He’s taken aback when his American accent isn’t deemed good enough by the producers. It’s not the strongest narrative device for getting us into the country, but it opens the door to some sharp observations of Americans (his Met opera lovers are spot on) and brilliant accents.Hodgson muses on his shifting view of the States as he’s grown up, and he ultimately returns to the wisdom of his parents – socialist defenders of the English language.The weaving of heartfelt belief with clever commentary is what makes Hodgson special. He is, quite simply, very funny.His finale, featuring the arrival of Trump – a subject he has eschewed throughout the show – lands like a punch in the face, given Hodgson’s gentle style up to that point. Not only does he sound like him, he looks like him too. Almost frightening, but what a way to end the show.

I first saw Garry Starr in 2018, the first time I seriously came to the Fringe. It was my final night and I was resolved to cram as much in as I could. Damian Warren-Smith played the titular Garry Starr as he did everything in an effort to save theatre. It was the best show I saw all Fringe, and I had high expectations going into this one. This time, literature needs saving – so Garry riffs through Penguin Classic novels.With the help of a camera displaying book covers and a vast array of props, the show features wild interpretations of titles, plots and themes in a series of skits that keep the crowd howling. I’ll try to avoid spoiling too many titles, but he masterfully subverts Great Expectations and we all swooned through Holding the Man.It’s been seven years since his first show, and the Gaulier clown has developed his craft into a beautifully chaotic farce – 70 minutes of side-splitting subversion and spectacular silliness. In 2018, the big reveal and twist was that when Garry’s cock came out, it felt like a bold step – as if the character had overcome something in himself. That’s gone for Penguin Classics, which sees full-frontal nudity from the outset… but cut with the silliest of walks and flamboyant flounces in his iconic Elizabethan ruff. It remained funny, but it did leave me wondering whether he needed to be naked for the entire show.Many of his skits involve audience participation, and this could have delved into dubious territory considering the nudity. However, Damian navigates this admirably, making sure everyone is consenting and seemingly self-vets to get the right sort of people involved. Nobody is left embarrassed or humiliated – usually, they’re the heroes. Chaos reigns through everything from food fights to a moorland hunt of a naughty Kate Bush. It is hands down the best crowd work I’ve seen all Fringe.He even manages to surf the audience – in the buff – with an enthusiastic crowd, and it doesn’t get weird.I think where Garry Starr: Penguin Classics falls down is that it follows Damian’s previous work. It retains its absurd and ridiculous spark, but some of the vulnerability of his first show has gone. It is no longer quite so ground-breaking – but it does leave crowds grinning. By the end, the stage is strewn with errant penguins, and you’ll have found yourself squawking with joy by the time the clown is done.

Sweaty, nostalgic, camp, and maybe just a little bit magical. Club NVRLND is bringing the greatest hits of the 2000s to their fully immersive nightclub reimagining of Peter Pan. It’s Pan’s 30th birthday, but will tensions between him and a rival club owner get in the way of a great night—and rekindling a spark with runaway bride Wendy? The atmosphere on the dance floor is electric as the audience is encouraged to dance and sing along with the performers as the show unfolds around them.This is a night out like no other this festival season, best enjoyed with a group of friends and a drink in hand. Immersive theatre has become a bit of a buzzword in recent years at the Fringe and can sometimes fall into the trap of being a tokenistic bolt-on. This is far from the case with Club NVRLND. The audience is standing the whole time, needing to move around the space as the story plays out. Performers will dance with you, and songs are performed from within the crowd—it feels genuinely exciting and different. Because of this setup, it does mean there will be occasions where being able to see the action can become an issue for some sections of the crowd, but that just adds to the chaotic atmosphere, which you quickly get used to. There seem to be some sound teething problems in getting the balance right, with the challenge of the loud club music (and loud audience) meaning at times sections of dialogue were lost. Hopefully, this will be resolved by the end of the run. The plot is fun and silly, with no great depth, but that is not what you’re looking for from this sort of show. You’re looking for a party—and what a party they have to give.The cast themselves are phenomenal; they show so much skill in getting the audience on side and comfortable enough to join in with the fun. By the end of the night, I don’t think there was a single person not dancing. Additionally, they also pull off some genuinely powerful vocal performances and dances that don't let the energy drop for even a second. These lost boys are not to be underestimated in their musical theatre calibre. They’re giving it all on stage and reaping rewards from an audience who fell into the palm of their hands.

The live band plays as audiences find their seats, the air tingling with anticipation for the night ahead. Your favourite musical theatre kids are back in town – welcome to Baby Wants Candy.Every night, audiences witness both the opening and closing night of a brand-new musical that doesn’t exist until that moment. At the start of the show, suggestions are shouted from around the room, and from hundreds of wild ideas, three are chosen for a vote.For last night’s soirée, the winner was Leonardo DiCaprio Challenge 25. With an all-American cast, the performers quickly asked what “Challenge 25” meant. After learning of the UK’s tradition of ID-ing those who look under 25, the stage was set for a completely improvised musical.From live music to lyrics, dialogue to dance breaks – everything was made up on the spot. These masters of improv follow the golden rule: say yes to everything. That “yes” leads the musical into wild twists and unexpected turns, with mistakes and miscommunications instantly becoming inside jokes shared between cast and audience. Some of the directions Leonardo DiCaprio Challenge 25 took were so outlandish – including a time-travelling plot twist – that the audience was doubled over with laughter.Past shows have sported titles like Finding Emo and The Devil Wears Primark. Some storylines flow more smoothly than others, but what’s always guaranteed is joy. Overflowing from the stage each night is not only skill and talent, but pure fun. Baby Wants Candy is a delight because the performers’ excitement is infectious – their adrenaline-fuelled twinkle in the eye cannot be faked.

Jordan Gray bursts on stage to thunderous applause. In a cowboy hat, boots, white shirt and western-inspired belt, all that’s left to say is: welcome to the rodeo.Following Gray’s spectacular rise to fame after her first Edinburgh Fringe show, Is It a Bird?, in 2022 comes the long-awaited second round. Her latest show is keenly aware of the pressure a sequel faces and leans into the challenge of matching her earlier success.Born in Essex, Gray is one of the Fringe’s breakout stars. Is It a Bird? secured a Channel 4 special and multiple awards, including a Bafta. She has also appeared on Friday Night Live, ITV’s sitcom Transaction and The Voice. But her rise has been met with controversy after she became the first transgender woman to strip naked live on Channel 4. The moment sparked both praise and backlash – including death threats.Jordan Gray: Is That a C*ck in Your Pocket, or Are You Just Here to Kill Me? is not just the sequel to her hit show but a response to the media, political and social frenzy that followed the disrobing.In an hour full of music and standup, Gray fires back at her critics. In the process, her second instalment becomes a reflective, introspective show that at times questions who Jordan Gray is – while doubling as a love letter to the LGBTQ+ community. A funny yet emotional exploration of what it means to be a transgender woman, and particularly a public-facing one.Gray’s comedy, lyric writing and singing are hilariously quick-witted, while also feeling raw and intimate. Though the show may have its genesis in a difficult place, she turns life’s ups and downs into new material, in true comedian fashion.Without giving too much away, the show promises an ending to remember.

Never has a new show set me on the edge of my seat so fast. Vagabond Skies: The Van Gogh Musical is an instant classic. It is not one to miss.The musical follows Vincent van Gogh through his struggles with money, his art, and mental health, all while being supported by his brother Theo. Alex Bloomer plays the titular role and gives an amazing performance that left me reeling and wanting nothing more than to see him on stage again. Similarly, his chemistry with Richard Dawes, who played Theo, made me feel for these two brothers. This is especially poignant knowing how van Gogh's life ends.Outside of Bloomer and Dawes, the other characters and ensemble were equally compelling. Several musical numbers gave me chills, and I felt just as much like I knew van Gogh and his life as the performers did. They brought me into their world in a way I was not prepared for.The show had a lot of heart and took the material seriously. Upon walking in, a timeline is presented to the audience to help establish the story being told. Additionally, the program provides an in-depth story breakdown for viewers, as the show itself is a condensed version of the life of van Gogh. This could make for an odd viewing experience—often, I found myself a little confused by the story being told. But then I’d find myself drawn back in because of the performances and music. Despite this, I could not help but be captivated by this abundantly original musical. However, it's worth noting that the condensed nature of the production may present a disconnect from the story being told.This musical made me curious to know more about Vincent van Gogh and his life. As someone going in with very minimal knowledge, I knew after seeing this that I needed to know more. Going in with the understanding that it's condensed will make for an easier viewing experience. This project—while unfortunately abridged for the Edinburgh Festival Fringe—is one that many should see.

So You Think You’re Funny features three up-and-coming comics who are already making waves and winning competitions on their way to potential stardom, following in the footsteps of some of your favourite comedians who trod the same path. The acts today, and for the whole run, were all worthy of their success so far and complemented each other well.First up was Ciara O’Connor, who took on the guise of quasi-compère in getting to know the audience and setting the atmosphere for the evening, before seamlessly flowing into her material. She had a confident stage persona and a wide range of solid material that did not rely too heavily on being trans. Her trans-chess analogy was a set highlight.Next up was Bert Broadbent, who talked – as too few comics do – about his glasses. As with so many stand-ups, much of his set focused on his appearance, and while amusing, I prefer comics to verge into more original and diverse subjects that you don't hear in the majority of sets. A strong act who will not disappoint nonetheless.The standout for me was the final performer, Fab Goualin, who offered witty commentary on his Nigerian-French heritage and coming out story. Despite – and forgive the hypocrisy – both being topics many comedians cover, Fab proved to be a master of the callback, tying his set back to epic discussions from the previous acts. This helped establish SYTYF as a cut above some other Fringe compilation shows, where comedians often arrive mid-bill and repeat interviews with the same audience members.You will always be in safe hands with this brand, who work tirelessly to quality-control their acts based purely on merit and ensure you leave struggling to identify any lowlights in the lineup.

Mancunian sketch writer and performer Andrew Doherty clearly comes to the 2025 Fringe with a positive reputation based on his previous hit show, Gay Witch Sex Cult – he’s already attracting near sold-out performances, and there’s a lot of immediate love from the crowd. Thankfully, this is a gift he doesn’t squander; he effectively engages with his audience from the start, and builds on that foundation with real skill.Not surprising, really, as there’s a lot to love here: Doherty presents himself as a young man so enthusiastically in love with musicals – thanks to having discovered Six – that he now wants to share with us (in an audience research kind of way) a few scenes from his forthcoming Arts Council England (ACE)-supported musical, AIDS Actually. From the title alone, you might think this isn’t in particularly good taste, but (of course) that’s actually rather the point.And, at the risk of getting serious, this is clearly one of the issues Doherty is focused on: his character knows the kind of shows that he really wants to make, but his dependence on public subsidy means that ACE effectively call the shots – so when its increasingly demonic representatives, watching him via a conference call, tell him to “AIDS-it-up” and make his show more “Northern” (a challenge for someone from Manchester), he doesn’t have any alternative but to comply. This is combined with their ongoing insistence that he remains “non-political” – which, you could well say, is pretty hard to do when writing about a pandemic which effectively killed a generation of gay men. The challenges faced by public arts subsidies within an increasingly polarised social media are plain to see – and, in Doherty’s hands, also happen to be laugh-out-loud funny too.To be fair, not everything in this show is yet working on all thrusters – the subplot in which Arts Culture England apparently murders Doherty’s parents (to help give him the emotional trauma he needs to make “great” theatre) doesn’t quite land as well as you might think. And, in a purely technical early-in-the-run sort of way, Doherty’s conversations with a pre-recorded ACE demon are littered with extra-long pauses that can’t entirely be explained away by supposed issues with his broadband width.Nevertheless, if you’re looking for a laugh-out-loud show that sneaks in some surprisingly serious ideas behind the jokes, then it’s unlikely you’ll find anything better than this particular Sad Gay AIDS Play.

“Who’s ready for an hour of comedy?” asks Shalaka Kurup as she introduces herself on stage in the Attic at Pleasance. And she certainly delivers.From the outset of her debut Fringe hour, Kurup lets us know that her dream is to go to therapy. Emigrating from India to the UK doesn’t cover the “uniqueness” she desires, so she’s convinced a therapist’s diagnosis will help make her special – and, more importantly, be great “for the plot.”On paper, this might not sound like the most likeable protagonist or premise. But Kurup is so self-aware, to the point of hyper-awareness, that you almost find yourself equally incredulous that someone with a PhD in trains doesn’t fall on the autism spectrum.The gags come thick and fast – or fast and furious, in honour of Kurup’s inexplicable love of the film franchise. Yes, the literal “doctor of trains” is also partial to a “why sad, be fast.”There’s not an ounce of fat in Get A Grip: what could have been an hour of navel-gazing in the wrong hands is instead a show as slick as it is sardonic. Kurup is a formidable writer, with the stage presence to match.

Ali Woods returns to the Edinburgh Fringe this year with a confident, crowd-pleasing set. Best known for social media skits across TikTok and Instagram Reels, Woods proves equally at home on stage, effortlessly filling the 60-minute slot with a wide range of observations, anecdotes and asides that keep the audience engaged throughout.A self-proclaimed millennial, much of the material explores the evolving digital world – from growing up sharing a family desktop (now unthinkable) to the inexplicable pride only a millennial can feel from posting successful Instagram content. Likewise, the topic of weddings makes an expected but not unwelcome appearance.One standout section covers the classic boys' night out, including a surprise shout-out to Watford Oceana (a true millennial tell – Gen Z would know it as Pryzm), which had the room in stitches. Woods is firmly in his element unpacking the inevitable cringe and tragic lack of self-awareness that comes with being a teenage boy. Equally sharp are the jokes targeting men’s attitudes towards mental health, which had many in the audience nodding and laughing along.Using an “immigrant” Scottish mother as a narrative springboard, Woods smoothly incorporates local themes, including a witty breakdown of Edinburgh’s unapologetic Harry Potter tourism industry.A confident and seasoned performer, Woods exudes stage presence and immediate likability. While the meaning behind the show’s title, Basher, wasn’t made clear in the reviewed performance, this remains a strong, tightly crafted hour that had the audience laughing from start to finish.The outro is a particularly charming touch, with Woods breezily weaving in callbacks to earlier jokes before landing on a surprisingly tender, thoughtful note that left the room on a high.

“Have you got a home for me?”To say there is a housing crisis is something of an understatement, with successive governments proving unwilling or unable to reverse a generationally disturbing trend. Rents have spiralled beyond affordability, especially in city centres, and ownership is a distant dream for many.Resentment has grown towards the wealth divide and the damage to communities caused by short-term holiday-let platforms, subduing an entire generation. Which brings us to Home Sweet Home, Miriam Cappa’s autobiographical tale. The crisis here is not that of the UK, however – instead, we find ourselves in Rome, where our protagonist is house hunting.She takes the stage tentatively, dragging a tattered suitcase that appears to hold her worldly possessions, her silent uncertainty speaking volumes. She delivers an adaptation of Hamlet’s “to be or not to be” soliloquy, plaintively seeking a home while leaning into the wealth divide fuelled by the crisis.The production is frequently interrupted by telephone calls from lettings agents. In Italy, the gulf between the haves and the have-nots is accentuated by employment status; some people have lifetime job contracts, whose guaranteed income is especially favoured by landlords. Those on the periphery become de facto second-class applicants. She receives a call with a promising lead, only for the apartment to be rented in real time.She is advised that house hunting is a full-time activity, but as a trained actor she must work interminably long hours as a waitress – not to mention applying for and attending auditions.She imagines seducing a landlord and creates a tasteful burlesque, including a swirl of flamenco-style dancing. Her Lecoq training is evident, as she displays her comedy, clowning, puppetry, drama, dance and mime repertoire gracefully and magnetically, gliding around the stage. Her face conveys a plethora of emotions quite beautifully.Cappa’s relentless optimism and perseverance are severely tested by constant rejection, which could all too easily take their toll on her mental health. She resists her family’s overtures to return, determined to forge her own independent path.Such is the scarcity of available housing that success is often achieved only through personal contacts, indicative of a broken and possibly corrupt system. Cappa’s tentative enquiry – “have you got a home for me?” – becomes an increasingly desperate mantra. Precisely which country or city the search takes place in is almost academic; the theme of Cappa’s frustrating quest for sanctuary will be hauntingly familiar across much of the world.

Having developed her material on the comedy scene in Dubai, Indian-born Saaniya Abbas is excited to be able to tell the jokes that would certainly get her in hot water back home. Her material touches on the cultural differences of her childhood in New Delhi, her education in a Himalayan Catholic convent school, and her experiences performing comedy in different countries. There’s also a lot of material to be gleaned from her experiences as a lapsed Muslim divorcee, but Abbas’s comedy is so much more than this. Her tight, hilarious set covers everything from Andrew Tate, artificial intelligence, and dating in your thirties to colonoscopies, drunken WhatsApp videos, and possibly the best armpit joke on the Fringe.Abbas engages the audience throughout her set, checking in to see if anyone shares her experiences and opinions and making sure that references are understood, especially when talking about her ex. Several of her punchlines draw applause, and she seems genuinely delighted to have such a response. It feels almost maternal, as if she’s determined to ensure that we’re all having a good time too.Of course, you can’t review Abbas without mentioning her phenomenal social media following. There’s a new breed of comics at the Fringe whose fame comes from skits and gags on TikTok and Instagram, and many find that their comedy, which works so well in short clips while scrolling on the toilet, doesn’t translate into a full hour of entertainment. However, it’s clear that Abbas earned her stripes on stage at comedy clubs, building her style and delivery, and she delivers a brilliant hour of comedy that’s over all too soon.

Munching on her own marshmallow Sindy doll cheeks and breaking character to giggle at her own jokes, Susan Harrison’s love of comedy — and seemingly infinite energy levels — shine through in her brand-new show. Although Harrison first came to the Edinburgh Fringe in 2009, Should I Still Be Doing This? makes it refreshingly clear that she is no jaded veteran of the festival. Armed with just a few changes of clothing, she switches with ease from Gen-Alpha podcaster to aggressive stuffed panda to… a girl stuck in a well swallowed by a middle-aged woman? Yep, you heard that right.Despite the bizarre line-up of characters, Should I Still Be Doing This? feels surprisingly relevant to modern day-to-day life. Whether we’re being assailed by targeted ads, listening to a hyperactive podcaster, navigating the precarity of freelance work or ogling zoo animals having sex, she’s right — there is something bizarre about the way we live our lives.Harrison never reaches the dangerous realms of Fringe PR stunt inanity or cheap caricature. Instead, her characters are brought to life with sharp wit, a healthy dose of compassion and some gentle audience participation. Sometimes the punchlines can get slightly lost among an ageing contortionist’s limbs or oversized panda onesie, but Harrison ultimately keeps the show on track with her indomitable enthusiasm.The catchy songs, composed by Jordan Paul Clarke of ShowStopper: The Improvised Musical, are well delivered by Harrison and will have you humming along even after the lights come up. Although she has a history of improv, Harrison’s interaction with the audience doesn’t quite match the sharpness of her written material — but this is sure to grow as she settles into the run.Although Harrison wonders aloud whether she should still be donning silly outfits and accents for a living, she brings heart and energy to her characters as if it were her first time at the Fringe. It may be wacky, unadulterated fun, but one can’t help but smile and feel at ease with Harrison on stage. Should I Still Be Doing This? is an original, joyful show that is sure to entertain and surprise — and in so doing, answers its own question: yes!

Scotland needs – is owed – a significant play about the fall of RBS. Seventeen years later, has James Graham written it?It’s a brilliant script with terrific design, endless great jokes, and the cast is acting at the top level (Sandy Grierson as Fred Goodwin is astonishingly good in a difficult, wide-ranging role). Graham hasn't held back on ambition – Greek tragedy is referenced, and hubris and the Furies are recurring motifs. He brings research to life on stage, capturing Edinburgh's obsession with dualism: two cities, one chaotic and hidden underground, the other elegantly ordered in the light of the Enlightenment. Recurring motifs include ‘Edinburgh’s Disgrace’ on Calton Hill and the vital importance of John Lewis. Even Fingers Piano Bar gets a mention. Brian Cox, in a role as a balloon-puncturing National Treasure, gives an interesting additional perspective.The vox pop has mixed views on the first half. While undoubtedly entertaining, there are accusations of meandering and irrelevant characters. I would defend this section: it captures historic ‘steady as she goes’ attitudes under attack by ‘move fast and break things’ businessmen. The first half introduces cast members breaking into period pop songs, used throughout. This cheerful Hollywood musical tone illustrates the spell of short-sighted optimism that whole companies fall under – while the audience knows what happens next.Graham is meticulously fair. As success builds, Goodwin moves from unpleasant to gangsterish bully, yet he’s not the sole villain: his managers follow his lead, shareholders allow unrestrained power, and Graham shows all banks were equally bad – they just weren’t as big.The politicians fare well: Darling is eminently sensible; Brown appears as a thinking heir to the Enlightenment, unlucky to be PM at Labour's fag-end but fulfilling his destiny in coordinating the European response to the crisis.The play highlights the discrepancy between the Enlightenment's broad, deep thinkers and business leaders' shallowness. We get the usual witless justifications. Goodwin calls NatWest’s art collection degenerate, while his private jet ‘inspires confidence.’ A key exchange: Brown says, “You were given freedom – look what you have done with it.” Goodwin’s defence: “If not me, it would have been somebody else.” True – but muggers might say that too. And we put muggers in jail.The conclusion of the banking crisis movie The Big Short takes a historical perspective, challenging audiences on allowing systems to continue unchanged. In contrast, Graham’s play is an entertaining documentary on a limited historical period that doesn’t explore the wider implications. We learn nothing new. We aren't challenged to examine our own role, as Big Tech ushers in the next revolution.So, no – we still don’t have the play on the fall of RBS that we are owed.

They say history is written by the winners. True to that saying, How To Win Against History is a musical following Henry, an unconventional aristocrat determined to be remembered and to withstand the test of time.Henry steps on stage in an elaborate headpiece of lush feathers and a shimmering gown. Soft-spoken, charming and naturally humorous, he takes us through his life from childhood to adulthood. Set in the Victorian era, it’s immediately clear he is unlike other aristocrats – not only because of his attire, but also because of his attitude and artistic spirit.The show features two lead actors: Henry and one other performer who masterfully shifts between multiple characters with precision and wit. They are accompanied by a live band on stage, seamlessly integrated into the storytelling. Vaudeville-style patter songs deliver clever, energetic narratives that evoke the golden age of musical theatre and the sparkle of British music halls.How To Win Against History examines class, privilege, wealth, love, social pressures, not fitting in, and the longing to be oneself. But the question remains: will history remember Henry, and does he want to? Though set in a time of different social norms, it resonates powerfully with modern audiences, proving that while eras change, human nature – and the desire to be seen and heard – remains timeless.

Before I knew it, I was charmed and delighted by the host of characters depicted solely by the talented David Hoskin. Fringe feels best when you don’t really know what you’ve walked into. A Haunted House has exactly that feel as you enter the space, with a remarkably detailed model of a haunted house on display in a dank basement. With simple eyebrow waggles and shoulder shoogles, he had me hooked, and the joyfully spooky world within the house is somewhere I would happily revisit again and again… if I ever leave.A Haunted House is a silly, camp performance where The Rocky Horror Show meets The Addams Family in one mime’s body. Mime doesn’t feel quite appropriate, as it evokes painted Parisian performers, but it is the only description that captures the full-body performance Hoskin gives. From spasming tremors and terrifying tongue motions – which play as funny rather than horrific – he sets the stage expertly. It’s deeper than that, though. A subtle change in eyebrows or the set of his mouth gives an entirely different character or cosmic horror moment from one beat to the next: vampires, ghouls, eye-eating monstrosities and, of course, our host Uncle Lester.Hoskin feels like he’s capering with himself and, though he works the audience perfectly, we’re very much in his world. This is a masterclass in physical theatre and a near-perfect one-man show.The show uses the structure of a tour of the house – and some memory jars – to segue from vignette to vignette. A standout moment was a very simple: “BOOO…ks… we’re in the library.” This is the vein for most of the show: hilarious and spooky, but rarely scary. It feels rather a lot like a midnight-black kitten trying to convince you it is quite ferocious.You can feel the distinct Britishness in A Haunted House – the true evil at work is the local council. Cue thunder and dramatic lighting. Or worse yet, support workers for Age UK with dubiously spelt names. The work doesn’t take itself seriously at all, even including jabs at the Fringe with perfectly timed entries of characters asking if the show has started yet.If your favourite scary movies make you laugh, if you lean towards the bizarre, and if you’re ready to be impressed by a queer icon in the making, please visit David Hoskin in A Haunted House… for you shall leave not quite the same as you entered.

Josie Long is one of the most infectious performers you could hope to see. Few comics have her mastery of physicality and tonal nuance, demonstrating how intimately she knows her stage extension of herself with every syllable, movement and inflection. I would suggest this could only be achieved with generations of practice – but it was also true when I first saw her headline a comedy night at university, back in autumn 2003.In her 2025 show, Now Is the Time of Monsters, Josie is back jumping around subjects – and indeed the room itself – as she energetically turns the whole venue into her canvas. Lots of comics cover plenty of ground in an hour, but few compare to Josie in the deftness and dexterity with which she weaves in and out of narrative threads (whale diets are a particular highlight). The audience are kept on their toes but never left scratching their heads. It’s the perfect amount to follow, delivered at the perfect pace.Over the course of the hour Josie refers to many giant prehistoric creatures, questions of morality and updates on her current life. The poignant messages she delivers about the state of the world manage to be interesting and funny, without ever verging on preachy.A couple of off-the-cuff comments suggest Long wasn’t really feeling the audience that day. I could picture her telling fellow performers the crowd was subpar, even though from within it, it felt like we were all with her. While she was careful not to make us feel bad about it, she risked alienating herself, and similar comments in the hands of a lesser comic could easily have been enough to drop the show’s rating by a star.There are epic callbacks throughout – but you’d expect nothing less from a seasoned pro of Josie’s calibre. The audience hangs on her every word, with big laughs flying about from a national treasure in the making, and an epic conclusion that ties everything together to perfection.

Fans of the 2002 hit TV series Footballers’ Wives will not be disappointed. With enough sequins to be seen from space and a tightly packed plot full of telenovela-worthy twists and turns, this production is a perfect extension of the much-loved British show.Following the lives of four footballers’ wives as they navigate infidelity, fame and friendship, this musical tackles a whole host of events into just 80 minutes. Though the story centres on the misfortunes of the iconic Tanya Turner, it brings together a range of ensemble plots that provide balance and a welcome break from the exaggerated drama.A camp, Swarovski crystal-covered gem of a show, this cast of 12 shines with beautifully blended harmonies and punchy choreography. Whilst all cast members were pitch perfect, notable performances included India Chadwick and Tom Bowen as the comic couple Chardonnay and Kyle. Both had a physicality and presence on stage that was hard to look away from. Leading lady Ceili O’Connor, as the eponymous Tanya, also impressed with powerhouse vocals and relentless energy throughout.It is an unserious show, full of drama, but there is no shortage of talent, catchy songs and physical comedy. If you love a flirty, fun musical, this production delivers in spades.

La Clique remains the crown jewel of the iconic, velvet-draped Spiegeltent, where high-class circus artistry meets boundary-pushing cabaret. The Olivier award-winning show is celebrating 21 years of blending classic and contemporary circus, making it undeniably chic and deliciously sexy.La Clique always promises the unexpected, even for seasoned fans who have seen many of its signature acts return. Every night brings a curated selection of top talent, such as aerial contortion strap specialists Tuedon Ariri and LJ Marles, and cabaret singer Aurora Kurth.Many performers reveal completely different sides to their artistry. David Pereira first impresses with an operatic aerial silk routine before contorting himself through a full-body shaving act. Similarly, Tara Boom’s riotous hula hoop “human popcorn machine” is followed by elegant paper parasol juggling.Among the comedic interludes, Captain Frodo’s return is a particular highlight. The self-proclaimed Incredible Rubberman bends, folds and twists his body through impossibly small spaces, pairing physical improbability with razor-sharp timing – popping a limb or two in the process.A new comic treat for me was the Daredevil Chickens, aka Anne Goldmann and Jonathan Taylor, whose vaudevillian quick-change routine earned the biggest laughs of the evening. And who knew there was such a thing as mouth-to-mouth banana juggling – something to try at home as a sexy late-night game (or not). The evening’s cherry on top was Ursula Martinez’s legendary Hanky Panky magic striptease, first performed at La Clique more than 20 years ago.What makes La Clique eternally chic is its seamless fusion of raw talent with an undeniable sense of cool. The acts are visceral, ethereal and delivered with in-your-face intensity. If you are bold enough to sit in the front row, prepare for exhilaratingly close encounters – a splash, a touch or an intimate moment that only adds to the show’s cheeky charm. And I mean cheeky literally.For newcomers, La Clique is an electrifying introduction to contemporary circus at its best; for veterans, it is a reminder of why we always keep coming back. La Clique is more than a show – it is a homage to the very essence of circus.

Lorna Rose Treen is both a Gaulier-trained clown and a previous winner of Dave’s Funniest Joke of the Fringe award. Her new show, 24 Hour Diner People, expertly blends character-based clown comedy with hilarious one-liners. Attempting to evolve her usual sketch comedy format, Treen this time situates all her characters in one American diner, dripping with Americana. We meet the waitress – a woman who dreams of running away and starting a new life (and is also addicted to eating coins and banknotes). We meet an awkward teenager who wants her crush to invite her to prom (and for him to “reset [her] like a Tamagotchi”). And we meet a couple planning to rob the diner at gunpoint (the boyfriend played expertly by a member of the audience) and an undercover spy.These characters rotate through the show, interacting with the audience and delivering hilarious and daft one-liners. Treen brings a chaotic DIY energy to the one-woman show and makes good use of props and stagecraft throughout – like a blow-up doll she uses to facilitate conversations between her characters. Many of the jokes are so daft they shouldn’t work, but do – thanks in large part to Treen’s charm and delivery.What doesn’t work as well are the framing device and narrative, with the ending feeling rushed and none of the characters or stories having a really solid, satisfying payoff. Treen sets up more than she has time to work with in an hour-long Fringe slot, and the show’s big foreshadowed climax falls a little flat.Treen tries to do many different things with 24 Hour Diner People, and most of them work. A clown show, a sketch show, a one-liner showcase and a piece of cohesive comedic theatre, it is very close to a masterpiece but ultimately bites off slightly more than it can chew.

In this charming one-man show, Robert Daws plays the much-loved humorist P.G. Wodehouse, whose whimsical – near anemoic – worlds of ferocious aunts and amusing romantic scrapes shielded him from acknowledging the darker moments that haunted his life. “Everything is made better with a joke,” he tells us – and it seems he was determined to live by that very tenet, pushing down any potential for self-pity or contemplation in favour of a very considered silliness.Wodehouse was nothing if not prolific; his well over 300 books, plays and stories remain greatly esteemed today for their very specific brand of superficiality and sparkle. But for a writer whose reputation still leans heavily on his depiction of a particular type of Englishness, Wodehouse was, in reality, an itinerant who never truly inhabited the imagined worlds he wove for his readers.An “Empire orphan”, Wodehouse was sent from Hong Kong to England at the age of two and would not see his parents again for many years. Brought up by a succession of formidable aunts and twittish, mischievous uncles – who would later provide ample fodder for his cast of upper-class characters – he was perhaps happiest within the confines of Dulwich College, which offered just the right amount of structure and artistic freedom, and sowed many of the seeds for his literary career. Wodehouse attained such immediate success on the writing scene that he moved to France for tax reasons in the 1930s – a decision destined to have repercussions he could never have imagined. From there, he became a German prisoner of war, a figure of political mistrust in the UK, and an eventual exile in the United States: a quintessential Englishman adrift on a sea of fan adoration and establishment opprobrium for the second half of his life.The piece is set in Wodehouse’s handsome Long Island home, shared with (and majestically titivated by) his wife, Ethel. His great chum and collaborator Guy Bolton pops by from time to time. They walk their dogs. But there is an emptiness at the heart of “Plum’s” life – an emptiness that an earnest young biographer is keen to explore.Wodehouse himself would rather not. It’s not his style, he explains. He prefers to splash about in the ridiculousness of Berkeley Mansions or Blandings Castle – in situations he can control. Not that Plum would recognise this need for autonomy, of course. As played by a wide-eyed Daws, he is an innocent – quite literally – abroad. A little boy whose preoccupation with make-believe is preferable to the awful realities of life. And this love for froth and fandangle is underpinned by a scattering of self-penned jaunty little numbers, which also serve to change the narrative energy and punctuate the introspection of an anti-introspective.Daws initially conjures Plum (he found his given name, Pelham, tricky to grapple with as a young lad) with a joyful glee redolent of the “silly arse” set themselves. This brings an even greater sadness to his moments of reflection – such as when he tells of the death of his beloved daughter Leonora. It takes an actor of Daws’s stature to switch between these moods of frivolity and fragility with the sincerity and sensitivity necessary to bring an audience up short. This is supposed to be a light-hearted land, in which the worst thing that can happen to one is an amusing incident with a Victoria sponge… inviolable, safe. The awfulness of the real world is not supposed to invade its borders. With an economy that echoes Wodehouse’s almost visceral need to rail against emotional gloom, Daws draws a picture of aching desolation and internalised pain.But Leonora was not the only mainstay of his life to be snatched cruelly from Wodehouse. An apparently naive mistake during the war resulted in a wave of revulsion and scrutiny, a suspicion of Nazi activity, and a life lived far from the leafy shires and mansion flats that tickled a global readership. Daws plays Wodehouse’s almost infantile outrage that such a thing could happen with an awkward believability that belies Plum’s intelligence – and hints at the upper-class exceptionalism and political gaucheness he was more used to lampooning than experiencing himself. For although foolish and thoughtless his decision to broadcast on German radio may have been, a sympathiser he was not.This is a lovely – and surprisingly affecting – hour in the company of a consummate professional who is able to move and amuse in equal measure, and a wonderful opportunity to explore the life behind the literary legend.In one of his earliest novels, Wodehouse wrote: “I am not always good and noble. I am the hero of this story, but I have my off moments.” Little was he to know then that it would one day make the perfect epitaph for the story of his own life.

Marc Burrows times this show perfectly – bringing Britpop knowledge and comedy to the masses just as Oasis relaunch their world tour, Pulp score a #1 album, and pretty much every Britpop band you’ve heard of (apart from Blur, who did their thing last year) are touring again. Britpop Hour, hosted by the leading aficionado on the genre – or should that be “style”? – talks you through the entire history of one of the central components of 90s UK culture, with plenty of amusing anecdotes and insights.The show kicks off with a brief but hilarious exposé of some of the worst lyrics from some of the best songs. There are only two, though, and one feels he could have plunged deeper. Even so, it reminds you that, even if, like me, you consider yourself an authority on the subject, there are some wake-up calls in store. And we all need a little time to wake up.There are certainly laughs throughout the show, and Marc is an able and confident frontman, though you should go in expecting an amusing TED Talk rather than a laugh-a-minute rollercoaster of aisle-rolling. That said, he does refer to a couple of his jokes being shortlisted in the Top 20 by leading newspapers.Britpop Hour charts the whole history – from the bands who paved the way for the revolution through to its climax. Expect to learn more about my favourite 90s band, Pulp (PS, I am the proud owner of a Jarvis tattoo), and some of the surprising things they predate, having formed in 1979 (NB – a missed opportunity not to mention they formed before Thatcher came to power). His Jarvis dance tutorial was a real highlight, and I delighted in having the audience encouraged to try out his epic moves at the end of the show. Multiple brownie points were lost, however, for getting the lyrics to Common People wrong on the screen in the final crescendo.There’s a good deal of variety here as well, with Burrows whipping out his guitar to demonstrate repetition in musical themes, à la Axis of Awesome, but abridged. I loved the graphs showing where different bands sit on the Britpop spectrum, and it’s enlightening to see someone talk about some of this nation’s greatest music with such passion to reach a new audience. I went with two Irish friends in their thirties and was shocked to hear on leaving the show that they had never heard the term “Britpop” before, nor had they come across Pulp! For shame!So if you too know anyone in desperate need of a musical education, you can’t go wrong with treating them to this Britpop hour. Maybe you’re going to be the one to save them. Woo hoo!

At its heart, Up is a story about how opposites attract. But it also touches on ideas around luck and fate – about choices and coincidences – in ways that are genuinely engaging, thought-provoking and, for lack of a better word, playful.The story focuses on what happens when Jamie – who believes she’s been extremely unlucky all her life – finds herself sitting next to “born lucky” Jay on a flight to Brazil—which, true to form, runs into extreme difficulties. Much of the narrative thrust for this show comes from the rhythmic returns to where our two-member cast – co-creator (with artistic director Douglas Irvine) Zoë Hunter and Michael Dylan – re-enact emergency masks dropping from above their heads, engines stuttering in flames, and hand baggage crashing to the floor. For, as they explained in an early “lesson” on the science behind powered flight, if something does go seriously wrong with an airplane, “gravity wins”.Depressing? Not a bit of it: there’s a lightness to proceedings, thanks to the way the story is told. Wilson and Dylan use numerous toy planes and cars, action figures (of various sizes) and small suitcases filled with knickknacks to illustrate and progress the narrative – what the publicity refers to as “a fantasy table-top exploration using object theatre” but arguably best resembles children playing with whatever objects come to hand. Nor does the set resemble a passenger aircraft; rather it feels like the small corner of one of those vast warehouses where the retrieved items from crashes are stored. Wilson and Dylan are surrounded by metal shelves filled with cardboard boxes, and a whiteboard; they spend much of their time behind a small collection of office desks, facing out to the audience.Its sense of “play” – in the childhood sense of the word – paradoxically may distance us from much of the reality of the situations we’re shown, but nevertheless helps us connect with the core emotional aspects of each character’s back story – in particular their past loves and traumas. It’s concise writing, combined with two energetic performances, which ensures we believe how and why these two people have met at the right – or possibly the absolutely wrong – time, and how arguably it doesn’t matter which.Notwithstanding the asides name-checking the ancient Greek concept of the “Unity of Opposites” or more recent investigations into people’s ideas of good and bad luck undertaken by Professor Richard Wiseman, this is a dynamic, entertaining and remarkably uplifting production.

The room is close to packed for Thanyia Moore’s August at Pleasance Upstairs. She repeatedly thanks us all for coming, even the stragglers. “’Cause if you had asked me to come to your show upstairs, I wouldn’t have come,” she says.Moore eases into the show with some crowdwork, which she does with the naturalness of someone with more than a decade’s worth of experience under her belt. There is a sense that she does this for our benefit and hers, as August covers how, on what was supposed to be the first day of her debut run at the Fringe in 2022, she had a miscarriage. Moore doesn’t allow the quiet that falls over the room to last long: “Stay with me, I’m fine now. But if you don’t laugh, I’ll be sad – irony.”Moore doesn’t deal with sadness well, we learn over the hour. She says she texted the only five people who knew she was pregnant about what had happened, then proceeded to block them. “I needed time to work out my material before they got involved,” she says wryly. As she was waiting to be seen at the hospital, she began composing August, because “as a comedian, we don’t have a bad day, we just find material.”The conversational tone in which Moore shares her story, and her razor wit, maintains a light energy in the room that belies the subject matter. She matter-of-factly lets us know she went back to London for treatment and then returned to Edinburgh to finish out her Fringe run – all while continuing to avoid concerned loved ones, including her partner. Rightly or wrongly, Moore doesn’t care for our opinions, nor does she need them. Despite what she went through, she’s proud of herself; she made it to the end, even getting her first standing ovation in the process.Which was deserved then and certainly warranted now – though when some of us start to stand up and cheer at the end of August, Moore warns: “No, stop or I’ll block you.”Throughout the show, she says she tried to remind herself to enjoy the view on the various trains she had to take. Hopefully she can enjoy the rightly earned flowers we’re trying to give her too.

Opening onto a burning pyre drizzled with litres of silliness, Bebe Cave: CHRISTBRIDE is best described as Girlie Pop meets Catholicism Wow.This one-woman show uses a medley of characteristic accents to deliver seemingly whimsical (for the 1400s) societal commentary and pop culture references that hold up in the modern day. These references land just right through a medieval lens, allowing Bebe (or rather Bethtilda BigBum) to maintain the breakneck speed of a narrative that takes her from dark-ages wench to CHRISTBRIDE superstar in no time at all.The host of voices she brings to the stage are critical to the performance, and you’re never lost as to who is doing what – nor even particularly surprised when Jesus turns out to be Scouse. Of course Jesus is Scouse.Goblin energy flows strongly into the space, and there’s the occasional character break – but it only adds to the performance, giving her a chance to riff with the crowd. What’s more, she seems to be loving every minute of it. The crowd certainly were.Join Bebe Cave for an authentic fever dream from the Middle Ages – if you like women who are people and have strong opinions on mud.

Not many people in the audience can say the title of this show. But thank god I can. As the only dyke sitting in my row, waiting for the much anticipated Count Dykula to start, I gleamed at the crowd of people who came out for this show. Count Dykula, a lesbian loner, attends Scare University. The Dean, Scarlet Fang, wants to enrol humans at the cost of banning monsters. Count Dykula and her friends must band together to take the dean down. This musical comedy left me delighted and impressed.With clever double casting, the trio of performers constantly juggle multiple characters, never failing to make us laugh by acknowledging the chaos. Striking a perfect balance between earnestness and camp, the show achieves exactly what it sets out to do. The journey feels full, never missing a comedic beat, with total insistence that Count Dykula is, in fact, a top.In the canon of the kind of Fringe shows you go to with a pint, this is one of the most well-crafted, funny and meaningful. Its use of camp creates a playful space where we root for the characters the whole time. Every character feels like they have a substantive backstory – take Werepug, for example: half werewolf, half pug. The songs are expertly crafted (and catchy), always pushing the plot forward. The comedy in both the songs and Dykula’s confessional asides cuts through the artifice of the musical.While the ending felt a little rushed, the show still delivers. It’s such a fun time it will have you howling. Catch this show while you can get a spot in the front row! The company, Airlock Theatre, is also producing Lesbian Space Crime, which I’m thrilled to see as well.Deeply silly yet serious in its engagement with an important subject – why are masculine women so persecuted? – Count Dykula will entertain you, make you laugh and even make you sing.

Michelle Collins seems nervous. She pops out from the auditorium a few minutes before curtain up: she gurns gauchely at those at the front of the queue. They offer a cheery "good luck." "I’m gonna need it!" she replies, without a hint of false modesty, before popping back in again. It reminds me of a charmingly honest television interview with her a few days ago, in which, unstarry and wide-eyed, she seemed more than a little overwhelmed by the Edinburgh behemoth she had created for herself.But if she is more anxious than the average performer kicking off this crazy month of endurance, she really needn’t be. The show is a sell-out. Her fans, warm and supportive, are out in force. They don’t know it’s terribly bad form to applaud an actor before they so much as open their mouth, but on this occasion, we’ll forgive them. They are just so delighted to be breathing the same air. An air which is generously loaded with the years of shared memories of Ms Collins pouting, scheming, suffering, and surviving from the magic box in the corner of the room.As it happens, these pouting, scheming, suffering, survival attributes have served her well in the creation of Denise: the ‘Motorhome Marilyn’ of the title. Based on an original idea of her own, the story follows sixty-something Denise as her paltry world as a Marilyn Monroe impersonator crumbles around her ears. Now living in Las Vegas but raised in Southend, Denise has been through it. Her only true companion is a python named Bobby. She exists in a caravan stuffed with Monroe tat. She hasn’t got much. But the one thing she does have in spades is grit. You can take the girl from Southend, but...Written by Ben Weatherill, the script serves up a good number of genuinely hilarious lines; and some of the initially extraneous-seeming exposition ends up neatly dovetailing into the final few moments. There is plenty here to tickle die-hard Monroe fans, and just as much to educate those who are less familiar with her story.Collins herself certainly looks the part and is as perfect a fit for Denise as you would expect from a part written especially for her. Rather more unfortunately, Denise is not a perfect fit for Marilyn. And therein lies much of the sadness of the piece. Denise will never realise much more of the dream than standing over a grate on the Strip, her white skirt whirling in the wind, and worrying whether she’s likely to develop a yeast infection from all that hot air scooting up her nether regions. Even when in character, there is little accent, no breathy register, none of the softness of her idol. She is quite clearly doomed to failure. Deluded even within her delusions. But, ever-optimistic, she clings on. Well, they do say it’s the hope that kills you.Ms Collins bravely creates a character who is difficult to love and is unafraid of demonstrating the hardness of a woman whose eternal reliance on her own mettle has rendered even a scintilla of vulnerability tantamount to betrayal. This brittle emotional tone allows the darker elements of the piece to bowl merrily on by, and we find ourselves almost complicit in some of her darker doings. This is a much more tangible take on a character who could so easily become cartoonish and infantile, and one that leaves us with a satisfyingly awkward feeling of irresolution as the lights fade down.Because this is not really a show about Marilyn Monroe. This is a show about lost dreams, wasted lives, resilience… and just a little touch of psychopathy. It is an insightful glimpse into the story that might lie behind a tin front door, of how a little life, of scant account to anyone very much, might be eked out. Ably directed by the always reliable Alexandra Spencer-Jones, there is a good deal of pain that is evocatively intimated rather than explicitly splashed about. And much like the legendary Marilyn herself, not all of the scars are visible.

Jenny Ryan is becoming quite the multi-talented entertainer. From first coming to public prominence as The Vixen, the imperious quizzing titan on ITV’s The Chase, she went on to wow with her spectacular singing performances on Celebrity X Factor and is now onto her second Edinburgh Fringe show. With Björn Yesterday, she really comes into her own as a stage performer – warm, likeable and confident, she puts the audience at ease with effortless charm and wit.The show begins with Ryan dazzling her way onto the stage in a fabulous sequinned cape before positing the (by her own admission) absurd theory that ABBA never existed, which she presents in the form of a lecture, Venn diagrams and all. Part comedy cabaret, part memoir, Ryan reveals how she fell in love with the band as a teenager and cleverly draws parallels between that and her simultaneous loss of faith in the Catholic church. Her analysis of both ABBA’s body of work and the Mamma Mia! movie franchise is genuinely fascinating – and hilarious. Who would have thought it contains more multiverses than the MCU?One shortcoming is that, for a show about ABBA by a performer with such a wonderful voice, there is a curious lack of singing. She teases a few bars of The Winner Takes It All, breaking into tears for comic effect, and offers a few snippets of songs throughout, but only commits to a full rendition in the much-wanted singalong finale.Overall, for any ABBA, quiz or comedy fan, the show is a real treat and a delightfully joyful way to spend an hour. I won’t spoil the ending, but suffice to say the question of ABBA’s existence is resolved happily. A word of warning, though: you will never listen to Chiquitita in the same way again.

Mr Handsome is a washed-up celebrity. Played by Ellen Turnill Montoya, the right hand has been forgotten: with AI and feet pics all the rage, Mr Handsome needs to land an audition. But he has one problem – he misses his best friend, Lefty. Through whimsical onstage gags and audience participation, Mr Handsome takes you on a giggly ride through the lonely life of a single hand.The construction of Mr Handsome’s show follows the shape of a hero’s arc. He sets out on the journey of trying to get booked for a modelling audition, with the help of his agent – a pair of bright red lips who repeatedly kiss the audience hello. But he needs his other half, Lefty. Mr Handsome auditions members of the audience to see if they can play the part. In a series of challenges, the chosen participant must match Mr Handsome’s vibe.Ellen Turnill Montoya has a beautiful onstage energy, constantly revving the audience up in new and inventive ways. She delves deep into each bit and takes every moment to hilarious extents. This is very much a clown show, recommended for those who want to watch something silly and sweet in the afternoon. There is never any shortage of Mr Handsome’s charm.While some moments seemed aimed at children, it was still a fun time for audiences of all ages. Never lacking whimsy and a certain joie de vivre, Mr Handsome is a delightful way to spend an afternoon.

Grareth [no, that’s not a typo] Krubb (Trygve Wakenshaw, in a suit that’s too small for him) and Dennis Chubb (Barnie Duncan, “the swarthy one”, in a suit that’s too big) are allegedly account consultants for Rucks’s Leather Interiors. However, this pair, happy to hand out their business cards to the audience as we enter, frankly struggle to get anything done, taking office incompetence to new heights of laugh-out-loud physical comedy. Though there’s also the occasional, often surreal, verbal comment thrown in for good measure: “Imagine a room covered in skin” sticks in the mind!Wakenshaw and Duncan are absolute masters at this kind of physical humour, not least for managing to get almost a couple of minutes’ worth of physical contortions out of a simple handshake. Yet, while the jokes keep on coming, they’re sensible enough to ensure we have sufficient pauses for breath – otherwise they’d probably lose half their audience to laughter-induced asphyxiation.The show is recommended for 12-year-olds and older, possibly because there are one or two moments of more risqué adult humour – an unexpected diversion into the lives of pigeons, for example, ends with the briefest moment of “coitus”. And yet many children would surely really enjoy this, not least because there is a genuine child-like feel to both Wakenshaw and Duncan’s characters. Also, the show is grounded in a series of easily understandable games – some taking “management speak” literally – which the pair perform with exceptional skill.It should be said that this is not a new show: it debuted in Edinburgh the best part of a decade ago, but it still feels remarkably fresh and exciting, with even a sense of some visual and physical improvisation – although I suspect that it’s actually choreographed to within an inch of its life. There are also several running gags – one involving coffee cups – which build throughout the show to the increasing delight of the audience.Wakenshaw and Duncan are, without doubt, an exceptional double act: indeed, with their tall/short aspect, they have something of a Laurel and Hardy vibe – albeit without the overt physical assaults. Yet it’s also clear that this is, in part, down to their ongoing success as solo performers – each has their own shows in Edinburgh this year, as well as another fully improvised duo performance later in the evening. As Different Party proves, when they do choose to work together, the result is magical.

Although he dedicates quite a lot of energy to convincing you that he doesn't, Nate Kitch knows exactly who he is and what he is doing in Nate Kitch: Something Different!!!!!Things not to expect from one of Nate’s shows are much sense, many actual jokes and any feeling of a beginning, a middle or an end. Things you definitely can expect are endlessly unexpectable fun, quite a surprising amount of faeces for a comedy show at the Gilded Balloon, and a section of something so simple and yet so brilliant that the entire room is rocking with uncontrollable laughter.It is a long time since I have experienced anything quite like it. Through scatological clowning (more scat than clown), his struggles with exclamation marks, Matisse, North Korea and a grandfather who gets younger with every mention, Nate takes us with him. He does lose me when he attempts to mime his way through the problems Canadian rappers have with snow. Although, obviously, a serious problem for the rappers (Drake specifically, in this case), Nate's mime skills are so pathetically sad, I find myself siding with Kendrick Lamarr. And that is something I never thought I would say.Excitingly, for followers of Nate's promotion of this show, I can report that he does actually have a hat. And it is very nice. I did lie about the ending, by the way. And it is worth waiting for… weird, but worth waiting for.

At 31, Michael Welch lives an enviable life: a loving partner of 14 years, a steady civil service job, two adorable feline companions, and a beautiful home in the capital’s commuter belt. What could make Welch want for more? Try the EuroMillions. All Rizz, No Filter hits a jackpot this Fringe in an act that beats steadily with a TikTok-esque approach to set-ups, driven by the undercurrent of Welch’s grandstanding personality.In many respects, Welch’s show is like an aeroplane ride: a slight delay at the beginning followed by rapid take-off to adjust to his tempo, but once up to speed you barely notice how fast you’re travelling as he races across a bountiful ocean of topics without hitting turbulence.Welch’s self-confessed ADHD is by no means a superficial quirk thrown in for the sake of neurodivergent box-checking. Rather, it is as much a part of the show as his jokes – his own comedic battery that powers the bulk of his set piece on cults. Indeed, the curt set-ups are the lynchpin of the evening: an anecdote about McDonald’s blends seamlessly into a quip on the hinterland of anal sex for vanilla couples (with a double whammy at the expense of the royal family), where the Portobello comic never lingers too long before sidestepping into his next topic with composed ease.In less capable hands, some of Welch’s material might seem contrived. The existential dread of hitting your 30s? The lamentations over your first grey hair? It’s nothing new, yet we are instinctively drawn to Welch’s natural raconteur, with a slick, quickfire delivery mixed with elements of deadpan, particularly in how well he reads and uses his audience in well-loved ad-lib humour. Once you buy into the notion of a show built around a stream of consciousness with a millennial backdrop and thematic exploration of the numbers in our lives, it becomes a thorough delight to watch, with Welch rounding off the night with aplomb and applause.

I bumped into Abnormally Funny People’s producer, Simon Minty, outside the Pleasance Dome during the first weekend of the Fringe. He was as charming as his on-screen persona suggests and chatted about the show he has been bringing to the festival for two decades.Abnormally Funny People showcases an ever-changing roster of comedians with visible and invisible disabilities, and on the showing I attended the strong line-up aptly demonstrated why the show has garnered fans across the years.The performance I caught was MC’d by Alex Mitchell, with sets from Don Biswas, Harriet Dyer and Lost Voice Guy. Across the board, their material leans into the disabilities that have brought these particular comedians to this particular stage, and this feels important in recognising and normalising conditions which others may either struggle with themselves or struggle to embrace in others. The most familiar situations frequently have the strongest comic hit-rate, and it is a rare treat to have a dedicated hour in which an audience can acknowledge the frustrations and daftness of a world too often treated with kid gloves or ignored completely. An estimated 25% of the UK population is living with disability, and neurodiverse diagnoses are rising with growing acceptance and awareness. So there is no shortage of anecdotes or observations from a community only relatively recently being invited to share their stories in the mainstream.Not that this is a worthy or mawkish hour. Far from it. It is self-deprecating, outrageous and very funny. Each act of course plays with their own condition, but not to the exclusion of other material. The snappiness of the format ensures an engagingly broad range of comic styles and approaches are platformed throughout.What Minty and his team have achieved in bringing this show together should not be underestimated, and deserves far broader recognition. In 2025, we are interested in seeing funny comedians at the top of their game who just happen to share a disability. But it has taken real grit and foresight to bring us to this point, and the contribution of shows such as this has helped us all laugh louder and longer. And most importantly, without exclusion.

Whether it is in the grand way she glides around the stage in Pleasance’s Bunker One or the subtler action of wearing the microphone wire over her shoulder like a delicate shawl, movement forms an integral part of Ayoade Bamgboye’s debut hour, Swings and Roundabouts. She informs us that she has taken a clowning workshop so is “more playful now.”Bamgboye slips as seamlessly around the stage as she does accents, dancing between received pronunciation, north London and Nigerian depending on what will best punctuate a punchline. Naija often wins out, with the volume to match. She is also as likely to burst into song as she is to ask people if they were born vaginally or via C-section, since she has a theory about how people enter the world and what it means for their destiny. Accompanied by a grin that is part mischievous, part manic, we never quite know where she might go next, either in the set or in the room. She keeps us on the edge of our seats and her every word, yet never once do we feel in unsafe hands – likely thanks to that clowning workshop.This all contributes to excellently built tension, as Bamgboye consistently refers to an “old me versus new me.” While we are aware that something significant has happened, she does not reveal it until the final 15 minutes of the show. That reveal is all the more commendable given the hour starts and ends with a story about eavesdropping on a terse conversation between a customer and a shop assistant in The Co-op, “the purgatory of supermarkets.”Not the most captivating of openings or satisfying of finishes, but Bamgboye carries it through by being completely captivating herself and by using carefully considered turns of phrase. Her love of language and British idioms in particular is best exemplified by a game of sorts that she calls the “World Cup of Peril,” where we debate what is worse between pickles, jams, ordeals and binds.Eventually, Bamgboye reveals that the ordeal she is grappling with is the death of her father and the subsequent grief. She shares a beautiful supermarket analogy about the loss of a parent that moves someone in the audience to tears. Bamgboye gently goes over to hold their hand, as she complains about the lack of innovation in the condolences space: “It’s all ‘sorry for your loss’ – next!”Bamgboye is an enthralling storyteller and as charismatic as they come. While Swings and Roundabouts does cover much of the identity-focused material that has become customary in debut shows, few are exploring it as affectingly as she is.

Awkward Prods (Linus Karp and Joseph Martin) are back with another camp masterpiece filled with parody, pastiche and whimsy. Following their smash hits – Diana: The Untold Untrue Story and Gwyneth Goes Skiing – their latest royal romp is every bit as chaotic, self-aware and deliciously silly as audiences have come to expect.The King of Swedonia is dead, and the Prince must find a husband within two weeks or forfeit the crown. Enter Aaron Butcher, a humble NYC baker tasked with creating the royal wedding cake, who is unwittingly swept into a whirlwind of romance, royal duty and absurdity. What follows is a gloriously unhinged send-up of Hallmark-style romcoms, full of unexpected twists, theatrical flair and tongue-in-cheek charm.With their well-earned reputation for blending irreverence and ingenuity, Awkward Prods deliver all the signature ingredients fans adore. A standout feature – now a beloved tradition – is the inclusion of audience members who are assigned character names before the show and prompted throughout to deliver lines on stage. This continually injects the performance with a sense of play and excitement that invites the audience to immerse themselves in the mad world the duo create.This production in particular feels elevated, with original music by Leland (of RuPaul fame), intricate puppetry, clever use of multimedia (including live video feed), and a stagehand who doubles as the Prince’s henchman. It is peppered with celebrity appearances on screen, including Tove Lo as the Prime Minister of Swedonia and Heartstopper’s Sebastian Croft. While the celebrity cameos offer delightful surprises and a sense of star-studded fun, their frequency occasionally distracts from the central narrative – especially as the performances don’t always match Karp and Martin’s infectious energy. Still, the novelty and humour they bring will likely win over audiences looking for a theatrical treat packed with pop culture.Overall, The Fit Prince is a wonderfully absurd hour that shows off Awkward Prods’ intelligent and witty storytelling. Inventive and always playful, the production’s heart and theatrical mischief, paired with truly toe-tapping original music, makes this a show that knows exactly what it’s doing – and does it with unapologetic flair.

If you ran a survey among magicians of who the Edinburgh Festival Fringe’s best practitioner of their art is, don’t be surprised to see Charlie Caper ranking some way above his closest rivals. He has also been leading the way in bringing AI and boundary-pushing modern tech into Fringe magic shows long before ChatGPT became a household name, and is still one of the festival’s forerunners across all genres. Caper masterfully designs and creates his own machines and does so to a phenomenal standard.He opens with his traditional flawless patter and unimpeachable magical skills, with beautiful and creative use of tech-incorporated D-lites, and some of his more familiar robot friends that have been tweaked and updated for the best part of a decade now.A glorious addition since the last time I caught his show was a Black Mirror-style robopup who performed beautifully choreographed and executed tricks, that were magical rather than magic, and it’s a further testament to Caper’s ingenuity that he’s able to create machines that would capture international headlines had they been shared with the world by a tech billionaire.For those who have seen forerunners of Charlie Caper – The Future before, there are certainly new treats in store, but he’s also missed the opportunity to update everything, including his Charlie robot performing the same (albeit gorgeous) magic feat it has since inception.Whether you want to see spellbinding magic by one of the festival’s leading masters of the craft, or breathtakingly creative futuristic robots that captivate and entertain, you’re onto a real winner here, as Caper can be trusted to deliver in the past, present and future.

Amy Annette graces the stage in flowy linens, framed by a fitting Ikea vase and floral fixtures. In an hour of intricately woven stand-up, we’re taken on a journey through her mind. Doomscrolling, national identity and online chess are just some of the topics covered in this giggly hour of comedy.I was floored by Amy’s attention to detail and her ability to convey such a specific perspective. She’s entirely present – and deeply lovable. With hot takes on everything from Labubu to Ozempic, there's a rare sincerity that never comes at the expense of the comedy – it always deepens it. The whole set is upbeat, feelgood, and a genuinely lovely way to spend an hour.Watching Amy Annette play the “fun aunt” is both charming and true to life. One of my favourite moments in the show is when she talks about being called an “old soul” as a child – which, she explains in hindsight, was probably just code for being gay. But Annette's wit isn't surface level. She ends the show on a powerful note, in a move that feels both sincere and courageous. In a completely serious tone, she discusses the ongoing EHRC consultation.For those unfamiliar, the Equality and Human Rights Commission is currently consulting on updates to its Code of Practice for services, in response to the UK Supreme Court’s ruling on the definition of “sex” in the Equality Act 2010.“This section sets out how trans people can potentially be banned from both male- and female-only services. It also introduces what we believe is a wholly unworkable and inhumane subjective test for whether or not trans people should be excluded from single-sex services that align with their ‘sex recorded at birth’ – based on if they cause ‘distress or alarm’ to others.” – transactual.org.ukAmy takes a gratifying moment in her show to be deeply serious. The term “distress” is so easily applied, she notes. The language is rooted in blatant transphobia, she explains. I left the show thinking it was deeply admirable to take space for this kind of statement. She urges her audience to look into it – and strikes at something real.

It’s A&E, and Oliver is joining us in the waiting room following a dramatic accident involving a stationary car. Directed by the seasoned clown visionary Cecily Nash, Kathy Maniura is The Cycling Man: problematic, troubled, middle-aged, and riddled with privilege and mummy issues. Smothered in delicious irony, this hour of character comedy brilliantly demonstrates the depth and versatility of drag kinging.The Cycling Man himself is a finely tuned caricature: a posh Oxford graduate, member of the Islington Cycle Club, and self-important consultant who reads The Financial Times in shorts that are VERY padded. He’s obsessed with the 1968 film musical Oliver!, adores his quarter-zip fleeces enough to sing them an inspired ballad, and is utterly clueless about women—particularly his estranged wife, Susan. Combining hilariously accurate observations with quintessential drag whimsy, Maniura has excellently crafted a character with impressive detail.Using projections and PowerPoints, he tries to chart why Susan left him, and it’s corporate jargon galore. It’s a brilliant, side-splitting parody of the upper-middle class’ stiff upper lip: utterly real and ripe for ridicule. Between GoPro footage, peloton love stories, and thinly veiled machismo, we see a “mummy’s boy” desperate for safety and connection. If there’s a downside to the show, it’s that some of Oliver’s monologuing can over-extend and slow the pace of an otherwise dynamic performance.Beneath the ridiculousness lies a portrait of male fragility, loneliness, and the strange rituals we cling to when life spins off balance. Maniura’s character work is pitch-perfect, giving this absurd posh-peloton tragicomedy a high-quality finish.

AI is, of course, something of a theme at this year’s Fringe – though for Martin Brock, a welcoming and astounding magician from Denmark, it’s all about being Almost Impossible.Which pretty much describes his show: smoothly performed card tricks (for the most part) that leave his audience numb, prompting successive thoughts of “How did he do that?” To be fair, the audience’s eardrums are also somewhat numbed by a near-constant musical background that’s perhaps mixed a little too high, particularly when Brock is explaining the difference between old Western card sharks – travelling from town to town and using tricks to cheat players out of their money – and a magician who necessarily uses some of the same sleight-of-hand techniques, but with the full awareness (if not understanding) of their audience.Although his poster shows Brock with playing cards just visible up his jacket sleeve, this isn’t actually the case during the show – for the very simple reason that he’s wearing a short-sleeved shirt. Nevertheless, he is still able to magically produce cards seemingly from thin air and – via a giant screen – perform some mind-blowing close-up magic that verges on showing off.He’s not one to shy away from the typical Fringe peculiarities of performing in what is, for the rest of the year, a university lecture room, but Brock has a genuine way with people – especially those he pulls from the audience to assist and observe specific tricks. It helps, of course, that he’s handsome, stylish and definitely sexy. Yet ultimately, it’s all about the “tricks” – a word that underplays the ingenuity and originality involved in both their development and performance.Like most magic shows, there’s an element of “just one trick following another”, although Brock breaks the mould slightly with a brief theme-setting video for a trick involving Himalayan singing bowls. That said, he undoubtedly saves the best for last, transforming a pack of entirely blank cards into a simple accompanying illustration of Frank Sinatra’s It Was a Very Good Year.As with all great magic shows, there’s a slight reluctance from the audience to applaud – partly to avoid disturbing “the magic”, but mostly because they’re simply dumbfounded by what they’ve seen. But without a doubt, Brock deserves all the applause he receives – and more.

“Good luck explaining what this is,” Jody Kamali – creator and performer of Ironing Board Man – says at the end of the show. To be fair, he has a point: it’s just not one you’d expect a sweating, exhausted performer – who has genuinely put his all into entertaining us and is now desperate for a positive reaction and some great “word of mouth” endorsements – to make.But it’s fair to say that Kamali has a point. In one sense, this is an easy show to describe — a slam-dunk mash-up of cinematic superhero and romance tropes, performed with great energy and enthusiasm by one man and 10 ironing boards dressed in various outfits, overlaid with a montage of snatches of film dialogue, pop songs and specially recorded dialogue. But that description genuinely fails to do the absurdity and wonder of the show justice.Ironing Board Man is precisely the kind of wonderfully “fringe-y” Fringe show that appears increasingly rare in these cost-conscious days; a production based on the kind of idle thought any sensible but imaginative person might have towards the end of a busy, tiring day, and then dismiss with a head-shaking: “Naah!”But not only did Kamali have the thought – thanks to his wife hanging a blouse on an ironing board after she’d ironed it, apparently – he went on to create a profoundly absurd piece of theatre based on it, a work that blatantly riffs on (or rips off – “puh-TAY-toh, puh-TAH-toh”) plot points from Batman, Superman and Dirty Dancing. Plus Cocktail, Karate Kid, Top Gun, Titanic, Gladiator, The Matrix, The Lion King… You get the idea.In some respects it feels a bit of a mess; in others, it’s clearly a very carefully choreographed production that delivers surprisingly impactful moments of humour and pathos through the simplest of means. For example, Kamali uses sampled dialogue and song lyrics to get across significant narrative points and character story arcs. And yet, all we see before us are a few ironing boards decked out in dresses and wigs. It really shouldn’t work. But it does. Brilliantly.Kamali himself doesn’t have too much dialogue during the show: perhaps just as well, as he is physically always on the move, throwing himself around with little apparent fear of hurting himself.“Good luck explaining what this is,” he said. Well, it’s funny, it’s exciting, it’s ridiculous. I’d say that’s precisely what you should want from the Edinburgh Festival Fringe.

Monstering the Rocketman is a thoughtful, acerbic and tender look at the way in which the British press has played fast and loose with the reputations of the celebrities it has built up – with the sole intention of knocking down again. In this particular case, we are dealing with Elton John – but the list of those forced to pay a disproportionate price for their fame is not only already monstrously long, but – in the immediate and anonymised world of online trolling – ever mushrooming.This piece takes us back to the deep social divisions of the late 1980s: a time in which yuppies and unemployed miners, aerobics and crispy pancakes, Sloanes and punks coexisted. The glitz of Dallas gripped the nation alongside the cobbled realism of Coronation Street. One minute, Frankie was telling you to relax; the next, Section 28 told you what not to do. And nowhere was this hypocrisy more exemplified than within the pages of tabloid newspaper The Sun – at one time suspected to be read by a quarter of the population every day. A newspaper – and the word is used as loosely as proprietor Rupert Murdoch’s moral compass – happy to splash very topless, very young girls across Page 3... while editorials demonised those afflicted by “the gay plague”.The repercussions of its sloppy, sensationalist style still reverberate today. Caroline Flack and Meghan Markle are just two of the names that spring to mind as being unfairly targeted simply to boost circulation. Love them or hate them, any reasonable person would agree that the seemingly co-ordinated tide of bile and bloviation was undue, unnecessary and unbalanced. Anyone remember The Sun’s attack on MP Clare Short for daring to suggest that the titillations of Page 3 were unseemly in a family newspaper? In just one of its many crusades against those who challenged its iron grip on the national narrative, Short was labelled a “killjoy”, “fat” and “jealous”.The witch trials and the public pillory never went away.Henry Naylor uses the true case of Elton John’s battle with The Sun during this strange decade as a prism through which to ponder the terrible power we have allowed to permeate our news sources. Anyone with even half an eye on the headlines in recent years will remember the half-arsed apology issued for the paper’s appalling coverage of the Hillsborough disaster, and the closure of its sister paper after a raft of phone-hacking and improper news-gathering accusations.So it is little surprise that, at the height of his supremacy, Sun editor Kelvin MacKenzie ran a series of fallacious stories about Elton John’s sex life – and subsequently refused to back down despite evidence disproving the allegations, a public spat with rival paper The Mirror, and a televised rebuttal hosted by Michael Parkinson. It took Elton’s deep pockets to force the million-pound lawsuit that finally silenced their spurious claims – pockets that few similarly wronged names have been able to dig into, thus helping to perpetuate the myth of inviolability (see also: bullish arrogance) that cloaks tabloid vengeance.Henry Naylor is a triple Fringe First winner, and it is not hard to see why. This is precisely the sort of important piece that proves why the Fringe needs to exist – to showcase the stories that need to be told, rather than the ones we feel we need to hear. The fracturing of the national media has resulted in fewer high-footfall channels holding power to account. Gone are the days of Spitting Image, Friday Night Live, Rory Bremner… now we are more preoccupied with funny cat videos, furniture makeovers and eyebrow tutorials. There needs to be space for this kind of political theatre for as long as there is a hungry audience – desperate to share the laughs and eye rolls in the dark with others similarly outraged and impotent.Naylor’s is a strong performance, scaffolded by what is clearly a personal campaign to tackle the injustices meted out by the fourth estate. His sincere, immediate and friendly style is designed to encourage those less familiar with the subject, and engage those who remember the heady days of Rear of the Year and Concorde. Naylor flicks between a legion of characters with respect and idiosyncrasy, breathing life into a story that holds as much currency today as it did when it unfolded 40 years ago.

There are a whopping three shows dedicated to Tom Lehrer at the Fringe, so it was tragically poetic that the great muse shuffled off this mortal coil a mere week before this year's festival started, aged 97. Hearing Mitch Benn talking about this icon in the past tense struck a different chord to the one I expected to feel when I bought my tickets a month prior.Benn introduces the show speaking in Lehreresque language, his voice a recognisable attempt at emulation but not quite verging on “spot on”. However, the song he wrote in Lehrer’s style would have made the maestro proud – establishing a theme that would run throughout the show, with every lyrical amendment.The show isn’t exclusively about Lehrer, as Benn also regales us with updates on his recent diagnosis as neurodivergent, elite-level commentary on nerd culture, and quality material covering a brief biography of radio comedy.We’re treated to a couple of piano performances – the first time Benn has performed on one since his teens – but he spends most of the show on guitar. In an ideal world, we’d have the piano songs played on piano, but of course they translate well to guitar, and having optimal performances should rightly take precedence over hearing the music in its natural habitat.Being a tribute show rather than a tribute act affords Benn the creative freedom to update a number of the songs, which can at times contain outdated lyrics. One piece that is ripe for it is Lehrer’s signature tune, The Elements Song. Benn performs it as the comedy god intended, then adds his extra verse containing the elements added since inception (significantly improving on my smug adjustment of the final lyric for karaoke performances: “These were the only ones of which the news had got to Harvard. But since this song was written, 16 more have been discovered”).There’s plenty of variety throughout, with a glorious Lou Reed parody, Arnie impression and heartfelt finale. I took a friend who had never heard of either Lehrer or Benn before and she loved it, as did the teenager sat in front of me. The music is timeless and deserves to be resurrected for the next generation – and Mitch Benn is very much the man to do it. So get yourself along while you still can. I promise, it’s even more fun than poisoning pigeons in the park.

It starts with music, song and a scream. Bury The Hatchet is a forensic examination of the details and geography of the house and its inhabitants on the day of the double murder, Lizzie’s life leading up to the event, the police investigation, the autopsy, the trial, the witnesses and the aftermath. But this is not an episode of Silent Witness. Instead, it is a show full of laughs, self-parodying Grand Guignol, and toe-tapping and dramatic songs ranging in genre from bluegrass to contemporary rock.The music from the three performers – Sasha Wilson, David Leopold and Joseph Prowen – singing and playing guitar, violin and mandolin is top-notch. Their acting ranges from funny to dramatic, but is always engaging. The characters in the show include the local police, the judge, the maid, Lizzie’s sister, Lizzie’s friends, her stepmother, her father and, of course, Lizzie herself. The show switches between dramatised dialogue and action to the narration of details and discussion (and disagreement) of various theories.The show, written by Wilson, is incredibly well researched, down to such details as the rooms being too small to swing an axe, meaning the murder weapon had to be a hatchet. Even the most ardent Lizzie Borden investigator is likely to find new facts or perspectives here.If you are intrigued by the Lizzie Borden story, are a fan of true crime, or simply enjoy a damn good show, then the hatchet is waiting for you.

Alfie Jones debuts as writer and performer in This Blighted Star, an intriguing monodrama at Underbelly, George Square. Developed through Omnibus Theatre’s Omni-Wright Playwriting programme, the story follows a CCTV operator who becomes consumed by the disappearance of his childhood friend, Ivan, in their small Midlands hometown during a sweltering summer.The fragmented footage is played to us on a large screen, several times, with rewinds. The images enable detailed examination of people’s movements and even shadows. But how are they to be interpreted? Who are the couple in the first few frames? Why does he push the girl away? Who is he talking to on his phone and what is he saying? Is the black car in the foreground in any way significant? These and other questions need answers, and the evidence needs to be interpreted.The operator is legitimately employed by the council to survey camera footage, although his obsessive replaying of these sections is probably outside his remit. But he is hooked on it, and we become drawn into his fixation, minutely examining each frame, looking for clues or anything he might have missed.As the narrative progresses, we are drip-fed insights into his and Ivan’s youthful relationship, his infatuation with him and subsequent rejection by him, and his jealousy towards those Ivan befriended. We learn more from conversations he has with Brian, a 66-year-old man he relates to, and we watch TikTok posts he makes under a disguise, challenging the police investigation. As the truth gradually comes to light, a new star burns in the sky, brighter than the rest. A glimmer of hope? Or more uncertainty?Director Alice Harding says, “When I first read Alfie’s play I was taken aback by how deeply original the piece is.” She is absolutely right. To frame a play around CCTV footage, with an added immersive soundscape, and then combine it with a moving personal story reflects a highly creative and imaginative mind, and has resulted in an end product that is refreshingly different. The icing on the cake is Jones’s charismatic and endearing performance. The clarity of his delivery is a joy to the ear, and his ability to carry us on a gripping journey of crime detection, obsession and love is remarkable.

Created by Jack Sears and Hannah Grennell, with choreography by Grennell in collaboration with the dance troupe cast, Giselle: Remix rips up the ballet rulebook and presents a brilliant genre-defying, queer reimagining of a classic. Ballet collides with lip-sync cabaret and queer performance art to chart a young person’s headlong plunge from love to betrayal, from heartbreak to rebirth. The result is beautiful.Giselle’s wedding-day bliss is all blush-pink satin and adoration from their entourage, a fairytale frosted with camp, an ode to the founding tale. Much like the original, their world comes crashing down when they discover their lover being unfaithful; betrayal hits like a sledgehammer. The tulle evaporates and dancers emerge in black and latex, evoking something akin to the Berghain dancefloor. Choreography shifts from soft, lyrical intimacy to pelvic-thrusting and writhing, and all inhibitions are thrown off. Baselines throb through the floorboards, and the heartbreak becomes a purge.The detail work here is delicious: pulsing sequences evoking the underground ballroom scene; a punk-horror metamorphosis with Giselle returning as a latex Mother Mary in an eyeless gimp mask; a chorus that moves with precision and a beautiful, reckless abandon. Beneath the spectacle, the show takes aim at toxic beauty standards and the self-destructive edges of queer nightlife while also celebrating the joy and liberation those spaces can bring. Some sections overstay their welcome and laments eventually lose their sting, but the emotional intelligence and theatrical daring are undeniable.Giselle: Remix is painterly, messy, sexy, angry and utterly unapologetic. Sears reminds us that sexuality is more than just sex; it is a living inheritance, shaped by generations of queer history. They highlight the importance of gay role models in two beautiful moments that bookend the show, featuring queer icons such as Jonny Woo that call for connection, acceptance and healing. By the final moments, the message is clear: to come as one, but stand as ten thousand.

What’s in a name?This Fringe story is set in the Uttar Pradesh city of Kanpur. Except for some, it wasn’t – the British renaming it Cawnpore, as they had renamed Mumbai and Chennai, among others.The causes of the Indian Rebellion of 1857 were myriad: hubris, misjudgment, cultural insensitivity, and plain incompetence. Rumours of pig and cow fat being used to grease cartridges were not adequately addressed. The distribution of chapatis – a form of signposting discontent – was ignored. And the big one: the fact that Indians had been subjugated, asset-stripped, and, in some cases, enslaved.The Rebellion broke out in Meerut and rapidly spread along the Great Trunk Road and beyond: amongst others, Delhi, Gwalior, Jhansi, Lucknow, and Kanpur.At Kanpur, after a siege, there was a negotiated surrender of around 300 Britons, with safe passage by river promised. However, shots were fired, and a battle ensued, with many killed on both sides and around 200 women and children taken prisoner. As Havelock’s counterforces edged nearer to Kanpur, the 200 were massacred. Reprisals were severe, with mass killings, and ringleaders strapped to cannons to be executed in front of forced local observers. The British knew full well that, while death was instant, it prevented funeral rites for Muslims and Hindus.Niall Moorjani is the Indian captured by British forces and strapped to a cannon. They are threatened with execution if they do not provide the red-coated British officer (Jonathan Oldfield) answers to specific intelligence questions (to which they may not know the answers) and if they do not condemn the massacre. The officer’s demands for answers and entertainment become a game of cat and mouse, and we all know who wins that one.The set is simple, with a cannon and a Sikh tabla (Sodhi) providing ambience, percussion, and punctuation to proceedings. The staging is less so, however. The officer appears in the audience and, in turn, drives the narrative, hectors, interrupts, mocks, and demands. Moorjani, having been untied, is briefly even required to join the audience.Moorjani is a gifted and charismatic storyteller (Mohan: A Partition Story). When left space to tell the story, this comes through. The constant interruptions are symptomatic of where the power lies, but serve to cast a jarring shadow over the events. It is fair to question whether this staging choice might be revisited.Oldfield’s performance oozes entitlement and hubris, reflecting the era. The juxtaposition between Christian values and massacres is sharply conveyed.Nelson Mandela and the French Resistance: freedom fighters or terrorists? One of the most popular tourist attractions in Warsaw is the Museum of the Uprising. For decades, the Rebellion was known as the “Indian Mutiny,” placing a cultural and colonial placeholder into history. What’s in a name? Sometimes, everything.

Ever since Six made its Fringe debut in 2017, the race has been on to find the festival's next breakout pop musical. Throwing their hat into the ring are Birmingham Hippodrome with a climate crisis-themed contender called Hot Mess. It has some impressive credentials to back it up: the two-hander features Tobias Turley (playing Humanity), winner of ITV's Mamma Mia! I Have a Dream, and Danielle Steers (as Earth), a member of the original West End cast of Six.It’s not just the climate that’s heating up in this show – even planets get lonely, and Earth is looking for her next hot date. Enter: wheat-obsessed, frontal cortex-bragging primates – Humanity. We already know how this story ends; we haven’t exactly treated Earth fairly. But for a time, the relationship was beautiful – maybe it could work out again?Despite the steamy premise, the onstage chemistry between the leads feels flat, which weakens the emotional dynamic. This is more than compensated for, however, by some outstanding vocal performances. Steers, in particular, delivers a world-class pop performance – soulful, dynamic and bringing fire to all the right places.The music throughout is catchy and exciting. Composer Jack Godfrey has done a phenomenal job, striking a perfect balance between contemporary pop and musical theatre. With cheeky one-liners reminiscent of Sabrina Carpenter or Chappell Roan laced into the lyrics, and a score tinged with rock and dance elements, it feels distinctive yet familiar. Standout tracks include Better in Time and Tomorrow Tomorrow Tomorrow. The show’s EP drops next week and will be well worth a listen.The concept of Earth and Humanity dating – each represented by a single performer – may sound abstract and could give some pause. But don’t be put off. The quality of the songs and performances quickly pulls you into the idea. By the end of the show, the audience was on its feet for a full standing ovation.

Ohio bills itself as an “ecstatic grief concert”, and the tagline fits. Indie-folk duo The Bengsons turn their performance space into a small, attentive congregation and deliver a gig-theatre ritual about love, faith, and the slow fear of losing sound when music has made you who you are.Shaun Bengson grew up in a strict Lutheran community in Ohio; he’s inherited degenerative hearing loss. Abigail is his partner in life and harmony. Together they build a story in songs and plain speech that asks a child’s blunt question – what happens when we die? – and sits with the honest answer: we don’t know, but we can choose how to live.The form is the point. Two performers, microphones, a guitar, keys and loops; slides that quietly annotate what we’re hearing; and captions and a sign language interpreter who are not add-ons but core to the drama. At the show’s centre, they manipulate microphones and captions so consonants vanish and frequencies drop out. You don’t just hear about hearing loss – you experience it. It’s a simple device, and one that’s devastatingly effective, reframing how we receive the show. Accessibility here isn’t a compliance line; it’s a propulsive force.Musically, the set is lean and strong. Harmonies blossom without tipping into sentimentality; the best numbers land like tightly plotted short stories – clear voice, clean image, no fuss. Caitlin Sullivan’s direction keeps the concert energy focused; anecdotes swell to anthems and settle again without false climaxes. I admired the way the show treats faith: it interrogates certainty but doesn’t mock belief, and it holds space for a father who stays in the church even as a son walks away. And there’s a weird-and-wonderful highlight when Abigail, with her clearly exceptional singing talent, leads a hymn that all but deifies worms – saints of the soil – turning a mordant idea into a tender nod to decay, renewal and acceptance.There are soft spots. The braid of themes – religion on one strand, hearing on the other – can loosen in the middle, and a couple of stories feel baggy. If you’re hunting for theatrical spectacle, this is deliberately small-scale; its power is closeness and craft.By the end, Ohio earns its quiet catharsis. It’s a clear-eyed, skilfully made hour where accessibility becomes art – and art becomes a way to live with the unknowable.

Alan Watts is about to die. We meet him amidst a thunderstorm on his last day on Earth, 16 November 1973 – the whisky bottle within arm’s reach marking the occasion or simply passing another Tuesday.In his one-man homage, Jeremy Stockwell channels the much-loved “spiritual rogue” – his monologues challenging conventional thinking while he unashamedly downs another drink and reminisces about his success. He dispenses life advice with the confidence of a man who’s been married three times, fathered several children, and still hasn’t kicked the habit. Stockwell’s familiar cut-glass accent and languid delivery cause you to lean in, even as he’s dismantling the idea of spiritual authority.Mid-reverie, however, Alan is ambushed by a cramp. The fourth wall crumbles. “The show must go on,” Stockwell assures us. Is this a real slip, or a clever turn in the script? Impossible to tell at this point, leading to a little genuine jeopardy.The performance then veers into semi-autobiography, with Stockwell emerging from behind the guru character to share his own history: acting gigs, medical troubles, and the creeping solitude that comes with age. Alan and Jeremy become two sides of the same coin – both chasing meaning while wrestling their own shadows.It’s not all existential pondering. Stockwell delights in a bit of chaos, at one point opening the floor up for an audience Q&A with Alan. “What brings you joy?” one earnest punter asks. Stockwell’s reply is so perfectly pitched – equal parts Wattsian insight and cheek – that for a moment you wonder if the real Alan has popped in for a curtain call.Pleasing a small crowd of ageing hippies and me, the show will have Watts fans nodding sagely at the philosophy and reflecting on their own guru relationships. There’s enough bite in the writing, and enough self-deprecation in Stockwell’s delivery, to keep the show from sliding into incense-scented sentimentality.This isn’t a guru’s sermon, or even a biography. It’s one man’s theatrical reminder that the line between wisdom and bullshit is thinner than we’d like to admit – and that even the gurus are just muddling through, same as the rest of us.

If you’ve still not been to Albania, then writer/performer Alex Reynolds brings it alive in a vibrant rollercoaster journey through this thrilling country of charming people and stunning landscapes, combined with the discovery of lost family history, in Land of Eagles at Pleasance Courtyard.This sweeping, action-packed story is inspired by true events. Reynolds and her Grandpa are thick as thieves at six and sixty-six, but worlds apart by eighteen and seventy-eight. “Don’t tell Mum,” she says to him. He promises not to, on one condition: that the next time she goes on an adventure, she promises to take him with her. Then, one day, he asks to go home—not to his semi down the road, but to his historic roots. Her bluff has been called. Albania is a distant, mysterious land, and he can’t venture there alone.What follows is a wild, crazy journey, by turns unexpected and fantastical, as the unlikely pair soon find themselves journeying into the heart of a place unknown. The history of this dark, little-known country, which was cut off from the rest of the world for some forty years by its tyrannical dictator Enver Hoxha, is laid out in intriguing anecdotes and perilous paragraphs of narrative, told at an unrelenting, breakneck speed. The story is filled with passion and excitement, as the curious granddaughter is exposed to the culture of a country she has never known, yet is part of her heritage, and uncovers the truth about her grandfather’s life before he came to England. But as their journey reaches an end, she must now find a way to say goodbye to the grandfather she has only just had the chance to know.The storytelling remains engaging, poetic, and humorous throughout, packed with vivid imagery. For those of us who have experienced the hospitality and self-determination of the Albanians, it’s a joy to relive times spent there and hear themes of national identity and resistance to oppression brought to life.

The term ‘nobody’ tends to be bandied around a little carelessly. But if your identity is systematically removed from you, it has a chilling resonance.Tilly Wedekind was an accomplished performer, married to Frank Wedekind, an acclaimed and influential playwright known for Spring Awakening. Frank wrote roles for Tilly, perhaps most famously performing eponymously in the "Lulu sex tragedies".Frank began to deconstruct aspects of their married life and dramatise them on stage, having Tilly perform as a version of herself. This controlling side of his personality became the crux of their marriage, as he revelled in audiences consuming a kaleidoscopic view of the couple.Frank was violent, promiscuous and pushed boundaries, organising threesomes and contracting syphilis from prostitutes.The lines between reality and fiction became disquietingly blurred. Frank turned Tilly into Lulu during their married life and expected her to enact the female roles. Tilly’s identity was compromised, effectively making her his puppet. Their relationship became co-dependent, with Tilly declaring that "Frank was my life". Driven by profound jealousy and having created roles and attributed lines to Tilly’s characters, Frank would exercise leverage over her by reassigning roles or lines to other female actors. With her identity stripped away, she was in essence Tilly No-Body.Tilly’s mental health was compromised. After a breakdown, she wanted to leave Frank and ultimately attempted suicide. This was unsuccessful, but the physical repercussions were severe, and her recuperation lasted many months. Eventually, Tilly re-emerged and found her voice, re-establishing her career. She was no longer a nobody, now ‘Tilly Somebody’.Bella Merlin is the writer and performer. She depicts Tilly’s adult life using a blend of physical theatre, comedy, song, music and puppetry, receiving spontaneous applause when she played and sang while balancing on a ball. She is clearly a talented performer, engaging and adept. There are many threads and nuances to this tale, but there is a slight feeling that the production is somehow not quite the sum of its constituent parts.Domestic abuse is depressingly rife, sometimes leading to femicide or suicide. At the heart of this most interesting production is one woman’s survival, empowerment and finally finding her voice in a patriarchal world.

Aaron Pang’s quest for a relationship lies at the heart of his Edinburgh Fringe show, and he shares his hopes and fears with the audience with a charm and honesty that propel the narrative and bring us face to face with his particular dating conundrum. Because, in addition to unpicking the nutty problems of choosing Tinder pictures, writing a suitably witty biography and curating “sexy” interests, Aaron walks with a cane. A cane which, he notes, carries its own legion of socially awkward questions and difficult conversations – especially on first dates.Thus begins a tender, intimate and uncompromising hour in which we share Aaron’s medical history and how he feels that his disability has impacted his ability to find love. To be honest, I have no idea whether the story we are told is autobiographically true or not, or whether the “Aaron” we see in front of us is the genuine article or a dramatic construct. Not that it matters – the message is the same.We are required to check in with ourselves and consider both what we think of Aaron’s disability and what we want to take from his story. It turns out, he tells us, that too many people need his story to have a happy ending. And, be it down to sympathy, narrative neatness or an opportunity to absolve oneself from awkwardness, these optimists are doing a well-meaning disservice to those living with a disability. It is not up to others to navigate a medical journey that is not theirs. And for as long as we need another’s condition to be “cured” we can neither read the person in question as a whole, nor give their lived experience the respect it deserves – such unintentional ableism discounting the reality of living within a world that is not designed to be accessible for all.Pang is a natural storyteller – full of charisma and twinkle – and Falling is fascinating and thought-provoking but also very, very funny. Beyond this, it is human to its core and asks us to explore our own relationships with the concept of disability as much as to engage with Aaron’s romantic arc. Not asking for any favours – just to be heard.

How do you balance motherhood with being in space? This question is handled with surprising depth and empathy in Lesbian Space Crime, an otherwise zany and raucous three-person musical from Airlock Theatre and Soho Theatre. It also explores issues surrounding the US military's ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ policy, queer representation, and capitalist PR management. But, more than that, it’s just a really, really fun time.This is the mostly fictional story of the first-ever lesbian space crime: a woman who uses a space laser against her ex-wife in the midst of a fierce custody battle. It is told through fast-paced multi-rolling, camp musical numbers, and shiny space-age costumes.All of the performers are utterly captivating, delivering bucketloads of charisma from the very start of the show until its final moments. In particular, Eleanor Colville’s portrayals of Gaia, the hippy, astrology-infused lesbian cliché, as well as a German sex-obsessed astronaut, were absolute gold and completely ridiculous. Rossanna Suppa also delivers precise comic timing as the deeply relatable potential space criminal Susan Albright, struggling to decide between going to her son’s music recital and going on the first-ever all-female spacewalk — all while battling her mixed feelings towards her ex-wife. Robbie Taylor Hunt is the final player in this space crew, perhaps serving the biggest whiplash as he deftly switches between sexy-but-dumb astronaut hunk Brett, the cold and cruel NASA boss Jimmy, the sweet innocent young son, and TWINK, the ship’s flamboyant AI interface. However, they all gain big laughs from the audience through their over-the-top characterisation, witty puns, and queer culture references. It is completely hilarious and unrelenting in its pacing.The musical numbers add to the piece well, maintaining the quirky, tongue-in-cheek production of this very fringe-feeling fringe show. The upbeat, catchy numbers keep the show moving while providing even more laughs, both through the cheeky boy-band-style choreography and the clever lyrics.For fans of space, lesbians, or crime, this could be the show for you. Even if you are interested in none of these things, the show feels fresh, energetic, and is guaranteed to bring you more than a few laughs.

There are thousands of artists at the Edinburgh Fringe: some are well-known stars, but mostly they are following their dreams. And so we meet the multi-talented Lucia Mallardi.Mallardi delivers the distilled narrative of her life—so far, at least. As a child, she only really wanted to be a performer, but was also a very talented footballer, if ever given the opportunity to demonstrate her skills. However, she knuckled down to a sensible career path, accepting a place at Pescara University to study Economics. Instead, her other great passion took over, and she moved to Rome to play football for Lazio.Women’s football has come a long way recently, with many leagues now boasting professional teams and sometimes attaining very large attendances. Mallardi survived and thrived, always looking to take the next step in her career. However, at the time, Italian women’s football was still mainly amateur. German women’s football was ahead of the curve, and she was offered a professional contract in Berlin.Mallardi eventually began to perform as a footballing street artist, relinquishing her professional football career and returning to her original idea of creative performance. She honed her act and has performed in many countries around the world, including Spain, England, and Thailand.There were challenges. She had to learn German rapidly, her time in Thailand nearly went badly wrong when she stumbled upon a military coup, and gender politics were never far away—she had to battle just to be able to play football as a teenager. However, perhaps the hardest aspect was the suspicion that her family was disappointed with her career choices. The telephone calls home bring some pathos to the proceedings.Mallardi’s autobiographical show is a fusion of comedy, drama, storytelling, dance, impersonations, juggling, and footballing artistry. Her movement and balance are almost balletic. She is a charming performer, engaging with the audience easily. Her juggling—be it with clubs or a football—is essentially allegorical to her life, where she has relentlessly juggled many disciplines and ideas.A word about language: it is never easy to perform in a foreign language, but Mallardi’s performance in English at the Edinburgh Fringe is confident and accomplished.England has just retained its women’s football European Championship, and some of these players have become household names. Stereotypes have been challenged and are being dismantled. The players offer clear inspiration to girls. One of Lucia Mallardi’s stated intentions as a performer and former semi-professional player is to offer similar inspiration to the marginalised; her rhythmic and striking production certainly made an impact on everyone present.

Written by Dan Bishop and directed by Noah Geelan, this sharp comedy takes us through five consecutive Sunday meet-ups for a clinical drug trial. Four strangers, delightfully mismatched, are overseen by Dr. Evans (Emmeline Downie), who guides us through their weekly progress. With quick wit, strong performances, and a thought-provoking core, Brainsluts is both an enticing watch and a timely commentary on the gig economy.The show’s greatest strength lies in its richly drawn characters, each of whom feels vividly real and multidimensional. Duggan (Robert Preston) is the group’s rogue charmer and likely crowd favourite—an oddball desperate to be everyone’s mate yet perpetually met with the cold shoulder. Preston’s off-beat timing and earnest delivery make him magnetic to watch and deserve high praise, especially opposite Kathy Maniura’s Bathsheba: a blissfully unaware, job-juggling free spirit. Bishop’s own Mitch, an anti-job activist surviving on flyers and rebellion, pairs neatly with Bethan Pugh’s Yaz, a twitchy “nepo baby” whose godmother conveniently runs the drug company. Their tentative romance slyly riffs on the flippancy of modern relationships and the transactional nature of connection—perfectly in step with the play’s critique of the gig economy. Each character, in fact, reflects a different facet of society’s transactional flaws, allowing Bishop’s commentary to seep through the play without ever feeling heavy-handed.Bishop’s writing is sharpest in the group scenes: a guided meditation derailed by Duggan and Mitch’s spiralling neuroses (while trialling an anti-anxiety drug, no less) is a particular standout. Equally compelling is a tender moment between Dr. Evans and Duggan, rooted in her heartbreak, which places her on equal footing with the trial participants—another breadcrumb pointing to our shared interconnectedness. Downie shines here, her nuanced tenderness both truthful and quietly devastating.The pacing is well-judged, balancing entertainment with social critique—a notoriously tricky feat pulled off here with aplomb. That said, not every beat lands: a few character decisions feel ungrounded, and Bathsheba’s story arc leans into caricature without the moment of stripped-back vulnerability afforded to the others.Still, the intelligence of the writing endures, as do the standout performances. The ending is brilliant, leaving the possibility of the group meeting again hanging in the air, offering a glimmer of hope against a clear-eyed portrait of modern isolation and competition.Witty, perceptive, and carried by a cast at the top of their game, Brainsluts is comedy with both brains and bite.

The title might mean nothing – and is hardly gripping – but don’t let that put you off. In fact, Blandy tells the story of the real 18th-century Mary Blandy. But don’t look up the story beforehand, as part of the pleasure of the show is the way Mary’s story is revealed, combined as it is with the Europe-wide folktale of the pig-faced woman. And it would be a shame to spoil the pleasure, as the show is extremely entertaining.The script, by Coco Cottam, doesn’t offer any psychological insights or theses about society, nor does it provide any surprises from history. However, it is clever, funny and rather sexy. The narrative technique is sophisticated (and demanding of the actors) in mixing multiple events simultaneously.There are no fancy sets or costumes. The show succeeds or fails with the talent of the actors, and they live up to the demand. The many parts are played by Georgie Dettmer and Luke Nixon. They can both carry broad comedy, lust, pathos (what small amount there is) and have the ability to change between characters from one second to the next. They both have charisma to spare. Possibly because the main female roles are better, Dettmer in particular comes across as outstanding.I can’t write much else without giving away spoilers. So, if you are the sort of person who likes a highly entertaining, daft but clever show, without trimmings, that basically relies on the talent of the two actors, then this is for you.

Chase Brantley’s Don Toberman: Ping Pong Champ is a gloriously silly, testosterone-soaked spectacle of clowning bravado. Draped in swagger and sweat, Brantley embodies Don Toberman, the bad boy of ping pong, with a knowing wink.Framed as a retro TV broadcast capturing the ping pong match of the century, Don Toberman bristles with parodic ego and double entendres, autographing audience members like a priest at communion and shamelessly flirting as he goes. At the heart of the crowd is his world-renowned “ball boy”, plucked from among the punters and tasked with providing Don his ping pong balls throughout the show. It’s the audience versus Don in an epic showdown, and everyone is raring to go at Brantley’s command, invisible paddles in hand. This instantly builds the camaraderie essential to a clown show, and Brantley does a marvellous job of keeping us firmly on his team despite Don’s relentless showboating. He becomes a lovable rogue we can’t help but want to see win.Brantley is a master of physical comedy, with full-throttle commitment and impressive creativity. The costume changes – from smug commentator to “sexy” half-time entertainment drag (leaf blower and money-stuffed bra in tow) – are ridiculous in the best way. Fellow clowns interlude as referee, golf competitor and ping pong ball, creating dynamic contrast with Brantley’s Toberman. On this occasion Joylyn Secunda takes the stage with aplomb, a virtuoso of movement and physical theatre. The second half dials the nonsense up to 11, abandoning all pretence of sport for cowboy shootouts, awkward dinner dates and ever-heightening absurdity.If there’s a fault in Brantley’s vibrant world, it’s that the ending doesn’t quite stick the landing. The final clown death, though creating comedic bathos, could have been stronger, and the denouement feels a touch rushed after a carefully plotted build-up.Still, Don Toberman: Ping Pong Champ is a riot: a sweaty, seductive and very silly joyride. Brantley’s control over chaos is as impressive as his ability to make us root for such a shameless dose of machismo.

A sleeper hit from last year’s festival, Dan Hazelwood’s lost history Ascension returns to the Edinburgh Fringe at Bedlam Theatre until 25 August. The play, largely a one-man show performed by Hazelwood himself, richly sketches a portrait of the Dutch sailor Leendert Hasenbosch, who was marooned on Ascension Island in the South Atlantic in 1725 for sodomy. Its contents are inspired by Hasenbosch’s diary, discovered after his death, in which he detailed his daily survival on the island, surrounded by barren rock and sublime ocean, haunted by the demons of his past.Hazelwood has constructed a sensitive and uplifting, if slightly meandering, memory play about Hasenbosch’s life, boldly updating – or rather, repurposing – his tragic story for 21st-century audiences. The play attempts to assimilate themes as far-reaching as religious trauma, the weaponisation of faith and the internalisation of shame, explorations of queer identity, love, family, acceptance, self-acceptance, intimacy and the absolute. For the most part it tackles these themes relatively seamlessly, threading them together within the purview of a deathward plot. This is an intelligent, pristinely choreographed and technically impressive hour, bolstered by a dynamic central performance from Hazelwood that keeps viewers hooked.The predominant focus of Ascension is recollections from Hasenbosch’s past, which the play successfully dramatises and weaves around the events of his present (his dying days) – from sexual awakenings to his employment with the Dutch East India Company. These are the most compelling parts of the production, counterposing religious piety with desire and romantic discovery. While the play suffers here and there from being overly explanatory in its themes – particularly its political and social messaging – and thus trusts its audience slightly too little, there is real subtlety and brilliance in its vignette-like structure, as well as eloquent catharsis in Hasenbosch’s ending.There is a neatness and simplicity to this play’s narrative, structure and purpose, which audiences have clearly been responding to. No doubt this year’s festival will not be the last we hear of Ascension – or of Dan Hazelwood.

Fluorescent costumes, catchy and sharp musical numbers, and a human-sized Jaffa Cake? If only all court cases were this much fun. Back for a second year after the success of their 2024 Fringe run, Gigglemug Theatre’s A Jaffa Cake Musical will leave you feeling joyful, a bit hungry, and likely confused about your stance on the UK’s most controversial sweet treat. Is it a cake? Is it a biscuit? I’m still not sure.A whirlwind musical retelling of the trial of United Biscuits Group vs HMRC – possibly the most ridiculous and quintessentially British legal case of modern times – A Jaffa Cake Musical follows freshly qualified defendant Kevin (Sam Cochrane) as he takes on the government, represented by old university frenemy Katherine (Sabrina Messer), in the ultimate choreographed ‘snackdown’ to decide the financial fate of the Jaffa Cake.While the trial takes centre stage, subplots exploring Kevin and Katherine’s past clashes, and the blossoming friendship between Kevin and Jake (Harry Miller), the representative from Jaffa Cake, add further layers of intrigue and a point of connection for the audience. These could have been better developed, but doing so might risk the light-hearted and well-paced nature of the current Fringe offering.Last year’s performance of A Jaffa Cake Musical was well and generously reviewed. While I didn’t have the pleasure of seeing the 2024 iteration, I’m convinced it has retained its crown as a Fringe show more than worthy of your time. Although it was the preview I saw, the cast and production crew were remarkably polished. Musical numbers, costume changes and audio-visual cues were executed without a hitch – as expected from a theatre company of this calibre.The whole cast were engaging, with excellent singing voices, delivering their roles with flair and humour. Standout performances by Katie Pritchard and Sabrina Messer were magnetic and stole the show.Wherever your allegiances lie on the definition of the Jaffa Cake, A Jaffa Cake Musical is a top-notch, family-friendly affair guaranteed to have your feet tapping along to the music and a smile on your face. Plus, now I officially have an answer to the age-old question on everyone’s lips: the Jaffa Cake is legally a… you’ll have to watch to find out.

Golden Time (and Other Behavioural Management Strategies) is a beautifully creative critique of the ‘one size fits all’ approach of the British school system. Writer and performer Kate Ireland explores the rigid rules imposed on children that begin in primary school, with a particular focus on the concept of ‘Golden Time’ – that hour of play gifted to children who have been well behaved throughout the week. The result is a beautifully touching hour that both educates and empowers, holding a mirror up to our childhoods and sparking meaningful reflection.Directed with sensitivity and precision by Giulia Grillo, Ireland takes the stage as both narrator and storyteller, at times guiding the audience through tales of her time as a teacher’s assistant, at others taking to the microphone, weaving in personal memories and inviting the audience to share their own. Childhood recollections – what got us in trouble, how we spent our precious free time – are recalled with warmth, humour and mutual encouragement. Playful drawings and doodles enliven the creative captioning, adding a charming visual flourish. A particular highlight is the inclusion of archival clips of Jenny Mosley, Golden Time’s 1980s creator, whose strict yet saccharine delivery feels like real-life satire. The clips speak for themselves, both funny and unsettling, amplifying the critical edge.Clodagh Chapman’s thoughtful dramaturgy is clearly evident, especially when the show gains emotional depth as Ireland connects with a neurodivergent child in her class who, like her, does not fit the mould, making the commentary on conformity and difference even more resonant. There are moments where the performance strains slightly, yet the poetry in Ireland’s writing is undeniable – allowing it to breathe and do the work on its own would elevate the show further.Golden Time is an insightful exploration of childhood, control and individuality – cleverly staged and thoughtfully performed. A golden hour in its own right.

“Know thyself.” This hubris-fuelled throwaway snippet of pop psychology is proffered by our protagonist’s boss. It does come from the Oracle of Delphi, though, so there may be something to it.Referred to as the ‘CumEx-Files’, Teater Katapult’s The Insider casts a light upon a £50 billion tax fraud, spanning multiple countries, involving international banks, many of which are household names. The scheme hinged on the premise that the same tax refunds could be claimed multiple times. It connected a network of traders, accountants, and lawyers. The root cause was, as ever, greed, but the fraud was facilitated by Thatcher’s 1986 ‘Big Bang’ city revolution and the sheer complexity of cross-border tax equalisation systems.The house of cards crumbled when investigators began to dig, and our story centres on a mid-level corporate lawyer, heavily implicated in the scam, who turns whistleblower.This is an immersive show, innovatively directed by Johan Sarauw. The audience is required to don a set of headphones to hear our unnamed protagonist (Christoffer Hvidberg Rønje) interacting with a series of investigators, colleagues, contacts, and family. The only live voice is that of Rønje, who, until the final moments, is encased in a glass-panelled structure, depicting a corporate office, investigation room, and—stunningly—a club rave. The opaque nature of the CumEx scheme is distilled by Rønje using a white pen on the glass.The production leads us from the protagonist being initially approached to join the network by his boss, to his subsequent attempts at recruiting others, and then to his volte-face and decision to turn evidence. The complexity and audacity of the scheme, as it unravels, takes your breath away.The impact on the protagonist is depicted iteratively. As we enter, he is in the glass office, suggestive of a cage. He appears to be trying to keep a lid on myriad emotions: nervousness, anticipation, and apprehension, as he non-verbally conveys the seriousness of the events to be revealed.The mental toll is clearly onerous. While he was initially seduced by obscene financial rewards and perhaps power, his family life has suffered. Now that he is cooperating, the relentless and detailed investigation grinds on.Rønje’s performance is startling. With no physically present co-performers to push against within the space, he conveys his inner turbulence viscerally and physically. The effect of the headphones is that we feel we are inside his head as we witness his disintegration. The denouement, in which he removes himself from the kaleidoscopic fishbowl, is chilling.“Know thyself.” Probably increasingly, he does not; or if he does, he doesn’t like what he sees.

Luke Wright knows how to put a show together – an especially useful skill, because as a performer he walks a tightrope between the different aspects of his personality and material that lesser mortals would fall off.In Pub Grub he casts his keen-eyed focus on the domestic and the everyday: the necessary treat of pub grub but the worry about calories; Chelmsford, and gammons. The details of family life: Netflix and Harlan Coben; babies; Kevin and Perry; detective stories; TV dinners; childhood; friction with his dad; and his own fatherhood.Somehow, the show navigates the paradox that is Luke Wright: obscenities delivered in elegant verse and delicately placed emotion in sarcastic tirades; a naturally sardonic air paired with warmth and openness; a grip-by-the-collar performance poet who delights in formal poetic structures. He is a committed woke lefty who is developing a degree of tolerance for those with opposing views.The show delivers his trademark observational comedy and awareness of the absurdities of the culture we live in, mixed with poems of family relationships that manage to be unsentimental yet touching. We also get plenty of rude and extremely funny jokes.A consummate performance poet, Wright’s show is ingenious, witty, sophisticated, touching and vulgar. Throughout, he is always in formal control of the material, delivering a performance that fits together like a well-crafted box, closing with a satisfying snap.

There’s a simple way to judge how good a ventriloquist is: check who the audience is watching when the “puppet” is supposedly talking. If their eyes are on the puppet, everything’s going swimmingly; if it’s the performer, they’ve got a problem.Thankfully, David Salter has absolutely nothing to fear on that score. From the moment she’s introduced, the audience in The Wee Coo venue are totally focused on hearing the lifetime recollections and razor-sharp put-downs from the imperious, self-centred Dame Granny Smith.As she takes command of the stage, Salter is seemingly left floundering as a somewhat inexperienced and uncertain interviewer. It’s clear early on that this particular “grande dame” of stage and screen – whose vaudeville debut at age five (days) eventually led to her being picked to play the poisoned apple in Disney’s original Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs back in 1937 – isn’t one to take prisoners in her anecdotes or let loyalty to Pam (her former personal assistant of 24 years) get in her way.All this despite one obvious and unavoidable fact – Dame Granny Smith is – literally – a real apple, with her blank eyes and mouth flap the work of a few minutes with a peeler. Salter holds her in his hand, operating the mouth flap with his thumb. It’s obvious how it’s done – and yet we can’t help but “buy” the situation and the reality of her character.It helps, of course, that Salter is a naturally funny performer. It helps too that his show is filled with clever one-liners and comedic lines that stretch through the hour, building to a conclusion that takes things in a deliciously unexpected direction, ensuring An Evening with Dame Granny Smith is ultimately much more than a show with a single punchline – great though that punchline undoubtedly is.The twist is done lightly, with surprising subtlety, but gives the show emotional heart and really stays with you. Simply put, the result is a show that has as much to say about the art of ventriloquism as it does about the jaded vanities of an old theatrical star who is (frankly) well beyond her sell-by date. That’s a delicate balance to keep, but Salter makes it feel easy.And he even manages to play – albeit with assistance from an audience member – a ukulele. Brilliant.

It was Joseph Stalin who is supposed to have said, “One death is a tragedy; a million deaths is a statistic.” It is a sentiment that haunts the ether around our comfortable television sets in our comfortable living rooms. For whether we choose to neglect, ignore, feel or demonstrate against the horrors of war and the highly discriminate loss of life, it is hard – faced with so much evidence of man’s inhumanity to man – to comprehend the full devastation being wrought in all too many corners of the world. Harder still is the task of giving each obliterated life the full and idiosyncratic weight it deserves in death.In Katia Haddad’s MARIUPOL, two of the beating hearts behind the statistics are imagined through the eyes of Galina (a Moscow student) and Steve (a Ukrainian naval officer). Initially brought together by a chance meeting in the 1990s, the intertwining of their lives – and their unbreakable regard for each other – belies the aggression of Galina’s homeland and the vulnerability of Steve’s.The performances are exceptionally strong: Nathalie Barclay is heartbreaking as a woman ripped apart by happenstance. Oliver Gomm allows his character of Steve to mature across the hour – much as Steve’s blokey demeanour planes into something smoother with pain and time.Mariupol has known such Russian hostility in recent years that its name has joined an unwelcome club of locations known as immediate and horrific bywords for human suffering. Yet this is not a piece full of declamatory political statements – and what it achieves is, in fact, far more powerful. It is a simple, messy love story of two simple, messy people, played out against the brutal horrors of a megalomaniac’s imagination. Eking out their days as best they can. Trying to make logical decisions in illogical times. And finally, reminding us that such people are not statistics – but that they are us.

The tragedy of Pompeii is well known and well covered in media, but rarely do the topics of local government and ancient tragedy come together in people’s minds. Yet Fishing4chips’ It’s Gonna Blow decides to look at the famous classical disaster in a brilliantly pantomime-like fashion, as it explores the different responses to an impending and obvious disaster.Set in a city council meeting at Pompeii town hall on the day of the eruption of Mt Vesuvius, It’s Gonna Blow follows a wide variety of figures from Pompeii going about what will be their last day alive, with the audience acting as additional residents watching the meeting take place. Each cast member, despite the large amount of multi-rolling, fills their characters with bounds of life just before they are snuffed out. From Sean Wareing’s weaselly council administrator and bashful pumice protection salesman, to Freddie Walker’s local farmer desperate to find out who has messed with his bins, and the suspiciously similar looking husband-and-wife pair – each character is as distinct and bombastic as the last, and it never feels confusing as they speedily swap between them, sometimes in what feels like seconds.The plot, although somewhat simple, moves things along excellently. As the show explores how the rich try to escape the island while leaving the common audience members to burn, it is the strength of the audience work that turns what could have been a fairly basic structure into such a fun time. Yasmine Meaden’s extreme environmentalist parody and Elinor Solly’s mime pull the audience literally onto the stage in a way that never feels forced but earns every laugh it gets.It’s Gonna Blow covers a lot of ground in its hour. With hordes of distinct characters, brilliant audience interaction and clever use of the audience’s awareness of the impending doom to heighten the hilarity of bureaucratic failure, Fishing4chips have created a unique experience – as much fun to (somewhat) star in as it is to watch the insanity unfold.

It’s the late 90s and in a fictitious small town in Ohio, the sales team at Terry’s are trying to sell cars. It’s Memorial Weekend, the equivalent of a bank holiday weekend in the UK, with implicitly heightened sales opportunities.The team are playing heavily on the Memorial theme: stars and stripes adorn the lot and they draw ever-more spurious patriotic links with their deals on vehicles. The lead salesman Tom refers to himself as ‘Major Tom’. They shoot in-house television adverts, featuring superheroes and injecting razzmatazz at each turn, all with the purpose of creating sales leads.They are under pressure though. The eponymous business owner has set sales targets; if these are not hit, the team will not secure essential financial bonuses. The pressure is layered, however. While Terry may be unseen, he looms ominously over proceedings akin to Wilson in The Dumb Waiter. It will be more than missed bonuses if targets are not hit, job security being fragile. Sheila has a teenage son demanding attention. Henri needs time to study for his citizenship test, not to mention money to pay for legal fees. Kelly is new to the team and is, initially at least, clearly not the aggressive salesperson that will thrive in this high-octane environment. Leads need to be converted to sales, of course.As the weekend dissipates, the number of cars needing to be sold per day inexorably rises. The stakes are higher for everyone now and the team seek to deploy increasingly more desperate measures. Arthur Miller, while writing Death Of A Salesman, noted the “hopeless hope of the day's business”.David Mamet’s Glengarry Glen Ross depicted underhand sales techniques and there are some parallels in Terry’s: An American Tragedy About Cars, Customers, and Selling Cars to Customers. Tom drums into his team the “ABC: Always Be Closing” mantra. Yet, while some themes such as patriotism and consumerism are touched upon, this production centres on an examination of the American Dream.All of the performances are consistently strong in this fine production. The BRILLIG company’s Lecoq training is evident, as the show is a fusion of comedy, drama, music, song and physical theatre. The pace is relentless, being a metaphor for the pressures the team face.

With magic you can do the impossible: that’s the message of this surprisingly personal and reflective show, and I’m ready to believe that in the case of Lin Lu-Chieh, he can do the impossible.This isn’t a show using gothic histrionics, roaring chainsaws, sheets of flame, or sexy women and double-entendres. Instead, Lin uses sleight of hand and memory feats to relate the story of his childhood – from six years old to university. He’s the only boy in the family, and his two older sisters are overachievers in every field – and are happy to let him know his shortcomings.Lin is a rather lonely child, looking for an achievement or skill that will mark him out as an individual. Each ambition (being a Go champion, or a top baseball pitcher, or singing like Taylor Swift, to name a few) is skilfully narrated with humour and understated emotion. These stories are effortlessly illustrated by weaving in an array of impossible tricks. Each autobiographical episode, sadly, ends in failure – due to bad luck, the misbehaviour of others, or running into someone with greater innate talent.The writing is equally skilful, with some parts of the text reaching the level of restrained prose poetry. I must emphasise the Derren Brown level of some of the tricks – especially the impossible memory feats.The finale is a fantasy sequence in which he is able to achieve all the childhood ambitions that were impossible for him. This section is accompanied by a dazzlingly rapid run-through of a version of all the tricks used in the narration. He ends the dream by asking if he could do those things, would he be a magician? Then, of course, there is the story he has not reprised – leading to one final impossible trick.The show is calm, gentle, affecting and amazing. Lin’s an actor, a writer, a comedian and a magician – I trust his sisters are proud of him.

A women’s toilet in a nightclub – otherwise known as a sacred gathering spot for universal sisterhood. Flush takes us behind closed (cubicle) doors rarely seen with sober eyes, to a space where women can build each other up just as much as they can tear each other down. It showcases a coming together to show the power of womanhood and the importance of community – just like women’s loos up and down the country.The first half of this performance is a straightforward, character-driven comedy. Groups of different women – a hen do, a work night out and teens who have snuck in – come and go from the bathrooms, talking about their lives and the night they are having. The humour is excellent and the characters strike the perfect balance between archetypal parodies and gals you could imagine finding down your local on any given Saturday. Conversation touches on many feminist hot topics such as plastic surgery, sexting and body image, providing relevant and well-placed commentary. Each of the groups reappears throughout the night as their stories unfold and the tone grows darker. Well every group other than the trans woman and her bisexual bestie, who appear only once and quite briefly. I can understand, with the significant transphobic rhetoric going on around trans women in bathrooms, wanting to touch on this to show its support. However, having it as such a brief tag-on felt like a missed opportunity. That said, there are only so many issues that can be explored within a one-hour fringe slot.One in four women over the age of 16 have been sexually assaulted, according to Rape Crisis. Flush puts the culture surrounding the sexual coercion of women and girls under an unflinching, uncomfortable microscope. When the performance was done and the tears were wiped from the eyes of both audience and cast, the pack-up began. I looked at the graffiti on the set pieces of the cubicle toilets, mainly feminist slogans mixed with sexualised insults. As I was taking it in, a member of the audience stopped one of the actors in her tracks: “Why didn’t she go to the police?” A question asked so many times of so many women. In that moment, it struck me how vital it is that plays like this are still being made and watched. Completely horrifying to witness – but vital in its existence.

Little Seeds Music’s Cinderella Ice Cream Seller is an original musical aimed at children, retelling the fairytale of Cinderella with a distinctly sweet tooth.Two vendors – Talvi and Caldwell – working at one of her ice cream parlours tell the tale, a framing device that allows the whole show to be undertaken with just two cast members, exchanging hats in order to play every role, while also telling their own personal stories between scenes of the main Cinderella-focused narrative. Both characters are surprisingly well-rounded and endearing, played with charm by Lauren Heywood (Talvi) and David Gibb (Caldwell). Their vocals are strong and confident, their harmonies pleasant, and their shared ability to manage all the props in this fast-paced production is remarkable.The moments of audience interaction are funny and engaging, and the humour throughout provoked laughter from both young and older audience members. However, the fact that there are only two cast members means there is no way for the ‘real’ Cinderella to appear in the final scene – and as she is anticipated with so much excitement and praised throughout, it would have made for a more satisfying finale had she actually appeared on stage (though the final scene still delivers a lovely ending to the show).The production is cheerful and bright – from the colourful set to the characters themselves – and the catchy songs (particularly We’re Gonna Make Ice Cream, which has been stuck in my head ever since I first heard it) serve to enhance a simple and heartfelt story. Cinderella Ice Cream Seller is a great way to spend an hour at the Edinburgh Fringe, and with a free ice cream recipe included in the programme, it’s easy to take the fun home at the end of the show.

The Truman Capote Talk Show is a poignant and informative exposé on the life and death of a great writer. Winner of the Scotsman Fringe First 2024, this one-man play starring Bob Kingdom about the iconic American writer returns to the Edinburgh Fringe at the intimate Attic at Pleasance Courtyard. Capote remains an icon of culture, both popular and amongst our literati, and any staging of his life and times, or rather his death and times, consequently comes with preconceptions. These may be about the actor’s mimicry of his unique speaking voice, or the specificity of his gestures, his posture, and so on.Within the first few minutes of this play, these preconceptions vanish. Kingdom makes his interpretation known: more than an impression, Kingdom’s Capote is his own invention, not unlike noteworthy portrayals of distinct historical personalities like Gary Oldman’s Churchill or Frank Langella’s Nixon – arguably even a conduit for the ideas this monologue aims to convey.The stage is minimal: it is Capote, costumed in the author’s recognisable vogue, a small wooden table which could as easily display a typewriter or a cocktail glass as it does Capote’s symbolic hat, which sits there for the show’s duration, and us. The stage is set – as Capote himself describes it, self-consciously referencing the mechanisms of the theatre itself – and, arguably, one of the most performative authors of the 20th century is granted an audience post-mortem to directly address with the details of his life: his successes, his solitude, his addictions, his losses (from death or betrayal in the name of art). If you don’t know anything about Capote going into this play, then it is guaranteed to teach you a thing or two, not only about the author but about the celebrity cultures – particularly classical Hollywood – and metropolitan circles he fervently pursued. Jokes are consistent, often ironic, always observational and Capote-ish in phrasing (“She had one of her faces lifted…”) – some of which will certainly go over the heads of audience members who haven’t heard of Greta Garbo, among other large-scale names of yesteryear.But The Truman Capote Talk Show also connects on an emotional level which, in the end, cuts through its wall of irony and deadpan references to the formal features of theatre within the play itself. By the end, what we are left with is precisely what the world is left with – an image of Truman Capote, haunted by unfulfilment in the final phase of his life: a portrait of the author which subverts the standard tale put to stage or screen in the past.This is a poetic piece of writing, lyrically enfleshed by a terrific central performance, which asks questions about honesty, love, integrity, and happiness. For those who didn’t catch it last summer, now is the time.

Shakespeare is sometimes thought of as a playwright difficult to understand, appropriate only for those taking their English exams (and often quickly discarded and forgotten afterwards). Therefore, it is exciting to see a performance take interest in making Shakespeare accessible to children – even if in a very abridged and slightly sanitised manner.In Shakespeare for Kids, five actors take on Britain's most famous bard in a fast-paced and highly physical performance designed explicitly for children, moving through some of Shakespeare's most iconic plays (including Julius Caesar, A Midsummer Night’s Dream and Romeo and Juliet) in a way that remains engaging throughout, enhanced by a great deal of humour and a few moments of audience participation. The actors do an excellent job of maintaining this high energy – the performance I attended had a relatively small crowd, and yet the performers remained enthusiastic throughout, which, in a comic children's show reliant on audience feedback, is a commendable feat. They also have an impressive command of the countless props brought out to enhance each scene and character they portray. In addition, the sound design is competent throughout, highlighting the comic and dramatic moments well, particularly the talented onstage pianist-narrator.Interestingly, this production makes the bold choice to keep Shakespeare's original dialogue intact whenever performing scenes from the plays. Though this could perhaps make the show harder for young children to grasp, it respects both the famous texts and the intelligence of the children the show is designed for, allowing them to infer what is happening through the language combined with strong characterisation and mime. The performance also includes the basic facts of Shakespeare’s life and the context behind his plays.While a true scholar of Shakespeare may raise an eyebrow at the rather slapdash treatment of the Bard's folio, this show is both an engaging and educational watch for any child – and a great way to pass an hour before lunch at the Edinburgh Fringe.

New York-based Mario Marchese has been travelling the world bringing his delightful mix of magic, robots and physical comedy to children of all ages and has developed a heck of a reputation, making TV appearances from The Tonight Show with Jimmy Fallon to Sesame Street, and being called “the best kids’ magician in the world” by David Blaine.Our first sight of Mario is as he bursts on to the stage, declares that he’ll be back soon, and Naruto-runs offstage again. It immediately flags that this is going to be a high-energy hour of magic and mayhem. We spend a few more moments listening to some absolutely banging punk-rock covers of Disney songs before Mario returns to the stage and opens the show by having everyone clap, cheer, call back and get frantically excited as he introduces us to his madcap magic show.The trick of reviewing a magic show is to never give away the secrets, so I’ll just say that the actual sleight of hand, illusions, tricks and spectacle are performed with aplomb by a master of his craft. There’s a lot of slapstick, screaming, falling over and chaos – and that’s just Mario on his own. Children and adults get the chance to get involved in the antics and each volunteer is treated like a unique star. Mario fills the space with enthusiasm, love and encouragement, constantly reminding us that we are capable of anything and that there’s nothing better than imagination and following our dreams. It’s a simple but welcome message in these dark days and a delight to watch the children respond so positively to Mario’s very earnest affirmations.At times it seems like it’s all going wrong, but the anarchy is masking a very tight show where every dropped prop, every broken device, and even the set falling apart is just setting up a fantastic finale that left many a child – and this reviewer – open-mouthed in amazement.

Joe-Kent Walters’s headline-grabbing character, the working men’s club host from Hell, Frankie Monroe, is fast becoming one of the standout cult heroes for this generation of the Edinburgh Fringe. Fresh off the back of winning the Best Newcomer award last year, Frankie was tipped to gain a nod for Best Show before this year’s festival too, and it’s not hard to see why.Sometimes it’s hard for shows to justify the hype, but this one is a real comedy party. The character is remarkably crafted and performed lovingly throughout. Walters is a master at improv and building rapport with the audience, and one almost feels as though he must have been brought up in working men’s clubs himself, if only he weren’t the wrong generation. He maintains total command of the stage and his character, while the show is populated with inventive props and creative gimmicks. For the whole hour, I felt as though Walters must have made his bones as a street performer, as there were many techniques in his craft that you see on the street, from repeatedly saying “Yes” to encourage affirmative responses from his audience, to long set pieces with copious padding that don’t go anywhere other than to build rapport. Consider this an observation rather than criticism. There’s no doubt his crowd give the same encouragement and desired response as the most dramatic street shows you’ll see on the Royal Mile.His crowd work is on point throughout, responding beautifully to heckles, many of which he encourages, and garnering a roomful of laughter for interjections as basic as “Hello there.”DEAD!!! (Good Fun Time) has a loose narrative, but you’re attending for the fun and variety. The show is apparently much the same as last year’s winner, so you shouldn’t have to do too much research to find out if this is up your street or not. It’s probably one of those crowd splitters that could get two to five stars depending on the reviewer or audience member, but even those to whom it doesn't appeal can’t help but admire the flawless stagecraft.

The Cab Vol caves are dark, dank and drippy. It’s good, therefore, that Stu McPherson immediately adds a bit of silliness to proceedings, something I definitely wasn’t expecting. Last year I wrote that McPhersons show was his most accomplished to date. This year, working with director John Aggasild on Crisps and a Lie Down, he takes a huge step up.Speaking about his “little family” that he’s created – himself, his girlfriend and their dog – it’s a chilled-out start, the kind of vibe I usually associate with McPherson. But it’s his physical impression of his dog excited to go for a walk where I first burst out laughing.McPherson and Aggasild work in perfect harmony and the direction really feels like an asset, drawing out sides of him I’ve never seen before. Even when he jokes about wanting to appeal more to the “thickos” in his audience (is he talking about the Americans that he frequently translates for? I’m saying nothing…) the craft on display is sharp.From sound effects to secret strokes, McPherson proves himself a comic wise beyond his years, delivering razor-sharp comedy with a deceptively gentle touch. Crisps and a Lie Down proves once and for all that Stu McPherson is the real deal – confident, creative and unmissable.

2014’s Foster’s Panel Prize winner Phil Ellis returns to the Fringe with a “rebootz” of his comedy show, designed to have the adults in the audience laughing just as much as the kids.Taking place in Monkey Barrel Comedy’s underground bar, the venue staff do a respectable job of wrangling throngs of children and directing them to their seats. The atmosphere is already filled with excitement, and this is only intensified when Ellis and his co-stars burst onto the stage, armed with little more than cheap costumes and sweets to toss to the children in the audience. If that weren’t enough to ensure they all leave with smiles on their faces, the constant barrage of jokes and plentiful opportunities to disrespect the adults on stage would more than suffice – after all, what child could resist the chance to throw a plastic ball directly into a man’s face?The anarchy is enhanced by the performers’ ability to respond to things said by the audience in ways that are both authentic and deeply funny, allowing the children to feel they have just as much control over the show as the adults do.There is also a great deal of humour aimed at the adults in the audience. Much of it stems from the performers and their depiction of the show as a shameless money-making scheme – from the careful avoidance of copyright with team “orphan wizard boys” to the “grand prize” of a printed photograph of a PS5 handed out to each child on the winning team. Other jokes, such as references to the KKK, will fly over a child’s head entirely (or at least, one would hope), ensuring the adults laugh just as much as the children.Despite claiming to be “only there for the money”, the enthusiasm and talent of every performer indicate otherwise. Their dedication to creating a thoroughly entertaining children’s show is commendable. With a solid grasp of what both children and their adults want to see, this skilful production is certainly worth your time.

It’s no bad thing when a show does exactly what it says on the tin. Leslie Bloom Solves A Murder promises cosy chaos, drag-fuelled comedy and the kind of murder mystery where the clues are less important than the cake – and that’s pretty much what you get. A perfectly pitched Sunday teatime show, this is the sort of gentle silliness that knows its audience and plays to it with gusto.Leslie Bloom (the creation of Simon Topping) is an over-60s parkour instructor, beat poet and neighbourhood busybody – or at least she imagines herself to be. She’s hosting a Neighbourhood Watch meeting when, shock horror, someone turns up dead. Cue gasps, clipboards and a roomful of suspects pulled from the audience. It’s less Knives Out and more Midsomer Murders with jazz hands, and that’s part of the charm.Topping, as Leslie, is a warm and seasoned performer who knows exactly how to work a crowd. There’s plenty of audience interaction – from selecting suspects to calling out plot suggestions – and on this particular afternoon, the mostly retiree audience were more than happy to get involved. There was waving, shouting, impromptu ad libs, and Leslie handled it all with the ease of a performer who’s clearly been doing this sort of thing for a while.The show works best when it leans into that ease – riffing off the room, riding the waves of laughter and letting the character’s quirks take centre stage. A segment involving Leslie’s subconscious felt overlong and didn’t add much, and the final singalong number could have landed better with a more familiar tune (it’s hard not to feel the theme from Murder, She Wrote was a missed opportunity).Tonally, this is comedy-theatre more than murder mystery. If you’re expecting tight plotting or red herrings, look elsewhere. But as a lightly interactive character romp, it delivers. There’s real potential here for Leslie Bloom to become a returning Fringe staple – much like the recurring detectives in every murder mystery, she just needs to develop her own set of character tropes and catchphrases to build a lasting legacy.For now, Leslie Bloom Solves A Murder is good fun, affectionately silly and well tailored to its demographic. Not every gag lands, and the structure could use a trim, but the audience clearly had a lovely time – and sometimes, that’s the mystery solved.

Children’s theatre doesn’t need bells, whistles or a vanload of tech. Sometimes, all it needs is a handful of clever props, some gentle songs and a performer who knows how to talk to both toddlers and tired parents. Drop of the Ocean has all three – and while it may not linger in the memory, it delivers a pleasing and quietly magical 45 minutes for its young audience.The premise – in as much as there is one – is simple: the sun and moon want to play together all day and night, and the ocean (sparkly, swishy and full of surprises) holds the key. What follows is more a gentle sensory journey than a structured story, as the ocean introduces us to a parade of aquatic creatures – a squid, a swordfish, a “bongo fish” – each with its own little number and novelty.At the centre of it all is Paula David, who radiates warmth and calm in equal measure. She holds the room with quiet confidence, talking directly to the children without ever patronising, and gamely adapting to a Sunday lunchtime crowd that was perhaps a little light on children. (One enthusiastic youngster made it to the stage to interact with the props – and was immediately rewarded with their own solo undersea adventure.)The show opens with a small but lovely moment of theatre magic as David sprays sparkles into the air, which rise to become stars. It’s simple, effective, and sets the tone nicely. Throughout, the production finds small ways to enchant – from the textured, glittery set to soft, undulating lighting that evokes the sea without overstatement. Lanterns become celestial bodies; glowsticks and fabrics become aquatic animals.The songs themselves are pleasant enough, though not particularly memorable. Given we’re invited to sing along at points, you wish the melodies had a bit more staying power – but they serve their purpose and avoid overstaying their welcome.There isn’t much of a plot, but that’s no bad thing. This is more about mood and engagement than narrative. It invites curiosity, rewards attention and never overcomplicates its central question: what might the sea tell us, if we just stop and listen?Drop of the Ocean isn’t a show that reinvents anything – but it doesn’t need to. It proves that simple, thoughtful storytelling, paired with strong design and a charismatic performer, is still more than enough to keep young minds gently entranced.

It’s that special time of year when the UK’s oldest professional summer repertory theatre stages weekly productions in Frinton-on-Sea, a jewel on the Essex coast. Steeped in tradition, and marking the debuts of many now-major actors, the company has chosen the perfect production to celebrate all things British.The now-famous tale of a group of Yorkshire WI members taking their clothes off for a charity calendar to raise money for the local cancer visitors’ centre has evolved into Calendar Girls The Musical, created by Gary Barlow and Tim Firth. Staged in the McGrigor Hall – home to the Frinton WI – and with music played live on piano by the wonderful musical director Neil Somerville, there is already a delightfully charged atmosphere as the show begins.And what a crowd-pleaser. One thing that impressed me is that the poignancy, and the horrendous effects of cancer, are not skimmed over for the sake of light entertainment. This is a confection with bite, and it’s served up by a very good ensemble with excellent leads. Shona White, as Chris – the naughty, rule-breaking WI member who gets the idea for the calendar – is perfect; many of her lines get cheers, and she is a smashing singer. As her grieving, sensible, more down-to-earth best friend Annie, Claire Carrie is a superb foil to Chris. Their friendship is totally believable.For me, Tracy Collier, as the “older” member of the troupe, stole the show, capturing perfectly the retired teacher whose put-downs, gruffness and jokes hit every mark. All of the women get a wonderful turn in the spotlight, especially in the beautiful, tasteful and heart-lifting calendar shoot scene For One Night Only, but it would be remiss of me not to mention Chris Garner’s quietly strong performance as John – the husband of Annie – whose death leads to the positive outcomes of the money raised.It’s not quite perfect: head mics would have made some of the lyrics clearer, the music occasionally overwhelms the vocals, a couple of cast members tended to swallow their words, and the pushing on and pulling off of the sofa was a bit distracting. However, Emily Raymond’s excellent direction leads to a triumphant production.This is no shop-bought Victoria sponge, but a production baked in the themes of friendship, love and good old British character.

Edge-of-nowhere, Glasgow, Central Belt. An abandoned, derelict bridge. A young man and an old man decide to take their own lives in the same spot at the same time. They've never met before. Neither expected anyone else to be there. This surprising coincidence means they now have to confront a changed situation. Conversation and questions cannot be avoided and neither can the often difficult answers.Kieran Lee-Hamilton’s bold and captivating debut play, Suicide, and Other Acts of Selfishness, is part of the inaugural season at the new Theatre 118 in Glasgow, which is committed to producing cutting-edge dramas rooted in Scotland. Written in punchy Scots, this play perfectly fits the bill, delving into the minds of two very different people who exemplify the human face of a quiet yet deadly epidemic that besets the country.The National Records of Scotland show that in 2023 there were 792 probable suicide deaths. Of those, 590 were males, making the male rate consistently nearly three times higher than that for females over the last 30 years. The highest levels are found in the most deprived and remotest areas, 2.4 times higher than in the cities, and Scotland tops the UK list. The average age of death is 46.6.Lee-Hamilton’s characters fall either side of that average. Dylan (Eli McFarland) is only 18, while Archie (Lindsay Anderson) is not yet a pensioner, a topic of recurring humour, but he is close. The casting is superb. The unlikely pairing is captivating in itself, and from the outset their delivery is gripping. The setting creates a sombre mood. Dylan stands on the edge of stage right, staring into the distance above and occasionally looking down; behind him, a large mesh barricade. Archie emerges from the darkness, deep stage left, and makes his way to the sturdy park bench. The awkwardness of the situation is immediately apparent. They both know what they're there to do. There is a sustained pause before Archie breaks the silence, and from the outset we are introduced to the performance devices written into the script and heightened through Frodo Allan’s stark, well-paced and sensitive direction.In two powerful performances, they both master the art of the pause, the reflective moment, often stretched to the maximum before the next thought or observation emerges. Then comes the ice-breaking comic, deadpan line, and we are suddenly laughing out loud. Yes, in this darkest of hours there are some hilarious moments. But that is the nature of black comedy that Lee-Hamilton has mastered, ingeniously alternating the dark with the light. It’s a device that forms a pattern, and both actors know how to play it.This is a triumphant premiere that will be tweaked into an even more stunning production that makes an important contribution to the discussion of male mental health.

London in summer is like no place else on Earth – a warm and bustling metropolis blooming with the unexpected and the beautiful.Regent’s Park Open Air Theatre is one such summer surprise: a 1,240-seat, tree-lined amphitheatre where birds swoop overhead and the city fades into the greenery. Until late September, it hosts an ambitious programme of theatre, music and dance – and this month, Malorie Blackman’s Noughts & Crosses takes centre stage.Adapted by Dominic Cooke and directed by Tinuke Craig, the production reframes Blackman’s bestselling YA novel as a breathless, tightly wound tragedy. Knowingly echoing Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet, two young lovers are divided – not by family name, but by a flipped racial caste system. Here, the white Noughts are the oppressed working class; the Black Crosses, the ruling elite. The result is a sharp, unsettling allegory that still hits hard, more than 20 years after the book was first published.Noah Valentine and Corinna Brown lead a large, energetic ensemble as Callum and Sephy, lovers caught between affection and ideology. The chemistry between them feels urgent and true, while the surrounding cast observe the action from above, intensifying the already simmering tension.The set is all industrial metalwork – stark, functional and imposing in equal measure. Crisp sound design punctuates the story with public broadcasts and propaganda, disrupting the intimacy of the central romance with a creeping sense of political doom.Though billed as a teenage love story, Noughts & Crosses delivers something weightier – a bold, politically charged fable staged with wit, clarity and care. Performed under an open sky and flanked by trees, it’s exactly the kind of dynamic spectacle that makes summer in London worth sticking around for.

F. Scott Fitzgerald’s great American novel is 100 years old this year. Over the decades, it has become a wellspring of inspiration – from silent film to lavish Hollywood movie, stage version to musical – while maintaining its place on the classic novel list.Pitlochry Festival Theatre joins the centennial celebrations with a stunning production, adapted for the stage by former PFT artistic director Elizabeth Newman and directed by Sarah Brigham of Derby Theatre, which co-produces the play.What distinguishes this production is the synergy between adaptor and director in telling Fitzgerald’s story of the Jazz Age generation, with its glittering dreams and failed hopes. The ensemble shines too in its portrayal of the era’s demi-monde.Newman’s adaptation shows a healthy respect for the original prose while reimagining the role of narrator Nick Carraway, placing him centre stage. He is a writer and, here, recounts events while nominally seeking an ending for his first novel.Set in 1920s New York, there’s the postwar spirit of regeneration, accompanied by Prohibition. The audience’s first view of this world is a glamorous set flanked by a pair of large staircases cascading down to the stage (design by Jen McGinley and lighting by Emma Jones). It appears to lead to a fairytale world – but the reality is far removed.David Rankine steps up to the plate as narrator Nick, who moves among the Long Island crowd. Rankine captures with ease Nick’s initial excitement in his new milieu, and his anguish as the tragic events unfold.Nick lives next door to the nouveau riche Gatsby (Oraine Johnson), who throws big parties in his huge mansion, but little else is known about him. Nick’s cousin Daisy (Fiona Wood) lives across the bay with her husband Tom (Tyler Collins).Finally, Nick is invited to one of Gatsby’s parties and discovers that his host still holds a torch for Daisy, a former lover. Wood captures the essence of the self-centred Daisy – first revelling in rekindled love, then reverting to type and her old-money husband. Collins is loathsome as the snobbish, hypocritical Tom, who berates his wife’s affair while keeping a mistress himself.Nick embarks on a relationship with professional sportswoman Jordan Baker. April Nerissa Hudson imbues her with a superior chilliness and a sense of entitlement.The Pitlochry ensemble’s actor-musicians intermittently serve as a house band, perched above the action, encapsulating the Jazz Age (musical direction by Shonagh Murray). Their songs and tunes are intrinsic to the play, with Ivan Stott’s foreboding soundscape guiding the audience towards its tragic conclusion.

This ghostly thriller, written by Ali Milles and directed by Alastair Whatley, sets the tone immediately with an old, draughty croft in the remote Highlands of Scotland. Wispy, swirling smoke gives a delicate, eerie feel, and there’s instant intrigue about The Croft.Based on a true story, the lives of three women from different generations are intertwined through a permeable timeline. Caroline Harker, as Suzanne, strikes the perfect balance of heart and humour. She is double the age of her girlfriend, Laura (Gracie Follows), and there is an obvious power dynamic – bossy mother versus stroppy youngster – rather than lovers. It’s clear that Laura is looking for a maternal figure, as her own mother is absent. The two characters bounce off each other well, and Follows brings an emotional depth to her fiery character. It’s refreshing to see a female-led, queer relationship on stage, especially one that challenges the taboo of an age gap.“You’re either welcome, or you’re not,” is the direct statement from David, played by a mysterious Gray O’Brien. David seems to be hiding something and appears to understand the secrets of the croft. Ultimately, though, he just wants to protect Laura – perhaps out of guilt, loyalty, or both – following a past affair with her mother, Ruth (also portrayed by Harker), the second of the generational ghostly characters.The third key figure is Enid, brought to life by Liza Goddard. Enid harbours a pregnant Eileen (Follows), trying to shield her from the other villagers. There are hints of another lesbian affair to mirror the present-day characters, but this felt rather ambiguous.The father–daughter dynamic (Simon Roberts) is raw. A letter found hidden in a picture frame brings haunting emotional weight. The push–pull between characters builds tension and anger, all wrapped in overwhelming grief. It’s incredibly moving.Interwoven through these human dramas is the myth of the Scottish selkie (not selfie!). Is Laura a selkie? It’s left unsaid but lingers across the generations. There are beautiful moments in this production, though the ending feels abrupt. And while the song at the end of Act 1 is serene and beautifully sung by Follows, it seems oddly placed.Genuinely spine-tingling moments are heightened by the superb interplay of atmospheric sound, lighting and set design – flickering lights, slamming doors and a chair that rocks by itself. Spooky.

There’s nothing like a large cast, seventeen in this case, giving it their all for the whole show to raise the spirits of an audience. The first production in the auditorium of the PFT season ranks 100 per cent on the energy meter in this co-production with Blackpool Grand Theatre.Written in 1971, the musical Grease takes us back to those innocent days of 1950s teenage romance when a guy could invite someone round to his house for some Coke without anyone clarifying the substance.Grease, the musical, by Jim Jacobs and Warren Casey, has gone on to be an enormous success with professional and amateur companies alike. The film of 1978 took it to an even wider audience.At the centre of it all are bad boy Danny and good girl Sandy surrounded by their peers at Rydell High School all trying to navigate the ups and downs of angst-ridden teenage love.Directed by Sam Hardie, this production excels musically as the cast of actor/musicians get right into that rock’n’roll vibe and ease into the ballads, from the title song to Summer Nights and You’re The One That I Want.Musical director Richard Reeday has done it again! He has been delighting audiences at Pitlochry for several years with his arrangements, including the award-winning Carole King musical of last year.The twist in Grease is that the good girl doesn’t tame the bad boy but squeezes into a pair of black leather trousers and tiny top to become his fantasy girl. Blythe Jandoo is a delight as Sandy, singing beautifully and going over to the dark side with ease. Alexander Service as Danny is less bad boy greaser than other productions but turns in a lovely conversion to nerdy athlete.It all bowls along with tremendous energy as the audience is swiftly transported from school to the various venues aided by Rory Beaton’s dynamic lighting.The set design (Nick Trueman) is rather puzzling as it seems to neglect the upper horizontal area of the stage. Nevertheless, this is a such a tonic for these troubled times. So head for the theatre in the hills.

Even to read the basic premise of Our Cosmic Dust is to successfully capture the imagination: Acclaimed Japanese playwright Michinari Ozawa uses haunting puppetry to chart a young boy’s cosmic journey through grief, as he grapples with the death of his astronomer father.If that summary alone is enough to compel you to book a ticket, your instinct is a good one.Authentically sweet and unexpectedly moving, Our Cosmic Dust explodes to life with the playful earnestness of a kid intent on solving the mystery of life. That young boy is Shotaro – voiced and masterfully puppeted by Hiroki Berrecloth. We follow him as he embarks on a search for the soul of his late father, moving from the crematorium to the planetarium, pursued by his frantic mother Usami, played by a sympathetic Millie Hikasa.Along the way, we meet a series of humourful and well-crafted characters who retell their run-ins with Shotoro, unhurriedly adding their own poignant – but never clichéd – musings on death.Living up to its astronomic theme, Our Cosmic Dust uses an immersive LED screen as a backdrop to manipulate space and time. With flawless execution, the players are whipped between worlds – between memories, sketches and the entire galaxy – uncovering hope and meaning behind the stars. Impressive sound design further sucks us into the portal of Shotoro’s prodigious mind, evoking the same limitlessness of looking up at the night sky. With this surreal view and the distance created through Shotoro’s puppet, the audience is given the space to explore death from a new cosmic angle, considering how grief lives in the blurred space between past and present – memory and reality. Sometimes, when all we have left of a person is what we remember about them, then holding on – to a silver tooth or a fading star – can also be a part of letting go.Despite premiering two years ago in Tokyo, Our Cosmic Dust still feels fresh and undiscovered. I encourage everyone to go see it while they have the small window of opportunity!Our Cosmic Dust runs until 5 July 2025 at the Park Theatre, Finsbury Park.

Scottish Opera delivers a gleefully cynical goodie bag of the old and new in this double bill of operettas – Gilbert & Sullivan's Trial by Jury and the brand-new A Matter of Misconduct!Celebrating 150 years since Trial by Jury became G&S's first hit, director John Savournin sets the trial within a reality TV show, complete with ‘Applause’ and ‘Boo’ lights. This works seamlessly with the camp humour of the piece.The jilted bride Angelina, still in her wedding dress, is suing her ex-betrothed for all she can get. The jilter, Edwin, suggests he marry Angelina – plus his new love. The Judge’s legal expertise is such that he accepts this solution – until the plaintiff’s counsel points out that bigamy is a crime.Richard Suart squeezes every comedy pip as the flattery-loving, roguish Judge, while Jamie MacDougall’s Edwin sings beautifully with wit and clarity. The major role of the Usher is sung and acted commandingly by Scottish Opera Emerging Artist Edward Jowle.No potential joke goes unexploited. Highlights include the dancing bridesmaids (where did they get those dresses!), the judge’s mobile pulpit, and the ever-present stage business.A Matter of Misconduct! is reminiscent of The Thick of It – but raunchier, and with added cynicism. Set in Downing Street, Roger Penistone is in the running for party leadership, but his Spad, Sandy Hogg, has got wind of breaking scandals: one involving Roger, and one involving his wife, Cherry – a ‘Poundshop Paltrow’ with a women’s wellness business.Enter Sylvia Lawless of Lawless, Lawless, Lawless and Crook, who explains that mud doesn't stick if you're suitably rich, then tackles the scandals through denial, lawsuits, intimidation, and bribery.Emma Jenkins’ libretto sparkles with raunchy rhymes, ingenious insults, and political misdemeanours that seem somehow familiar…Toby Hession’s score is full of colour and interest – including a cool jazz section and a wonderful marriage duet that could be slotted into an uplifting Broadway musical. Hession (a former Scottish Opera Emerging Artist) also conducts both operas, leading an orchestra playing with clarity, brio, and a sense of fun.Jamie MacDougall (unrecognisable from the first half) plays Sandy Hogg with superb comic belligerence. The double bill gives current Scottish Opera Emerging Artist singers a welcome opportunity to shine. Here, Ross Cumming shows his acting and singing chops as Penistone – moving from Johnsonian buffoonery through love song to meltdown – and he is well matched by Chloe Harris as Cherry. Lawless is played by Kira Kaplan, her charisma and coloratura making a dominating impact.The plot has more holes than Swiss cheese, but Laura Attridge’s tight direction keeps momentum ticking like a Swiss watch.

Siobhán arrives, or, as she puts it, is “chucked off” the airport bus, in central Paris. She has booked a holiday apartment and can barely contain her excitement as she is shown around. The apartment, belonging to Anna, is located in the exalted Latin Quarter and radiates style – wooden floorboards, artsy posters, original artwork and books. The host’s agent meticulously reels off a list of forbidden fruit: access to the locked wardrobe and drawers, her belongings, her food and drink. The strict check-out time of 9am is drummed into her. It’s Friday night and when she goes out, she witnesses Parisiennes living their best lives. She is insecure, under-confident and refers to herself as “frumpy”; she knows instinctively that she does not belong. A bar blares out Sweet Dreams Are Made Of This – what are hers we wonder? She makes a friend, Julia, perhaps another lost soul in this patchwork of bohemian élan. When she returns to the flat, her trip over before it has really begun, Siobhán’s thoughts return to Anna’s life. As resentment and fantasies gnaw at her, she begins to cosplay as Anna. Siobhán can no longer contain herself and breaks into the wardrobe. She puts on Anna’s stunning red dress and before she knows it, is stepping out in the small hours of Parisienne nightlife. She has a series of encounters but now is emboldened, confident. She brings home a stranger, Yann, who tries to rob her but she thwarts him. When she awakens, it is past her check-out time and Yann has gone. She is now past caring, inviting Julia and one of the neighbours, Stephanie, in to drink and smoke, observing that she has damaged Anna’s dress. It’s gone 11am, Anna is banging at the bolted door and Stephanie thinks the apartment has caught fire. The demise into chaos almost complete.The suspicion forms that all may not be what it seems with Siobhán. Is she a fantasist, an unreliable narrator, innately self-destructive… or is there more to it? This is a most creative piece by Wandering Stories theatre company. Liam McCarthy’s writing is sharp and provides the terrific Sinéad O’Brien with the platform to showcase her storytelling abilities. Her transition from Siobhán into Anna is excellent. We are left to dissect the real from the imaginary, consider Siobhán’s sweet dreams and wonder quite how she got here…

On paper, transposing The Merry Widow from Belle Époque Paris—with diplomats and Ruritanian princes—to 1950s New York and Sicily, with Mafia gangsters, looks like a bold move. But this new version, with lyrics by David Eaton and a book by John Savournin (who also directs), keeps the essence of the original story intact, while allowing the sexism of earlier English-language versions to be wittily reimagined.The widow of the title is ‘merry’ in the sense that she inherits a vast fortune from her late Sicilian husband and gains the consequent freedom. Don Zeta, a New York Godfather, wants to unite with the Sicilian gang (and gain control of the fortune) by getting his consigliere, Danilo, to seduce and marry her. However, Danilo and the widow share a romantic history, and the wounds (and mutual attraction) have not faded. Meanwhile, Zeta’s gangsters and their wives are embroiled in various affairs—including Zeta’s own wife, Valentina, who is having a dalliance with a French jazz singer.Savournin’s gangster setting adds both tension and comic subversion, contrasting the public machismo of the wise guys with the way the women control their men in private.The cast are strong throughout—both in character scenes and in the many group numbers—musically, comedically, and dramatically. They also perform Kally Lloyd-Jones’s non-stop witty and pertinent choreography with flair and verve. Spectacular and ingenious set designs by takis enhance the production.Savournin’s direction keeps the constant tonal shifts perfectly balanced: slapstick and ribald comedy teeter on the edge of real threat; moments of delicate inhibition sit alongside heartbreak, joy, sadness, and regret. There are comedy songs and moments where this light-hearted operetta touches the sublime.There are at least three spine-tingling moments. The supernaturally timeless Vilja aria is beautifully sung by Paula Sides, playing the widow. Sides is unerring in her singing throughout the show, ranging from delicate nuance to belting out the showstoppers with panache. She portrays the widow’s complex emotional landscape—emotions that turn on a penny, or are even felt simultaneously—with great skill. Another highlight is Danilo’s Merry Widow Waltz, lifted to spectacular heights by Alex Otterburn’s gorgeous baritone. And there’s an exquisite ensemble piece featuring the principal characters—the widow, Danilo, Zeta (played by Henry Waddington), Valentina (Rhian Lois), and the jazz singer (William Morgan)—in which each sings the same words, but with a different story of heartbroken, hopeless love.

Acclaimed Indian actor Vkinn Vats brings his highly anticipated monodrama The World of Madness to premiere at Prague Fringe, and it certainly lives up to its title. But don’t be put off—this is not the madness of stupidity or tomfoolery, but rather the madness that can overtake the mind and afflict the body.The fusion of words, often in poetic form, an evocative soundscape, startling lighting, and fiery physicality creates a moving, multi-sensory experience. The episodic storyline explores events and mood changes, beginning in relative stability and Bollywood dreams, progressing through a relationship, a breakup, a decline, a devastating drug-fueled breakdown, and culminating in a warzone denouement. The melting pot contains grief, love, expressions of masculinity, and a search for identity. The effect is cumulative, with each stage of the journey raising the emotional intensity, drawing us deeper into his turmoil and gripping tribulations. As Vats himself says, "Prepare to be transported into a kaleidoscopic fever dream of love, war, betrayal, and the fragile line between sanity and salvation."I’ll let him explain further the complex cross-genre work he has created. For him, it "explores the fractured psyche of a 'mama’s boy' who lands in La-La Land—not the Hollywood of dreams, but the underbelly of human contradictions... (and) confronts the ultimate human dilemma: To forgive or to avenge? To surrender or survive? To stay silent, or become the scream the world can’t ignore?”As both performer and creator, Vats wrote and directed this drama in a very short time. While the work has strong emotional impact, it would benefit from further development, revision, and editing to make it tighter. It could use another pair of eyes—perhaps those of Neha Jethva, who, with Vats, co-founded Shooting Star Studios, a company dedicated to creating "theatrical experiences that transcend borders and cultures."Whatever form its next iteration takes, this moving production is one to watch.

Letters have power. Often they’re just junk mail of course, or bills to be ignored, to be paid even, if that is your volition. Then there are happier communications – invitations to weddings, greetings cards and, for those of a certain era, love letters. But then there are those that change your life irrevocably. This is Joe Rawling’s deeply personal story.Spoiler alerts : 1. he has contracted cancer, but survives; 2. this production is funny.Joe is informed, chillingly, dispassionately, that he is being referred for a series of consultations and investigations. He had started passing out and at first the doctors are unable to find anything sufficiently awry to be the cause. To coin a phrase, he has confounded medical science. However, a consultant eventually realises that he has an ominous shape hiding behind his sternum. In a display of cognitive dissonance, the medical team are self-congratulatory to uncover the source of Joe’s illness. The shadow on the x-ray is the size of a satsuma. He has testicular cancer in the chest – who knew that was a thing?Joe recounts his journey, in which he undergoes distressing treatments, invasive and painful procedures. This included having what appears to be a knitting needle inserted into his chest, evoking winces from the audience. His body weakens, he has little or no immune system, spectacularly badly timed with a Global pandemic breaking out. He suffers, iteratively, erosion of dignity. He looks on as his friends and family are powerless to help.The prognosis is that he may only have two weeks to live.He writes what he hopes will not prove to be a posthumous letter, including the somewhat facetious request to his friend to hide his porn, giving rise to the name of the show. This happily proves unnecessary.If all of this sounds a little bleak, it’s really not. Joe is a skilled performer and character actor, controlling the narrative with wit, warmth and excellent comic timing. His depictions of the five hospital Karens was executed with aplomb. Productions in which solo performers describe their suffering are frequently self-indulgent and sometimes even mawkish, but Hide My Porn is deliberately the antithesis of this.Joe leaves us with the message that one in two people will contract cancer in their lives., meaning that you or someone you love will suffer at some point. This is talented, extremely moving, storytelling with a simple upbeat and poignant message – laugh at it.

I almost didn’t see Hemlines. A delayed flight had other ideas – but, as it turns out, the Fates were on my side. Fitting, really, for a show about Florence, Eleanor and Doris: three eternally toiling seamstresses who may or may not be the modern reincarnation of the Greek Fates, now stitching the threads of life with a bit more banter and Irish dancing than I remember from classics class.Moon Bureau’s latest offering comes to Prague fresh from a spin around Australia’s fringe circuit, and it arrives with all the energy of a long-haul flight’s second wind. There’s singing! There’s jigging! There’s a maypole! (Yes, really.) What the press release describes as “a celebration of sisterhood” turns out to be a musical – surprise! – though the songs sneak up on you. It’s not until Florence breaks into the first number that you realise you’re watching a bona fide musical. A little more signposting wouldn’t hurt, but once the toe-tapping starts, you’re in safe hands.Clocking in at 45 minutes, the show never drags. The dialogue is sharp, the physicality impressive, and the songs... well, they’re good. Not “download immediately” good, but clever, catchy and tightly performed. More importantly, they serve the story rather than stopping it dead – which is rarer than it should be.The ensemble – Madison Chippendale, Lana Filies and Alicia Badger – are a joy to watch. Their chemistry fizzes, their timing is bang on, and they somehow make maypole choreography seem like a perfectly reasonable theatrical choice. They’ve crossed a continent to be here, and on this evidence, Prague Fringe should be very glad they did.Hemlines might not change your life, but it does remind you why you came to the fringe in the first place: to see something smart, strange and unexpectedly moving, all within spitting distance of a medieval pub. The Fates have clearly been stitching together something special.

Pip Utton is a self-styled "strolling player," a point he emphasizes by noting that he has performed in venues "ranging from London’s Royal Albert Hall to Prague’s A Studio Rubin; from Chicago’s Theatre Chopin to Mumbai’s Sophia Bhabha Auditorium; from Edinburgh’s Assembly Ballroom to Horningsham’s Village Hall." He has become an institution as a solo performer on the modern fringe festival circuit. It’s fitting, then, that this man, who espouses the tradition of wandering theatre troupes from a bygone era, should now turn to The Bard for his latest monodrama.Utton first appeared at the Prague Fringe in 2008, and this year, he performs the world premiere of his adaptation of Shakespeare’s great tragedy, King Lear. While he may not have Lear’s “fourscore and upward” years, the 73 he has certainly add to the credibility of his remarkable performance. If Romeo requires youthfulness, Lear demands the weight of years and a lifetime of theatrical experience—along with stamina. In the intimacy of A Studio Rubin, we are as close as possible to the actor, who can hide nothing from us. And Utton doesn’t want to. He invites us to join him on yet another of his journeys, which, he says, are fuelled by his imagination.To explore King Lear in the span of an hour is a huge undertaking, but Utton rises to the occasion. He remains faithful to The Bard’s words, occasionally adding a thoughtful aside. For his solo show, he juggles the scene order, initially presenting Lear in a state of madness. Over time, we come to understand that senile dementia has slowly taken hold of him over the years. He still remembers the decisions he made but is now immersed in regret. He incredulously laments how he was duped by the false affections of Goneril and Regan, whose subsequent actions exposed his errors in judgment. He also bemoans his rash decision to disinherit Cordelia.Utton portrays a tragic figure—a man who once nobly wore the crown he gave away and now wanders aimlessly, with a circle of flowers on his head and royal robes reduced to the simple attire of a mendicant. He tells the main story, delivering the great speeches and turning points as flashbacks, like a man tormented by hindsight. Full of emotion, rage, and tearfulness, he always gives words their full weight, respecting Shakespeare’s meter in a poetic performance.He’s taking Pip Utton: King Lear to Edinburgh this year. If you want to witness a master of his craft in action, this is the show to see.

Tea is for every occasion, and in India it comes in an array of flavours with glorious perfumes that waft from the cup. It can both enhance and create a mood; it can wake you up in the morning and send you to sleep at night. Today, it celebrates the reunion of Babli (Taranjit Kaur) and Tejal (Archana Patel).The Chai Queens tells how they parted fifteen years ago: one to fulfil the tradition of arranged marriage, the other to escape the perils of being identified as a lesbian. Under different circumstances, in a future age, the wedding that brings them together might have been theirs — but that was not to be. However, they still have the dolls they played with years ago, and so we become immersed in the rites and ceremonies of an Indian wedding, as our hosts animate their toys and provide the words that make them partners for life.Ramanjit Kaur skilfully directs with ingenuity and sensitivity, allowing the natural charm of Kaur and Patel to shine through. Babli has successfully opened her sari shop and, although now a businesswoman and mother, she has not lost her sense of fun. Tejal is something of a little devil who still retains a wicked enjoyment of games and mischief. As the tension of seeing each other again fades, they reminisce, and we are drawn into a delightful tale of love, life, frustration, and joy.The props, their clothes, the sweets they share with us, the ceremonies, and the soundscape from many facets of Indian life provide a strong cultural framework for the dialogue. They were forced to grow up and move on, but instead of being filled with resentment, there is just a trace of melancholy in their voices — and a richer sense of gratitude for the time they shared.The Chai Queens is a delightful, experiential piece of theatre, full of insights that invite emotional attachment.

Fear of what the neighbours will say, fear of the priest’s penance and fear of God’s judgement hang over a fun-loving and somewhat rebellious young girl in The Red Shoes at Prague Fringe.Hans Christian Anderson’s somewhat gruesome fairy tale is given both an Irish and Buddhist makeover in this engaging adaptation, written and performed by Danni Cullen and directed by Jennifer Holland.If nationalities are blessed with certain talents, then Cullen excels in the art of storytelling and how to make it gripping, using her distinctive Irish lilt, engaging eyes, stunning head of hair and a range of vocal inflexions. In musical terms she can go from sforzando via marcato to fortepiano and legato in one sentence. Raised in a remote part of Wicklow, why would she not know all about storytelling as entertainment?Her tale is rooted in her own life and finding freedom away from the confines of catholicism and life in a claustrophobic community, but this is no self-indulgent piece of navel gazing, though she did some of that when she rose to the challenge of a ten day Vipassana silent retreat in southern Mexico. The passage of time is marked by striking together the tingsha, whose faded ring marks the end of one day and the start of yet another where she has to face the challenge of keeping her gob shut. However, this frees her mind to wander into a realm of stories and observations of people, when she is not thinking about food and the minimal rations she's living on.The Red Shoes story is personalised and placed firmly in an Irish village context. Around it are woven snippets of the oppression under which young people grow up and women seem to endure forever, in a place with an idyllic facade. But if you tell someone they can’t do something, then for sure they’ll go and do it along with other things even more wicked. Temptation is hard to resist, so we hear how you just give into it, perhaps escape through the bedroom window and get up to all sorts of shenanigans and revel in the joy of dancing.The heady blend of gossip, scandal, partying and sinning provides much humour, some amusing and some laugh-out-loud. Look beneath the surface of the craic, though, and Cullen’s show is an invitation to think about what you’re capable of and what holds you back; about whether you’ll conform, do as you’re told, so you don't get punished, or whether you have the courage to follow your own path. Will you, with Kate Bush “dance the dream and make the dream come true”?

It doesn’t seem so long ago that, to go shopping, you’d head for your nearest town centre or mall. The internet drove a truck through that model, though, and click-purchasing has become the norm. So simple is it that consumers can sit at home and bring the world to their doorstep – over and over again. But what if this purchasing became compulsive?Enter Michele Puleio. His character marvels at the simplicity and efficiency of online buying. He is aware of the cost of this system – suppliers and delivery companies having to cut costs and employ unsavoury working practices – but he is ambivalent, feeding his God complex. He becomes immersed, overwhelmed, and spirals into obsession. His relationship with his girlfriend falters, then breaks, as a result.Now he is resentful of the system and settles upon the idea of striking back at the organisations: he will find a way to get inside one of the largest distribution companies and take people hostage. This is not so straightforward, though – the worker bees are subject to stringent checks and may not even use a mobile phone inside. So how will he smuggle in a gun? He hatches a convoluted but ingenious plan: he will create his own online shop, send himself a gun, gain employment at the distribution centre, and ingratiate himself so that he can receive the item from within. There is much that may go awry with this strategy, but he nonetheless succeeds.He takes his co-workers hostage, threatening to shoot them. Puleio sequentially becomes these disparate characters and we hear their voices – among them the 54-year-old nerd, the displaced shopkeeper, the middle manager, the admin assistant. They, of course, share the same workspace, but what becomes clear is that none of these people chose this life; they are not in control of their destiny. Therefore, one or two of them admire our protagonist.Blasé is well performed by Michele Puleio, doubtless trained in physical theatre. He conveys the different characters through voice, physicality, and attitude, and the transitions are excellent. The production, probably with influences from the theatre of the grotesque, is well directed by Luca Zilovich, though it would benefit from an edit. There are moments that jar slightly to the non-Italian observer, but this does not detract overall.Officine Gorilla are to be congratulated, this being the first production of Blasé in English, which is no mean feat for a non-native speaker. The final message – that solo revolutions are selfish and doomed to failure – is well made.

The delightfully engaging Simar Singh and Priya Malik from the company UnErase Poetry return to Prague Fringe with their new show Love, Laughter & Longing after another highly successful, award-winning year.That’s more than can be said about the love life of the young Mr Singh. While not filled with dreadful disasters, his amorous intentions seem constantly thwarted by a certain shyness, social awkwardness, and inability to make a long-lasting impact on any of the girls and young women who have entered his life. Well, perhaps they felt like disasters back then. With characteristic dry humour and comedic timing, he relates various liaisons. They have promising beginnings and sometimes develop encouragingly, but rejection seems to inevitably come his way.His half of the show winds up with inspirational words and life lessons he has garnered from his experiences and leaves us with the belief that all is never lost, despite what might come our way. His narrative is not just flowing prose but incorporates passages in poetic form that better convey his feelings and emotions. This style is taken up to a greater extent by Malik, who uses extended verse to tell of her own romantic encounters, equally enhanced by light humour. Her ultimate story, despite some early misgivings and creepy behaviour on the part of the man concerned, turns out to be a romantic triumph, and she ends on an upbeat note. Together they provide an epilogue that brings their words into a neatly rounded package.It’s easy to understand why UnErase Poetry has become India’s largest spoken word collective, with over two million followers on social media. Their linguistic acuity, personal charm, and smooth delivery make for easy listening.

It's 24 years since Gareth Armstrong opened the first Prague Fringe with his monodrama Shylock. Now aged 76, he’s back again giving a masterful performance that reflects a lifetime of theatrical experience including classical plays with the Royal Shakespeare Company, lighter productions on TV such as One Foot in the Grave, EastEnders and Birds of a Feather and West End plays by Noël Coward, Tom Stoppard and more Agatha Christie.Inevitably, the Bard’s speeches come ‘trippingly on the tongue’, but there is far more to this work than the obvious recitations from The Merchant of Venice. Armstrong explores Shylock through the eyes of the only other Jew in the play; indeed the only other Jew in the entire Shakespearian canon. As bit parts go, the character of Tubal is easily glossed over. He enters the play halfway through Act III, scene 1 and has just eight lines, yet he has an importance in just being there. With Tubal in the frame, the otherwise isolated Shylock’s has a friend, albeit only one. His presence asserts that Jewish communities were present in cities across Europe and played an important role in commerce and the practice of money lending that was forbidden to Christians. We are reminded, of course, that they never forgot that scripture tells how the Jews begged Pilate to release Barabbas and crucify Jesus with the words, “His blood be upon us and our children”; all Jews for all time. It is not just Shylock who is on trial but all of Jewry.Thus Armstrong’s story contains not only delightful renditions of extracts from the play, but also strives to put the character in context by looking at historical aspects of the Jews in Europe and the role over time.Yet throughout, this remains a piece of theatre, replete with movement characters, voices, props and costumes all tightly directed.

Blip is charming in its simplicity, telling the story of a father, a son, and a mysterious portal in a mirror. Partly inspired by leading man Tom Bass's own experiences, we follow his character through memories and awkward interactions as he attempts to reconnect with an emotionally distant parent. Their relationship is like a fist bump meeting a handshake - well-intentioned, but never quite in sync. This dynamic makes for a funny and recognisable pairing, and Bass plays both roles with striking physicality, shifting seamlessly from hunched, aging father to withdrawn son.Through conversations about gardening, football, and Doctor Who, Blip explores the loneliness of adulthood and the aching need to connect with a parent doing their best but struggling to express emotion. Bass brings a subtlety to his performance that makes the hour utterly absorbing. Small shifts in movement or expression carry the audience from humorous to surreal to sad and back again. The inherent silliness of clowning paired with the vulnerability of his character is a magical combination. The most cartoonish moments come from childhood memories - perhaps a nod to our tendency to romanticise early happiness to shield ourselves from adult understanding.Bass and director Ren Roberts have crafted the show thoughtfully for an intimate space, distinguishing between reality and imagination through rich red, green and blue lighting, and underscoring it all with beautiful original music.Overall, Blip treads lightly on its subject matter, using small, well-observed moments to illuminate the deeper emotional waves between father and son. While this gentle tone is one of its strengths, a touch more turbulence or emotional layering might have made the show's slightly abrupt ending land with more impact.Gently tragic and tentatively hopeful, Blip is a special piece of theatre - an imaginative, poignant tale told with heart and humour.

Actors as messengers.We were supposed to be done with this, weren’t we? Children fleeing conflict and persecution in war-torn Europe should belong to the annals of history, it being some 85 years since the Kindertransport saved over 10,000 children. But here we are again - this time it is Ukrainian citizens fleeing their homes for a future that is far from certain, or indeed, not always welcoming.Once Upon a Time in Ukraine takes personal testimonies of Ukrainian refugees who were relocated from the east of Ukraine to the west, Germany, and other parts of Europe. In some cases, those who fled may have been the fortunate ones, with 95% of residential properties destroyed in Mariupol alone. A humanitarian disaster and war crimes ensued. Using these testimonies, the troupe (Slava Krasowska, Maryna Boyko, Kira Meshcherska, and Vero Strelstova) in some cases creates imagined narratives, giving glimpses of possible outcomes, situations, and futures. The production is a patchwork of ideas and theatrical styles - drama, comedy, dance, and song - but collectively it is simply storytelling. The group breaks the fourth wall with significant audience interaction, including, at one point, what appears to be an improvised promenade.We learn of refugees’ journeys and new lives. They experience an array of emotions: desperation, vulnerability, exhaustion, isolation, fear, thirst, banality, hunger, boredom. They may be viewed with suspicion even in their own country, such is the fear of Russian infiltration. They will experience culture shock, especially in small German towns where it will be harder to blend in. All in all, traumatic.The play, imaginatively directed by Alex Borovenskiy and Natalia Ponomaryova, could use an edit, with some scenes landing better than others. Performing in a foreign language is  never straightforward, and on occasion some dialogue was a little hard to catch, but this is a very minor point and their efforts are highly commendable.This production is overwhelmingly charming, joyous and uplifting; it would take a heart of stone not to be moved. The takeaway is that the indefatigability of the human spirit will prevail. ProEnglish Theatre of Ukraine, on behalf of their people, are not looking for our sympathy - they just want the world to see them. Actors as messengers has rarely been more true.

Grand Guignol de Milan presents three vignettes inspired by real-life events.The first of these is The Butcher. It is just another day for the working ladies at a late 19th-century Milan brothel. However, they are alarmed by reports of a serial killer – a butcher’s assistant – at large in the city. The newspaper article, falteringly read aloud by semi-literate Rosetta (Giulia Mazza), reveals a description of the butcher, complete with an unmistakeable tattoo. The butcher soon visits the brothel and is identified by the women…The second act is The Mysterious Client. The year is 1900, and Milan has seen several years of unrest, including a state-sanctioned massacre at a protest over the price of bread. Amandina (Michelangiola Torriani) initially delivers a monologue in which she dissects her clientele and breaks the fourth wall, interacting with men in the audience. Touchingly, she recalls one man she loved, Gaetano (Lorenzo Balducci), who visits the brothel – but only wants to use the establishment for lodgings. Despite being offered sexual services, he refuses her seduction, which only draws her closer to him. Gaetano’s insistence on privacy extends to his unwillingness to disclose his surname. It is later revealed why…Scandal completes the trilogy, now set in 1913. A plain-clothes officer raids the brothel, searching for a cross-dressing sex worker. In the ensuing struggle, Rosetta is killed by the officer. Her death, institutionally covered up, provokes an outpouring of grief in the city, with hundreds of mourners at her funeral. The case is followed by socialist journalist Benito Mussolini – I wonder what happened to him…Tales of the Boudoir, written by, hosted by and featuring Gianfilippo Lamberti, is a return to vaudeville entertainment. It is a whirl of physicality, drama, storytelling, comedy and slapstick that has the audience mostly laughing – but it's countered by subtle and tender moments of pathos, and a finale that leans into operatic style. The pace of the talented ensemble is relentless, and they are to be congratulated for this achievement – it is never easy to deliver in a foreign language. The quartet’s comic timing, in particular, is truly excellent.Prostitution is usually driven underground, increasing the vulnerability of those who are often bereft of viable career alternatives. Yet, as we see here, they can have big hearts. Indeed, Grand Guignol de Milan offers a view of the many universal aspects of human nature in this fine production.

Fraternities are an integral part of university life in the USA. While the organisations and their members are well known on every campus, they still carry a certain air of mystery and secrecy, rather like the Freemasons. What goes on behind closed doors - and the implications of being a faithful member of such a society - forms the basis of Max Allen’s gripping debut play FRAT.There is a highly talented team that makes FRAT a compelling production. Max Allen is joined on stage by Luke Stiles, Elliott Diner and Will Hammond. All are graduates of LAMDA, and the quality of their training shines through every moment of the play. With their first lines, they instil confidence as performers – each manifestly self-assured and able to generate a powerful presence, delivering the dialogue with clarity and conviction. From the outset, you know this is going to be good. We become familiar with the characters and their roles in the formally structured Beta Chi Omega, and as we gain insights into the camaraderie and banter of frat life, an air of suspense creeps in and we begin to wonder where it’s all heading.An abstract soundscape by Pierre Flasse hauntingly increases the tension, and the atmosphere is heightened by lighting from Mason Delman. Seeds are sown - often in casual lines - that suggest all is not well beneath the superficial playfulness masking deeper feelings. The green-eyed monster lurks within the pack; envy runs deep, and before long, events unfold at the fraternity’s big night that cannot be camouflaged. The party turns into a courtroom drama.The story is a heady mix, influenced by major works such as The Riot Club and Lord of the Flies, and it’s a refreshing choice of subject, exploring power, masculinity, group morality, tradition and identity in a gutsy manner. Director Olivia Woods rises to the challenge of the confined space with well-crafted, flowing movement that matches the pace and precision of the delivery. These are early yet highly successful days for this play. Inevitably, as with any new work, some tweaking and development remain, but even now, it is a towering piece of theatre with a stunning cast.FRAT had a sold-out London premiere at the Old Red Lion Theatre before going to Brighton Fringe. It is also heading to Edinburgh this August and has been selected for performance at the prestigious international Comparative Drama Conference in July 2025.

Science fiction as a genre takes many forms. It can have its roots in fantasy, transporting the reader to parallel worlds. On the other hand, it can serve as a warning to humanity, attempting to preemptively prevent catastrophic events from unfolding — 1984, for example.We meet Rey (Jake Mace), a 20-something queer nightclubber. Rey’s best friend, Robin, appears to be embarking on a polyamorous relationship. Rey's friend Flora has an almost omniscient quality. Rey is on a mission: to drink, take substances, dance, and maybe more. They spot a figure to whom they are instantly drawn, the object of desire, yet it remains out of reach in this labyrinthine building.As the club pulsates with swathes of movement, noise, and energy, Rey is influenced by various factors (people, substances) and is a swirl of emotions — excitement, liberalism, hedonism, and confusion. But are they seeking something more?Rey’s experience in the nightclub is constantly overlaid by Big Brother-style messages that say, “This is not the place,” disorienting and disturbing them, especially given their predilection for Talking Heads’ Naïve Melody. Is this a drug-induced trip?Deeptime Atomic Waste Pleasure Party is not all it seems, though. The production is, in fact, set sometime in the future, and as the narrative unfolds, we learn that there has been a nuclear and environmental catastrophe. Those humans who have survived now live in a strictly controlled environment, where basic Geiger counters are mandatory. It’s all a little dystopian.Rey has been selected by an unspecified power to act as an emissary; it turns out that hedonism was not their sole mission. Nuclear waste has been buried deep underground, but there is an outlying community, the Tinkerers, who do not accept the dangers of unearthing this deep-lying atomic waste — analogous, perhaps, to the current-day anti-vax movement.This production is startling and unsettling, especially the repetitive and invasive nature of the interspersed messages. There are many themes touched upon or explored, including consent. Rey’s desire to fit in — to gain access to the nightclub, only achieved with Flora’s help — is undoubtedly a prism through which the queer community’s desire to simply belong and be accepted is reflected.The production falters slightly in the middle, as we are challenged to keep up with the ever-shifting narrative. However, Jake Mace is an extremely gifted and charismatic storyteller, whose performance remains unwavering. Mike Dorey’s direction is sharp, and the pace relentless. With a small amount of tuning, there is an award-winning production here.God is in the big and the small. Is this a warning about the fragility of mankind’s existence? Or is it a piece about choices and belonging? It can, of course, be both. Perhaps the world can accept a little fluidity. This is a very fine performance with vital societal messages.

It has become a cliché to say that George Orwell’s 1984, published more than 75 years ago, is relevant to our turbulent times. But there is a kernel of truth in every cliché, and Within Theatre’s brilliant reworking of the classic underscores its ongoing resonance. Julia. After 1984 is effectively a sequel which, as its title indicates, centres on the character of Julia, Winston’s lover in the original novel, and follows her after she is separated from Winston and imprisoned by the authoritarian regime, the Party.In Julia. After 1984, Julia, subtly played by Sofia Barysevich, is a determined and forthright young woman who, as the play opens, is seen resisting the Party and its mysterious leader, Big Brother – cleverly conveyed through a video projection of an eye at the back of the stage, watching over both cast and audience. After enduring torture inflicted by Thought Police officer O’Brien – a mesmerising performance by Michael Tcherepashenetsshe, who perfectly captures both the menace and the underlying pathos of the character – she is released from the Ministry of Love. She reunites with her sister, Emma, who, in contrast, has been brainwashed by the Party into doing its dirty work, or her ‘duty’, as she calls it. Julia sets out to discover who reported her and Winston to the Thought Police, exact her revenge and free Winston from the labour camp in Greenland where he has been deported.But this leads her back to the Ministry of Love, where she again becomes entangled in O’Brien’s mind games. Soon, it is no longer clear who is the persecutor and who the victim. Has Julia capitulated, like Winston, who reportedly declared his love for Big Brother before being deported? Or is she merely feigning allegiance as part of her strategy for revenge? The production cleverly plays with the audience’s expectations.One yearns for the day when 1984 is no longer relevant, but as authoritarian regimes continue to flourish globally, that day seems increasingly distant. Until then, we should be grateful for Orwell’s prescient novel and for Within Theatre’s powerful modern reworking. Big Brother may be watching us, but artists like those of Within Theatre – all of whom have lived experience of totalitarian regimes such as Belarus and Russia – are, luckily for the rest of us, watching him back.

A memorable, hugely exciting double bill, Passing and Frontier, performed by Ballet BC – the leading Canadian dance company – feels as if it’s at the forefront of contemporary dance today. Two wonderfully creative choreographers, Crystal Pite (Frontier, a third iteration of her 2008 original) and Johan Inger (Passing), have created pieces that could not be more different, presenting a contrast of style and mood, light and dark. The link between the two choreographers is their experience with Nederlands Dans Theater – and it shows.One can see why Crystal Pite is one of the most sought-after choreographers in Europe today. In Frontier, she aims to explore doubt, made visible through shadows. It is an overwhelming experience, with embodied shadows: a vast crowd of dancers, hooded and dressed in black, crawl up from the audience, roll across the stage and later lift, stalk and importune with grasping hands, surrounding and enveloping spotlit dancers in white. The seething mass of shadows are at the same time embodied yet abstract, suggesting nightmare dreams surfacing from the unconscious – abstract enough for the audience to interpret with their own fears and desires. The darkened stage is swept at times with even darker shadows – an inspired design by Tom Visser. As Pite claims, the ‘neurotic’ – by which she seems to mean psychological – can also be linked with cosmic dark matter, of which, of course, we know nothing. Eerie music from Owen Belton and two uplifting choral pieces by Eric Whitacre bookend the piece.The skill and extraordinary fluidity of the dancers is shown off in Frontier with their extreme moves – reaching out, bending backwards and Martha Graham-esque deep pliés. In the second piece, Inger’s Passing, about birth, life and death in a community context involving the full cast, there’s an even wider variety of dance styles, including folk and tap. The individuality of the performers is highlighted, no doubt the result of improvisation in the choreography’s creation. It starts with great humour and lightness, full of surprises – dancers laugh, cry out loud, and there is a hilarious episode where a woman gives birth to adult dancers. Particularly affecting was the solo live singing of a Swedish folksong, reminiscent to Scottish ears of Gaelic melody.Although Passing successfully contrasts with Pite’s piece, its middle section feels random and loses its way. The final segment, with snow falling and a more sombre mood, could be potentially moving, but at present it feels overly long.

Magic, puppetry, dance, aerial acts and snowflakes inside an illuminated circle fill this musical version of C.S. Lewis’ The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, directed by Michael Fentiman and based on the original production by Sally Cookson. It’s a wintry tale, including Father ‘Sinty’, so it feels rather strange to watch in spring, but with this being the anniversary year of VE Day, it is fitting that it is also a story of evacuee children during the Second World War. In this version, they are sent ‘in the middle of nowhere’ - near Inverness.Now in its 75th anniversary, many of us will have read this book as children or seen its various adaptations, and it looks set to enchant another generation with the world of Narnia.It’s a charming premise - the four children Lucy (a wide-eyed Kudzai Mangombe), Susan (a sensible Joanna Adaran), Peter (an upright Jesse Dunbar) and the traitorous Edmund (Bunmi Osadolor, likeably vulnerable) enter a wardrobe in a spare room and step into the magical world of Narnia, condemned to perpetual snow by the wicked White Witch (a commanding Katy Stephens). Fortunately, the children have appropriated fur coats from the wardrobe.On their adventure, they encounter a mixture of classical and folklore creatures such as Mr. Tumnus the faun (an intriguing Alfie Richards) and talking animals - beavers, a red squirrel and others - all played by a cast who take on multiple roles, including performing live folk music as they weave in and out of scenes.Charming puppets such as the Professor’s cat Schrödinger (a nod to Lewis being an Oxford academic) and the magnificent Aslan, a giant puppet with a stylised mane designed by Max Humphries and directed by Toby Olié, are the highlights of the show. There are striking stage effects - from the lit windows of a steam train (created with boxes held up by the cast) to giant pink Turkish Delight that taunts Edmund. Voluminous white veils drop from the ceiling and are used to breathtaking effect as the White Witch’s train, which she ascends in full majesty.The first act is delightful, with non-stop fun, movement, music and special effects. However, the second act stalls, not least due to Lewis’ own plot. His Christian symbolism - Aslan representing Christ, whose self-sacrifice saves Edmund and who then rises from the dead - is heavy-handed. The audience may be divided on this, but it undeniably creates a ponderous second act that drags on, despite the musicians and dancers’ efforts to keep the energy up, though by now their routines feel repetitive.This is not a show for children under nine, as there are some terrifying characters, especially the wolves and the Witch’s henchmen, as well as some explicit onstage violence.

How well can you ever really know anyone? How much do we fundamentally understand about someone, and what are the masks and defences we all employ?A stage solely occupied by a keyboard and microphone greets us at the BN1 Arts Centre. But the Dubious Company’s eclectic cast - Emily Hawkins, Jasper Price, Lex Bluecairn, Aoife Pallister Begadon, Annalena Lipinski, Amber Williams and Aisling Hanrahan - soon fill the space, singing and playing, leaning into the style of the modern troubadour. It is immediately charming.During the hour-long performance, they deliver a mix of original songs and familiar numbers with aplomb. Scenes shift between clowning, comedy, and poignant observations, touching on gender fluidity. The guitar and viola playing are simply excellent, and the group’s palpable energy and collective synergy elevate the show. Some comedic moments land more effectively than others, but the overall effect is strong.The acting is impressive: to do little or nothing on stage with poise and intention requires great skill, and the scene in which make-up is carefully removed is mesmerising.The standout moment is the self-penned Bodycount scene, in which the uneasy and awkward interactions so often seen at a wake are laid bare. Dubious Company explores the concept of false memories while the group reminisces about a departed friend, delivering a scene that leaves the audience unsure whether to laugh or cry. There is likely a full-length Fringe production to be developed from this segment if the company chooses to do so.Dubious Company’s stated aim is to explore human connections and prompt audiences to question their own assumptions and belief systems. With As If You Know Me, they have undoubtedly achieved their goal.A triumphant smorgasbord of theatrical forms - comedy, music, drama, dance, and clowning - this ambitious production challenges our view of the world. The highly talented ensemble shows great promise for the future.

It’s the new season at Pitlochry and it is off to a flying start with the world première of Milly Sweeney’s debut play. Water Colour is the winner of the St Andrew Playwriting 2024 Award, which aims to support and develop the next generation of Scottish playwrights.Produced in partnership with the Byre Theatre and Playwrights’ Studio Scotland, Water Colour is an extraordinary piece of work, promising much for the future of this young writer.Two characters tell us about their lives, unknown to each other until a brief chance encounter in extremis. Sweeney has drawn on her own experience in creating a drama about mental illness, particularly in young people.Esme (Molly Geddes) is an art student struggling in a sea of despair. She asks no one for help and thinks there is only one way out, but then a stranger, Harris (Ryan J Mackay), intervenes and vanishes.Water Colour is superbly directed by Sally Reid, who is open to all the elements of this story, pacing it beautifully. The production renews one's faith in theatre to connect with hearts and minds.The Pitlochry studio houses the Glasgow-set tale, and its confines are perfect for creating intimacy between storytellers and audience.These two young actors are both to be commended for the range and power of their performances. Molly Geddes, making her professional stage debut, is lost soul Esme. Struggling at art school, friendless and unwilling to go out, it all looks bleak - but things change when a stranger intervenes and she reaches out for help. Geddes handles the transition from utter hopelessness to recovery with moving conviction.Ryan J Mackay’s Harris is another standout portrayal. First a cheeky chappie on the verge of pursuing a career as a chef, full of energy and laughs, circumstance soon destroys his optimism and vision of a happy future.Sweeney cleverly dovetails the dialogue as the pair tell their separate stories. They may be heading in different directions in their mental health, but both eventually find hope.The cast of two also takes on the roles of employers, family and peers, particularly moving as the two mothers who mean everything to their children.Water Colour is about the importance of reaching out when struggling with mental illness and for people to be kind to each other. Most importantly, it emphasises that there is light at the end of the tunnel.Clever Pitlochry for staging it in the season of hope.

A big cast, a challenging text, and a very small stage. There were plenty of obstacles for this young theatre group to contend with, but they rose to them to deliver a mature and stylish production of Chekhov's seminal play, The Seagull. Reimagined for modern times, this production brought together techno music, bold production design, and interpretive staging to give this 130-year-old text a contemporary kick.Charting the love triangles and gradual unravelling of a group of artists, The Seagull explores creative ambition, success, and anxiety. The script is full of jealousy, insecurity, and poetic debate, and the cast dug into it well, occasionally lifting the atmosphere with moments of naturalistic comedy.Standout performances came from Raizel Nuñez as the famous but fading actress Arkádina, Destiny Williams as the naive ingénue Nina, and John Cowell as the acclaimed writer, Aleksei. Nuñez was a particularly strong presence, embodying her reactive, proud character with confidence. Williams and Cowell built their chemistry slowly as their characters gravitated towards each other, each showing great command over the text.Amelia Sheard's tense and twitchy portrayal of Konstantin injected an underlying tension throughout the play, which helped the emotional release at the end pay off.Inventive lighting design distinguished daylight from dreams and, paired with unusual choreography, showcased the group's clear artistic vision. However, the play lacked the breathing room it needed in The Rotunda, and the staging wasn't as slick as it could have been overall.It was wonderful to see an ambitious vision realised in a young theatre group, and those tackling central characters really dug deep. In a larger space, it could have shaken off some of the disorganisation on stage that held it back.

Identity confusion sits at the heart of this re-telling of G. K. Chesterton’s best-known novel. Chesterton is probably most famous as the creator of Father Brown to the modern audience, but this is an intriguing revival of The Man Who Was Thursday with modern resonance.The year is 1908 and Europe is witnessing political upheaval, which will ultimately lead to the outbreak of World War I. A variety of groups are pushing for reform and governments are increasingly under pressure to suppress uprisings. Among these is an organised group of anarchists, not a contradiction in terms, led by the seemingly omnipotent ‘Sunday’. Sunday oversees the remainder of the anarchic inner circle, with the six other individuals named Monday through Saturday.Here is the first twist: it is iteratively revealed that all of the remainder of this inner circle are in fact undercover police officers, recruited to monitor activities. They learn of the plot to assassinate the prime minister, H. H. Asquith, which they endeavour to thwart. There is a further plot twist, representing a quite specific re-interpretation of the original novel.This production by The Department Of Ulterior Motives is nothing less than a riotous whirlwind of activity, comprising physical theatre, comedy, slapstick, clowning and much more. Some scenes land better than others, but the overall standard is excellent and the pace simply relentless. The chalked faces, while leaning into commedia dell’arte, are perhaps designed to fuel the idea of identity confusion. There is a talented ensemble (Esther Dracott, Michael Grant, Zarrina Danaeva, Maria Evans, Oliver Russell, Mickey Knighton, Andrew Bird and Bill Griffiths), all under the watchful eye of Samuel Masters and Morgan Corby.There are some themes open to further exploration. The role of Sunday, suggestive of nominative determinism perhaps, may be rooted in Chesterton’s religious beliefs. The role of poetry is brought into the spotlight: is poetry order or chaos? There are modern slants on a century-old novel: the idea of a vegan bomb, gender swaps, 21st-century political slogans, not to mention police officers’ infiltration of protest or political groups - somewhat topical. The Kafkaesque brushes with dogmatic authority most definitely resonate.This swirl of physical comedy is a most enjoyable romp and can still be caught at Rotunda and BOAT as part of Brighton Fringe.

As befits one of his earliest plays, Titus Andronicus has all the hallmarks of a Shakespeare honing his craft in a studenty troupe full of bold ideas, incautious language, over-weening self-belief and insufficiently critical friends. By the close of the piece, an audience will have sat through a parade of fourteen corpses, ten amputated body parts, rape, cannibalism, filicide, attempted infanticide, adultery, and repeated racism. Unrisen gorges optional: protective gear on the front row advised.And yet, despite its blood-soaked reputation for showcasing Bill’s Tarantino years, Titus is more than just a titillating splash about in the Grand-Guignol: offering a commentary on the breakdown of civic order and the futility of revenge as compelling and chilling today as it was four centuries ago.In Max Webster’s mighty new production for the RSC, we are treated to a dystopian ‘Rome’ in which the stark monochromatic world reflects its characters’ souls: murky greys abound, and any purer whites are almost immediately tainted with blood spatters. This bleak colour palette not only creates the nightmarish parallel reality in which our worst fears come to life; but underpins the continual exploration of blackness as a symbol of evil.Joanna Scotcher’s spare, glassy set perches atop a huge stone slab etched with word after Latin word: engravings soon to become grimed with the DNA of those lives sacrificed upon the altar of high politics. Utilitarian benches are spaced at intervals. An electronically controlled slaughterhouse track runs overhead.At the outset, the Roman Emperor has died and his sons Saturninus and Bassianus are competing to be elected in his place. The people would prefer renowned general Titus Andronicus: but he refuses the honour, backs Saturninus, and gets on with the business of presenting the prisoners he has taken during his war with the Goths. Simon Russell Beale’s Titus is doughty and clear-eyed: a man of war but also of logic, able to make inhuman decisions in the name of supposed justice. He tells us that he has lost twenty-one of his sons in battle: and to avenge their memories, orders the dismemberment and thus murder of the Goth Queen’s eldest son. And so begins the cycle of violence for which the play is both much admired and reviled.Wendy Kweh is a fantastic Tamora, the captured Queen: sinewy, serpentine, impulsive, unflinching. This is a woman you cross at your peril: as Lavinia (an initially horsey, haughty Letty Thomas) soon discovers. Tamora fights for survival with a bestial reactivity and cunning: a motif explored throughout the piece as an increasingly tenuous hold on humanity dissolves. In a text peppered with references to the ‘hunt’, the cast morph into a series of snarling creatures which may be the predator, may be the prey. Jade Hackett’s choreography is a stunning representation of how the omnipresent perils of our own baser natures lie far closer to the surface than we would like to admit.For just as a fish rots from its head, so does Rome collapse under the arrogant, swaggering leadership of a snivelling, coked-up Saturninus (a horribly redolent Joshua James). Plots are laid, inductions dangerous… and lives are snuffed out with such gay abandon that the hardest task for any director is to evoke credibility within a plot that, to our sensibilities, seems incredible. Webster offers enough familiarity for us to fear such a world; and indeed, there is already horrid symmetry in the actions of those who would righteously kill a baby for its skin colour or consider someone else’s body to fall under their own jurisdiction. There are superb performances throughout: the ever-reliable Emma Fielding becoming ‘Marcia’ Andronicus, Jeremy Ang Jones showing huge promise at speaking verse with modernity and purpose, and Natey Jones making the essentially one-dimensional Aaron psychologically plausible. This is a terrific ensemble in which each player feeds into the narrative; and whilst the stage is naturally never less than electrified when Russell Beale is in situ, his performance is generous enough to build a layered sense of tragedy which never feels purely orbital. There is no resolution here, no happy ever after: and as the young heir to the Andronicii watches the adults around him tear each other apart, we have never felt surer that an eye for eye will surely make the world go blind.

Mags’s mum has recently died. A onesie is draped on her chair, which nobody sits in, with the urn placed there throughout the show, as if somehow she is still present, an extra character. Mags and Ruby are in their flat. Ruby quickly moves in, with a gesture that might seem supportive, and with a couple of quotes from the film Withnail and I we think this is a play about two young women boozing and taking drugs. And then it twists into something else.One of the interesting things about this show is how surprising it is, even changing genre from beginning to end. Just when you think you know what to expect next, the story moves in a completely unexpected direction. It’s incredibly funny throughout, but even the humour shifts - from out-loud guffaws to very dark comedy towards the end. We quickly realise this is a play about obsessive relationships - but no, it’s a play about toxicity in friendships and becoming so incredibly intimate and intertwined with another person that you almost see them in the mirror instead of yourself. Then comes the coercive control, and you realise the person you’ve felt sympathy for is not only damaged, but so much more.The acting is exceptional. Rach Mullock plays Mags, grieving and desperate to be loved, living life almost vicariously through the feisty, outgoing and deliciously self-assured Ruby, played with dark intensity by Lexi Pickett. The only other human character is Tony, played by Sam Cartwright, Mags’ wannabe boyfriend and more, who portrays the gawky ex-soldier who is not very good at flirting - or loyalty. Each of them embodies their character from head to toe, with complex, layered and emotional portrayals. Ruby’s multifaceted and surprising nature intrigues and entices - her charm oozes, even as her presence indicates both passion and danger.Corrina O'Beirne’s writing has a grounded authenticity and goes in completely unconventional directions. Much like Ruby, this piece refuses to be pigeonholed. It is a dark play, but it draws you in like the sweetest of treats and won’t let you go until the end, where you are left still thinking about it. It is quite simply exceptional, and not to be missed.

Who knows what lies beneath the seemingly respectable, very ordinary, and rather bland lives of those who occupy suburban London? Jez Butterworth’s Parlour Song, at Greenwich Theatre, hovers over that surface and, without probing too deeply, finds life to be more uneasy, uncomfortable, and unsatisfactory than it seems.Dale (Jeremy Edwards) grudgingly runs his own car-wash business, employing teams of immigrants. He lives in some awe of his neighbour, Ned (Naveed Khan), a demolition contractor—a job that, to Dale, seems full of thrills and excitement, and from which Ned derives real pleasure. Together, they often watch recordings of the detonations Ned has carried out. Ned wants to lose weight, and in some highly entertaining and comical scenes, Dale instructs him in basic exercises while Ned recounts various possessions that have mysteriously vanished from his house—a recurring theme, as the list continues to grow. Meanwhile, his wife—ironically named Joy (Kellie Shirley)—languishes next door with little to do but reflect on eleven years in an unrewarding marriage and contemplate making sexual advances towards Dale.Rather than finding contentment in their lives, each ultimately longs to escape from what they have. The dialogue is broodingly comic, and each member of the talented cast successfully conveys their character’s frustrations, fears, and shortcomings. Even more impressive is the way they rise to Butterworth’s challenge of portraying the tragic human conditions that lie beneath the words. The script goes only so far, but the wheels turning inside their heads say so much more—and the cast makes this palpable.Director James Haddrell describes the play as a "theatrical comedy of manners wrapped up in an unsettling satire of suburban life," and he has carefully worked to enhance the text with supporting business that never detracts from it. Design by Emily Bestow and lighting by Henry Slater achieve the same effect in equal measure, with the outlines of houses providing a façade for projections.Together, they have created a thought-provoking and reflective production tinged with an element of mystery.

Scottish Ballet’s revival of Helen Pickett’s The Crucible is a sensation. Although based on Arthur Miller’s play, the story is given additional layers of emotional depth by hinting at archetypes behind the period setting, and by the emphasis in the first half of the show on the teenage girls burning up energy and pushing against their restraints, culminating in the fatal “forest dance” scene. From that point, their transformation into witchcraft accusers is almost inevitable.Notably, instead of Miller’s unequivocal characterisation of Abigail as possessing an “endless capacity for dissembling”, we see a frightened teenage girl, trapped in an impossible situation by the adults around her.The stage lighting is stunningly effective, which, combined with the seemingly sparse set designs (set, costume and lighting by Emma Kingsbury and David Finn), makes almost the whole show feel as if it takes place at night or in dimly lit rooms.This atmosphere of primitive darkness and dream/nightmare gives a timeless quality. The action clearly occurs in 1690s Puritan America, yet the forces driving the events are of any age and culture. Similarities with voodoo culture are a theme; even the clothes and headgear of the young girls are reminiscent of the standard Hollywood voodoo costume.The music, by Peter Salem, is similarly timeless. There are live instruments mixed with recorded sounds, scenes with period-style music, and sections that even include electronic industrial music.The cast is excellent. Much of the choreography is in intricate lockstep with the detail of the music, and this challenge is met with accuracy and emotion – ranging from slow duets to spectacular displays of group hysteria. All the parts are played with character, and the dancing is aligned with highly effective storytelling.Portraying the complex psychology of Abigail is no simple matter, but Kayla-Maree Tarantolo carries the role with believability and subtle elegance.Bruno Micchiardi plays Proctor, and there is something about him that helps give duets exquisite life and breath – whether in the lust duet with Abigail, the tender emotional arc of the reconciliation duet with his wife Elizabeth (played by Jessica Fyfe), or in the fierce, clashing duets with the Men of God.To an extent, the thrills are reduced in the second half, which consists largely of the trial scenes, providing less opportunity for surprise and reinterpretation of the source material.Overall, an eye-opening, exciting, atmospheric and, on occasion, spine-tinglingly graceful demonstration of the power of dance.

Brian Rix, the Whitehall Farces, and their successors from the 1950s were part of my life growing up, as they must have been for almost everyone packed into what felt like a matinee for senior citizens of Noises Off at the New Wolsey Theatre, Ipswich, last Thursday.Michael Frayn’s frantic farce premiered in 1982 but draws on a long tradition of the genre. Specifically, it was inspired by his 1970 play The Two of Us. One day, he watched a performance from the wings and commented, “It was funnier from behind than in front, and I thought that one day I must write a farce from behind.” Hence, he went on to write Noises Off, which starts at the technical rehearsal for another farce, Nothing On. This creates maximum chaos and complexity, as we have a farce within a farce, with the same actors playing parts in both productions.It’s set in a modernised mill house, replete with that vital ingredient in farces: doors. There are seven of them, along with three other exits. This set provides the bookends for a middle section, which depicts a matinée performance one month later. The set is turned inside out, and we witness the same opening act from behind, with silent gesturing, mad business, and already faltering relationships.Finally, the set is rotated back to where we started, but this time it’s a performance in Stockton-on-Tees, at the end of the ten-week tour. Relationships have decayed further, stress is the dominant emotion, and wear and tear have taken their toll on the set and props, causing the actors to frequently abandon the script and ad-lib their way to the bitter end.It’s a high-energy show that demands physical agility, impeccable timing in both delivery and movement, and the creation of credible, often eccentric characters in both plays. The cast—Hisham Abdel Razek, Ezra Alexander, Clare-Louise English, George Kemp, Harry Long, Hilary Maclean, Russell Richardson, Ailsa Joy, and Gemma Salter—under the tight direction of Douglas Rintoul, create a jaw-dropping sensation that makes one wonder just how they manage to do it. The same goes for the creative team, with sound design by Helen Atkinson, assistant direction by Charlie Flynn, lighting design by KJ, fight, movement, and intimacy direction by Haruka Kuroda, set and costume design by Clio Van Aerde, and wardrobe supervision by Rebecca Rawlinson-Allen—all of whom rise to the occasion. An actual round of applause that afternoon also went to the highly efficient team of stagehands, who physically rotated and rebuilt the set without the aid of a revolve.This production marks New Wolsey Theatre’s first-ever international collaboration and is co-produced by Queen’s Theatre Hornchurch, Les Théâtres de la Ville de Luxembourg, and Theatre by the Lake. It can be seen at those venues as part of its tour.

This is your second chance to see the Olivier award-winning Giant in its 14-week limited run on the West End: a gripping new play that brings to light the dark views of children's author Roald Dahl in his later years.You might be forgiven for thinking a dead writer’s views would not provide the most gripping theatrical material, but you’d be wrong. Mark Rosenblatt’s provocative script is unafraid to air one of the most stirring debates of our time: between those sympathetic to the plight of occupied Palestine and those aligned with Israel following centuries of Jewish persecution.Dahl, a left-leaning former Second World War fighter pilot, had a unique and decidedly problematic view on things. If you see Giant without knowing much about the author’s much-maligned views, you might find yourself forgiving his stubborn stance - at least at first.John Lithgow, voted best actor at the Oliviers for his role, does a stellar job of distilling Roald Dahl’s sharp character. Spirited, eye-twinkling charm rises and falls like shadow theatre on his pallid face, persuasive despite an underlying menace that ramps up towards the final act.Hollywood actor Aya Cash is a strong addition as Jessie Stone, the Jewish American publisher tasked with extracting a public apology from Dahl over a troubling book review in which he described Jewish people as a “race of cowards” following Israel’s siege of Beirut in 1982.Stone visits Dahl’s home alongside British counterpart Tom Maschler, played by Elliot Levey, who prefers to stroke his client’s ego rather than accuse him of bigotry. The pair play well off each other - Maschler as the linen-clad voice of pragmatism, and Stone as the hard-pressed yet principled driving force of the show, deeply disturbed by Dahl’s rhetoric and unwilling to give him a pass.What ensues is an enthralling debate that spirals when Dahl is cornered and reveals his unpleasant side – something we might revel in in his books, but less so in real life.The production, directed by Nicholas Hytner and designed by Bob Crowley, is rich yet stripped back, centred in Dahl’s living room as it undergoes renovation. This pins the focus almost exclusively on Dahl’s hulking frame at his dining table as he frets, grumbles and points his arthritic fingers excitedly at anyone brave enough to question him.While Dahl delights in the debate, those around him recoil and pander. Dahl’s linguistic dominance is inarguable, tilting the balance of the debate and forcing us to consider the power dynamics at play - even if Dahl himself is too big to see sense.

Great fun, at times hilarious, Pride & Prejudice, sort of by Isobel McArthur is a high energy spoof which will appeal to both Jane Austenites and those who’ve never read a word. Premiering in 2017 in Glasgow’s Tron and then touring the UK and to the West End, it is still going strong. Gustily performed pop songs, much gyrating, boogie woogie, rushing about and general silliness punctuate the plot which does sort of keep to the novel, and most people will get many of the references to the original as it is a truth universally acknowledged that many phrases have entered our language and there are sly references to wet shirts in the well-known film. The all female cast play all the parts, donning jackets over their dresses when playing the males with quick changes off-stage or behind a screen. The skill with which the actors can change character and voice is remarkable. In particular, Christine Steel plays Jane (the placid beauty), Wickham (the louche bounder) and Lady Catherine de Burgh (the snobby aristocrat); Rhianna McGreevy is a raucous Mrs Bennet with colourful language, still a hypochondriac (with an asthma spray) but not the whining character in the novel, and also plays Darcy with contrasting hauteur and repressed emotion; Isobel Donkin plays the innocuous Bingley, and his sister, the unpleasant Caroline, and a sad Charlotte with hints of an unrequited lesbian love. Naomi Preston Law is a spirited Elizabeth. A mention must be made of Eleanor Kane’s splits and hysterical flinging herself about as Lydia. All we see of Mr Bennet is the back view of his armchair and a newspaper - a brilliant touch.Jabares-Pita’s costumes range from plain white servants to the stand-out upright feather headdress and sweeping train of Caroline Bingley, and a caricature Lady Catherine de Burgh in vast hat and voluminous maroon dress, bulging with its own life. The minimalist set is perfect with its sweeping staircase and hidden doors. The various locations, the Bennet’s home Longbourn, Bingley’s Netherfield, the vicarage and Darcy’s Pemberley suggested by a piano and sofa, a crucifix or standing candelabras. A raised arm and finger click and the sky becomes a star-studded black to create a romantic mood.All the actors have terrific singing voices in the many well-known pop songs. Carly Simon’s You're so Vain is spot on, sung to Darcy by Elizabeth. Likewise, Lady in Red by her ‘nephew’ Chris de Burgh sung to Lady Catherine de Burgh. The cast ensemble singing and dancing is always full of energy and fun, especially in Bonny Tyler’s Holding out for a Hero. A shame that some of the actors often gabble when speaking and much of the humour is lost. But it’s still an entertaining evening out and much appreciated by the teenage girls in school groups in the audience going by their whoops. What a great way to enliven the school curriculum.

Benjamin Britten was not the easiest person with whom to form an attachment, much less a friendship and to work for, but Imagen Holst, a focussed, determined and eccentric woman with an outstanding musical pedigree, persevered in the matter and remained close at hand until his death.Mark Ravenhill’s delightful new stage version of his 2013 radio play, now named Ben and Imo, brings together Samuel Barnett and Victoria Yeates in this microscopic two-hander at the always stunning Orange Tree Theatre, Richmond. Imo enters the music room of Britten’s Aldeburgh house where they tentatively explore the boundaries of her position as what can loosely be described as his assistant along with the even more vague financial remuneration, terms and conditions she might expect. It sets the tone for the ups and downs of the ensuing volatile relationship. With some lack of self-certainty Britten has given way to his ego and accepted the commission to compose an opera in honour of Elizabeth II’s accession to the throne. The deadline places them both under pressure.Barnett captures Britten’s mood swings: at times nervous and unsure of himself with a rather pubic schoolboy demeanor in need of comfort and support, then raging and demanding particularly in the second act where he becomes far more uncomfortably aggressive and distasteful. Yeates shows that Imo is a force to be reckoned with and a person prepared to commit herself wholeheartedly to a task, as she did with her father, Gustav’s work, in her teaching at Dartington and would go on to do in influencing the Aldeburgh Festival. Yet she never denies her humanity and on occasion lets us in beneath the often stern and always coping exterior to reveal that she too has feelings. Under the sensitive direction of Erica Whyman they give careful attention to pace and timing. This is especially noticeable in the many witty and light-hearted moments. Expressing high hopes for the newly formed Arts Council now seems amusingly wishful thinking. Revelations about Britten’s loathing of dance hit hard on Frederick Ashton and I’d go back again to just hear Barnett deliver his line on Ninette de Valois. These moments and others also give subtle historical context to the creation of Gloriana.The creative team has done a fabulous job in creating the setting for this piece. Soutra Gilmour’s design centres around the baby grand, with just a music rack, drinks trolley, armchair and a standard lamp on a floor covering of pastel blue carpet. Scene changes are marked by a turn of the revolve and accompanied by coastal sounds courtesy of Carolyn Downing and musical passages from Conor Mitchell played by Connor Fogel. It’s all very homely yet functional. Watching the progress of the project unfold and their relationship develop provides a fascinating focus, though the piece is perhaps a little over-extended with a somewhat jarring and abrupt change of tone in the second half, but otherwise it’s a gratifying and captivating tribute to two outstanding individuals.

Bigfoot in Plain Sight is the latest from theatre company A Handful of Bugs. A thrilling twist on the classic one-man comedy combo of very big man very small stage, this is an even bigger man, indeed the biggest man! Bigfoot! I sat front row for this whirlwind, high energy show. At eye level with… the impeccably costumed Alex Donnelley’s short shorts, which remained through his many character metamorphoses. Close enough to see beads of sweat (or perhaps they were tears) dribble down Donnelley’s face.It is hard to know how to characterise the show: a comedic hero’s quest turned meta musings? An epic oedipal tale spanning six decades? A sort of sexless Brokeback Mountain? All hilarious.At times lead Donnelly’s Canadian accent (which was impeccable) combined with the sheer speed of the script meant I had a little trouble keeping up – but it did not matter. Others laughed where I faltered, and the story carried us all along easily. The humour is goofy, but layered and paced so intensely it becomes dense, with something to suit a range of tastes. There is no shortage of stagecraft: from the goofiest slapstick and best pelvic rotation I’ve ever seen in a dance break, to a Hamlet's ghostly father reference, if that’s your thing (and it is mine).Donnelly is to be commended on his impossibly energetic performancel, jumping between different characters, perspectives and tones at breakneck speed. The fourth wall is broken and then destroyed, in a stomach dropping, truly thrilling ending that I have taken a pact of secrecy not to reveal.This unrelenting pace is matched with endless loops of self-referential and meta humour. The work teases itself from every angle. The show throws everything back in our face. “Cheap theatre tactics”, “cartooney bullshit”- there is no criticism I could give that the show did not already hurl at itself. I felt as though I had been turned inside out and flipped around by the end of it (in the best way). At times I even felt the play could be kinder to itself! The Handful of Bugs team certainly have the talent to back it.

Based on the much loved novel by James Leo Herlihy which inspired the triple Academy Award-winning 1969 film starring Jon Voight and Dustin Hoffman, Midnight Cowboy – A New Musical is a tender and searing exploration of the tension between loneliness and love.We follow the story of Joe Buck, a Southern States cowboy who wants to reinvent himself as a New York hustler. From the moment Buck steps onto the greyhound bus to New York, we know it's not going to be as easy as he imagines to turn his handsome good looks and substantial natural gifts into cold hard cash, and his plan to seduce money out of the city's wealthy women quickly falls apart, leaving him on a downward spiral of desperation.In this depression that he meets Rico Ratso Rizzo, played by a scrawny, shuffling Max Bowen. Equally lonely and desperate, their dive bar conversation quickly exposes Buck's southern boy innocence as Rizzo grifts him out of $20. But the magnetic pull between these two characters is too strong. They complete each other, as all great double acts do, and a strange symbiotic friendship blossoms. He’s a stranger in the urban landscape while Rico is born to the city and is at home (literally) with the rats and cockroaches.Everybody will be expecting to hear the famous song from the movie soundtrack Everybody's Talkin', and they won’t be disappointed, but the new songs are also engaging. The soundtrack by three-time Ivor Novello Award-winning composer Francis “Eg” White is rich in 60s and 70s vibes, giving us some funk and soul sounds alongside the country rhythms.EastEnders actor Max Bowden impresses as the twitchy, limping Rizzo, while Paul Jacob French as Joe Buck utterly convinces as the wannabe hustler with lessons to learn. His singing voice is beautifully controlled, transitioning from clear pure tones at the start to rough deep gutteral sounds as his character discovers new emotional depths.Tori Allen-Martin (BBC's Here We Go) as Cass has perfect comic timing in every scene. Although the female characters are largely two dimensional, she invests each of the characters she played with heart, humour and truth.Directed and choreographed by Nick Winston, this world premiere feels timely, reminding us of the alienation of urban life and the desperate need for connection men in particular can experience.

After 18 years of pious, puritanical rule, theatres could at last re-open their doors when Charles II came out of exile and assumed the throne. And what’s more, a royal decree: women, for the first time in Britain’s history would be allowed on stage.April De Angelis’ Playhouse Creatures transports us back to the ‘swinging’ 1660s and introduces us to five actresses coming to terms with this newly-found freedom. Yet their livelihoods still very much hang in the balance as they find themselves subject to sexual objectification, misogyny and society’s cold disregard.The illustrious Anna Chancellor plays the part of Mrs Betterton to perfection: an old hand who has literally been waiting in the wings and furtively refining her craft in anticipation of this moment. Yet when it arrives, it is tainted. She finds the appetite of the audience less interested in her depictions of the sublime and rapt and instead with younger actresses upon whom they can cast their lascivious gaze. Indeed, wealthier patrons were known to pay extra to watch actresses get into costume. The sight of a woman’s leg on stage, completely novel at the time, was considered something erotically charged.Zoe Brough shines in the role of the ‘pretty, witty’ Nell Gwyn who began selling oranges at Killigrew’s theatre and swiftly rose to stardom. She believes she is destined for great things and learns how to command the stage under the tutelage of Mrs Betterton. Vivacious and effervescent, Brough captures the spirit of a character etched into tales of theatrical folklore not only for her lead performances of the time but also for becoming a royal mistress to Charles II and bearing the king two sons.De Angelis’ play sets out to question the perceived zeitgeist of the time. Mrs Marshall, exceptionally played by Katherine Kingsley, experiences a moment of utter degradation at the hands of a man for having the temerity to stand up for herself. For Mrs Farley, her fortunes change in a flash as she finds herself destitute and alone in a heart-wrenching scene poignantly captured by Nicole Sawyerr. Through the character of Doll Common (Doña Croll), loyal friend and confidant to Mrs Betterton, we see the hardy stoicism of an older woman who carries herself as strong in the face of adversity.It’s hard to imagine a more fitting setting than the Orange Tree Theatre. Performed in the round, with chandeliers that dramatically fall and rise, there is a crackling intimacy throughout the show. Michael Oakley has done a marvellous job at using the space and establishing a distinction in atmosphere before and after the interval. The bawdy, playful mood of the first act is replaced by something more sombre in the second as we are invited to reflect on the fate of these women and ponder whether progress is all that it seems.

Based on the award winning 2018 film of the same name by Nicole Taylor, Wild Rose has line danced its way to the stage. The musical follows the dreams of Rose-Lynn Harlan (Dawn Sievewright), a single mother of two, and an ex-convict, from Glasgow. She’s on a mission to find her “three chords and the truth”. The set may well be nearly 5,000 miles from Nashville, but we are certainly at the core of jacket fringes and ride ‘em high rhinestones of the Grand Ole Opry. The Scottish version. Govan Road, to be precise.With music from country greats, such as Dolly Parton and The Chicks, the narrative navigates the desperation of following dreams against the pull of parental responsibility while coherently weaving through those country (not Western!) lyrics of love, loss, and longing. Sievewright is country vocal personified. Twang, clarity, and authenticity. Blythe Duff embraces the role of Marion, the dependable granny of Rose-Lynn’s two children, Wynonna and Lyle (Lily Ferguson and Alfie Campbell). The family dynamics are real. Hurtful truths and conflict are underpinned with charming Scottish sarcasm that indicates endearment, and nobody does it better than the young Campbell. Duff’s harmonies are beautifully compelling, and the family song, Peace In This House (Kaset/Gill) is moving. Ferguson portrays Wynonna’s anguish with conviction. Yet there is no mention of the absent male parental roles and everything falls to the responsibility of the matriarch. Under the meticulous direction of John Tiffany, transitions are seamless and Chloe Lamford’s set design is simple and functional. Who doesn’t love a breakfast bar that doubles up as a stage to dance on? All the best parties happen in the kitchen after all…Which is also where the clash of the classes happens. The excitable middle-class Susannah (Janet Kumah) hires Rose-Lynn as her cleaner. She is friendly but patronising and verging on exploitative. Kumah, however, softens this with tongue-in-cheek humour. Susannah’s inconsequential working-class husband Sam (Peter Hannah) warns Rose-Lynn, “she loves a project”. Despite Hannah’s brilliant adaptability, it's unfortunate this character lacks substance.The build up is long but the arrival in Nashville is swift and with three clicks of her cowgirl boots, we’re taken back to Glasgow (No Place Like Home); a song that could have anthem status as much as The Proclaimers. This isn’t a foot stomping country musical but will capture your heart.

If location is everything, Teatro dei Giordi at the Coronet Theatre have espoused this sentiment in their latest work, Pandora, which transforms the stage into a unisex public lavatory. For just over an hour, we face the soap dispenser, the mirror and wash-basins, the electric hand dryer, the urinals and closets of a focussed and spacious set by Anna Maddalena Cingi that feels very familiar. This is a universal convenience that one might find at an airport or railway station, in a shopping mall or beneath a bustling street. The last of these makes for greater credibility in terms of where the people who use the facilities might have come from, but again, that is not a vital element of this absurdist and surreal work. Placing it elsewhere simply stretches the imagination further.The comings and goings have a feel of time-lapse photography. The air of normality that surrounds the first person to appear from out of the closet is soon shattered when he turns out to be a hygiene-obsessed germaphobe enduring a highly challenging set of circumstances made worse by his own clumsiness. He leaves with an unresolved situation but the production is neatly rounded off with his return in the closing sequence and the matter is resolved. He is a gentle, comic introduction to the more extreme behaviours that follow as we begin to realise that even in this place there are conventions we generally conform to that are being challenged. While someone vomiting or an approach to engage in homosexual activity might not be uncommon, it’s not every day a pop-up choir of naked men perform in such a place. Meanwhile, we run the gamut of responses: amusement, shock, horror, surprise and revulsion come and go amid the moto perpetuo of vignettes.An accomplished cast of Claudia Caldarano, Cecilia Campani, Giovani Longhin, Andrea Panigatti, Sandro Pivotti and Matteo Vitanza play over 50 parts. The collaborative methodology of the company means that they were also intimately involved in the creation of the piece, developing director Riccardo Pippa’s concept through hours of ideation, experimentation, improvisation and refinement. The result is not a tightly structured play with defined characters but rather a fascinating snapshot of figures engaged in fast-paced, idiosyncratic and eccentric behaviours. If the real world is their stage then this space is their dressing room where they prepare for life’s challenges, let off steam and give vent to their emotions. Perhaps this is a place of hope where they find the resolve to face the challenges and difficulties of life brought about by opening Pandora’s box, or maybe it's just a day in the life of a public convenience.

The greatest operatic soprano in the world, with an irresistible beauty, who is 300 years old, preserved by an occult elixir – that is some role. If the thought of playing this was intimidating, there is no indication of that in Orla Boylan’s superb performance as Emilia Marty / Ellian MacGregor / Eugenia Montez / Elina Makropulos. Emilia is rude, selfish, mocking and dismissive. Yet Boylan manages a delicious balance between these aspects while providing an attractive sense of rascally humour, with occasional flashes of physical weakness; features which reinforce the impact of the final denouement. Boylan provides a level of acting and singing that is appropriately supernatural.This Scottish Opera production of Janáček’s The Makropulos Affair is a showcase of talent. Another highly successful co-production, this time with Welsh National Opera, it brings to Scotland the direction of the acclaimed Olivia Fuchs, the ingenious and felicitous sets by Nicola Turner, lighting by Robbie Butler and video by Sam Sharpes. It combines these elements with Scottish Opera's accomplished Orchestra conducted by Martyn Brabbins (making his company debut) and a new cast (with the exception of Mark Le Brocq, who also sang the role of Vivek for WNO).The cast sings in English with a clarity that makes the surtitles largely redundant. Each cast member brings something special. Le Brocq not only aces the comedy in the first act but also, in tandem with Catriona Hewitson playing the novice opera-singer Kristina, brings a wonderful sense of a father-daughter relationship. Hewitson's expressive singing and characterisation bring a moral center to the action, which, with the exception of Vivek, is largely dominated by men behaving like spoilt childrenRoland Wood perfectly captures the entitled, bullying Baron Prus, pushing the role as far as possible while avoiding pantomime villain territory. Due to the indisposition of Ryan Capozzo, Thorbjørn Gulbrandsøy took the major part of Albert Gregor with a fine performance, although he sometimes lacked the high standard of enunciation. Henry Waddington’s Dr Kolenatý is perhaps underused. Michael Lafferty plays Baron Prus’s son with a mixture of irritating soppiness and Succession-style daddy issues, while the aged lecher, Count Hauk-Šendorf, is played by Alasdair Elliott with a suitable sense of comedy and selfishness.Janáček's libretto stays faithful to the source play by Karel Čapek. So be warned, if you are not aware: there are no arias in this opera. However, be assured, this is no loss, as Janáček constantly provides a musical flow of interest and charm. His work is a model of marrying the music of the words (in David Pountney's masterly translation of the libretto) with the music of the orchestra.Is The Makropulos Affair a feminist tale – Emilia’s character shaped by the cruelties she endured in her youth? Or a comedy about a person who has reached the age where they don’t care what other people think? Or a tragedy about the awful tedium of living too long? A night at the opera with comedy, tragedy, music, and something to think about.

Impressively adapted for stage by Matthew Zajac, The Testament of Gideon Mack is transformed from James Robertson's original, and brilliant, novel into a robust and highly reflective play, that is impressively brought to life by Dogstar Theatre Company’s accomplished ensemble cast. A provocative play, that does not shy away from a collection of well used profanities, the plot examines the phenomenon of faith, and how it comes to shape and move us, dare we choose to believe in it or not. Opening with an eerily performed old Scots tale, narrated by Katya Searle, recounting the tricksy bargainings of the devil, the play is rooted in a particularly Scottish scenery, that draws out the chasms between old Scottish Presbyterianism, local mythologies and an increasingly secular world. Gideon Mack, an energetic lead performed by Kevin Lennon, has followed in his fathers footsteps to be a Church of Scotland Minister for a small, tight-knit Scottish community. However, despite his benevolent commitment to charity, Gideon harbours a secret lack of faith. His epistemological certainty is, however, tested when Gideon is found shaken, but alive, after a death-defying mountain tumble from which he went missing for three mysterious days. His subsequent testimony, as played out before us, reveals a shocking supernatural twist, as we witness his encounters with the devil and delve deeper into the meaning of good, evil, and faith.Lennon’s Gideon is a mammoth role, with a hefty stage time, but his presence is energetic and likeable, and he creates a nuanced performance filled with Gideon’s hopes and doubts, as he navigates death, the devil, and his family. Around him, the tight ensemble cast perform an array of impressive characters. Molly Innes is enthralling, perfecting the sharp contrast between a modest, tightly controlled Minister’s wife and mother, and later as an exuberantly agnostic, pot-smoking, parish eccentric.It is the playwright himself, Mr Zajac, who most commands the stage though, with his brilliant portrayals of both Gideon’s austere father and the Devil himself. His portrayal of James Mack is striking, showing the potent anger and frustration resting beneath the veneer of his religious righteousness, it is a character that fills the stage with a certain silent sadness despite his commanding ways. His devil is impish, bored by the worlds autonomy in destroying itself, he is fixated instead on the lonely, those questioning souls like Gideon who find mysterious rocks in woods and stop to notice.Directed by Meghan de Chastelain, and with movement coordinated by Sasha Harrington, the staging is impressively managed for a touring performance, with highly orchestrated movement atmospherically arranging the scenes. The set, designed by Kenneth MacLeod, maximised simplicity to striking success. Capturing a microcosm of the play itself, is the image of the moving pulpit, positioned in the centre of the stage as it’s lit by the foreboding red glow of the large and mysterious rock that cast the murky flickers of the underworld across the stage. Likewise, audio and sound design, led by Aidan O’Rourke is utilised atmospherically, with audio clippings of Thatcherism, the miners' strike, land invasions and The Clash rooting the play in time.An innovative performance, The Testament of Gideon Mack, is intriguing and thought-provoking, and positions the Dogstar Theatre Company as talent well deserving of the financial support necessary to create creative and timely performances like this.

Rober Bolt’s A Man for All Seasons, is steeped in the politics of the age, but the dispositions of its characters have a timelessness that inescapably leads us to reflect on the world's current leaders. Simon Higlett’s set and costumes leave us in no doubt that this is a Tudor period piece. The wood panelling that surrounds the perimeters of the stage is black and foreboding, yet flexibly creates multiple locations, assisted by evocative lighting from Mark Henderson: Moore’s home, rooms in the Tower and palaces, the prison cell and scaffold and the banks of the Thames. Martin Shaw powerfully portrays the many facets of Sir Thomas More, embodying Bolt’s desire to reveal him as a man of principle and integrity, a scholar, legal expert and ruthless logician, a loyal subject and devoted family man. More becomes swept up in the intense moral and political manoeuvrings that dominated the reign of Henry VIII. Orlando James, presents the king as an affable fellow whose main concern at this time is to ensure his divorce from Queen Catherine. He wants to carry his friend with him on this and even appoints More to the office of Lord Chancellor, but such is More’s devotion to his faith and the letter of the law that the King's requests prove impossible. In the presence of More, others seem to be somewhat dim-witted. Shaw clearly shows the man’s frustration at being surrounded by intellectual inferiors and those who would compromise in order to please the King, fearing his judgement above that of God’s. At the forefront of these is Norfolk, whom Timothy Watson shows to be the compromising pragmatist; a bewildered man lost in a legal and theological sea and who’s only basis for action is self preservation. He is the antithesis of More. Other vivid portrayals come from Nicholas Day as Cardinal Wolsey, a milder version of the scheming Thomas Cromwell (Edward Bennett), though equally unworthy of office, as is Archbishop Thomas Cranmer (Sam Parks). Bennett creates a chilling character who draws the weak, the gullible and the ambitious into his machinations, because he knows he can successfully use and manipulate them, as Calum Finlay’s Roper demonstrates in a dangerous blend of ambition and naivete.To move the play along, Bolt created The Common Man as a narrator and versatile character to assume numerous bit parts. Gary Wilmot provides light moments of observation and comment and has that essential down-to-earth quality demanded of the role.Director Jonathan Church faithfully delivers Bolt’s text in a production that is a joy for all lovers of historical drama.

For those of us who lived through the era of Larry Grayson, What a Gay Day, at the Bridge House Theatre, Penge, is a joyous walk down memory lane. Tim Connery’s chronological script, charmingly delivered by Luke Adamson, takes us through Grayson’s life from cradle to grave. interspersed with imaginary performances in some of the many venues where he starred; from humble working men’s clubs with audiences of local miners to the splendours of the London Palladium in front of royalty. Grayson’s shows were littered with references to people he knew from growing up in Nuneaton. His mother was unmarried, making him a bastard child at a time when that was a disgrace. She entrusted him to the care of Alice and Jim Hammonds, though she remained on the scene and Larry knew her as Aunt Alice, not to be confused with Slack Alice, based on a lady who sold inferior quality coal of the sort her name suggests. Adamson sympathetically reveals Grayson’s devotion to his family and the tragedies of his early years, as the deaths of those close to him mount up, including the tragic loss of Tom Proctor, his best friend from school days and the man with whom he would probably have spent his life, but he was killed at the Battle of Monte Cassino aged just 21. He lived on in Grayson’s most famous character Everard Farquharson, in company with Apricot Lil, who worked in the local jam factory, Sterilised Stan the milkman and the postman Pop-it-In Pete.Adamson makes no attempt at impersonation but uses the manner of Grayson’s delivery to put us in his presence, assisted by the characteristic pale suit, the contrapposto stance, worthy of Michael Angelo's David, with the left leg angled, while leaning on his ever-present bentwood chair, uttering “Look at the muck on ‘ere” and “Shut that door” along with the title of this show and innuendos he spouted in seeming innocence only to be shocked at his audience's interpretation.There is also an insight into the history of the gay movement that celebrated the de-criminalisation of homosexual acts, Grayson’s rejection by the BBC and his rise to fame as the host of The Generation Game and his condemnation at the hands of the Gay Libertaion Front.It’s all there and under Alex Donald’s precise direction Adamson delivers Grayson's fascinating story with sensitivity and humour, though Grayson, looking down from above, might simply praise him with, “Seems like a nice boy”.

Saying a show is ‘not for everybody’ has never been higher praise. Sitting among the lightly padded benches in the Le Cascadeur tent, waiting for Sarah-Louise Young’s one-woman Kate Bush tribute cabaret, A Night Without Kate Bush, I realised we were a self-selective bunch.Perhaps this show would have been a different experience for those in the audience not mouthing every word alongside Young, but I will never know what that is like! The only review I can offer is one from a fellow Bush fan (or fish person!).Embedding historical and personal details, mime, prop, dance, giant glowing eyeballs, audience participation, three wigs, two hat changes, and one hair reveal – and of course her effortlessly beautiful voice – Young delivered a balance of faithful tributes and spicy reinventions: like the all-Russian rendering of Babushka, or the RADICAL choice to wear white for Wuthering Heights! (no more spoilers from here on I promise).Although Young began the show by repeating several times that the real live Kate Bush would not be eventuating in our tent, at points I felt there was no difference. Couples gathered after the show to take photos with ‘Kate’, we sang along to all the choruses and performed ‘woof’ call-and-responses for the Hounds of Love ARRUUWWWFFF! Young had to merely utter the words Cloudbusting, and a woman tucked away in the back-left of the audience let out an audible moan of excitement and appreciation. Kate Bush will probably not come to Australia. So, this was our church, and Young was our leader. The Church of Bush had a decidedly Protestant energy, ‘it doesn’t matter if you don’t know all the words! You just have to love her!’ she exclaims to us. Yes! I thought, so true.It is often thought that if you look at an artwork and think ‘I could do that,’ either the art is not very good or you are very unsophisticated and do not understand abstract-expressionism. In the case of cabaret, however, and Kate-bush-tribute cabaret especially, the ‘I could do that’ feeling is the pulsing lifeblood of the show. Although we remained seated and Sarah-Lousie did most (but not all!) of the singing, dancing, frolicking etc… the show had an element of communitas. Watching Young’s impossibly light and magical movements I realised I recognised them from somewhere; that is how I look in my head when I imagine myself dancing to Running Up That Hill.An Evening Without Kate Bush reminded me how good the simple ingredients of performance can be when delivered perfectly; nothing elaborate but still totally exceptional.

Four major elements combine in Pina Bausch's Vollmond at Sadler's Wells to create an intriguing two-hour, two-act production of contemporary dance from Tanztheater Wuppertal Pina Bausch + Terrain Boris Charmatz. The set, movement, staging and music are interwoven to create entertaining, multi-themed scenarios.Peter Pabst’s now famous monolithic set for this work is visible on entering the auditorium. The giant boulder dominates throughout with a magnetic surrealism and animistic presence. From where I was seated it appeared as an abstract facial image, whose recesses and protrusions created a mouth, nose and horizontal seeing area, giving it a presence beyond just its size. The choreography embraces the feature as dancers leap and climb on and off it, move around it, shower it in buckets of water and swim from one side of the river to the other, passing behind it.It’s an action-packed, highly physical work. Some scenes pass quickly while others are extended by Bausch's characteristic repetition of motifs. This style, with its absurdist connotations and featuring everyday objects, is made clear from the outset. The opening entrance of two men would be unremarkable were it not for the actions that follow. In both hands they each have empty plastic water bottles. In turn they swish them back and forth making a muted whooshing noise way beyond the moment at which the point is made. Some scenes appear as staccato anecdotes, others flow into longer expositions as the ensemble is introduced in solo and group sequences. Amusement becomes the norm through minimal use of words and comic interactions. A range of music from Tom Waits, Amon Tobin, Alexander Balanescu and Cat Power, supplements the action and enhances the various moods of love, conflict and competition.As the piece progresses it becomes more elemental and we become increasingly reminded that the title refers to a high tide or full moon. Forces of nature are at work and the moment arrives when the rain begins to come down, sometimes as a fine gauze and frequently as fierce showers. The dance increasingly embraces this until it climaxes in aqautic frenzy.Vollmond is packed with imagery yet often moves at a pace that leaves little time for reflection. Whatever interpretations one takes away or what sense one tries to make of it, the piece is entertaining, energetic and stunningly executed.

At times deeply shocking, sugar-coated with goofy humour, this is an extraordinary must-see production of Shakespeare's The Merchant of Venice, relevant to our dark times so filled with hatred, in particular racism and religious intolerance but also critiquing justice and capitalism. Directed by Arin Arbus of New York’s Theatre for a New Audience, a mutli-racial and ethnic company, Shylock is played by John Douglas Thompson, a Black actor, emphasising the similarities between anti-semitism and racism against people of colour. Set in the near future, this is a Venice more like an American dystopia with a concrete Brutalist set, contemporary grey suits and mobile phones, where street culture meets ‘For sooth.’Shylock’s cruel bond, a pound of flesh for a defaulted loan, if enacted will inevitably kill Antonio. Revenge indeed. The racist abuse that has led to Shylock’s attitude is cleverly referred to in throwaway asides, rather than major scenes, such as references to a hypocritical Christian society who treats him ‘like your asses and your dogs and mules’ emphasised by the cast continually spitting on Shylock so that we have sympathy for him. Yet it is Shakespeare’s genius to make Shylock a flawed man. The tragedy being that in his insistence on getting his bond, he loses his own humanity. The shock of Shylock’s treatment in the court scene is so visceral his faults are forgiven, not least by Thompson’s outstanding performance.With dignity, grace and a gravelly voice, Thompson elevates what is frankly not one of Shakespeare’s best plays with its ramshackle structure and unconvincing folktale-like casket scene, into a deeply humane portrait of Shylock. Thompson speaks his lines as if thinking aloud, so the audience can follow as if he is speaking English as comprehensible as that of today, not just iambic pentameter.Not all the cast have this facility, even Portia (Isabel Arraiza) is rather affectless in the first act but comes alive as the doctor of law, Balthazar, in the court scene and the famous ‘quality of mercy’ speech. The bit parts are hilarious, enlivened by caricature New York street swagger, high fives, ironic facial expressions with enough basic non-verbal humour to please our modern day ‘groundlings’ going by the whoops from the audience. What a joy to actually find Shakespeare’s comic characters funny when so often the humour passes us by. Particularly memorable are a drunken Gratiano (Haynes Thigpen) and Lancelet Gobbo (Matthew Saldívar). Rather confusing is Ariel Shafir’s interpretation of Bassanio in a similar style, all ironic facial tics but no clear emotional reactions. Purists will point out that the gay overtones of his and Antonio’s relationship is not suggested in the text - overt friendships between men were common in Shakespeare’s time. Perhaps this explains Shafir’s ambivalent performance.Other issues are a gratuitous abusive sex scene between Lorenzo and Jessica, a flagrant distortion of the original where Jessica has chosen the man she wants to marry (unlike Portia who must obey her father’s wishes) and there is a happily ever after marriage. But these are quibbles. Twists or additional material themselves can be hugely successful as is the chanting of the Kol Nidre, the Jewish Prayer on the Day of Atonement, with which Ms Arbus ends the play, underlining the sad breach in Shylock and his daughter’s relationship.A modern playwright would probably have ended the play after the court scene. The sub-plots that follow need resolving but are a little tedious. However, Thompson’s portrayal of Shylock’s humiliation and his abject exit will stay with you and more than compensates. This is a moment you won’t forget and leaves you with much to ponder on.

It’s adult pantomime season again – oh no it’s not! - and with it comes a selection of x-rated jokes, filthy humour and songs a-plenty. This year’s offering from The North East Adult Pantomime, the first adult panto I’ve ever attended, is Snow White and the Seven Drag Queens.The QMU in Glasgow is a strange venue choice (memories of my Freshers’ Week came flooding back). The stage isn’t that big and could barely hold the seven drag queen performers during their opening number – a parody of Ex-Wives from the musical Six. Even so, it’s a great start to the show that had us in stiches, hearing from drag queens with stage names such as Janice Dickinyourson, Dixie Swallows and Orphelia Balls.Deborah Taylor-Smith filled in for an unwell Scarlett Moffatt as The Wicked Queen, Snow White’s step-mother, with a brilliant performance. "How wicked is she?" I hear you ask. During an onstage conversation when Snow White asked another character why they disliked The Wicked Queen, an audience member shouted out, “Because she’s a cunt!” Ah, Glasgow, never change. But it’s Celebrity Big Brother Winner David Potts who is the stand out, delivering a fabulously camp, scene-stealing performance as The Wicked Queen’s henchman. Dressed all in black with a tan that would make Donald Trump envious, Potts commands the stage and struts around cracking his whip and screaming obscenities at other characters. It’s just hilarious. RuPaul’s Drag Race UK superstars Michael Marouli and Tomara Thomas are also highlights of the evening. Their chemistry onstage together is impeccable, especially during a scene baking a cake with a man from Amazon (cue every ‘big package’ joke here). It’s clear that they’re true professionals in every sense of the word. I didn’t quite know what to expect from Snow White and the Seven Drag Queens. The drag community as a whole has just lost a stalwart in the world of British drag – The Vivienne. Because of this, part of me expected this evening to be a more sombre affair than it was. But it was the complete opposite. It was escapism for a few hours. Drag queens came together to do what they do best – perform and entertain. A world without drag would be a less exciting and less joyful world. Hearing the reaction of other audience members on the way out, it seems happiness was radiating throughout the building.

Inspired by a photograph and an article on women of the waterways in the Second World War, Busy Lizzies Theatre Company and Long Way Home Productions collaborated in creating this new musical about four women from very different backgrounds on a canal boat in 1942. There is much already known about those who continued in various ways on the Home Front, including various incarnations of land girls, but very little in the public consciousness about these women who had to be incredibly tough both physically and mentally, living on a boat which passers-by could easily mistake for a jolly jaunt or lazy work. Hauling coal, physically turning the boats with poles, and dealing with over one hundred lock gates between London and Birmingham were all tasks for women who had been used to running a home and family and knew nothing of manual labour.This is a well researched piece which acts as the crucible for the snapshot of these four women’s lives, and a fascinating watch. The style of telling: grounded and down to earth with almost a folksy charm, suits the piece perfectly. Live accomplished musicians accompany through all the songs and also add live soundscaping which is a nice touch. The atmosphere they create between them: the actors and the musicians, fill the story with heart, warmth and longing. It’s cosy, earnest and very sweet, almost too much so, and will melt those that come to watch who are seeking nostalgia.Edna, played with fierceness and a no-nonsense attitude by Emma Baars, is the Captain of the boat, with Ginny played by Elizabeth Kroon with sincerity, sensibility and sensitivity as her experienced second. Two new recruits arrive: Meg, played by Maple Preston-Ellis trying to hold on to her decorum and looking like she sleeps with Good Housekeeping underneath her pillow. Her wide eyed innocence and questions about how on earth they go to the toilet on the boat and the resulting song about exactly how to use a bucket, is hilarious. The other is Ruth played by Catriona Judt who has a completely different background to the others, more used to certain areas of London and the shadows, and she and Meg bring their secret love on board which causes some interesting sparkles for them all to address. Aaron Coomer has such a gentle presence in his brief moments as Alfred, with a perfect German accent, and glorious singing voice. There are frequent songs and all the voices are pitch perfect and strong, blending silkily together in two, three and four part harmonies.There is so much to love about this show, and while the characters do tip into stereotype at times, their stories are beautifully told. The points these characters make about gender roles are very relevant, for both then and now. “Doors have been left open for women” says Ginny, and the sharply astute Meg returns with “doors have been absentmindedly left ajar”. The lyrics in the songs are so well crafted, such as “paper love” in the letters they receive, connecting them to their loved ones and the wider world. It’s a show to leave you smiling and thinking, with some of the songs in your head for a goodly while to come.

Perth Theatre has made a festive name for itself over the years with its traditional panto played out in the perfect setting of its beautiful Edwardian auditorium. A more recent tradition is to have Barrie Hunter write, direct and play the Dame and he does not disappoint this year.There are all the much-loved elements of panto with some modern tweaks and contemporary jokes too; the first inheritance tax gag of the season for me. On the serious side, there’s also a wee reminder to treat our livestock well and not cage it up. Mother Goose is one of the earliest pantos, first staged in these shores two hundred years ago. It still provides a rich source of humour with its tale of the goose which lays the golden eggs. Who would have thought there could be so many egg-based puns? It's always fun to see a theatre’s take on the tale in which the greedy get their come-uppance. Here, it all begins with Mother Goose's final day as manager of McGregory's Eggery and she's looking forward to retiring (with pension and cottage) after many happy years' loyal service.But no, it cannot be, the new owner is one Greta Garbage, the evil asset stripper who wants to stop free-range geese and cage them along with any humans who get in the way of her evil machinations as she destroys Mother Goose’s retirement plan.Poor Mother `Gabi’ Goose is forced out with her son Grayson and Gloria the goose. Greta puts the formerly free-range geese into cages and also incarcerates their would-be rescuers. This does allow for a rather nice new version of the Cell Block Tango from musical Chicago.Barrie Hunter’s Mother Goose keeps things bowling along while Helen Logan embraces baddie Greta Garbage with glee, insulting the audience at every turn while trying to do down the Goose family.There’s the delight of a live three-piece band (Linda Stewart, Daniel Fairley and Iona Crosby) keeping those tunes coming including the all-important `bring doon the clout’ contest when half the audience tries to out-sing the other. Yes, all the traditional panto faves are there.The sense of community is to the fore with local young people joining the cast, to act, sing and dance and rescue the Goose family as their distant cousins, the Wild Geese.

There is no way to suitably introduce a show that ticks all the boxes in the way that it provides us with everything that we might want from a stand-up hour. Grace Campbell Is On Heat is the best example yet of Grace Campbell’s strengths as a comedian It’s an iconic hour that that possesses both underlying transcendental properties as well as just pure comedy fun.Campbell is supported by two stellar acts who match her energy that meld very well into the overall atmosphere of the show to the point where with each act, there is just a heightened feeling of energy, and to an extent, celebration. Alice Brine utilises the strategy of unexpected twists very well. Her set-up gradually builds an expectation so that we assume that we can anticipate the punchline, setting us up to expect one thing before taking it in such a different directions that it never fails to elicit laughter. Chris Hall demonstrates an aptitude for physical comedy, punctuating his exaggeratingly frustrated commentary, applying common-sense observations to anecdotes that appear the complete oppostie. The main thread and motif of Grace Campbell Is On Heat centers around her friends, and it is a celebration of friendship. We can feel that in the room. Whilst the main building blocks are anecdotal, Campbell takes every opportunity that she can in order to establish some social and political allusions without leaning to heavily into these topics, referencing them just enough for us to glean her meaning without detracting from her main point. As is typical of Campbell’s style, she punctuates her commentary with an underlying laugh and knowing tone, creating both an ironic and confessional space. It’s a truly unforgettable performance. She always puts the comedy first and foremost, using tone in order to punctuate with a wit and playfulness that buoys the energy as she delivers her material at a rapid rate. Her rapid delivery has some drawbacks in that there are moments where we lose part of the punchline, meaning that the joke loses its clarity. Campbell does fall into a kind of repetitive structural pattern occasionally, in that we can almost count the beats before a punchline is delivered or when her intonation will change. It’s a recipe that suits Campbell and which she utilises well, finding a kind of dichotomy in her unserious approach to traditionally serious topics, but in its predicitveness, a punchlien can lose some of its impact. There’s something incredibly empowering about Campbell opening up about the full extent of her experiences and delving into the deeply personal. Her use of a sort of glib tone whilst discussing topics that are anything but is where a lot of her comedy stems from. Campbell’s structuring is very creative and shows a commitment to whatever bit that she’s propagating at a given moment, but also to pure humour, as she uses off-hand comments to burst a comparatively serious observations in a way where it acts as both a punchline and a self contained one liner, giving us almost double the expected comedy. It’s a cathartic expression of a very specific experience that unites the room in a kind of shared understanding.This is a truly astonishing demonstration of comedic technique and appreciation for the art of storytelling through this medium. Grace Campbell Is On Heat is not only unmissable, but necessary viewing.

Oor Wullie is back on stage, looking no’ bad for a spiky-haired loon who first started entertaining the public in 1936 in the cartoon pages of The Sunday Post newspaper. Annuals showing him and his pals running riot have been a popular Christmas gift down the generations. Now he returns to the Rep bearing festive fun having starred in the first incarnation of the show five years ago.This new production re-unites Rep artistic director Andrew Panton and writing team Noisemaker (Scott Gilmour and Claire McKenzie) promising `catchier tunes and cheekier capers.’ It is certainly bigger, bolder, louder, brighter and lighter. And very funny too. The show, affectionately directed by Andrew Panton, is at its best when showing us Wullie and the gang, Soapy Soutar, Wee Eck and Boab (no size soubriquet these days) at their nonsense. Wullie’s famous bucket has been stolen and the boys are off on its trail, meeting PC Murdoch, Basher and Primrose en route.There are some new characters too, a Scots-Asian father and daughter; the latter unwillingly returns to Dundee for Christmas with her dad. She talks of contemporary problems facing youngsters and is whisked off to Auchenshoogle by Wullie.It takes a while for the show to find its feet with a rather unnecessary train journey to Dundee to open and the seeding of a plotline relating to Dudley D. Watkins, the famous Oor Wullie illustrator. It is somewhat complicated and does not sit easily amongst the rest of the narrative which is accessible to all ages, touching and hilarious.Oor Wullie looks great (set and costume design by Kenneth MacLeod) so colourful and the cast dressed off the pages of the original cartoon. It is full on in terms of lighting and music, occasionally blinding and deafening like a grand fireworks display accompanied by some jolly songs to drive it along.Kyle Gardiner as Oor Wullie is outstanding as our hero with tremendous support from the rest of the gang, Grant McIntyre as Wee Eck, Elliot McLean as Boab, Bailey Newsome as Soapy Soutar perfectly recreating the well-loved characters. Rep favourite Ann Louise Ross delights as clutch of characters from Maw to Ms Watkins.Antony Strachan as PC Murdoch looks and sounds just perfect as he attempts to keep the boys in line. Indeed the whole ensemble of ten mesh together to create a fun filled show for all ages. As Willie once said, `There's no time like the present to enjoy what ye've got.' Cut along to the Rep and see for yourself.

Say the words The Sound of Music and you will often be greeted with a misty-eyed response as people recall their childhood, watching the film with family at Christmas.It is Pitlochry artistic director Elizabeth Newman’s favourite musical and she has chosen the stage version for her festive farewell to the theatre in the hills after an outstanding six years’ tenure.The strength of the show is indeed the sound of music. Bursting to the seams with the familiar Rodgers and Hammerstein songs which are the driving force of the show. The original stage show does have some thinner narrative moments (enhanced in the film) but here the cast power through.At the centre of this is the wonderful Kirsty Findlay as Maria, who excels as actor/singer/musician. From aspirant nun, alternating enthusiasm with self-doubt, then growing in confidence as she finds love with Captain von Trapp to whose children she is governess. Two teams of youngsters alternate playing the youngsters and acquit themselves with distinction whether acting, singing or dancing.It is lots of fun as the cast are also the band and excel at whatever musical instrument they are asked to play under the baton of musical director Richard Reeday. The singing is particularly fine. The sacred music from the convent is beautifully performed by the nuns’ chorus and then there is Mother Abbess singing Climb Every Mountain, a wonderfully operatic rendition by Kate Milner-Evans.However there are no mountains in sight on the stage, the set (Ruari Murchison) is, rather puzzingly, a dark castellated backdrop with a stair revolve in the middle.

Making your professional debut as a playwright, is a nerve-racking experience, but Nina Fuentes can set aside any doubts or fears following the rapturous reception that the premiere of A Million Miles Under Hampstead Heath by nothing theatre received at the Lion and Unicorn. Sensitely directed by Robert Monaghan, the play is an enchanting and captivating work. Dialogue and inner monologues flow from one moment to the next, raising issues in a burgeoning relationship that explores the delights and dramas of forming a loving attachment to someone. Maya (Anna Hewitt) and James (George Prentice) are two successful young professionals who bump into each other each evening on their commute from a day at the office. The open casting resulted in the perfect pairing of these two actors and in so-doing created a couple who are so well-suited to each other and so abundantly at ease in each other’s company, it's hard not to imagine that they have known each other for years and that they are a couple in real life. They are not; they just seem made for each other. That appearance is explored in the tightly woven, 60-minute story.Initially they do not speak to each other. Instead we hear their thoughts as they awkwardly look at each other. Fuentes cleverly suggests a bond as words from a line spoken by Maya that express her thoughts or feelings will be repeated by James as an introduction to what he wishes to say, and vice-versa. It’s a highly effective device that provides momentum and identification with the other party. Eventually the ice is broken and they come together and Maya moves in with James. But this is not a happily ever after story. Both actors give highly accomplished. impasioned performances and are a joy to watch as they travel the emotional path of a testing romance that faces an array of challenges, tragedies and personal decisions that lead to deep-rooted questionings of their relationship. The remarkable chemistry that exists between them is exploited in heartfelt exchanges that test their characters' co-existence.The stark simplicity of the set keeps us focussed on the couple. The lone, white park bench provides seating on the station platform, a place from which to admire the views across London from Primrose HIll and Hampstead Heath and when draped in blue cloth a sofa for homely relaxation. Fuentes, Monaghan, Hewitt and Prentice along with the production team of associate artist, AD and co-producer Luis Hopkins and technician Alicia Quah have created a highly rewarding, no-frills gem of rock-solid theatre.

Shakespeare wrote in Hamlet that the function of art is to hold up a mirror to nature. Alter_Azione is a piece of performance art created and directed by Gaia Gemelli, staged in the lovely Zo theatre, as part of the Catania Fringe. While perhaps predominantly a piece of dance, the production also comprises components of physical theatre and ballet; it is an impressive fusion by danzarte.Ovid’s Metamorphoses is one of the drivers of this show. The theme centres around evolution and the organic nature of life on Earth - be it plants, animals, insects or humans. Humans, of course, have evolved exponentially, developing intricate societal values, cultures and structures and this motif is explored at length.The action begins with one of the performers attached to the other three by rope. The three are entwined and there is already ambiguity: is one dragging the others, or are they restraining her? This is immediately leaning in to a part of the synopsis for Alter_Azione: “Creare resistendo o resistere creando?”, translated as “to create by resisting or to resist by creating?”The performers (Martina Romano, Carolina Parisi, Simona Rando and Alice Sanni) create a myriad of evolutionary scenes, during which dresses become containers, perhaps suggestive of venus fly traps, and forms of various creatures are evoked. When human evolution takes hold, more complex and contemporary threads become evident, such as pressure to conform to societal norms or trends, suffrage and female emancipation, ribbons symbolically being used to restrain performers and silence them. In fact, symbolism and ambiguity are deliberate devices employed, propagating a further stated intent from the synopsis “ogni storia, ogni vita, no ha mai un solo significato”, which translates as “every story, every life, never just has one meaning”. Such is the seamless fluidity of the movement, that you never have time to dwell.From a performance perspective, the key is the choreography, which was exquisitely directed and executed. For some of the manoeuvres, complete trust between performers was required, testament to the teamwork of the ensemble.A special mention to the lighting design by Stefano Barbagalllo, which truly helped to define and enhance Alter_Azione; it was visually so very impressive.Metamorphosis cannot exist without movement. In this sense, a show predominantly based around dance is a well-chosen medium. A beautifully performed, evocative and uplifting production; they did Hamlet proud.

Tim Carroll’s Othello, now playing in the main house at the Royal Shakespeare Theatre, marks an RSC return to the play after a nine-year hiatus following Hugh Quarshie’s memorable stint as the lead. Whereas the 2015 production was a busy, hyper-modern, souped-up, tuned-in version of the tale of the green-eyed monster; this authentically-clad interpretation seems somehow fresher and more relatable through a purer prism.A fusion of contemporary lighting and set design against Venetian costumes of the early 17th century reinforces our understanding that Shakespeare’s themes are not of an age but for all time. This stylistic disconnect never jars, but serves as just one of the many threads of uneasy alliance and circumstantial juxtaposition which are woven throughout the text: something furthered by the silver cords which drape the set and conjure the shadows and half-truths which lead the characters towards their final, dreadful moments.The effect is visually breath-taking: pointy beards, shorn pates and heaving bosoms popping from the dark recesses of the stage in Carravagian menace, our thoughts drawn to what may be happening just out of sight. This sense is elevated by freezes and some lovely physical business on the voms, where entrances and exits are held almost in otherness until the cogs of fate align.The play itself, of course, throws up perennial questions of racial profiling, prejudice, machination, and domestic violence: themes still woefully recognisable to an audience four hundred years removed from the original. Unwittingly caught in the crosshairs of these intrigues, Juliet Rylance’s Desdemona is no naïve slip of a girl bowled along by innocence and seduced by position; but a woman of substance every bit as commanding in stature and rhetoric as her decorated husband. Othello’s betrayal seems all the more terrible because it attacks a woman so wholly sure of herself and her continued devotion rather than a simpering wraith buffeted about on the rocks of happenstance. What a consort she would have been: and what a future he has thrown away on the altar of rumour.Anastasia Hille creates Desdemona’s attendant Emilia as a spare, worn, husk of a woman: defeated without fully realising it and manipulated almost without caring. Until the facts stare her finally, horrifically, in the face, she has neither strength nor purpose: her outburst on seeing her lifeless mistress a lament not just for a good life lost, but her own so unrealised. It is a generous performance which gives Rylance space to fully inhabit a Desdemona so powerful and intelligent that for a worm such as Iago to even dream of winning her prompts as much hilarity as it does revulsion.As Iago, Will Keen is utterly mesmerising: every tic, drop of the knee, and swipe of the head suggesting the army of inadequacies which threaten to overrun him. We can see the disappointments and put-downs of his childhood, adolescence, and adult life laid bare in his apparent nonchalance: his eyes bulging with silent resentment, his body seething with the effort of maintaining an outer control forever at odds with his inner monologue. This is a man relegated so often to existing within the shadows of others more celebrated than himself that he has made himself at home in the darkness. A man resigned to pulling others down to his level rather than continuing to strive for an elevation that will never come. A man who is ultimately competing against himself: not Othello. And all the more dangerous for it.And John Douglas Thompson’s Othello is all to ripe for the psychological picking: a gentle heart within a soldier’s frame, much given to whimsy and sentiment, finally at peace within his private life but with ghosts never far from remembrance. His countenance is open and friendly; puzzled as to how objections to his marriage can come in tandem with praise of his exploits; professional to his fingertips even when a personal friendship is at stake.There is strong support too from Edward Hogg as the decent but hapless Cassio; and Jethro Skinner as Roderigo, the useful prat every plotter needs to further their ambitions. James Oxley’s vocal arrangements haunt the piece almost as another character: the heaviness and gorgeosity of Orthodox liturgy redolent of the white, male, Christian expectations which swirl around and eventually suffocate the fated union. These voices are a stunning addition to the piece, expanding emotional density and packing much of the necessary punch occasionally lacking in textual delivery and within the stylised violence.The pace of the piece never dips for a second, as the horribly ordinary cloak of jealousy envelops and unravels its targets as surely as canal mists engulf their Venetian streets.

In the shadow of Europe’s most active volcano, Mount Etna, and by the beautiful coast of the Ionian Sea, the Catania Fringe has, perhaps, one of the most glamorous locations for a Fringe Festival. Don’t get too enamoured, however, as, in typical fringe fashion, the basement of a hotel has been transformed into a fringe venue packed with a busy Sicilian crowd waiting for News by Ukranitan 044 Mime Company.In this fifty-minute show, the trio of Ukrainian characters take their turn bursting onto the stage. The collective of physical performers are Kateryna Spodoneiko, Pavlo Vyshnevskyi, and Oleksandr Symonenko, Ukrainian performers currently based in Rotterdam.News opens with Pavlo taking out today’s newspaper and attempting to read it through a pantomime of physical theatre. He is shortly joined by Kateryna and Oleksandr, and the three characters twist and turn, laughing and crying throughout this non-verbal production.There’s some traditional clowning along with more innovative moments as they perform complex choreography sequences involving nothing more than a stool and, of course, a newspaper. Several short scenes merge into one another throughout the opening thirty minutes of the performance, enabling all three performers to showcase both their individual styles and their group performances.The performance takes a more intriguing turn in the last fifteen minutes. Up until this point, there appeared to be little narrative beyond three separate characters wanting to read the newspaper. However, in the last fifteen minutes, as the characters fight and argue over who keeps the newspaper, the show takes a darker turn, where characters both become the news and wrap the news around their mouths and faces.Knowing that the performers were from Ukraine gave these final scenes a sharper taste and pulled together the show's narrative threads. Are we making our own decisions, or is the news impacting these decisions? What begins as three individuals reading weather reports, looking at comics, and all the other trivial parts of a newspaper ends with the news ultimately controlling their decisions and thoughts.It’s a powerful message to end the show, mainly when it started with what seemed to be a simple mime. This compelling show is particularly relevant in recent times and works well as an international show. Which country doesn’t have issues with dealing with truth in the media? News is a perfect example of fringe theatre from a company that is certainly one to watch. There was a fresh and quirky vibe throughout the show, which was well crafted, directed, and performed.

This revival of Scottish Opera’s 2014 production of Donizetti’s Don Pasquale brings together the comic opera brilliance of David Stout playing the Don (last seen with the company as a terrific Dr Bartolo in The Barber of Seville) with three exceptional young singers making their debut with Scottish Opera.The show is directed and designed by the duo of Renaud Doucet and André Barbe. The setting is an Italian pensione in the 1960s, and the design and set execution is gorgeous to look at and extremely smart, frequently adding its own witty contribution to the comedy and elegantly solving the perennial opera problem of characters who are seen or unseen in a garden at night. There is a lot of fun provided by the passing guests and tourists (American and Scottish). Although, given the setting, there might have been more fun made with the costumes.The engine for the drama is that Don Pasquale, upset that his nephew has refused to marry the Don’s choice of bride, has decided to marry and disinherit his nephew, Ernesto. Ernesto’s friend, Doctor Malatesta, has come up with a plan to save the day. Let’s be honest, the subsequent plot is extremely silly. Despite this, the production always keeps the story comprehensible, and maintains a knife-edge tension as to whether Malatesta’s crazy scheme is going to unravel.As to the imposition of the cats’ subplot – well, this was a lot of contrivance for one clever payoff at the end of the opera, and it made no significant contribution to the characterisation or comedy.The hotel staff are used to the utmost to great comic effect: Frances Morrison-Allen as the maid and Jonathan Sedgwick as the porter were particularly hilarious.Turning to the new stars: Josef Jeongmeen Ahn as Doctor Malatesta performed a fine Beautiful as an angel and worked extremely well in duets with Pasquale and Norina, with a standout Being ready am I. (Although on the opening night, the patter song of the third act was somewhat underpowered.) Simone Osborne as Norina was terrific throughout, very occasionally losing volume, but making up for this in the vivacity of the third act songs and acting with Pasquale, and in the finale, where she has the last word. Filipe Manu as Ernesto gave a beautiful, emotional, and powerful tenor, especially in the first act scenes with Pasquale and in Poor Ernesto/ I will look for a distant land.The opera may have debuted in 1843, but property inheritance and the dependence of the young on their elders for a roof to sleep under is an issue increasingly in the spotlight today. Plus ça change!

A beautifully devised piece of theatre from award-winning playwright Azan Ahmed (Deen & Dunya, The Father and the Assassin), Statues is a whipsmart production that uses hiphop as the dynamic vehicle to reflect on loss, self-expression and the marginalisation of British Muslim voices.Held in the Bush Theatre's intimate Studio, Statues feels both fresh and established, benefiting from Ahmed’s urgent voice and the Bush’s talented production team.Firmly grounded in South Kilburn (or SK), Ahmed stars as Yusuf who is grieving the loss of his father while navigating his first week as head English teacher at a new school.While touching on displacement and inequality, Statues focuses on the issue of supposed radicalisation within his community, through the generations.While steering an unruly new student away from ‘radical’ thoughts, Yusuf finds his father’s old mix tapes for the first time. In this, he learns that the man he knew only as a statue was once an aspiring rapper standing up against oppression and racist skinheads on the block.An internalised fear of expressing Islamic thought and political identity has shaped Yusuf’s life, so that when the new student seeks to call Hamlet a radical, Yusuf rushes to silence him. When the opinionated student gets referred to Prevent – the government’s heavyhanded attempt to rehabilitate people susceptible to radicalisation – Yusuf knows he messed up.A short, sweet and timely production, Statues successfully balances joyful entertainment with political commentary in a way that is never forced. Add to this the playful lyricism of his father’s old mix tapes and you have a near perfect play, with laugh out loud moments courtesy of Yusuf’s father’s best friend, Oman, played by the talented and likable Jonny Khan.For fans of both NWA and Asian culture, it’s a must-see.

After some years of setbacks, Caroline Burns Cooke took to the stage at Dundee Fringe with her new work, Gruoch: Lady Macbeth, written for her by David Calcutt. Shakespeare’s Lady Macbeth is rooted in the historically discredited Holinshed’s Chronicles, of 1587 and is largely a woman of fiction. Gruoch has many more facets to her than Shakespeare’s blood-stained woman although this impassioned production is perhaps equally speculative and imaginative.Gruoch’s background is complex and I’m indebted to Kate Braithwaite, writing in The History of Royal Women for unravelling her story.Gruoch hailed from Scottish nobility, being related to King Malcolm II. Her brother had a claim to the throne, but Malcolm intended his grandson, Duncan, to be his successor. She married Macbeth’s cousin, Gillacomgain, and they had a son, Lulach. Macbeth was the son of King Finlay who ruled the Kingdom of Murray. He had become King even though he had an older brother, one of whose two sons was Gillacomgain. These brothers assassinated their uncle and took the throne, while Macbeth fled the land. While absent Macbeth led an undercover operation that garnered support among disaffected subjects of Gillacomgain, and culminated in his return to Moray where he killed Gillacomgain and his supporters. The next turn of events sees Gruoch marry Macbeth, seemingly setting aside any loathing she might have felt towards him for murdering her husband. The move guaranteed her own safety and that of Lulach and provided a royal step-father for him, enhancing his claim to the throne of Moray in addition to that of Scotland. Meanwhile her brother had been murdered, probably by Malcolm II, in order to clear the way for Duncan’s succession, which occurred shortly after his father’s death at the battle fought against Macbeth at Glamis. In Duncan’s later invasion into Moray he too was killed, possibly by Macbeth. His death while a guest in Macbeth’s castle is a Shakesperian invention as is the idea that Macbeth had usurped the throne he recived by public acclamation He enjoyed a 17-year rule with Gruoch by his side, despite having no children of their own. In 1057 Macbeth abdicated in favour Lulach and Gruoch’s plan - if that’s what she had - came to fruition. Her joy was short-lived, however. Lulach was killed the following year in a battle against Malcolm’s forces. Lulach’s son was a child, but Macbeth took up arms against Malcolm to defend his right to the throne, but was defeated at Lumphanan in August 1058. Macbeth was buried in the royal cemetery on Iona, but there are no records of Gruoch’s last days.Intense physicality and emotional turmoil permeate Cooke’s performance that is full of the inner strength, tinged with an element of madness, that Gruoch must have possessed to endure her life. The historical record suggests a woman who proceeded calmly through life accepting her lot and behaving subserviently to the powerful men who surrounded her. Cooke, on other hand, explores what she imagines might have been hidden beneath the surface. She has a mantra of “Daughter, Good Wife, Crone” that sums up her life, the last word indicating her current condition as she gives way to anger, bitterness, resentment and vengeance. She describes the monodrama as “a feminist, myth-centred examination of the bereaved and abused girl who became Lady Macbeth as an act of revenge for the death of her father”. Hence her visceral performance of a woman who nevertheless had a degree of logic and rationality for her actions.

As might be expected in Jane William’s ambitious work, What the Thunder Said, there are some impressive sound effects of the heavens in torment. But in Eliot’s The Wasteland, around which play is formulated, it is the earthly turmoil of mortals that is explored along with the theatrical potential of different worlds colliding and a myriad of humans interacting.No one can pretend that Eliot makes for easy reading, replete as it is with academic allusions and literary and religious references, yet setting that aside there is much with which to identify personally. What Williams does is to relate the work to her own life, to see it as a source of dark humour that becomes an emotional release and a means of confronting the complexities of mental disarray. Hence she cleverly weaves the trials and tribulations of her own life into passages from Eliot’s poem that seem relevant to her condition and interprets it in a wider context.Her performance is a journey of heartfelt mental health experiences that change like the weather and can move with the seasons. As Eliot pointed out, April might be cruel, winter full of contradictions, just as the freezing snow keeps the earth beneath it warm and protected, and summer might be full of surprises. In the same way that there is no escape from those external forces, so the workings of the mind cannot be avoided, only accommodated. The high must be appreciated and the lows endured. Medicines can provide some relief but not a permanent solution. Temporary amelioration is always tinged with knowing that the storm clouds will again gather and that a sudden clap of mental thunder will destroy the mind's stability.Williams was assisted in creating What the Thunder Said by dramaturg Di Sherlock who helped to weave the worlds together through text and sound. Working collaboratively, with openness and honesty, they created an intriguing juxtaposition of Williams' own life with Eliot’s controversial poem, which he completed while recovering from a nervous breakdown. Together they have drawn attention to the lack of fulfilment and meaning people can experience, combined with a feeling of entrapment in a routine mechanical world, like that of The Typist in the Fire Sermon. There is no certainty of a way out of such a life but there is hope during times of respite that Shantih, the peace that passes understanding, might be achieved or perhaps just be glimpsed at, even if through a pair of yellow sunglasses.

The Almeida’s Angry and Young season has opened with John Osborne’s Look Back in Anger that heralded the mid 1950s revolution in drama and gave birth to the Angry Young Man genre. And anger dominates this play, personified in the character of Jimmy Porter. Billy Howle is unrelenting and constantly energised in his powerful portrayal of this destructive emotion. Was Jimmy just born with a chip on his shoulder or was it the childhood experience of sitting on his father’s deathbed that set him against the world? As he says, “You see, I learnt at an early age what it was to be angry – angry and helpless. And I can never forget it.”  Social injustice has not helped nor the humility of an educated albeit working calss man running a market sweet stall and the disapproval of his wife’s well-to-do and moneyed family. But it hardly explains the extent of his rage nor the venomous abuse he hurls at the woman he married.Alison Porter (Ellora Torchia) has learned to listen to and largely ignore her husband's rants as has their lodger, Jimmy’s friend, Cliff Lewis (Iwan Davies), who has an affectionate relationship with Alison that Jimmy strangely consents to. Davies successfully plays this awkward role of wanting to remain faithful to both parties, remaining silent for long periods as the tension builds up but also feeling the need to interject and at times console when the situation becomes more heated than usual.Torchia conveys Alison’s sense of being reconciled to her lot in life, but increasingly shows that no one can be expected to suffer Jimmy’s vituperative outbursts indefinitely. When her actress friend Helena Charles (Morfydd Clark) arrives to stay, matters are brought to a head. Clark turns on all the poshness that Jimmy despises and Helena too becomes the subject of his aggression. She takes matters into her own hands and summons Colonel Redfern (Deka Walmsley) to take his daughter Alison away. Walmsley personifies the bygone age Jimmy so despises, but shows the Colonel to be a well-meaning and sympathetic parent. The plot goes through various twists thereafter raising questions about the attraction people have towards loathsome individuals.The play’s revival is intended to be ‘angled towards 2024’ which comes across in the modern style of direction deployed by Atri Banerjee and the contribution of the other creatives: set by Naomi Dawson, lighting by Lee Curran and sound by Peter Rice. The sunken drum at the centre of the revolve provides an open pit which Jimmy symbolically gazes into.But Look Back in Anger remains entrenched in the period even if we can see now how it examines themes that have become the subject of so much more modern drama.

In a gripping and hilarious show, Yorkshire storyteller Eden Ballantyne takes us back to the original versions of some of the most famous children’s stories and leaves us wondering what sort of world young people grew up in back in the early 19th century. Buckets Of Blood – Fairy Tales Not For Kids strips away the sanitisation that the writings of the Brothers Grimm have been subjected to over the last 200 years and delivers them in their startlingly raw first-edition form.Ballantyne is a consummate storyteller and could entertain on any subject, but here he revels in revealing the history and development of the Tales over time and in different cultures as well as delivering them in energetic performances the form the Brothers intended. Children in those days, it seems, were far less sheltered, protected and sensitive than their modern counterparts, or perhaps the realities of life at the time were so harsh that even a gruesome fairytale would fail to shock or cause distress.If we think modern versions of Little Red Riding Hood or Hansel and Gretel contain some awkward material then be prepared for the horrors of versions that wallow in mutilation, kidnapping, child abuse and cannibalism and were deemed entirely appropriate as material to induce a good night’s sleep. Excessive violence and gore are the norm in these works; the Tales are Grimm by name and grim by nature, but Ballantyne's renditions are a joy.His highly entertaining hour-long storytelling and fascinating history lesson includes reference to lesser-known Tales and explains some of the illogicalities that have crept into the familiar ones over the years. If you have ever wondered about the impracticality of a glass slipper, this is your chance to find out how it came about.

Alan Ayckbourn’s Snake in the Grass gives an opening impression of a potentially genteel tale concerning reunion of two sisters in the garden of their late father’s country house, complete with tennis courts, a summer house and the very important well, of which only the covered hole is evidence.The script makes many demands on the set and director Andrew Panton and designer Jen McGinley have created a stunning and realistic scene that lives up to all expectations. Further enhanced by mood lighting from Derek Anderson and sound from composer/designer Niroshini Thambar all the elements are there for the plot to unfold, which it does very quickly.Annabell Chester (Deirdre Davis) left the family home decades ago for a life in Tasmania. Her sister Miriam (Emily Winter) remained and has had an unfilled life with their demanding father, who rather mysteriously, in a late change to his will, left everything to Annabell. Memories, many of them unpleasant, clearly fill her head, already befuddled with jet lag, as Alice Moody (Ann Louise Ross) suddenly appears from behind a trellis. She was a nurse to the sisters’ late father and wastes no time in saying that Miriam was involved in their father’s death; that he had expressed concern about Miriam's actions and that she has a letter written by him to prove it. She demands £10,000 or she will go to the police with the evidence and Miriam will end up in jail. As a friend once said, “Where there’s a will, there’s family.”In no time at all the atmosphere has changed dramatically. Now we have a possible murder in the family, a blackmail plot and revelations of paternal and matrimonial abuse from the two sisters. However this heavy material is treated with considerable humour by Ayckbourn. Some of it is laugh-out-loud, which the cast deliver with full strength, but they also know how to deal with self-deprecating humour and embrace the art of delivering venomous slurs and deploying wit. They are three very different yet delightfully drawn individuals whose chemistry ensures that they play well off each.Ample suspense combine with startling twists and turns in the story and supernatural elements that with sounds and voices keep us on edge. It's a classic thriller and this production is an excellent opportunity to see how it should be staged.

The Almeida’s Angry and Young season has opened with two seminal works from the dramatic revolution of the late 1950s: Arnold Wesker’s Roots and John Osborne’s Look Back in Anger. Initiating what became known as the ‘kitchen sink’ genre, it is Roots that most faithfully portrays the kitchen as the heart of the home and the prison of women. Beatie Bryant, simply yet passionately played by Morfydd Clark, returns to her home in Norfolk after three years in London where she met and fell in love with Ronnie and encountered a world remote from anything she had ever experienced. The big city was a challenge to her rural lifestyle, but it was Ronnie’s radical socialism and attacks on the norms of the day that opened her mind to a new reality, even if she had difficulty in understanding much of it for her lack of education. She tries to spread the message of a post-war Utopia to her family and in particular her mother, repeatedly predicating her sentences with, “Ronnie says…” in a blend of indoctrination and infatuation. Meanwhile, listening patiently in her own world, Sophie Stanton staunchly captures the rustic stoicism of Mrs Bryant, who manages to stretch her husband's limited wage to ensure the family has food and clothes.Wesker captures the clash of these two worlds. The mundane conversations and banalities of life that were the stuff of isolated working class families, where mothers really did know the bus timetables by heart, look out of the kitchen window and make conversation about of the late running of the 1030. Class divides were rampant yet the lower echelons repeatedly elected Conservative governments who kept them in their place. Mostly they were content because that’s what they had grown up in and been taught to accept. Hence Beatie proclaims, “The whole stinkin' commercial world insults us and we don't care a damn. Well Ronnie's right – it's our own bloody fault. We want the third-rate – we got it!”She was always going to be fighting a losing battle. Yet, as she preaches in pools of light used only for her orations, an ingenious part of Lee Curran’s lighting design, she grows in her own understanding and increases in confidence until in a frenzy of exultation to the accompaniment of Bizet L’Arlésienne, she realises she can speak for herself and we are treated to the hope of salvation and redemption.Director Diyan Zora makes maximum use of the double revolve, to move Naomi Dawson’s realistically practical set back and forth and with a strong supporting cast the play provides a window into a bygone age that many of us grew up in.

A meaty feast of new theatre from playwright Waleed Akhtar, The Real Ones is a fast-moving and impassioned exploration of platonic love, tackling themes of identity and sexuality that Akhtar previously nailed in his Olivier-award-winning play The P Word.Spanning over a decade in the lives of best friends and wannabe playwrights Zaid and Neelam, The Real Ones tracks the pair’s unique experiences of love and loss from their student days to their mid-thirties. A story of British-Pakistani identity, homosexual awakening and motherhood, The Real Ones is far-reaching in its goal, grounded by the curative theme of friendship.With a runtime of two hours and no intermission, The Real Ones is not worried about throwing audiences in the deep end. Luckily, the swift current of the story carries us through easily, buoyed throughout by star performances from Nathaniel Curtis (It’s A Sin) as Zaid and Mariam Haque (Black Mirror) as Neelam, supported by Anthony Howell and Nnabiko Ejimofor as the duo’s love interests.With minimal staging and costume changes, the focus remains on the stars throughout as they effortlessly elevate Akhtar’s whip-sharp dialogue with maturity, understanding and good comic timing.Bring a friend, and possibly a tissue or two, for this intimate exploration of two lives intertwined.

Very early in After the Silence, Juliana França’s character relates her experience of being taught about Brazil’s history in school. The educational system delivered a fantasy version of the country’s past, portraying a melting pot of racial harmony. She knew another history though—a darker history in which racism and the legacy of colonialism were, and still are, wreaking havoc on communities, families, and individuals. It inspired her character to become a teacher herself and to ensure that the harsh reality Indigenous and Afro-Brazilian people have faced, and continue to face, is heard.It’s a useful lens to understand what is a sophisticated, multi-layered, sometimes hard-to-pin-down piece of multimedia theatre. As the excellent França, along with the equally strong Gal Pereira, Caju Bezerra, and Aduni Guedes, weave through tales of oppression and injustice, backdropped by three large screens showing the English surtitles of the Brazilian script and film footage from the actual 1984 documentary Cabra Marcado Para Morrer and fictionalised documentary footage the company shot with some of the real people of the Chapada Diamantina region, we learn about this unheard history of violence and iniquity.At the narrative heart of writer and director Christiane Jatahy’s work are two murders, one historical and one fictional, but both representing the silencing of those trying to fight for the powerless. It’s a testament to the production that real-life documentary sits so neatly with the fictionalised account. Lines blur between the educational and the polemic; between documentary and fictional film; between reality and drama; and between the tangible and the transcendent. Through it all, the portrayals continue to feel almost entirely authentic, and the cast do a great job of traversing their roles with subtlety, grace, and at times, prodigious emotional power.After the Silence navigates a vast dramatic terrain, shifting from the didactic tone of a lecture to the mystical intensity of a jarê possession. The fluid movement between different forms and moods allows the play to capture the raw emotional reality of lives marked by the weight of a colonial legacy and the unhealed wounds of violence for which justice may never be served. Despite its complex structure, the production remains deeply rooted in the authentic human experience, offering a powerful meditation on community, resistance, and the ongoing struggle for recognition and truth.

A music-filled biography of the life and musical influences of Janis Joplin that sets the house on fire.While the Rolling Stones and the Grateful Dead get much of music history’s credit, A Night with Janis Joplin reminds us that one of rock music’s biggest pioneers was female, with a musical dedication to Janis Joplin and the soul, blues and jazz singers that influenced her.Rising to fame with her uniquely husky sound and radiant stage presence, Joplin is well-deserving of a musical with her name on it. Played by the technically perfect Mary Bridget Davies, Joplin performs belter after belter with the backing of her band and the crooning ‘Joplinaires’ before talking through a few of the most seminal moments of her life and career.Though the production only briefly touches on Joplin’s story, prioritising back-to-back records over a narrative arc, A Night with Janis Joplin does well in recognising the influence of black musicians on Joplin’s sound, with insight into the inspiration behind many of her popular records.Heavily influenced by soul, jazz and blues artists of the time, the rock star proudly shares the stage with the soulful and well-choreographed ‘Joplinaires’ – who transform to portray talented stars such as Betty Davis and Nina Simone. Aretha Franklin too makes a memorable appearance, played by a gifted Kalisha Amaris, who hypes the audience with an uncanny sound and some serious wig-shaking.Given authenticity by the ageing hippies in the audience and the Joplin family watching from the wings, A Night with Janis Joplin is a true dedication to the singer’s memory, now seeing its UK debut after a run on Broadway.Fans of the 60s and the rock n roll era will want tickets to this one. Set in the unassuming Peacock Theatre on King’s College campus, this production feels like a grassroots gem, and though Davies could be accused of overdoing it with Joplin’s infamous wail, the energy of the production more than makes up for the odd garbled lyric.A Night with Janis Joplin does the unexpected, turning a restrained theatre audience into a booty-shaking collective, dancing in the aisles to the spirit of Etta and Aretha as much as the rock icon herself.

With a smartly self-referential script from David Ireland, which is packed with engaging, funny, and irreverent dialogue, The Fifth Step proves to be a powerful and darkly comedic exploration of masculinity, trauma, and the human condition.Through the lens of a relationship between a recovering alcoholic and his sponsor, the play presents the intense, messy, and often volatile dynamic between the two main characters, played by Jack Lowden and Sean Gilder. Lowden’s Luka, a young man wrestling with his past, is both raw, compelling, and very funny. Gilder plays the seasoned veteran who’s seen it all and is eager to impart his wisdom to a young man in need.Both characters feel very real. Luka, in particular, embodies a restless energy, naivety, and insecurity that will be strikingly familiar to anyone who's gone to a Scottish state school. Similarly, James’s practised steadiness has a decidedly authentic ring to it, and the chemistry between the two actors is undeniable. Their push-and-pull dynamic drives the play forward as their relationship evolves amid changing behaviours and explosive revelations. The dialogue between them is funny, realistically inappropriate, and poignant.Director Fin Der Hertog’s staging is another strength. The rotating Milla Clarke set is used cleverly, and nods to Harvey—a gentler, yet potentially more damaging, comedic portrayal of alcoholism—are handled nicely. The surreal interludes and stagier interjections, incorporating music, light, and dance, are also effective.However, the play is not without its flaws. The script is ambitious and feels very Coen-esque at times but is occasionally overburdened by its many ideas. Identity, trauma, masculinity, abuse of power, infidelity, masturbation, religion, and classic movies—there’s a lot packed in. The play sometimes feels overstuffed, and things lose their way as it reaches a slightly histrionic finale. Some of the finely balanced character work, which grounds the play earlier, is lost in the climax.Despite this, The Fifth Step remains a compelling piece of theatre, and the first play I’ve seen this August that I could take a lot of my very much non-theatre pals to and be confident they’d both be into it, and not call me an arty wank. Its willingness to tackle difficult subjects with both humour and seriousness is commendable, and the stand-out performances of Lowden and Gilder make for a very thought-provoking and enjoyable drama.

In the canon of surprising things my mother told me, the fact that the Samaritans used to have designated phone lines for men wanting to use them as sex lines must rank high. It is true and is the inspiration for Harry Mould’s debut play, The Brenda Line, finely directed by Ben Occhipinti.Mould heard from their mother about her experiences as a young volunteer in the 70s. Founder of the Samaritans, the Rev Chad Varah wote a lengthy guide, Telephone Masturbators as he wanted each call to be listened to including obscene, unless it was beyond the pale and the volunteers could hang up. The policy no longer exists.Mould has set their account of an evening shift with the volunteers in the 70s/80s in a small town. Just two characters, 19-year-old Karen on her first evening and a seasoned older woman Anne who is the Brenda (taking sex calls from men) that night.It is an assured piece of writing from a new playwright that shows the developing relationship between the two women, erstwhile strangers. Not just about the Brenda Line they get calls from a pregnant schoolgirl and a suicidal male wanting help, evoking different responses from the pair.Charlotte Grayson nails it as young Karen, showing all the confidence of youth and self-belief laced with occasional doubt. She is outraged by the existence of the Brenda Line which she considers disgusting. Grayson makes her rather endearing as she combines her loudly argued feminism with her teenage sense of fun.The two women clash in a battle of age versus youth. Anne (a slightly hesitant performance from Fiona Bruce) urges Karen to just listen and reflect. She supports the Brenda Line as part of the Samaritans’ non-judgemental approach, anticipating her regular dirty caller. Anne does her best to pass on guidelines to the new volunteer.It does feel and look like the 70s/80s and not just Anne’s dungarees and the woody office (designer Natalie Fern) but the authentic reflection of women’s lives and beliefs at that time which Mould puts centre stage.

Diana: The Untold and Untrue Story is a joyful reimagining of the Princess of Wales' life, told with wildly speculative poetic licence. Linus Karp, our leading man is a "very demure, very mindful" Lady Di, with an uncanny impersonation of her intonation, mannerisms, and hatred of landmines. Charles is a cardboard cut out (probably still a better dancer than the original), the Queen is on a permanent Zoom call, and Camilla appears as a life-size rag doll possessed by a terrifying demon. The rest of the show relies on audience participation. Various members of the public are brandished with character names and props, unsure of their lines until the very moment they are called on stage. This night's show conveniently featured a lot of 'theatre kids', but the format could work just as well with more reluctant volunteers, adding to the humour of the show and generating a level of overall audience engagement that I don't think I've ever seen at another Fringe show (including improv).Lady Di’s life story is such well-trod material that it would be hard to imagine a new angle, but Awkward Productions capture the spirit of our fascination with this almost mythical princess and use it to bring joy to the masses. And Karp’s passionate messages of support for the queer community, a cause close to both the actor and character’s hearts, were a touching aspect of the show. Such an enjoyable evening of entertainment, camaraderie, and LGBTQ+ allyship. Take that, Camilla — 1-nil.

Perhaps winning the award for most provocative title of the Fringe, A Girl Gets Naked In This is a series of nine monologues written and performed by women on the subject of sex and the various emotions, complexities, comedy, and trauma that can come with it.The set is a messy bedroom with books strewn around the floor. Each of the performers takes the stage one by one to deliver their monologue. The subjects covered include obsessing over potential hidden kinks, older men seducing younger women, dealing with being sent violent porn by a misogynistic boss, the inherent danger in random hookups, violent fantasies, coming out, cheating, feminism vs horniness, and guys with mohawks. The speeches are all written by different writers so there’s a clear, distinct voice to each, but it’s in the performances that this piece shines. The nine actors deserve accolades as all are believable in their respective roles and each story, although written by another, feels like it could be their own personal experience. These are all ‘normal’ women dealing with the ‘normal’ day to day of navigating sex in our current society.Some of the monologues are funnier than others, some are more thought-provoking, but each is challenging and raw in its own way. This is the type of theatre of which we need to be seeing more and People You Know Productions is certainly a company worth watching. As for the promised nudity, you’ll have to see the show to learn how that pays off.

According to hosts Grace Fool and Jennifer Schmennifer, this country is founded on Gay idiots—and quite right too! With live singing, drag, character comedy, lip-syncing and clown, this queer cabaret offers a wide range of performers featuring both fresh faces and Fringe favourites. With a jaunty energy and tongue-in-cheek wit throughout, Schmennifer and Fool present a wildly fun night with a whole lot of laughs.The line-up changes every night, but what remains the same is its celebration of the weird and the wonderful. In addition to the co-hosts, this particular show had performances from Simon David, Abby Vicky-Russel, Delia ‘The Flat-Chested Witch’ and The Dairy King. David performed two comedy songs including Why Am I Wanking to This? which is a total hit, followed by Vicky-Russell who transformed into Susie Dukey (sp?)—an incognito Assembly volunteer who gets up on stage to perform a dance duet with her missing dog. Grace Fool lip-synced to famous failed X-Factor auditions and like a true dame, Jennifer Schmennifer sung a comedy song about being fat. The final pair saw ‘The Flat-Chested Witch’ slowly waddling onto the stage singing falsetto trills with a basketball in hand, and The Dairy King who closed the show with a rip-roaring (and slightly disturbing) strip number. There is a truly wonderful variety to the show which is a joy to see, showcasing multiple forms of queer art.Idiots…Gay Idiots is a brilliant celebration of queer theatre that is guaranteed to make you howl with laughter. Leave your worries at the door and indulge in Schmennifer and Fool’s curious world of wonders. If you’re looking for a taste of the LGBTQIA+ scene at The Fringe, this is not one to miss.

Marketing a show as a thriller often raises hopes that are not met. That is not the case with I Did Something I Shouldn’t Have… from PJGProductions at theSpace on the Mile.Paul-James Green has written a high-stakes drama that starts with a chilling conversation between Will (Richard Michell) and his voice-over counsellor/therapist. He’s shaking, tearful and frightened as he is haunted by the abuse he suffered as an eight-year-old boy. The image of him as an emotional wreck lingers, but the mood is lightened as the next scene opens in his home and the everyday banter between his older sibling, Harrison (PJ Green), who fulfils the role of a carer, and his younger brother, the 16-year-old Sean (Orlando Campolucci-Bordi). Their mother is dead but their estranged father soon becomes the main focus of the story. There is an air of teenage normality for a while. Sean spends time with his school chum Max (Joseph Bigley) and is assisted by Harrison in sorting out the family tree homework exercise. However, the straightforward task soon turns sour. The situation escalates with the entrance of Will and the mood darkens. Tensions rise when Sean decides he wants to know about his father. But there is a reason he’s never been told about him, and there are secrets known to Harrison and Will they would rather Sean knew nothing about. But Sean is determined to find his father, Vince (Gary Simpson), and get to the bottom of the mystery surrounding him. Thereafter, the roller coaster commences. The tension rises and suspense sets in. I cannot recall ever feeling threatened by a character on stage or filled with an urge to escape from a situation, but Simpson plays the dangerous brute of a father terrifyingly. His presence places everyone on edge and fearful for their safety. We begin to wonder what might happen next as more of his criminality and his psychologically disturbed condition is exposed. Everyone in the family is differently involved in the situation, and each cast member has a unique response, enhancing his success in portraying a credible individual.There are further twists and turns in the story as events speed up along with our heartbeats and the plot of this edge-of-the-seat hair raiser becomes more intricate. We await the denouement with bated breath, and the resolution comes with a huge sigh of relief.This Fringe version of I Did Something I Shouldn’t Have… is edited from the original two-hour drama and probably still needs some attention in places, but it's a gripping thriller that will leave you shaking for some time.

Twitching the curtain and shining a light on what happens backstage, Jacob Marshall and Shannon Hill’s Technically: A Musical is a show full of inside jokes and caricatures from the world of student theatre, to the point where we’re inclined to laugh in acknowledgement of our collective experience.It’s opening weekend for a student theatre production, and the tech team are hard at work making sure that the show doesn’t go off without a hitch, despite all having their own issues and stressors to work out before curtains’ up. Technically: A Musical has such a specific humour that is conveyed in such a manner that it becomes universal, common sayings, attitudes and experiences are all met with a laugh made out of recognition. The plot takes a bit of a back seat, in terms of quality, and it would be a lot stronger if the focus was strictly on the experience of tech and the characters rather than trying to shoe-horn in a wider plot. Like the rest of the libretto, the songs are so well-thought out, full of puns, dark sarcasm and just sardonic humour, the kind that you only get amongst other techies.Rather ironically for a show about technicians, this show’s tech is rather out of sorts. The lights seem to have a life of their own and changes of lighting state don’t line up with any specific moment or timing with the music. The sound is also rather poor; often it is quite difficult to hear the cast, especially Lights (Jolie Rooks), but it’s unclear whether there are issues with the mics, that they just cut out occasionally or if the piano is too loud, and the balance is off.There’s a found-family group dynamic within the cast, and they really capture the reality of what it is like working backstage. Their banter creates an off-beat give and take between members of the group. It’s just so recognisable that we can’t help but be transported back to our student theatre days, miss them and the people that we built those bonds with. The cast replicate the camaraderie of the tech team so perfectly to the point where there is an element of nostalgia to it.The perfect homage to the true masters behind the scenes, Technically: A Musical is a safe space for everyone to glimpse what it takes to be a techie.

If you are looking for a funny family show, Cabin Fever by Fresh !nk Theatre Company at theSpace @ Sugeon's Hall is a show where kids will get the jokes (most of them) and adults can enjoy themselves without any sense of compromise or dumbing down.The concept is simple enough – an 11-hour flight from London to LA. The set is simple enough – two chairs to become airline seats for writer/performers Aurelia Harris-Johnstone and Beth Miles to sit on.Something that is not so simple is that the actors play all of the passengers, who at each aircraft chime, instantly switch characters. Without costumes or makeup, the we know which characters are which simply by a mannerism, or a particular smile, or by the time half a sentence has been uttered.The comedy is observational, with droll character studies, career tensions, and the clever ironic subtext that develops as we (and the characters) get to know each other.Although most of the dialogue is between the two passengers seated next to each other, there is also farcical interaction between the rows, professional tensions and gossip about flight crew who remain off-stage. There are witty and well-timed parodies of the irritations of airline flight, judicious use of recorded audio, and the script also includes a major story arc in which lives will be changed forever. And we get to meet the most annoying woman in the world.I don’t know if TV execs look for new talent anymore, but these girls would be a shoo-in for a development meeting about a prime-time family TV comedy.

Dostoevsky's Crime and Punishment will be known to many, having been adapted for stage and screen countless times. Set against the backdrop of an impoverished life in St. Petersburg, we join Rodion Raskolnikov as he descends into madness following his murderous indiscretion. One of the defining aspects of Dostoevsky's seminal work is its length and detail, so it is hard to imagine how such a piece can be distilled into an hour-long theatrical work without losing much of what makes it great. Yet Rebecca Vines' manages to provide us with a script packed with detail, character and the claustrophobic heat of a St. Petersburg summer with relative ease. Those familiar with theSpace on the Mile Theatre 1 will marvel at how Vines manages to direct a cast of ten on such a small stage but again, the feat seems effortless.Although there are stand-out performances, this is an ensemble piece in the truest sense of the word. The ten young adults create the oppressive streets and poverty-ridden student quarters with well-disciplined and exacting physical work and the handling of the quickfire script is masterful as each performer crafts their respective characters quickly and with ease. None of them are overdone or undercooked. This is cast without a weak link. They handle the theatrical ebb and flow of Dostoevsky's world with deft skill, commitment to their craft and striking discipline that is often missing from younger casts. Stagecraft is important to an audience's experience of a play. It can be the difference between watching a good show and a great show... and this is a great show. All too often stagecraft is sacrificed for truthful performance. Actors can be as truthful as they like and give the greatest performance of all time, but if the audience can't see or hear them, it is a pointless endeavour. There was nothing pointless about this production. It is a gripping hour that packs a punch and there is no doubt you will see great things from the cast in future.

Hannah Gadsby has been accused of killing comedy, but you’re going to remember this eulogy for a long time.Hannah Gadsby: Woof! was supposedly rewritten only a week before opening at the Fringe, but it has all the hallmarks of a witty and provocative Gadsby original. As always, they hit that perfect balance of stand up show, Ted Talk, and lonely philosopher soliloquising on the meaning of life in a damp cave.For a show that is definitely not about grief, they make some poignant remarks about the excessive admin required in death. They discuss their lack of interest in mainstream pop culture icons, like the Barbie movie and Taylor Swift, as though they blame themselves for not trying hard enough, while hammering home a valid critique of modern feminism’s reliance on capitalism. And the way Gadsby weaves in the show title and its many meanings is nothing short of exquisite.As a comedian who could be described as having ‘made it’, Gadsby is concerned about how fame has changed them. They’re not wrong to worry, considering the way that ‘average Joe’ stand ups often lose their relatability once they can afford private trainers. Based on this show, they have less to fear than most. Gadsby has an insightful way of delving into the internal struggles all humans face, no matter what tax bracket they’re in, and a willingness to criticise anyone — friend or foe — despite threats of being ‘cancelled’ for their comments.So far, their unique talent has not been blunted by an upgrade in economic status. Whether or not that changes, you might as well go see them before the Swifties catch wind of their material and shut this whole city down.

Nigamon/Tunai is an inspirational immersive ritual created by indigenous artists, Émilie Monnet from Canada and Waira Nina from Columbia who seek to draw attention to the destruction of the environment by deep mining of copper in the Columbian Amazon. This powerful piece, a meditative experience, will surely affect you deeply and appreciate the urgency of this ecological crisis.The set is in the round, full of a multitude of things, ten living trees and amazing objects, mainly made of copper and we are given time to wonder: a sitar, gourd-like vessels hanging from the ceiling or placed by smaller pools. The women slowly move around the space performing rituals, as time slows and you learn to listen.Nigamon/Tunai means ‘song’ in their respective languages, Monnet’s Anishnaabe and Nina’s Inga. They believe that not only birds but trees, stones and water are sentient beings and can sing to us. There is the sound of water poured into the copper vessels, or dripping off their trailing wires into a pool below, a large stone emits a moan. It’s a thrilling moment to hold the trunk of one of the trees to feel its vibrations. Later we learn that all the sounds are activated by water made by inventions created by Leonel Vasquez who specialises in making the inaudible audible.Chanting, the voices of indigenous leaders in the Inga and Anishnaabe languages and others in Spanish, French create a magical, mysterious atmosphere. Bird song created by the two women, especially sounds created by a nose-flute is a highlight. A traditional instrument, the shell of a tortoise, Yagamama, is stroked by Waira Nina until it emits a weird humming.The importance of the Yagamama, protector of waters in Inga creation stories, is dramatically enacted by creating a tortoise shell pattern with light over the central pool, then destroying it with thunder and lightning, symbolic of the destruction caused by deep mining for copper.The spell of this ritual performance is powerful enough to encourage us to ponder on the meaning of the rituals and to supplement this there is audio-information and a post show talk.

There’s something revolutionary in the state of Denmark. I.A. Richards said a book is a machine to think with: the Peruvian theatre company Teatro La Plaza use scenes from Hamlet not only to think with, but also as a machine for responding.The cast of eight Down Syndrome players uses a full range of theatrical devices. There are hilarious scenes such as when Olivier’s film portrayal is studied, copied, but finally rejected due to the necessity of the actor needing to find a way that is true to themselves. Members of the audience are brought on stage to take part in the Mousetrap play within a play with hilarious acting assistance given. The cast perform protest raps, rock songs and discuss their personal stories, ambitions and worries. Video is also used for the Ghost and to show group rehearsals and the actors’ lives at home. Scenes from the play are performed, commented on and taken in new directions. There is also a very surprising online interview.There is a carefully judged balance of gentleness and passion (sometimes anger) as the actors reveal and respond to the overt or hidden antagonisms in the general culture that have to be overcome – whether in society as a whole or in the intimately connected field of art.Taking a deep breath, some of the topics covered are acting, cultural inheritance and respect for it; cultural dominance and the need to find new voices; the marginalisation of women and the neurodivergent. The play subtly contrasts Hamlet’s solipsism with the enviable sense of community and family that the company demonstrates.What emerges from the production is a kind of manifesto – bringing the audience into a new appreciation of societal and cultural dominance: a deeper understanding and a sort of joyous and hopeful call to arms. This is summarised in the closing section where the actors bring the audience onto the stage to join in the joy and solidarity of dance.

Meet Dan, James, Anna, and Andy as they take on the Fringe for a live recording of their podcast No Such Thing As A Fish – Thundernerds. What a fantastic way to kick off their tour than with their first show at the Edinburgh Playhouse, offering a delightful blend of fun facts, quick wit, and boundless enthusiasm. These four friends would be the ideal dinner party guests—engaging conversationalists and just all-around entertaining people.The show is a treat whether you’ve been following the podcast since its early days, recently discovered it, or are entirely new to it. To give some context, No Such Thing As A Fish is a podcast that began in 2014, where each member shares and discusses an interesting fact they’ve discovered each week. Now, ten years later, we get to witness the magic behind the scenes as they record their 500th episode live.For this particular show, the cast covered a range of topics, including midges overtaking the town of Midgham, radar detectors on the roads, Welsh bards, and the intriguing melons of beluga whales. Meanwhile, Dan attempted to link all these facts to the existence of the Loch Ness Monster, in a little nod to Scotland. It’s great fun watching them toss around facts and build on running jokes throughout the hour-long performance. The show is highly informative but presented in a way that makes you think in unexpected ways. It’s thought-provoking and an excellent conversation starter.Moreover, these four have genuine chemistry as they effortlessly bounce off each other’s thoughts and ideas, inviting the audience to join in both as observers and participants. At the beginning of the show, they asked audience members to text in interesting facts they knew. They received an overwhelming number—around 276 facts. While they selected a winner, it was a reminder that most of us have fun and unique knowledge worth sharing. Thundernerds creates the perfect atmosphere of acceptance and curiosity, where we can all embark on wild intellectual adventures.With their Edinburgh Fringe gig now behind them, you can catch Dan, James, Anna, and Andy at any of their upcoming tour dates. It’s a fantastic experience, but if you miss them live, you can always find the recordings online. The show highlights the notion that we all know at least one intriguing and quirky fact, and the hosts are more than happy to share theirs. No Such Thing As A Fish – Thundernerds is about the connections made through these fun facts and the comedy that emerges from them.

In more than a century of heroic Olympic feats and sporting glory, the Paris event of 1924 retains a special sort of sepia-tinted reverence. This was the last games to be directed by co-founder Pierre de Courbertin; the motto Faster, Higher, Stronger was used for the first time; the marathon distance was fixed; and countless feted athletes such as Johnny Weissmuller made an eternal impression on the international sporting scene. For Brits, three of those athletes - Douglas Lowe, Harold Abrahams and Eric Liddell - remain imprinted on the national consciousness as a symbol of stamina, determination and personal strength: their gold medal successes even spawning the 1981 film Chariots of Fire.And so, chiming exquisitely with both the current Paris Olympics and Eric Liddell’s own hometown of Edinburgh, Searchlight Theatre Company bring his extraordinary story to the Fringe in a stylish piece which explores how the famously principled man represented his country at the Olympics: but strictly on his own terms. We are guided through the story by Tom McKerchar: Liddell’s trainer and friend who was somewhat neglected in the famous film, whilst Abrahams’ trainer Sam Mussabini’s was given more screen time. McKerchar’s blunt manner is delivered with deadpan charm by David Robinson, and we are shown a relationship of deep mutual respect between the two very different men. It was McKerchar who had to think on his feet when Liddell famously declined to run the 100m heats (for which he was the hot favourite) due to their scheduling on a Sunday. And it was McKerchar who masterminded Liddell's last-minute switch to the more tactically-demanding 400m in an attempt to come home with the gold medal they both so desperately craved. Michael Taylorson plays Liddell with restraint and generosity: assuming a softly-spoken but laser-like demeanour towards both his career ambitions and Christian faith. He creates a good man without becoming too pious; engaging the audience with a friendly ease which suggests the enormously high regard with which Liddell was held in his lifetime, and beyond his premature death. There is strong support too from Simon Rodda as a pushy but patriotic sports journalist; and Rebecca Rogers as Liddell's eventual wife Florence. The piece jogs along at an agreeable pace, casting fresh light on this well-known story, celebrating one of Edinburgh's own sons: and doing so with humour and humanity.

At the end of the show, the cast on stage said “If you’ve enjoyed the show, we’ve been The Manchester Revue. If you haven’t, we’ve been the Cambridge Footlights.” So, I guess, here come my thoughts on The Manchester Revue.The main thing with many sketch groups is that out of the six or seven cast members, there’s usually two, maybe three, standouts who elevate their sketches to the next level. With The Manchester Revue, they all shine. Remembering my favourite sketches after the show, each cast member starred in at least one of them. It’s rare to see such raw talent onstage at one time, but that’s what The Manchester Revue bring with their show.The other thing, despite potential standouts in the cast, is the all-important question: are the sketches funny? For the most part, yes. Admittedly, when it’s not at its funniest, it’s simply that it’s not as funny as some of the other sketches. It’s very apparent that this cast get what’s funny. There are a few sketches in particular where I felt there must have been a discussion of “This is funny, but what can we do to make it even funnier?” Two sketches in particular – a kleptomaniac competition and a stag do’s game of Never Have I Ever – have those beautiful levels of humour where it’s clear that the cast have really thought about what would have the biggest impact.I’m so happy for this cast. They have a bright future ahead of them. I can happily say that The Manchester Revue is the funniest sketch group I’ve seen at the Fringe for years.

In Jewish folklore, a golem is a clay figure brought to life by magic. Often seen as man’s attempt to re-create life in the same way that the biblical God created Adam from dust, the golem is a twisted version of life existing to only serve the will of its master. GOLEM is a performative dialogue between a dancer and a sculptor, which displays and yet questions the manipulations of human form and movement inherent in each art form.Canadian sculptor Mike Sprogis and Belgian contemporary dancer and choreographer Julien Carlier have come together to create an intriguing piece of performance. Opening with recorded narration from Sprogis, stood atop a chair as Carlier demarcates the stage with white tape before starting a simple warm-up, the sculptor begins to mime working stone with a hammer and chisel; each strike accompanied by the sound of metal on stone and the dancer reacts to the rhythm of the stonework with movement which develops into an increasingly frantic breakdance. From there, Sprogis begins to work a huge lump of red clay in the centre of the stage, forming the golem’s face as Carlier reflects the physical effort of working the thick clay. As this is happening a live percussion is performed by a drummer onstage and I find myself questioning if the dancer is following the drumbeat or is the drummer following the dance? As the performance progresses, Sprogis rolls the clay around the space and then up his body in what appears to be a Sisyphean task. Finally dropping it onto the stage, he steps in the clay and sensually works his feet into the mass. More narration follows, and Sprogis speaks directly to the audience in a quiet, unassuming voice. Unfortunately, as I’m sitting near the air conditioning, I miss almost everything he says but my interest is regained as he starts to work Carlier in the same way he has treated the clay; moulding and shaping him, sometimes with force, sometimes tenderly. Eventually the two are writhing, spinning and falling together in an intimate yet playful manner.GOLEM is a challenging piece. Each audience member will have their own interpretation of what they just experienced but all must agree that this is a sensitive, beautiful performance that blurs dance, art, and the artist.

Directed by Catherine McLean, The Chaplain is the story of a man whose grim responsibility it is to administer salvation to the souls of the lowly unfortunates trapped in a decrepit Victorian jail. It’s a riveting gothic tale with overtones of Sweeney Todd and Les Miserables, both in the strident haunting music and the unrelenting Javert like rigidity of the eponymous hero. The threatening proximity of death is an ever present motif, from the imminent hanging of the death row prisoners to the murders outside the prison gates, and the chaplain’s ironclad belief in the afterlife adds supernatural fuel to the fire.Told with an engrossing piano accompaniment from composer Gabriel Owens, The Chaplain is the latest fare from the Cambridge University Musical Theatre Society. This is the same society that brought us the mega musical hit Six which is still running in the West End, so expectations are high.The company do not disappoint. Luke Muschialli as the chaplain is a menacing presence, more antihero than hero, berating his helpless charges with a total lack of sympathy. He’s entirely inflexible, seeing the prisoners as steeped in sin rather than victims of a society which leaves them destitute in their poverty. He has the only other instrument on stage, a cello, which goe some way toward softening and humanising a man who is monstrous in his self-righteousness.The three female actors Lexie Graham, Neela Nee and Sanaer Madden are especially strong vocally. The bare set, simply two black chairs in the black box of the auditorium, drives our focus to the voice. Even the costume is a unrelenting black, though thoughtful lighting is used to create variety in the space and Jacob Coughlan breaks the tension as the macabre warden, delivering some great comic lines.The characterisation of the prisoners themselves is pleasingly sharp with each one having their own story of poverty and deprivation, each of which ironically casts the light of criticism onto the chaplain’s religious beliefs. As a consequence the show moves away from a superficial damnation of those trapped behind prison bars into a more interesting exploration of the hypocritical bars of religious judgement. The cruel mythology of an afterlife which damns those who have committed acts of desperation to eternal hell is quickly seen as riddled with theological, philosophical and moral holes. Wilf Offord’s anthemic song about his lack of belief in god is a dramatic highlight.Overall, a thought-provoking musical with careful attention given to the philosophical ideas within the story and a decent gothic twist at the end.

Upon entering the theatre, you're greeted by an array of massive sacks hanging above the stage, each differing in colour, texture, and shape. Against the black backdrop, they resemble shiny, gummy balloons floating in space. Three dancers, wearing wigs and dressed in vibrant outfits, move around the stage. As you'll soon discover, they are all named Andrea.The Passion of Andrea 2 is a sequel to a non-existent prequel. Created by Luxembourgish choreographer Simone Mousset, the piece operates on multiple levels and can be interpreted in various ways, from a mediaeval fable to an absurdist musical. The sky's the limit with this show, allowing your imagination to run wild.The show relies on the brilliant performances of the three Andreas, who, despite their striking similarities, each showcase their own unique differences. The first part of the performance focuses on sound, with a continuous note that the dancers hum and harmonise over. Once this segment concludes, the dancers begin to speak, introducing themselves and performing their favourite sections of dance. This leads to a heated argument over who is right. The trio then involves the audience, seeking their help to stay alive as they brandish finger guns and 'shoot' each other, adding a playful touch of treachery to the unfolding tragedy.The performances feature hilarious physical comedy and repetition that build into an absurdly dramatic crescendo, guaranteed to have you laughing out loud. Then, just as suddenly, the show shifts tone once more, transporting us to a new dimension where Andrea is reincarnated.The Passion of Andrea 2 is truly an immersive experience that makes fantastic use of stage design, with hidden surprises at every turn. The sacks, in particular, deserve special mention, as do the actors' costumes, which contribute to the visual playfulness of the piece. This show is equally absurd, funny, and profound.As I walked out of the theatre into the bustling Grassmarket area, I overheard a group of friends discussing the show we’d just seen. One of them mentioned they hadn’t quite grasped what the show was about. They all agreed that they’d had a fabulous time and found the show absolutely hilarious, but none of them could quite pinpoint what had just unfolded. To be honest, I felt the same way. It was an unforgettable experience, though I couldn’t quite explain why. All I can say is that amidst the silly humour and the plethora of Andreas, there was something deeply human and relatable.

The dance pieces of this double bill have very different styles and atmospheres, The Flock is an austere, almost scientific study, Moving Cloud is a euphoric, high adrenaline party.The Flock (choreographed by Roser López Espinosa) is inspired by the migration of birds and opens with a virtuosic sequence where the dancers – clothed in greys against a wintery white and grey stage – imitate a formation of birds migrating. The positioning of the dancers evokes the strict lines and v-shapes of the flock. There is metronomic rock music, and the dancers’ perfectly synchronised movements are varied by seemingly random subgroups of the birds, at seemingly random intervals, without any noticeable cueing interaction, flying just slightly out of sequence and then equally abruptly returning to the rhythm of the main group. The eight dancers somehow seem to be a cloud of at least twice that number, and this spectacle of incredible drilling ends with the birds (and humans!) finally collapsing with exhaustion.Gradually some birds awaken and attempt to waken others. Each exhausted bird lifted by their companion is both a deadweight but somehow also featherlight – once lifted, the bodies seem to long for the air.There are acrobatic elements such as dancers being swung by their fellows or standing on shoulders, giving a more anthropomorphic sense of trust and community within the bird colony.The birds’ behaviour gradually changes in tune with the seasons as the dancers start interacting in groups, and the piece ends with the birds moving in enjoyment; first as a pair, but eventually building into the flock to prepare for the return journey.The behaviour of the birds of The Flock – almost mechanical and ultimately mysterious – could not be in greater contrast to the human community of Sofia Nappi’s Moving Cloud.The dancers wear white flowing costumes which contrast with the black floor and background. The effect is visually delightful and emphasises the individuality of the dancers – dancing solo or merging into temporary groups out of sheer fun. Movements are fluid and expressive, with elegance, whimsy and humour.Exhilarating Celtic music from the band Trip got the audience clapping along, and the party ended with rapturous applause.As a double bill, these pieces appear to be strange bedfellows, but their impact and depth are enhanced by being in partnership, and they are a spectacular display of dance mastery of two completely different dance languages and atmospheres.

In Scotland, Billy Connolly is more than just a successful comedian, actor, musician, television presenter, and Knight of the Realm; he’s “the Big Yin”. In a country of people who normally show disdain for fame and success in others, Billy (we Scots would never call him Mr Connolly) is treated like royalty. This show, as well as presenting verbatim stories from around the country about the Big Yin, tries to understand why he engenders such affection in his home country.Gary McNair has undertaken the task of taking stories gathered from folk all over Scotland and turning them into a love letter that reflects that warmth the people share. What we get is a beautiful, humorous, and slightly saccharine insight into the legend delivered by McNair portraying each of these interviewees. A beautiful music score played live by Simon Liddell and Jill O’Sullivan and the extensive set design by Claire Halleran help greatly to create some atmosphere in the gargantuan Music Hall at the Assembly Rooms, but I feel it would work just as well if it were stripped-down and performed in a black box theatre to an audience of 60. McNair does his very best to give each of the storytellers some character and the performances often lean in to the more comical but that’s to be expected when folk are talking about Scotland’s funniest son. Everyone has their own take of Billy’s life and career and, although this isn’t in any way a tribute show, we hear (via the interviewees own words) a lot of his classic gags. A highlight is a retelling of Billy’s take on the crucifixion that is so accurate to the version you’ve likely heard down the pub that it sparks in me a sensation of deja-vu.If you’re a fan of the Big Yin, get yourself along to this lovely celebration of the man and maybe even take the chance to share your story.

Not to be missed, hugely inventive, an extraordinary show, This is Not Romeo and Juliet choreographed by Danish Palle Granhøj is experimental but with broad appeal.Possibly tongue in cheek humour, a character runs across stage nude shouting ‘Juliet’, then later adding clothes bit by bit. It is indeed not Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet but of course, there are references everywhere: three couples are all called Romeo and Juliet, and the music is all excerpts from pieces entitled Romeo and Juliet (or Juliette) by Gounod, Berlioz, Mancini, Nino Rota’s Zeffirelli’s film, Ravel, Vasks and by the two musicians on stage, Dalia Dedinskaite and Gleb Pysniak.Set in war-time, (unlike Shakespeare, not warring families but countries), this is not explicitly referenced until the end, but the maelstrom of heightened tensions and rule-bending sexual relationships typical of such times is explored.A mature couple, Sofia Pintzou and Marius Pinigis, are in yer face, expressing the full range from neurotic insecurities to passionate attraction, the female literally leaping onto her partner followed by simulated aggressive sex. The younger pair, Dominyka Markeviciute and Povilas Jurgaitis, by contrast are more reminiscent of Shakespeare, sensitive, hesitant and romantic. The two musicians plant a delicate kiss on each other, whilst moving across stage continuing to play. As the show progresses, there are unexpected developments of character or changing partners, a LGBTQ aspect perhaps, though it might just be brotherly or sisterly affection, it is up to you the audience.The unusual choreography, baffling at first, then more and more convincing, is the result of Granhøj’s ‘Obstruction Technique’ a development of Nancy Spanier’s. A dancer’s movement impeded by another dancer tries to continue with the first movement, now transformed in fascinating ways. This might be caused by something as simple as a kiss where glued mouth to mouth they continue to dance around the stage. There is no need to have a scholar’s grasp of the technique to appreciate it. The point is this show. Does it work? A resounding Yes. It can be delightfully amusing, but at other times the original angles and contortions reveal deep psychological insights which get under one’s skin and enter one’s psyche.At the very end shots are fired and each of the performers in turn falls down dead. It seemed rather cheap, which spoilt – for me – an otherwise outstanding show.

The theatre is dying, so Jordana Belaiche and Grace O’Keefe are holding a séance to bring back the legendary musical theatre composer, Stephen Joshua Sondheim. Their goal? To save musical theatre and, in turn, the world.Summoning Sondheim is a hilarious, camp show that oozes with theatricality from start to finish. With original songs by O’Keefe, the production offers musical theatre lovers the chance to indulge in their familiar favourites whilst enjoying the freshness of new writing. O’Keefe’s songs are themselves an homage to Sondheim, with motifs and phrases that mimic his signature melodic style and use of prosody. Though a live pianist would have elevated the piece and made for a more enveloping acoustic experience, this is a tall ask considering the limitations of Fringe and the pair do well to work with the facilities they have.We are energetically welcomed into the space, and the duo begin the ritual, chanting Sondheim’s name to the tune of ‘Company’ followed by their opening number Summoning Tonight. The Sondheim fever is driven by the bubbly and effervescent O’Keefe, the true “child of Steve”, as Belaiche attempts to conceal her obliviousness. Skilfully directed by Bel Parker, the dynamic between the two is ripe for comedy. A particularly magical number sets Sondheim’s biography to the prologue from Into The Woods, which is a clever nod for fellow theatre kids to delight in.We meet the séance’s medium, Chanel, hysterically portrayed by the brilliant Belaiche who is a master of character comedy. Her exaggerated movements and cockney accent are priceless, especially in contrast with O’Keefe’s endearing Americanisms. She comically parodies mystic charlatans with aplomb and O’Keefe’s enthusiasm contrasts perfectly.This comedy cabaret is not without its thoughtful undertones, however, as the pair make meaningful reference to the sexism in the theatre industry. In the history of the awards, only one Tony has been awarded to a musical written entirely by women, which in itself tells of the lack of representation of female writers in musical theatre. Sondheim’s work has provided such inspiration to the generations of Broadway Babies that follow him. O’Keefe emphasises the importance of his continuing legacy, and the need to carry the torch forward. There is no escape, however, from the dark reality that female performers suffer exploitation and perversion from all sides, and the show makes an important reference to this without departing from their campy tone.Summoning Sondheim is a true love letter to Sondheim both in its toe tapping musical numbers and its flamboyant, spooky energy. You are sure to be bewitched!

Marie-Laure Corben, Dalia Kay, and Eliza Waters' creation, The Weird Sisters, is now being performed at the Fringe following its debut at the Leeds Theatre Festival in July 2023. The show invites you to explore the world of three witches eager to expand their sisterhood, navigating a journey of self-discovery through backfiring spells.The production is filled with moments that bring tears to your eyes and others that make you smile from ear to ear. Although the script starts a bit slowly, it gains momentum midway, effectively conveying the emotions the writer and cast aim to portray. With a bit of adaptation after the delightfully catchy song Welcome to the Coven, this musical has the potential to become a hit with audiences of all ages.The lyrics provide significant depth to the characters, reflecting a thoughtful creative process. This is complemented by Eliza Waters’ own composition, which promises a brilliant musical score. Waters’ music is both catchy and exciting, allowing us to delve into the characters’ internal and external thoughts. My only suggestion would be to shorten some of the early songs to help the show flow more smoothly.Lydia Duval’s direction is truly exceptional, showcasing how the cast was allowed to experiment and explore their characters. This freedom enabled the performers to make clearer, more deliberate choices. A prime example is Marie-Laure Corben’s portrayal of Amarath Crimson Weird, whose precise acting vividly illuminate Amarath’s journey throughout the show.Lowri Jayne Rees’ vocals are absolutely stunning, with her control and clarity shining through in her performance of In the Inbetween as Scarlett Rust Weird. Dalia Kay’s portrayal of Blush Cinnabar Weird is outstanding, with impeccable comedic timing and vocal flexibility that are a true spectacle. The trio’s vocal harmonies are phenomenal, sending chills down my spine from start to finish.This show is truly worth your time and money. Be quick, though! This musical concludes its run at Just the Tonic at The Caves’ Just the Fancy Room on the 25th of August. I’m eager to see how this show evolves in the coming years.

Have you ever wondered what it is like behind the scenes for circus performers? Have you ever wondered what happens to them when they reach middle age? This engaging, funny and moving show lifts up the back of the tent to expose what lurks behind. Indeed, the brilliant trick of this show is to answer all those questions that have wandered across the back of our minds but have never made it to the front of our mouths.Devised by still hungry and Bryony Kimmings, the show is presented and acted by three female circus performers from Chamaeleon Berlin. With charm and great comic timing they wittily explode the conventions of circus shows – especially the additional demands and fantasies loaded onto the shoulders of female performers.There is top-class satire, but the show is raised further by the other elements in the mix. The performers – all highly successful in their circus careers – go into technical demonstrations of their skills, with discussions on the pleasures of the moves, the desire to push boundaries, and the philosophy of the acts, such as the aspects left unsaid about contortionists. Characteristically, this is also undercut by a reductive summary: strong shoulders chooses straps, the feather-light girl takes to a rope act, and the bendy girl is a contortionist.Each woman tells the story of how she became a circus performer. We are shown pictures from childhood and told of the family circumstances and the joys, motivations, and pressures on the young girls that led them into their paths. The stories are simple and simply told, and all the more moving for that. We move on to the exhilaration of teenage rebellion, the grasping for freedom – and finding it – and the excitement of success in their careers.The women describe themselves as show ponies, but they are middle-aged, and we know what happens to horses once they are past their best. The tribulations of ageing have been a touchpoint throughout the show, and this now takes centre stage as each woman imagines a version of the future for the three of them. Three separate visions, but with their friendship as a common theme.One of the performers makes the comment that no one wants to hear a middle aged woman moaning. Well, if it is as dazzling, witty, captivating and moving as this show - yes we do!

Once in a blue moon you take a punt on a show at 11pm and to your surprise, you find pure gold. Last night was in fact a blue moon and Chris Sainton-Clarks’ Tales from a British Country Pub at theSpace @ Surgeons' Hall is nothing short of pure nectar.Stainton-Clark fills the space with that rare quality found only when an artist is on the precipice of great success. His is a charming, well-crafted, intelligent and hilarious performer who captivates his audience and carry us along with him. In return he receives spontaneous outburst of sing-along and clapping.His tales are told in a string of ten or so songs. He's the lyricist, composer and performer. Each song features one or more of the various characters he‘s encountered working in pubs, from his locals in his home county of Norfolk to places further afield. With guitar in hand and clearly enjoying himself, he tells of his troublesome and hilarious experiences. There are compulsive liars, disruptive youths, clinical oversharers, fruit machine addicts and many more. The genres range from comedy rap to country folk which he applies to his refreshingly honest observations of toxic masculinity, first love, conversational blinders, male bonding the British drinking culture and teenage angst.Each song takes a satirical and scathing outlook at British pub culture. It's all very light-heatred and amusing with the added joy of hearing about very recognisable characters, some of whom you've almost certainly encountered when you've popped out for a pint. You might even meet yourself!It's a fun ending to day at the Fringe or prelude to a long night out. Catch it while you can. Shows like this come around once in a blue moon.

Upon viewing Margaret Thatcher: Queen of Soho, with its vibrancy, provocative introspection, and above all cuttingly sharp humour, it’s really not hard to see why it celebrates its decennary at this year’s Edinburgh Festival Fringe. The renowned, campy piece makes its return with its deft parody of Tory heartland, emerging as an audacious and whimsical production that reimagines the iconic figure of Thatcher – played by the illustrious Matt Tedford – navigating the frenzy and frivolity of London’s gay nightclub scene whilst reconciling her moral dilemmas over the controversial Section 28 bill. Tedford is as clever as he is formidable in his portrayal of Thatcher and a wonder to watch with the crowd, sparing latecomers no trial and berating any who dare interrupt. Supporting Tedford are the talented duo Hessell and Tine who bring a dynamic energy to the stage in their enriching portrayal of various historical political figures, whilst sound and lighting are delivered in perfect harmony with the acting.Thematically, the show proficiently threads in commentary on the rich tapestry of the British political circuit, showing a remarkable ability to stay relevant in its contemporary period with snarky potshots at current political figures, Tory, Labour, and SNP alike. Its parodies are incisive like a Private Eye come to the stage: the pantomime-esque villainy of Jill Knight; Churchill as Thatcher’s repressed guardian angel; the rock and roll escapism of Peter Tatchell in Sid Vicious attire. The show carefully showcases both the ineptitude and cronyism of government as much as it does Thatcher’s bloated ego in a production that delves into tropes of identity, acceptance and power structures, moving seamlessly from humour to poignancy with a casual flick of the wrist. The flamboyant acting is delivered magnificently from all, but does this mean the music is on par too? Not as much as one would hope for, angling closer to shouting than singing. But Tedford can be forgiven on this front given he maintains a strikingly accurate Thatcher accent throughout the entirety of the act, the oft-warbled disco tunes a by-product of upholding an uncanny likeness in the mannerisms of the Iron Lady herself. Pacing too is also untidy given that we overshoot by several minutes, where the last quarter doesn’t feel as smooth as the rest of the show. It pays off in the end, however, as we’re conferred a parting gift in the form of a Donna Summer tribute complete with feather boas and miniskirts to reveal the raunchier side of Tedford’s Thatcher. Truly, Margaret Thatcher: Queen of Soho’s lingering notes are ones of sardonic wit and feisty liberation, a daring and playful act that presents one of Britain’s most divisive figures against a backdrop of LGBTQI+ culture in a successful combination of music, humour and social commentary.

Leonard Bernstein rated this operetta as one of the dozen greatest musical classics of the 20th century; it is also one of the most intelligent interpretations of one of the foundational texts of Western civilisation – no pressure then on this performance! The show is a promenade production in the National Museum, with the advantages and disadvantages that a site specific piece entails. The constraints of the wide rectangular hall is overcome by placing the orchestra in the centre of the hall, while the 70 plus choir mingles with the audience or group together at each end of the hall, or split into smaller groups. The choir (guided by multiple choir masters) acts as a proper Greek Chorus – deeply involved in the action and taking part in the unfolding story. The director, Roxana Haines aimed to give the episodes of the story a sense of ritual, and this works well, giving vivid depth to the life of Thebes and adding to the intensity and clarity of the action. The lyrics are sung in Latin, and although a Speaker gives an English prologue to each section, it helps to have as many clues to the unfolding events as possible! The staging provides powerful moments – such as Jocasta denigrating the oracles to Teiresias's face, Oedipus accusing Creon of treachery or Jocasta’s spurning by the citizens.If you are setting an ancient story in a setting containing ancient objects it is natural to try and use that context, but having the Speaker be a modern-day cleaner and Oedipus as a museum exhibit that comes to life simply comes over as jarring Nights In The Museum whimsey.Uniquely, this production populates the balcony with onlooking Gods. This was fine as ornament, but is confusing when the Chorus looks to the balcony when beseeching the Gods, as these characters have no part in the action. Tiresias descending from the balcony was also confusing; his ancestry is part divine, but in the events of the opera, he is strictly human.Musically, the production is gorgeous: the orchestra (conductor Stuart Stratford) sounds beautiful, and the brass section (so important in this piece) is notably precise and clear. Roland Wood as Creon impressed, Shengzhi Ren as Oedipus was strong and in control throughout and Kitty Whately’s charisma as Jocasta was scene stealing.An outstanding musical performance of a great work.

Pericles, not included in the First Folio and generally considered as authorially dubious, has only ever been staged in Stratford six times. With fewer tasty soundbites and sympathetic characters than some of his other works, it is a piece noticeably written by a waning talent; and we can imagine our Will sitting round the tavern table, scratching his increasingly glabrous pate, sifting through his greatest hits catalogue as he desperately tries to stay relevant.“I’m thinking a shipwreck… yes, I know I’ve done that before, but hear me out, this shipwreck comes with… er… incest, cheeky bit of proposed rape, a contest, auctioned virginity, mistaken identity, a brothel, people trafficking, death, lots of death, evil stepmother type, oh… and I’m going to retcon the fate of one of the leading characters. But here… HERE’s the real kicker… we add…” and here, he flashes a decaying grin, wiggles his eyebrows and declaims in a theatrical whisper: “pirates”.Yup. Narratively speaking, Pericles is a hot mess, but one which is successfully wrangled by Tamara Harvey and her crew into a dreamlike piece which bowls along at a merry pace and almost manages to make some of the more problematic elements work to a 2024 audience.As Pericles, the Prince of Tyre whose travels – both literal and emotional – form the backbone of the piece, Alfred Enoch is a warm and engaging presence. But this leader is almost too human and too good to be interesting: and thus necessarily becomes coated with misfortune in order to boost the vicissitudes of his journey for a bloodthirsty audience.There is strong support from a game cast: the always excellent Philip Bird a well-meaning Helicanus and a delicate yet gritty Rachelle Diedericks as Marina moving the plot ahead with energy and immediacy. Christian Patterson as Simonides steals his few scenes in a glorious performance so genial and all-encompassing that one can hardly believe the ease and generosity with which he withdraws back into chorus mode. But, as we might expect, this is an ensemble piece and there are some lovely vignettes sprinkled liberally throughout this enterprisingly labelled exploration of leadership.Annie-Lunnette Deakin-Foster brings her trademark magic to the choreography; the cast writhing and swaying through Jonathan Fensom’s sparse set of strung rope to switch locations with a fluidity of movement which reinforces the ethereal atmosphere. The costume palette - earthy terracottas and blue/greens - reflects the conflict between the earth and the sea, popping from the black background under the golden orbs of caged light like a renaissance painting.This is an excellent opportunity to catch a fine production of a slightly flimsy play. In choosing Pericles as her first directorial gig at the RSC, Tamara Harvey has proved her judgement to be joyful, ambitious and bang on the money. If she can turn this base metal into gold, then our great and beloved instruction is in very good hands indeed.

What if someone could gently peer deep into your soul and remove all the masks to reveal your true self? Luxembourg-based Z Art Company presents Negare, choreographed by Giovanni Zazzera. This piece is part of a triptych composed of three fragments: Credere, Negare, and (di)sperare. Each segment lasts between 25 to 45 minutes and can be performed individually or as a complete set. The works explore themes of human beliefs, self-perception, and the process of building identity.Negare begins even before you see the stage. The choreographer, Giovanni Zazzera, greets the audience outside, introducing himself and engaging in a brief, pleasant conversation. He asks about our day and offers some insight into the show that is about to unfold. After a few minutes, we move into the room and take our seats. The dancer, Alexandre Lipaux, is already in position, sitting directly across from us. He smiles as we settle in, holding a carrot which he begins to eat bit by bit.A grandiose opera begins to play, and the dancer continues eating the carrot as he starts to interpret the music. He gradually stuffs his shirt with pieces of fabric that surround him, making his size appear larger as he begins to dance. The performance is a mix of ballet and contemporary dance with elements of physical theatre. It starts off beautifully light-hearted, but soon the sound becomes dissonant, and with it, the character’s demeanour shifts. He hides as the layers of persona he had put on start to unravel.Lipaux’s performance is powerful as he commands the stage. His dance showcases impeccable technique, conveying a range of emotions through both his face and body that will evoke a multitude of feelings as you watch him.Negare, which is Italian for "denial," is a profound exploration of pretence and the desire to fit in, portraying a persona that becomes increasingly difficult to maintain over time. My favourite moment is when the dancer hides and tries to rediscover his identity. He approached me to offer a carrot and waited for me to imitate him by taking a bite. This moment served as a reminder of friendship and finding support in others. Negare embodies the vulnerable yet necessary risk of being seen by others in one’s most raw and authentic form.

Meade Conway discovered that the school he attended was involved in one of the Ireland's many school scandals. Viewing the subject through the eyes of three people working in an all boys school, A Silent Scandal, directed by Sally Hennessy, is at Greenside @ George Street.The scandal itself remains vague. It’s hinted at but the details are never revealed, It leaving room for imaginative musings as to what really happened. This gives the play a sense of universality; it’s not just about a specific incident, but rather the workings of a system that allows for cover-ups, while exploring the reasoning and motivations of the people involved, the manner in which they can get away with wrongdoing through the exercise of power and the threats they use to safeguard their own positions. The characters can be seen as symbols of the key roles that emerge when any scandal is unearthed. Hence we have the one who is the perpetrator, the one who is complicit and the one who is the antagonist.In the hierarchy of this well-ordered school the newly appointed Ms Turley (Senna O’Hara) is on the bottom rung. Initially not intimidated by rank, she either doesn’t realise that her place is to keep quiet, obey instructions and get on with her job, or is a deliberate trouble-maker. She increasingly has grounds for raising concerns about the student at the cenrte of the scandal, not least because her own son attends the school. The Head (Eoghan Quinn), knows that any revelations would be the end of him, so tries hard to quash her interference until he manages to turn the tables on her and she too becomes a victim of his bullying. Between the two is the egotistical Mr O’Toole (Ben Carolan): a slimy jobsworth who sycophantically sucks up to head in order to safeguard his own position. He clearly knows that things are not right but lacks the moral fibre to support Ms Turley.The play moves slowly at first as O’Hara and Carolan establish their characters and the strained relationship between them. Then, as the scandal becomes the focus of attention, a new energy is released and it becomes an intense, claustrophobic drama with three strongly drawn characters that evoke feelings of sorrow, loathing and disgust.Anyone who has worked in an office, a school or hospital, or anywhere that has an entrenched power structure will recognise how such institutions are run and identify with these characters.

A young woman, Maia (Soraya Pouilly), awakens tied to a chair and blindfolded. She manages to struggle free, to rather unexpectedly find herself aboard a train, with three people observing her. Her newly acquired companions are a curiosity ; seemingly harmless but childlike. Their emotional detachment is an early tell as to the roots of this piece.She finds that she is at the rear of a train. Her new friends cannot offer any clues as to where she is or how she arrived here. Nonetheless, they agree to accompany Maia on her quest to explore the train, carriage by carriage.As they progress up the train, they meet a series of characters who offer opaque clues as to the nature of the train and its purpose. The narrative is interspersed by scenes between Leila (Chane) and the grim reaper.Suffice to say, there is a profoundly existential aspect to the proceedings, which Maia eventually comes to comprehend. We realise the reason for the male companion taking multiple photographs is that he is capturing life moments. She is asked whether she is Buddhist and has a difficult choice to make. Leila’s role becomes clear and there is a gentle, touching scene between Leila and Maia.There are many reference points and influences in this play. The piece is rooted in surrealism and the theatre of the absurd. Maia’s quest with three newly acquired companions brings to mind Baum’s The Wonderful Wizard Of Oz, the companions being perhaps allegorical to munchkins. There are definitely shades of Camus as well. The clear influence of Carroll’s Alice’s Adventures In Wonderland, an early exponent of the genre literary nonsense, is also in the mix: e.g. Maia has to find a key to open a door; the water dispenser labelled “Do not drink”.Tellus Theatre Company deliver a slick, ambitious, performance – all the more impressive given that this is their debut. The script is layered and moving. The direction is tight and the physical theatre is well choreographed and executed. While all the performances are strong, Pouilly’s vulnerability is striking and the Chane’s story-telling and comic timing is delightful.This production is not perfect- neither is it for everybody, but its relentless pace holds your attention.The closing message from Night Train is that every life leaves an indelible trace on this world. So, of course, does this production.

Television at the turn of the Millennium was truly like the Wild West. From shows about berating obese people into losing weight, to social experiments involving locking children in houses and seeing what happens. Boadroom tries to capture the spirit of those who made such... inspired programmes... and brings an incredibly chaotic, overwhelming and hilarious production office into the light.Set at TV studio Skinny Productions' Reality TV office as regulars Carl Terry and Michael are joined by new hires Warren and Mary, and begin to prepare new pitches for the 'Commissioners'. Even before the word go, the chaos of the show is evident, from insane scrawlings on a white board to bras littering the set, the insane energy the show brings is on display in every facet – and it is a delight to see. This all accompanied by a soundtrack of the Scissor Sisters and other iconic 2000's hits which creates a mood that is not only perfect within the context of Boardroom's time period, but one where you can easily understand why an office as insane as this would produce the ideas it does.The acting as well is just as incomprehensible in all the right ways. The three seasoned execs are each more unhinged than the last and it makes any interaction between them, or with the new hires hilarious. Leah Pollard as Carl brings a constant coked-upped manic energy to nearly every word he says, even when he is at his most reserved and lowest he is still completely insane and hilarious to watch, pitching the most dangerous, cruel, yet authentic reality TV shows for the period. Calum Blackie's Terry is a similar standout for the opposite reasons. Looking like he doesn't know what the word sober means and wielding a cricket bat like his life depends on it, the pair of them crashing together and with the other casts members is never not brilliant to watch.Boardroom is hilarious. It is crazy, it is loud, it is all encompassing and it is great fun to watch. If you even looked at a television at some point in 2006 this play will be for you. Its chaos is meticulously crafted, its setting is insane yet played perfectly for laughs, and despite its small staging, it feels larger than life.

This year, Bella Wright and Carleigh McRitchie introduced their latest creation, The Gardening Club: A New Musical to the Fringe. Currently in development, the show presents its first act, ending on a cliffhanger that leaves audiences eager for more.Set in 1960s Georgia, USA, the storyline unfolds after the introduction of the birth control pill, initially available only to married women. Six girls, outraged by this unfairness, embark on an illegal mission to distribute the pill. As expected, the plot takes a complex turn.Belinda Matthews’ direction is both fabulous and intricate. Her meticulous approach to the script helps the performers bring out their characters and explore the dynamics between them.The show earns a solid four-star rating instead of five, due to occasional projection issues that made some characters difficult to understand, due to the absence of microphones. Improving this aspect would enhance the overall experience.The music and lyrics are catchy and brimming with promise. We left the theatre humming the tunes, with melodies and harmonies that sent chills down our spines. The songs, with their pop-rock feel, offer diverse sub-genres that align with the main theme while conveying the characters' emotions and situations. A standout song, Broken State Of Mind, was particularly moving.While it’s impossible to mention every performer, special recognition goes to Isaac Moore, who brilliantly dual-tracked as Luke Graves and Miles Bourne. Moore’s portrayal of Luke, a toxic masculine character, and Miles, a shy love interest for Vicki Martin, played fabulously by Hannah Dootson, showcased his range. Emma Wallace’s performance as Sheila Watson was equally captivating, and Lola Garlick’s intricate portrayal of Grace Martin’s teenage character was noteworthy.Overall, this musical has significant West-End potential. I eagerly anticipate seeing how the plot concludes and hope to witness this musical on a grander stage someday.

I’m not sure who came up with Hot Rubber’s concept of combining the children’s table-top racing game Scaletrix with a stand up comedy variety show, but after watching the show in Gilded Balloon’s Patter House, I’m so glad they did. The format of the show is this: Hudson Hughes and Imogen Trusselle host four comedians, each pair performing a stand-up set before racing customised cars against one another on a hand-assembled Scaletrix track, with the two winners engaging in a final showdown.In terms of tech, Hot Rubber’s production value is off the charts. From the show’s live synth musicians, to the high-octane cgi opening montage and editable video-game graphics appearing live on screen behind the comedians and the track, the use of visual gags is comprehensive, and its video game and TV references are nostalgic are well-considered. The track, staying true to the Scaletrix format of the show, had clearly been hand-assembled, which added an air of rustic charm that amplified the show’s laid-back late-night atmosphere and prevented it from feeling over-polished, even if the set’s rudimentary structure made the comedians’ race cars liable to fly off, bump into one another or stick to the track - moments that eventually became a little repetitive when they were generally played out in the same way.The line-up changes with each show, and tonight's included Luke Nixon, Jen Nolan, Alex Franklin and Mikey Bligh-Smith, with Nixon and Bligh-Smith paired for the concluding battle. Hughes and Trusselle's comedy was light on its feet even during the track’s technical difficulties. Nixon’s charming self-deprecation quickly got the audience on side, and Nolan’s observational comedy packed a punch. However, it was Franklin, armed with a powerpoint disparaging their rival, and Bligh-Smith dressed head-to-toe as Bart Simpson, who were best able to match Hot Rubber’s high energy and absurdity. The latter’s cast of zany characters - from the ghost of deceased Dickensian-style racer ‘Lappy’ to a clear parody of Top Gear’s The Stig - not only reinforced the excitement and wackiness of the show, but provided it with a structure that enable its more spontaneous moments to shine. Hot Rubber ensures that, for audience, cast and crew alike, there is never a dull moment.

Thank God! A proper Fringe show. Something you will never see on the West End. Petty Tyrant is a surreal, absurdist cabaret, set in the prison of Poets’ Purgatory, where Carlotta-B-from-1593 waits for the Tyrant’s bell to ring-in another poet’s extinction. Just as she – for over 400 years – has been waiting in fear for the bell to ring for her own extinction.But she must have done something right, because she has been promoted to give us – the audience – the Purgatory Orientation Course.Carlotta gives the orientation through dance, interpretations of contemporary songs, poetry-rants-raps, discourses on plagiarism and the politics of cultural dominance, a spiritual possession, Q&As with the Tyrant (PT to its friends), audience interviews, and a how-to guide for effective tyranny. No, I don’t understand it either.There's a lot of Shakespeare, and a lot of stuff that isn't Shakespeare; and there are bits of sense that can be detected among – whatever all the other stuff is.It feels like a mad ritual where, literally enthralled, the audience are imprisoned by Carlotta’s spell as much as the prison walls of purgatory.It is appropriate that the show is timed to be held on either side of midnight – on the boundary between waking and dreaming. Perhaps it should be kept a secret?Original and unique, this show is not for everyone, but those who like it, will like it very much indeed.

There are a lot of people to get into the Pleasance Forth for Rose Matafeo’s first comedy hour since 2018’s Horndog. At the time of writing, there isn’t a date that isn’t sold out. Since Horndog - which won the Edinburgh Comedy Award for Best Show at the time - Matafeo has been on panel shows, talk shows, starred in films and created and starred in a series co-commissioned by the BBC and HBO Max. So it’s fair to say that her popularity has risen in the time and expectations are high. And she doesn’t disappoint.On and On and On is a work-in-progress show, not that that’s obvious, though Matafeo is at pains to remind us of this throughout, particularly if a joke doesn’t get a big laugh. At one point, she yells, “Not all of these will be jokes, some of them will be sad poems that don’t rhyme!” and once again, she has us back onside.Like her previous shows, what seem like smart but random tangents all tie together to the central theme of the show: which is that each time (usually after a break-up) she thinks she’s changed for the better, she realises she hasn’t.On and On and On is a lot like her other hours: her dating life and neuroses are mined for our pleasure; millennial pop culture references are peppered throughout (though there is an odd shoutout to Concorde aircraft); and she even begins the show with a dance sequence. However, unlike her previous shows and despite still including her trademark self-deprecation, Matafeo does seem to be coming more into herself comedically at least. There is a feminist joke that completely divides the room, which Matafeo acknowledges and says happens every show but she’s sticking with it. It’s hard to think Horndog Matafeo would have said or done the same.On and On and On is packed with punchlines delivered at Matafeo’s breakneck speed. The show goes slightly over an hour; there are lines that could and will likely be tightened as the shows go on. But for a work-in-progress, it is a stellar - possibly even better - follow-up to its predecessor.

Paul Merton has been bringing his Impro Chums to Edinburgh for a very long time but now he’s back with the Fringe debut of a new paradigm, Paul Merton & Suki Webster’s Improv Show. Running for only ten days in the massive performance space of the Pleasance Grand, the husband and wife team alongside Kirsty Newton on piano, stalwart guest Mike McShane and special guest Charlotte Gittins from the cast of other Fringe improv hit Austentatious bring the comedy chops, while the audience pitch in with suggestions.There’s an expectation of solid entertainment when some of the top improvisers in the business gather to entertain and this show absolutely delivers the big laughs. Merton and Webster open the show by explaining the rules and warming up the crowd before the cast of four, ably assisted by the musical talents of Newton perform various sketches and games, some classic like the three-headed-expert, some newer like a skit where two astronauts go for a date on the moon entirely soundtracked by sound effects from the audience. With bizarre suggestions from the audience, we enjoy several hilariously absurd moments including detective drama ‘Rebus and the Plunger’, ‘Weatherspoons: The Musical (featuring Zombies)’, and Merton struggling to identify his allocated job – putting stickers on bananas using snail-trail as glue.The cast are clearly having a great time with the silliness and that joy is infectious. Each of them delight in making each other laugh and there are many asides and digressions from the established sketches but this only goes to show how confident each of them are as performers. A true standout is Gittens who not only holds their own against three giants of improv but manages to elicit some belly laughs from each of them with some perfectly delivered bon mots.

The fusion of ballet and hip-hop has long fascinated audiences since it was popularised by films like Step Up. Grace and swag meet in Beats on Pointe, offering you the opportunity to experience this unique fusion up close and personal. It is a fun show that everyone can enjoy.With numerous costume changes, from tutus to baggy shirts, the cast will keep you guessing what’s coming next. The show explores a dancer’s life and sets up an exciting battle between ballet and hip-hop. The initial number takes the form of a dance battle, with the dancers divided into two teams as they face off. The rest of the show combines elements of ballet and hip-hop, aiming to provide an entertaining experience. The performances feature dance numbers choreographed to popular songs by Britney Spears, Missy Elliott, Michael Jackson, and many more. It also includes ballet classics like Swan Lake.The crew delivers a confident and jaw-dropping display of breakdancing, popping, locking, and krumping as they dominate the stage. The performance also features challenging ballet moves, such as multiple fouettés, which are incredibly hard to master, along with lifts, partner work, and jumps that will have the crowd cheering. Much of the show consists of commercial dance that borrows from many different styles, requiring both energy and charisma.While the show beautifully blends ballet and hip-hop, the dancers' hip-hop skills appear to stand out more prominently. The entire cast is incredibly talented, with their abilities shining particularly during the solo performances at the end of the show. However, there are moments when some of the choreography may not fully showcase their impressive skills. The group routines are vibrant and full of energy. Although they are incredibly lively, there are times when the choreography feels a bit uncontrolled.The show is more than just a dance performance; it offers an introduction to dance culture. With comedy sections sprinkled throughout, it also provides an opportunity to get to know some of the characters.As I looked around the audience, I saw many young children. The little girl next to me clung to her mother in concern as she watched a dancer tumble across the stage. Beats on Pointe brings together two dramatically different worlds, showing how we are all more alike than we might think. This crew will have you dancing in your seat.

Dance-Forms’ 79th International Choreographers’ Showcase returns for its 20th edition at the Edinburgh Fringe, presenting a collection of eight contemporary dance-theatre pieces from some of the finest choreographers on the international stage and in the US. Showcases like these are crucial for fostering a network of artists and advancing the field of dance through innovation. The pieces are linked by themes exploring human nature and the environment, offering an introspective examination of both the dread and joy inherent in human existence on our planet.The program featured the following eight pieces:Terpsichores of Wind by Jin-Wen Yu is a contemporary duet that flows like air. The dancers wear white, billowing tunics with pieces of white fabric draped over one hand and attached at the wrist. The movement evokes the effect of wind.The Searchers by Susan B. Williams, with a special appearance by Enrique Bejarano from Birmingham Royal Ballet, is a duet that blends ballet with contemporary choreography. Set to metallic, laser-like sounds, it offers a striking mix of styles.In Ancient Water by Karen Potter. This duet features intricate partner work and pays homage to water through its movement and costuming, including flowing blue hair and a cascading blue sash worn by the female dancer.Accepting the Unexpected by Maria Hackbarth. This solo performance incorporates a white yoga ball, which takes on a character of its own. Lauren Seitz delivers a truly moving performance.Your Applause Please by Elijah Motley. This engaging duet features a clever plot twist where the characters become mirrors of each other, adding a playful dynamic to the performance.Picking by Jin-Wen Yu. A charming and enchanting duet that ingeniously incorporates the costume by gradually removing pieces of it throughout the performance.Until Death Do Us Part by Richard Oaxaca is a partnered dance that delves into themes of ageing, memory loss, and death.Two pieces by Anandha Ray, featuring Karen Brown and Christina Johnson, stand out. The Moment We Knew explores the stages of grief: denial, anger, depression, bargaining, and finally acceptance. The piece is emotionally raw and is brilliantly performed, with violin music that deeply tugs at the audience’s heartstrings.The second piece, We Rise, first premiered in 2017 but continues to resonate today. The choreography is set in a world that has been ravaged, with dancers laying on the ground, taking turns expressing agony. A single woman, possibly a goddess, watches over them and appears to offer some form of aid. This piece explores the human experience of pain, suffering, and the desperate need for help. The music enhances this theme with its dystopian and apocalyptic tones, while also incorporating Eastern influences such as the flute and harp. It is truly stunning.

Courtney Buchner’s I Wrote This Show Last Night is a fresh hour of comedy that plays with genre, form and style. Taking the concept of pre-Fringe panic to a whole new level, Buchner has written (and continues to write) a show that would charm even the grumpiest of punters. With 40 days to put together a Fringe show, Buchner decided to workshop some material with her therapist. Ever the perfectionist and go-getter, she took it one step further and resolved to continue to change the script over the course of her Fringe run. Buchner tells four stories in every performance (each represented by a prop), one of which gets voted off at the end of the night and replaced by a new one the next day. Providing a fresh take on audience participation, this format makes for a dynamic performance that you can’t help but be invested in. Buchner’s meta-theatrical deconstruction of a stand-up show is both clever and playful, providing us with insight into her creative process as well as showcasing her magnetism as a performer. As she takes to the stage with such ease and relaxation, Buchner creates a comforting environment that makes you feel like you are in her kitchen chit-chatting with a glass of wine in hand. The hectic outside world melts away as she weaves together her tales, each one focused on ‘figuring (something) out’ in her life. Her radiant and spontaneous delivery keeps these stories fresh and exciting, and there is certainly never a dull moment. In particular, the imitations of her South African parents are brilliant, as are her daringly revealing notes on their private lives, both of which make for hysterically funny material. I Wrote This Show Last Night is an uplifting hour of storytelling that leaves you on high. With exposed personal stories, hilarious anecdotes and live workshopping, Buchner is bold, charming and wonderfully entertaining.

Let me start by saying that I understand there’s an overwhelming number of shows at this year’s Fringe. However, I truly believe that LIMBO is one of those hidden gems whose description doesn’t do it justice. It’s a fusion of circus and violin, featuring some of the most challenging and artistic tricks you might ever see.Two dancers step onto the stage dressed in white and shades of nude. They sit back to back, supporting each other’s weight. Suddenly, the female dancer pulls out a violin and begins to play. As they start dancing together, it is truly an impressive sight; she never misses a beat, even as she is pushed around by her partner, performs floor work and is lifted. At one point, she even stands on his shoulders while he rides around on a monocycle. This piece is a partnered dance showcasing a female violinist who skilfully dances and plays the violin simultaneously, while her partner complements her performance.LIMBO is a violin sonata composed by Chloé Charody, performed by Sonja Schebeck and her acrobatic partner Josh Frazer. The sonata tells a profound story set against the backdrop of the Melbourne Park Hotel in Australia, 2021, a time when refugees faced detention and incarceration. While it reflects a specific historical context, the piece resonates with the broader emotions of physical and emotional restraint—be it from the pandemic or personal struggles. LIMBO captures the essence of feeling trapped or stuck, visualising the sensation of being in limbo, in any shape or form.The piece is divided into seven parts, each reflecting a different emotional stage of imprisonment: (1) ‘Limbo’ Violin Caprice, (2) Lament for a Life Lost in Limbo, (3) Dance of the Clowns, (4) Song for the Moon, (5) Lunacy, (6) Soliloquy, and (7) The Lost World. Each section deals with a different stage of isolation in an emotional journey from anger to hysteria to resignation.Schebeck’s violin playing is accompanied by a piano recording by Chanda Vaderhart. The sonata truly shines with the piano’s ethereal sound complementing the violin’s emotional voice. It’s absolutely brilliant. As I sat in the theatre, I wondered if the piece might benefit from a live piano rather than a recording. While the performance was incredibly grounded, the recorded piano felt somewhat distant, like a looming presence. This, however, does not detract from the spellbinding performance of the artists themselves. LIMBO is a must-see at this year’s Fringe.

Stories about the Second World War, the horrors of Nazi Germany and the Allied victory are well told across our cultural landscape. Less common is the shocking treatment of the gay men, persecuted as perverts under the Nazi regime, who remained criminals in the eyes of the law after Hitler’s defeat and suffered continued surveillance and prosecution in the shadow of others’ liberation.The Pink List, a new hour-long musical written and performed by Michael Trauffer, drags this horrifying history into the light. It tells the tale of Karl Hellwig, a composite fictional character whose life story is constructed from the real experiences of gay men in Germany during and following the war. The story is framed within the structure of a 1957 court trial in which Hellwig’s presence on the Nazi’s Pink List, still in use despite the year, near guarantees a guilty verdict. From his defendant’s chair he leads us through key moments in his life. The excellent free programme summarizes this forgotten and neglected history excellently, which has the unfortunate consequence of making the opening of the show feel rather repetitive and expositional. But as we grow to know Hellwig and care about his individual struggle, the narrative drive accelerates.The songs are not especially memorable but they serve the story brilliantly, pushing forward the plot to such an extent that the majority of them do not have clear endings but rather break off in interruptions as Hellwig notices something or someone and stops singing to begin his next action. Although this strategy adds to the songs’ lack of memorability, it also adds to their metaphorical impact. It creates an ominous, uncomfortable sense that whenever Hellwig is finally able to take some control of his life and be genuinely expressive, external factors once again conspire to crush him.Aside from a vital reassessment of historical context, Trauffer the writer has produced a story equally full of sadness, desperation, heart and hope. The script resonates with promise. I didn’t feel Trauffer the performer quite lived up to that promise. His characterization of Hellwig is sweet but largely ineffectual and he doesn’t portray in his voice or movement the depth and range of feeling demonstrated and demanded by his words. Nonetheless, there is an authenticity in his performance, I think in part related by his accent, in part by his proximity to the material, and in part by his genuine reverence for history.The set is sparse and the theatricality of the piece is cleverly enhanced by inventive use of voice recordings, crisp backing tracks performed by Sarah Morrison and really thoughtful costume changes.Overall a harrowing, necessary story captured in a moving script but Trauffer's multifaceted role as creator, book writer, composer and lyricist means his performance would perhaps be enhanced by more external direction.

It’s sixty years since Joe Orton’s The Ruffian on the Stair, was broadcast as a radio play and now his unmistakable style is brought to life by Edinburgh Graduate Theatre Group, (EGTG) at the The Royal Scots Club.Mike (Trevor Lord) and Joyce (Lois Williams) live together, unmarried, in a basic London flat, He describes himself as "derelict", though he looks quite smart. He’s a Roman Catholic, ex-boxer from Donegal who claims the dole while running people down for cash using his white van. Joyce is from London, an ex-prostitute and a Protestant. She spends her days at home, alone.One day there is a knock at the door. She opens it to find Wilson (Ollie Hiemann), a very attractive, very cocky young man she’s never seen before. He says he’s come about the room. There is no room. But by now he’s inside and taking control of the situation as Joyce becomes increasingly anxious in the face of threats. When he asks the whereabouts of Mike’s gun the tension is further raised. Then he decides to leave, having done no harm. Joyce relates the story to Mike who thinks she is over-reacting, but the lad returns, meets Mike and so a series of events unfold into the classic Orton black comedy full of sexual undertones, irreverence for social norms and contempt for death.There are fine performances all round. Williams captures the victimhood of a woman largely ignored and put down by Mike and abused by Wilson. Lord puts on a convincing Irish accent and knows exactly how to deliver Orton's outrageous comments with dead-pan sincerity, often fed by Joyce:Joyce: Have you got an appointment today?Mike: Yes, I'm to be at King’s Cross station at eleven. I'm meeting a man in the toilet.Joyce: You always go to such interesting places.With that clue, our suspicions about Mike are raised as soon as his lascivious eyes are set on Wilson. Together they perform an edgy scene on the sofa with Hiemann brilliantly playing the seducer with suggestive moves and alluring vocal tones. He is made for the part and many others that Orton created. Coincidentally, his birthday this week is on the same date as Orton’s death, and as an Edinburgh lad he does a convincing London accent.There is confident direction from Robert Wylie, who delivers black comedy production that reaches the heart of Orton’s style.

Three Edinburgh characters weave in and out of each other’s lives in Mark Hannah’s Athens of the North, premiering at the Hibernian Supporters Club, A play that confronts the ways in which areas are rapidly becoming commodified and gentrified, something of vital concern to people in the Club's surrounding neighbourhood of Leith.Fraser Scott directs the playwright’s solo performance in this stream of consciousness work set in the capital city over the course of a single day. With scenes from the past and present our characters reflect on what their home means to them while also looking to the future. Hannah vividly and energetically creates the three people. Alan’s a father who works all hours driving and delivering, but will he make it to his daughter’s big day in St Gile’s Cathedral. If you want to know what he sounds like, here’s a taster: "Edinburgh’s a village, eh. Villages’ dinny normally huv castles, palaces and parliaments though. But we do. And in villages, everybody kens everybody. Whether ye like it or no." All spoken by Hannah in the richest of local accents; a real joy to hear. Changing rapidly to a voice from around London he creates Liam, who has landed in Auld Reekie following a holiday romance. But has he made the right decision? As for Maureen’s, well she’s not what she was and her mind doesn’t function as it did in the old days. But what impact will the visitor who takes her for a walk have on her?Each has several scenes that are carefully interwoven into an episodic love-letter to Edinburgh; fond reminiscences of good times balanced by as many struggles; difficulties that had to be overcome and the people who created these moments. “Everything we were, everything we are, aun everything we’ve yet tae become”Hannah is an accomplished storyteller and performer whose talents shine through in this work. In the words of the Director, “The play feels like a night at the pub in all the best ways” and goes down very well with a wee dram.

The story of the ugly duckling is well-known; and entirely apposite for our strange times. Although somewhat preposterous that we have to keep banging the same drum in 2024, it seems that reminding ourselves to lay off the bullying and prejudice based solely on looking different has never been more important.First premiering in 1993, Stiles and Drewe's 'poultry' tale of life down on the farm is a catchy, witty and warm adaptation of Hans Christian Andersen's classic fairtyale.At the heart of the piece are Drake and Ida, eagerly anticipating the hatching of their chicks. But when one of the eggs turns out to be rather more of a honker than a quacker, a coming-of-age tale is unleashed that sees our ungainly hero pit his wits against a wily cat, freezing conditions and the doubts of his own family before being granted his happy ending.Cup and Dagger productions - under the direction of Sam Munday-Webb - have created a slick, clever and hugely entertaining piece which is one of the few shows you can take the entire family to and be guaranteed laughs, smiles, tears and engagement throughout.The cast multi-role a variety of characters with immediacy and some solid comic chops and there are some beautiful individual performances: notably a charming Alex Mather as the gawky and unloved Ugly. The melodies are all toe-tappers, and under the leaderhip of MD Alex Tester, the cast raise the roof with some high-energy numbers which pastiche a variety of Broadway genres. This is where the performers are at their very best: big set-pieces which showcase ambitious choreography and confident execution to excellent effect.Honk is an absolute banger (and banker) of a show; and the perfect way to start your Fringe day for children of all ages.

As the door to the auditorium opens, you walk barefoot onto a dark stage. The room is empty except for two chairs illuminated by a spotlight: the dancer sits on one, with the other directly across from her. Prepare to be seen in Lewis Major's Lien, a show that invites you to step into an intimate space where time stands still, awakening your consciousness as the noise of everyday life gently fades away.Dance is a form of performative art typically designed to be showcased in front of an audience. But, can a discipline dependent on an audience truly thrive without one? Lien challenges traditional preconceptions of what dance should be, emphasising that human connection and self-reflection are essential for any art form to truly exist.The dancer introduces herself, and through a few questions and a brief conversation, we start to get to know one another. We share a mutual love of dance as a grounding practice, appreciating it as an art form that fosters self-expression. Things quickly become personal as she asks when I last felt seen. I’m taken aback, realising I don’t even know the answer. Our modern lives demand a fast-paced lifestyle, filled with the hustle and bustle of ongoing pressures from work and daily responsibilities.She thanks me for sharing and asks to share a dance in return. Debussy’s Clair de Lune begins to play—a hauntingly beautiful classical piece that most audiences will recognise, even if they don’t know its name. This piano composition, rich with ethereal scales and romantic pangs, evokes a sense of reflective longing. The spotlight shines on the stage like moonlight, creating an enchanting atmosphere as the dance begins.It is a rare privilege to see a professional dancer up close, her body interpreting the music as she performs a solo. In that moment, she becomes a mirror to my inner thoughts, reflecting my emotions in her movements. The dance finishes. Two strangers, who may never meet again, have just shared a moment in time. As I step out the door and into the hallway, I check the time and notice it’s only been 15 minutes.There's something quite therapeutic about the whole experience. The fleeting connection through the dance feels almost surreal. Lewis Major’s Lien is a once-in-a-lifetime experience. A small but significant reminder of the beauty of transient connections.

A man lies on the stage, shirtless and wearing only jeans. In agony, he struggles to stand as his body jerks and contorts, dragging itself across the stage. It’s both painful and beautiful. A pole descends from above as if reaching out to him. He grabs hold, and suddenly it appears as though he can stand. Much more than that, he will soon fly. Paradisum is Hungarian contemporary circus company Recirquel’s latest production, more daring and poetic than anything you’ve experienced before. The show combines aerial and ground circus work with contemporary dance to portray the story of six beings in a fallen world. It’s hauntingly dystopian, simultaneously modern yet rooted in antiquity. The stage design is a work of art, with dramatic lighting that casts shadows and enhances the eerie atmosphere. Flashing lights add to the mystique, while the use of fabric and texture creates a captivating, otherworldly setting. The venue at Assembly Roxy, a former church, further amplifies the sense of darkness and otherworldliness. This thoughtful set design perfectly complements the impressive performances, leaving the audience in awe.Paradisum puts the human body on full display. The costumes, consisting of skin-tight shorts and tops, highlight every muscle in each dancer. Additionally, the unique lighting creates contrasts that accentuate every contour of the body, leaving nothing hidden. The result is a visceral admiration for the beauty of the dancers on stage.The six performers each showcase an impressive and unique array of skills, creating an astonishing display of strength and artistry. Their performances enhance the world-building, evoking a sensation of being suspended in time. This effect is achieved through the seamless transitions of movements and the complementary set design. In the room, the music is the only sound. The choreography is set to ethereal instrumental music, combined with powerful, brassy metallic sounds that create an immersive, unnerving atmosphere.There is much meaning to unpack from this show. It is confronting and conveys a sense of depth, even if the full context isn’t immediately clear. The performance reflects on the human condition, contrasting the frailty of life in a shattered world with the resilience of the human body. Throughout the show, you’ll witness the dark beauty inherent in it all—a world that is both distant and intimately close to our own. It is breathing, living, moving physical poetry.

Royal Conservatoire of Scotland’s MA MUsical Theatre Performance and Musical Directing students have taken the Fringe by storm, as always, with their nearly West End-level production of A Little Night Music.Sondheim is always a challenge, even for the professionals, but the students did an admirable job of keeping up with the material. If some lyric meanings got lost in the shuffle, the cast still conveyed a lot of the key emotions through their physical performances, and there’s no denying the stage was full of very strong singers. The various duets, trios, quintets, and more sounded really fantastic — particularly A Weekend in the Country, which rounded out Act I with incredibly high energy. The show was very well produced, with good pacing, beautiful orchestral accompaniment, and creative use of the limited props and set pieces available.Shane Ferris acting abilities as Frederik Egerman were very impressive, keeping the audience rooting for his character at all times despite many errors in judgement, and showing himself to be quite a match for the quick-paced musical numbers. Emi Kitagawa, as his wife, had a beautiful voice with operatic elements, although was perhaps not always up to the enunciation required. David Joseph Healy was a scene stealer as the Dragoon, encompassing his character so completely that even just taking a few steps across the stage had the audience in stitches. A further shout out to Jen Cassidy’s comedic chops, and Cate Brooks’ dynamic performance of The Miller’s Son.It’s great to see so much talent on stage — many of whom surely have bright futures ahead. They really did Sondheim justice!

Usually, the last thing the perpetually single friend wants to do is spend their time surrounded by happy couples, but with married comedy duo Alexander Cabana and Radostina Peteva, I felt I was in safe hands. This late-night hour of audience interaction and stand-up comedy provides an intimate evening in which our hosts dish out a wide - and humorous - range of dating advice for all the lonely hearts in the crowd.No stone is left unturned in this romantic hospital hour. From the perils of unrequited love to throwing up on your beloved’s trainers in the early days of your relationship, the couple sail through the trials of its audience with charisma and light-hearted banter, and rarely do a few moments pass without a decent laugh. For a stand-up comedian, opening the floor to your audience is always a risk. That risk increases when you give an audience member a microphone, as they do when it's clear they're playing to a crowd that gives as good as it gets. Still, the duo remains firmly in control, for example, one of the highlights of the evening comes from a wager in which Cabana saunters out of the room and into the adjoining bar, purchasing an audience member a drink in exchange for a dance-off between the two.Despite the breeziness of the set, which flies by as more of a familiar conversation than a one-way performance, I felt the conceptual strength of the show's framing may have benefitted from a more purposeful structure. Its moments of storytelling were engaging, and I would have liked to see them expanded upon, and the microphone and dance-off segments functioned as highly entertaining, but clearly impromptu, ways of breaking up the more relaxed elements of the show. Ultimately, however, the crowd is clearly rooting for the performers as much as they are for our love life, and overall the show is only strengthened by the spontaneity and versatility of its comics.

You know you’re in for a good night when the show hasn’t even started and Stamptown’s Dylan Woodley has the crowd raring to go with an electric pre-show roller-skating display. Whipping the audience into a frenzy is comedian Zach Zucker’s electric alter-ego Jack Tucker, who introduces Stamptown’s first act tumbling onstage festooned in a brassiere and dripping with sleaze. His comedy is predominated by lightning-quick riffs, sky-high production value and a masterful domination of the gaping stage space in this 750-capacity venue. Much of his magnetism stems from flirting with the power dynamics between audience and performer - something of which Tucker is all too aware, as he compels his audience to chant, whoop, get up out of their seats, and even thrice sing the Family Guy theme song on command, acapella, just because he can.Across the show’s ambitious one-and-a-half-hour run time the crowd is treated to the nail-biting thrills of Jacqueline Furey’s sword-swallowing, Zaki Musa’s pole acrobatics and Marshall Arkley’s fire-breathing whip-trick extravaganza, the brazen and creative nudity of which is one of many surprising and spectacular elements of the evening. Also with Huge Davies’ darkly comic synth melodies and Martin Urbano’s light-footed (if a little knotty) stand-up set, to name just a few of the acts, Stamptown’s frenzy crashes into its audience in wave upon wave. Thrown into the mix are kooky characters that come and go intermittently, such as Steffen Hånes’s cartoonish vampire parody, and Nick Kocher and Demi Adejuyigbe’s packed conspicuously into a trench coat like naughty little kids.Not once does Tucker drop the ball. More than eager to riff off his audience from the ‘United Kinglish’, he is all too keen to bring us directly into the crosshairs of the night. Whilst this ensures there is never a dull moment, Tucker’s bombast and brazen provocation is occasionally a tough act to follow, even as the show’s spectacular sound and light medley never lets up throughout. Still, for a madcap rocket-ride through some of the craziest that comedy and circus has to offer, it’s hard to see where else you’d call but Stamptown.

An Ivy league professor (Madeleine Potter) reveals herself to us in slices at Traverse Theatre. She is 53 years old, unmarried, no children. Sadly, suffering from stomach pains, she is diagnosed with stage 2 cancer, having malignant tumours. She describes watching her mother’s life ebb away at the age of 54 of neurofibromatosis. At the end, her mother did not even know her own name and was an unrecognisable shell of the woman she had known. Her own diagnosis would be devastating enough, without this emotional recall. As a creative writing practitioner at Yale, she understands the value of and need for structure. So when one of her students (Christopher, played by Eric Sirakian) pointedly refuses to follow edicts, she finds herself counter-intuitively drawn to his disruptive nature.He is a talented writer, albeit unconventional – he is clearly not a man of his era, sending letters and using a typewriter. He is also truculent, but she nonetheless remains intrigued and a friendship of sorts develops, possibly predicated on their mutual status of being outliers, neither of them having a surfeit of friends.He has an idea for a novel but without conventional structure. She encourages him. They have dinner and he confesses that he loved her novel, published 17 years previously. Christopher is significantly more interested in books than lovers, revealing his absence of tactility. But a moment follows, underlining his contrarian status, when he touches her face.Her diagnosis deteriorates: she has scant probability of survival. She researches assisted suicide, makes necessary arrangements, but needs a partner in crime to fulfil the act. She asks Christopher to help. While initially disconcerted, he agrees to co-operate if she reads his novella first. But will either of them prove to be good to their word? There is a touching denouement.Adam Rapp’s script is sharp and unusual. Matt Wilkinson’s direction simply gives Sirakian and the outstanding Potter space to develop their unconventional relationship, serving a metronomic function at the core of the production. The pace, initially slightly languid, goes through gears later.This is a fine production, dealing with loss, isolation and the notion that human beings can surprise and evolve.

For the first time this Fringe, I was in the front row for a comedy show. However insane this may make me sound, I love being in the front row for a comedy show, but as a reviewer, I never want to put anybody off if I’m writing notes. Luckily, Married At Fringe Sight is a show so funny and joyful that I didn’t need to take any notes. Instead, I just got carried away in the magic of it all.After scanning a QR code and filling in some answers to some dating questions, we meet our hosts, and co-founders of The Queer Comedy Club in London, David Ian and Jeremy Topp – both fabulously funny. It’s their task to pair up three sets of couples in the audiences, depending on the answers they gave to the questions they answered (some funny and some completely unhinged). The whole show is an hour of sharp crowd work and many of the audience members picked on were able to volley really well with David and Jeremy. When hosts are good at what they do, an audience feels comfortable and the level of comfort in the room is a testament to the talent of both comics onstage.Since every audience is different, that means every show is different. All I can say is if MAFS is as good every night as when I saw it, David Ian and Jeremy Topp have a real hit on their hands.

In his short but eventful life, Edgar Allan's Poe name became a byword for the Gothic horror stories which continue to entice and terrify readers nearly two centuries on. A master of storytelling, suspense, irony and imagery; Poe's ability to conjure dark worlds of visceral petrification is unmatched. He is the Godfather. The OG. The GOAT.Stephen Smith, himself no mean storyteller, recreates four of Poe's classic tales throughout the month: and the combinination of The Tell Tale Heart and The Pit and The Pendulum is inspired. In the first piece, we meet a madman, trying his hardest to convince us of his sanity, whilst explaining the meticulous details of a murder he committed. Smith slides from apparent normality to murderous intensity with an almost gleeful reverence for his actions; his psychological descent incrementally imagined with eerie and underplayed believability.The pressure is then cranked up in The Pit and The Pendulum, as a prisoner from the Spanish Inquisition pits his wits against a range of torture devices which test his mental state more than his physical. Here, Smith really gets to test his horror chops, seething and writhing with terror at his likely fate: eyes bulging, brow sweating, chest pumping.This is a particularly exhausting watch that brings an audience absolutely into the nightmarish world created by Poe and interpreted with gusto by Smith. We live each moment with the prisoner, seeing and feeling the hypnotic motion of the pendulum as surely as if we too were bound under its threatening movemention.The Fringe is never devoid of solo shows interpreting classic texts, but it would be hard to find one so absolute, committed, immediate and passionate in its delivery. And Riddle's Court is the perfect repository for such a gut-wrenching challenge to how our own imaginations connect with menace and torment.

One of the most famous classical poems of all times is the Iliad. Written by Homer in the 8th century BC, it deals with the events surrounding the legendary war between the Greeks and the Trojans (believed by some to be located in modern day Turkey). In Achilles, Death of the Gods, classicist Jo Kelan combines poetry with snatches of dialogue to provide a modern reworking of Homer’s epic poem in just forty-five minutes.The core of the story is the friendship between Achilles and the exiled Patroclus. While Homer left the exact nature of the relationship between the two ambiguous, pretty much every modern writer has tended to go with the idea that the two were lovers, something Kelan fully embraces in this version, and which makes perfect sense.With Achilles sitting on the sidelines after a row with Agamemnon over a captured girl, Patroclus insists on donning Achilles’ armour and going into battle, in his lover’s place, supposedly in order to inspire the Greek troops, but also to prove his honour. While this initially works, Patroclus gets carried away in the heat of battle and tragedy inevitably strikes. This causes Achilles to re-enter the fray, setting up an epic showdown with Hector.It’s an action-packed tale, and Kalen tells it well. With a simple set, consisting of a table and two bottles, she manages to grab the audiences’ attention and holds it for the entire duration. She also does a good job of telling the story of Breisis, a minor character, who is traded between the two Greek commanders like a token. In the hands of a lesser writer this might seem like a distraction, but in fact reinforces the central point of Kalen’s piece, the extent to which posturing and pride can fuel conflict, which ends up inflicting a cruel cost on all those unlucky to be caught within its crossfire.Overall, a strong production that has an important message.

Ava Beaux is no stranger to the Fringe, but this show feels like somewhat of a watershed moment for the captivating magician. Ava & Beaux: Tales of Magic incorporates her admirable skills as a master of magic with storytelling and character and the result is a charming, endearing and uplifting performance piece that cannot fail to put a smile on one's face.Ava performs with dedication and skill as she blends magic and the telling of tales with ease. Her connection with the audience is absolute as she brings us with her on her journey and realisation of her ambition, and one of my favourite things about Ava's performance style is that she shares in the wonder that she creates as a magician rather than presenting indulgent 'look, I tricked you' moments that all to often accompany magical feats.This is a show that is uniquely Ava's and it works. There is a definite skill to blurring the line between storyteller and magician at the same time as letting the audience into her process and how she arrived at the experience that she puts before us.Hers is an exciting talent that will no doubt grow into a magical stardom. So, make sure you see her now... in time tickets for her shows will be like gold dust.

Have you heard? Everybody is talking about the amazing show that hit the Fringe a couple of days ago. Forth Children’s Theatre has returned to the Edinburgh Fringe this year after last year’s incredible production of The Addams Family – A New Musical with Everybody’s Talking About Jamie: Teen Edition at Broughton High School, intending to absolutely slay the house down.With a book and lyrics by Tom Macrae, this story follows a boy named Jamie (played by the amazing Sam Carlin). All Jamie wants to do is become a drag queen, which is not quite as easy as it sounds, especially when you’re only sixteen years old and from Sheffield.Directed by Debs Anderson, this cast, all aged 12 to 18, presents this two-and-a-half-hour musical to a very high standard. It is evident that musical director, Falk Meier, worked closely with the cast and musicians to get as close as possible to the music Dan Gillespie Sells wrote for this show. As for the choreography by Taylor Doig, where do I even start? Doig presented choreography that helps explain emotions and the plot using the best of the students’ abilities. It is clear how Doig adapted their choreography, with hints from the West End production, to showcase everyone’s strengths.The level of detail in the lighting, designed by Callum Farrell and Andy Johnston, struck me. Most, if not all, of the actors hit their marks on stage, allowing the lighting to truly show off the emotions and personal thoughts of the characters. One of my favourite moments has to be He’s My Boy, sung by Margaret, where the lighting, though simplistic, accompanied by Maia Baxter’s amazing voice, sent chills down my spine. Another interesting lighting moment is the Act 2 opening, Everybody’s Talking About Jamie, where, even though certain soloists were not heard clearly because of their microphones not being turned up or their notes being a bit too low for their range, I could not resist smiling at the presentation on stage.As for the teenagers, all of the performers were absolutely brilliant. Harry Aspinall, who played Dean, was amazing at playing the bully of the show. Their acting skills truly shined, especially in the last scene. Maia Baxter’s voice texture is incredible, portraying emotions with remarkable skill for their age. Margaret’s best friend Ray is marvelously played by Eva Sutherland, whose comedic timing, voice, and movements are extraordinary. Hugo, or rather, Loco Chanelle, played by Corin Wake, was absolutely jaw-dropping. Wake made the whole audience burst out with laughter and adore the marvelous human that Hugo is. On the whole, this cast is full of stars in the making.This show was absolutely marvelous and a spectacle to watch. I will definitely be going back to see more of what Forth Children's Theatre have to offer.

Sex, Camp and Rock and Roll is an uninhibited hour of cabaret starring Ryan Patrick Welsh aka the 8th best legs in San Fransisco. Accompanied by a live band and two 60s back-up singers Ruby Day and Sharon Shao (aka ‘The C*nts’) Welsh delivers a highly tantalising performance.The show opens with the promise of a “delicious and potentially nutritious exploration of sex, camp and rock n’ roll” in a musical cabaret fantasy. Interspersing the songs with numerous sex gags and confessional musings on their life, the show takes many forms, with Welsh as our guide. They explore their love of feminine figures growing up (including the likes of Fran Dresher and Donna Summer) through performing their songs and sharing the personal anecdotes behind them. Shoulder pads, glitter, sequins, show tunes, choreography and headdresses pepper the show with a flamboyant spice, encouraging the audience to dance, sing and whoop along.The first half is incredibly upbeat and the trio articulate the campy music with their sharp and sassy dance moves. The cast charge in with crude jokes that sometimes miss the mark but add to the playful energy of the show. True, it’s explicit and vulgar, but you wouldn’t be there if you expected any less. Welsh himself initially adopts a diva persona; however, as the show develops, they gradually start to peel back the layers and divulge their experience as a young gay boy before becoming a sex worker. Welsh touches on topics that are not often talked about with regards to sex work, which makes for eye opening monologues that challenge the audience’s preconceptions. These moments are followed by slow, lyrical songs that are performed with such heart and vulnerability it is beautiful to watch. The pacing, however, doesn’t feel quite right, and there need to be some more injections of energy into the second half. This could be achieved by shortening the sections of text and adding in another up-beat musical number.Sex, Camp and Rock and Roll is not for the faint hearted, and nor should it be. Welsh pours their emotion, campiness and charisma all over the stage, producing a rollercoaster ride of a production.

For lovers of absurdist theatre, A Play by John at theSpace @ Surgeons’ Hall is not to be missed. The production comes courtesy of MULE, a theatre company made up of two actors, Marc Wadhwani and Jules Smekens, whose work in the last three years has included plays, short films, seven contemporary dance projects and a nomination at the Barcelona Choreoscope Festival.They take on the roles of Matteo and Reggie who are engaged in constructing coffins in preparation for taking their own lives. Hence, the stage is converted into a workshop, an enclosed space that heightens their isolation and the inescapability of their situation. One coffin, to the side, is finished and ready to take the taller of the two lads, who tries it for size. The second is still under construction, with much banging of nails and checking of measurements. Their conversations sound rational and sincere, yet couched, as they say, in ‘similar lingual tones to Beckett’s Godot and Pinter’s Dumb Waiter’. And why not draw on the masters of this form? That said, this is not a copying of anything by either of those playwrights, but rather an original piece cleverly rooted in the absurdist genre and performed with considerable skill.The impending doom is suspended as the action focuses on the preparations that have to be made for their demise. The language is light, conversational, at times interrogative and, of course, the subject matter is taken seriously and with earnest intent, harking towards black comedy. There are the all-important pauses and moments of bewilderment as the trivial takes on significance. But in the midst of this there are the underlying themes of identity and trust and authority and power against a backdrop of political turmoil and societal unrest in which it is becoming increasingly difficult to know what to believe.Will our characters complete their challenge and move on, or are they just trapped in A Play by John.

Bob Marley is often overlooked when listing the great freedom fighters of our time. Duane Forrest’s storytelling places Marley firmly among the legends as the man who single-handedly brought a tiny Caribbean island into the world’s spotlight and gave a voice to generations of Black immigrants.Duane Forrest was born to carry on Bob Marley’s legacy to new audiences. Growing up in Scarborough, Ontario, as the son of Jamaican immigrant parents, he faced challenges in a tough, predominantly white neighbourhood. His struggle with identity connects his life to Marley’s.Forrest is an exceptional storyteller, educator, minister and human being. His unique sound blends jazz, reggae, soul and smooth vocals. Where others might shout, he whispers, adding his own distinctive touch to Marley’s hits.The show provides an intimate and thought-provoking complement to the energetic West End musical Get Up, Stand Up! The Bob Marley Musical. Acoustic versions of Marley’s hits focus on the message, while the gentle sing-along format beautifully immerses the audience in the soulful melodies and transformative power of reggae.Even for a seasoned reggae fan like me, who has had the privilege of seeing The Wailers live, the show offered new insights into reggae’s early days and societal influences. Those less familiar with reggae learn the key concepts from "irie" to Mount Zion and Babylon. As Duane Forrest said, "Reggae is much more than smoking weed."Duane Forrest’s smile could light up a stadium, let alone the intimate venue where he performed. His warmth and positive vibes captivated us all. Even though I saw the show’s preview, I wouldn’t change a single note. You’ll get to sing along to your favourite Bob Marley songs and some surprise numbers influenced by reggae music, while learning about reggae as a cultural phenomenon. My all-time favourite, Redemption Song, provides a touching finale to this outstanding show.Did reggae change the world? Perhaps not, as the songs are as topical today as they were forty years ago. But it certainly changed Duane Forrest’s life and helped him believe in his dreams. So the magic of Bob Marley lives on. The show left me feeling so irie that doctors should prescribe it as an antidepressant.

What do you get when you combine blues with burlesque? A sad stripper? A naked blues singer? At the Blues and Burlesque cabaret, the answer is a delightful cocktail of Pete Saunders’ bluesy notes mixed with the saucy showgirl striptease of Belle de Beauvoir. Or, as they call it, a suburban swinger’s party.Pete Saunders is best known as the keyboard player from Dexy’s Midnight Runners, but for the past twenty years, he has also been performing blues and burlesque shows in London and on fringe circuits worldwide. His original music, with its bluesy rhythms, forms the backbone of Blues and Burlesque.Saunders’ gritty voice and rhythmic piano style stretch from jazz and swing to New Orleans blues. The perfect complement to him is Belle de Beauvoir, the sparkling diamond of burlesque, who combines the elegance of Montmartre courtesans with the allure of 1950s pin-ups. The show is a well-produced combination of stand-up comedy, music, and cabaret. The main narrative revolves around the would-be/could-be relationship between Saunders and Beauvoir, with witty banter and continuous innuendos. A very relatable highlight is their duet about a bad relationship, where even the other person’s breathing is intolerable. Despite arguing like an old couple, their mutual respect and affection is evident throughout the show.Between Beauvoir’s numerous costume changes, Saunders performs excellent solo blues numbers. When singing together, Saunders’ rasp creates an intriguing contrast with Beauvoir’s Betty Boop sound. A classic Lady and the Tramp pairing. Even thought there were no guest appearances on the night of the review, the charismatic couple need no assistance to entertain the audience.The showstopper of the evening was something you’d never expect at a burlesque show. Just to give you a hint: it involves Beauvoir dressed as a hairy animal with tassels and the audience chucking things at her. I’ll let your imagination do the rest. Evidently, they don’t take themself too seriously.The gorgeous Voodoo Rooms provided an intimate and nostalgic ambiance, reminiscent of the charm of yesteryear, which perfectly complemented the show's theme. Blues and Burlesque is a recommendation for anyone looking for a classy night of sensual entertainment, humour and exceptional talent.

Tucked away under the busy streets of Edinburgh is a cellar bar that will make you feel like you’ve teleported to Andalusia. The stage is small, with just enough space for a cajón, a guitar, and an old wooden piano at the back. In this intimate setting and relaxed atmosphere, you feel like you’re among friends. Flamenco is about more than just the music. It’s a visceral experience, best appreciated when seen live.Danielo Olivera steps onstage to a roar of applause. He picks up the guitar, and as he plays the first few chords, a flamenco dancer joins him. There are numerous voices at work in the performance. You have the distinct sound of the guitar and the voice that sings and whistles. Then, there is the dancer who communicates with the guitar through movement. Her expression is mesmerizing as the songs reach their crescendo. She claps and uses her whole body as an instrument. Her shoes have metal nails in the heel and toe that strike the floor, creating a rhythm to match the melody. There are also the castanets for one song. This tiny hand-held percussion instrument is so well known yet rarely encountered. All these components together create a mix of emotions ranging from melancholy to happiness to longing and desire, all at once. As I watched, I felt the emotions bubbling inside me. My chest suddenly became a mirror reflecting life. It is masterfully complex. And you do not need to know Spanish to enjoy or feel it. Halfway through the show, Danielo shared his journey with flamenco and its deep emotional and therapeutic meaning throughout his career. Stories about the different styles of the songs and stories of his wife and their life together beautifully accompany the music. You can feel the collective sweat in the room. The passion and energy delight and engage all senses. It’s intimate, cathartic, therapeutic, and everything flamenco should be. At the end of the show, there was a small surprise. Daniel Martinez, a well-known flamenco guitar virtuoso, came onstage, and a cajón player soon joined them. Together, all four artists created something unique, elevating an already excellent show to new heights. But 2Flamenco is more than just about the music. It feels like a celebration of friendship and art––a love letter to Spain.

Brett Epstein is alone on stage. Or is he?We enter Surgeons’ Hall venue to find a table on stage. We are asked to submit a question to Brett, anything at all.He takes the stage - a bundle of nervous, but charming, energy.A 30-something LGBTQ+ New Yorker, he presents to a sizeable audience a cross-section of his life. He shares aspects of his romantic life, his acting achievements and aspirations. He has had co-starring television roles many times, but, such is human nature, desires more. His romantic life has been complicated. He talks us through some Hinge conversations – the self-professed “dating app designed to be deleted”. He goes on to tell us that his desires for the bedroom are “mildly kinky”. The details are delivered honestly, exposing Brett’s humorous but humanistic qualities. He was bullied in his youth, but wants to forgive. Although secretly you suspect some reckoning would be also welcome.His rapid-fire, high octane delivery is relentless, barely pausing for breath, his physicality always interesting. Is he direct or intense? His relationship with his nephew offers a glimpse of family life, but deep down, like most of us, he wants to be loved.He concludes the show by taking three random questions prepared by the audience- as a result, we learn his ultimate sexual fantasy. Brett is charming, funny, perhaps has neuroses, appears prone to seeking approval, but he bares his soul, truthfully and eloquently. He is most definitely not alone after all.

I used to have a difficult relationship with Into The Woods; as someone who primarily watches musicals at Fringe, where it is often cut to just the first act, I have felt like I’ve never had the proper experience of seeing it; or whatever was going on with the film. I am so happy that Bare Productions provided the excellent introduction to the classic Sondheim musical. In the audience, I was surrounded by folks bopping along to every beat of the musical and it ended in a well deserved standing ovation.It is a testament of the skill of the local actors and creatives from Bare Productions, who have been honing their craft from their days in am-dram to the semi professional position they are now in. They have grown into the deft performers they are today. It's also a testament to Edinburgh’s theatrical landscape that it acts as an incubator for this development. Into the Woods is an adaptation of a number of Brothers Grimm's fairy tales, with some added original characters all happening in the same lille community, where a Witch is causing trouble for the locals. The infamously difficult Witches Rap was performed by Felicity Halfpenny with total clarity. It’s a show that could ride or die on the Witch casting, she provides the moral complications of the show and has to carry the conflict of act two. Halfpenny rose to the occasion brilliantly.The cast need serious commendation for coming to grips with the challenging verbose score with such aplomb and grace. Harrison Owens as Jack did a fantastic job with Giants In the Sky, maintaining a child's gushing sense of excitement but never rushing.The real revelation for me was Ethan Baird as Baker. These characters have been cut out of fairy tales, so they have a tendency to be seen as 2D, and that was before James Cordon got a hold of the role. Baird's performance was nuanced and found a depth to Baker that I have never seen in the character. He navigates the tragedies of the second act with honesty and vulnerability.It was a delight to see actors who were both totally disciplined when it came to the score, yet also relaxed onstage, able to seemingly vamp and improvise in comfort - bringing new life to an old text. It takes excellent direction to achieve both of those at the same time. Director Domninic Lewis has put together a powerhouse production.The reason it’s not the full perfect five stars was there were a few tech flubs that I was not expecting to see so late into a run, missing singers voices, microphone feedback, and actors not in the light. Not to mention some accidentally, unbalanced stage pictures. There were a couple of points where I could not follow what was happening in setting up, and Sonheim is notoriously wordy, and I didn’t have the knowledge of the musical to fall back on. Also I was disappointed the set wasn't taken more advantage of.I cannot wait for what comes next for Bare Productions as they swiftly rise to local legends.

Ripper is a bloody good rock musical. Do you dare to delve into the mind of a killer, the detective hunting him, and one of his victims? Pete Sneddon's Ripper is a psychological thriller centred on Victorian London's most infamous murderer. The chilling reality is that Ripper could be anywhere, he could be anyone and he might be after you.Staged at the intimate 'black box' venue at the Hill Street Theatre, Ripper returns for its second year at the Edinburgh Festival Fringe. Set in 1880s Whitechapel, the 90-minute rock musical explores the societal trauma of the era, weaving a tale that is both thrilling and emotionally resonant. Reflecting on his own traumatic experiences, Pete Sneddon transforms them into a mental autopsy of a madman, examining the terror he inflicts on the community.The narrative follows police detective Frederick Abberline in his desperate pursuit of justice. The story adds layers of tension and suspense as he attempts to catch the elusive killer and protect his beloved Mary, a prostitute. As Abberline chases the madman, his sanity begins to unravel. The production's minimal staging complements the gripping storyline and powerful performances, allowing your imagination to work its magic.The dynamic cast breathes life into the chilling story of Jack the Ripper. While Colin McGowan delivers a convincing performance as a sergeant, the three lead actors truly shine. Stephen Kerr excels as the lovelorn detective Fred, and Belle Quinlan captivates as his love interest, Mary. Belle’s ability to convey strength, deep despair, and fragility in her character is outstanding.The stage electrifies every time Alex Lyne steps onto it as the manic Jack the Ripper. Heavy rock musical numbers perfectly capture his raging temper and uncontrollable urges. If Alex ever retires from acting, he could have a promising future as a heavy rock frontman. The production borrows from modern popular culture in its musical choices and character development, while also maintaining the gothic gloom of the Victorian era. It’s an unholy union of Phantom of the Opera and Dexter.The talented cast, combined with Sneddon's captivating music and lyrics, creates a must-see theatrical experience ready for larger venues. Themes of trauma, isolation, fear, suppressed urges, and mental health feel more topical than ever. By the end of the show, you're left with an unsettling thought: could there be a Ripper inside us all?

If you haven't seen 1927 before, you should do so – their productions are magical. The story for this show is based on Suzanne Andrade's (writer and director) own childhood experiences of her father's time in prison. Tackling this topic from the point of view of the children and parents, with sympathy and deep understanding, is unusual; and a much welcomed expansion of empathy.In famous 1927 style the show does not use sets but instead the actors perform against an animated projection. The result is to combine film animation with theatre. Warning: this summary does not do justice to the elegance, ingenuity, surprise and delight of the effects created!Add to this, the company has a consistent ability to find remarkably talented performers. The actors are simply brilliant – singing, dancing and creating a rapport with the audience, while always remaining on ‘spike’ (being correctly lined up with the projection). And on my rough count the four actors must play well over 30 characters between them.This show is suitable for both adults and children (recommended 10+). It would not be suitable for younger children as there is an unnerving sinister side – the audience enters to be greeted by two silent, unhappy children and a black and white all-seeing pulsing eye. This relates to the subplot involving a fictional (I hope!) school for the children of prisoner inmates which is used as a device to highlight society’s contrasting attitudes to the criminal ‘underclass’ and their children. Parents also need to bear in mind the show is long – 1 hour 45 minutes, including a short interval.The show is based around the tall stories the father writes to his young daughter and son from prison as a way of keeping engaged with his children while insulating them from the truth of his absence, and as a means of mental escape for himself. In contrast, the monochrome school and its agent emphasise 'the useful' and despise the colourful imaginations of the children.Fortunately, there is a happy ending – although the finale is tempered with a pointed sense of realism. This is not Disney: in the end, the world is not made better; instead, the family must deal with the hand they have been dealt through the power of imagination and love – and at least for moments, they find that this is enough.

With 45 minutes to complete as many sketches as they can, Arran Kemp and Conor Mather (aka. The Milky Pigeons) are Running Out of Time! With quick-fire quips, the pair tousle their way through sketches old and new, wrapping up bitesize, short-form comedy in an Edinburgh Fringe-sized package.Addressed directly to the audience, the show is packed with energy from start to finish. They play with structure and form, constantly breaking the fourth wall by constructing and correcting the sketches as they go. Some even go wrong (intentionally) and the duo bicker between themselves as to how to keep the audience engaged. At times, this push and pull slightly distracts from the thrust of the show—it is a trope that many comedy duos rely on, but can sometimes result in blocking the performers (disobeying the golden ‘yes, and’ rule). Nevertheless, the caricature personas created by Kemp and Mather are ripe for laughs. The ambitious Kemp tries to steer the show, leaving Mather’s dopey character in the lurch feeling rather sorry for himself. This dynamic, a firm favourite in the comedy world, is brought to life with vim and vigour, showcasing Kemp and Mather’s aptitude for live performance.The sketches themselves are dripping in irony, made even more hysterical when the pair reveal their ‘deep’ hidden meaning. Topics range from comedy classics to far wackier Milky Pigeon signatures which cleverly plays with the audience’s expectations. Some of the best moments arise in sketches that have less dialogue, especially when miming and interpretive dancing. Kemp and Mather are brilliant at physical comedy, using clowning techniques to sensitively respond to the audience’s energy. Always embracing sillyness, their urinal sketch left me in stitches.Katie Tuson is an accomplished director, giving the show structure and momentum. Though the pace could improve even further by making transitions between the sketches snappier and shortening a couple of the longer scenes, the tongue-in-cheek, mad-cap style makes time fly and keeps the audience engaged.We see a lot of stand up and sketch comedy at the Fringe that can often make ones eyes roll. What sets The Milky Pigeons apart is their authenticity in the face of the ever-increasing commercialisation of theatre that results in cringe-inducing performances. Wonderfully silly and charismatic, Running Out of Time! will truly brighten your day.

Reconnect Theatre’s Doped at the Hill Street Theatre is a fascinating and delightfully crazy study of the relationship between three guys that questions the nature of friendship, the bounds of loyalty and how far you can push people before they crack.Talking of which, it’s also a drug-fuelled 55-minutes of delightful Scottish patter, worth seeing if only to hear the richness of the broad accents and breadth of vocabulary. There are also fine performances in this play, co-written by Sam Stuart Fraser and Sean Fullwood. Adding to the talent is Director Pete Sneddon who says he wanted to create ‘a new, classic format of situational British comedy, in the style of Still Game or Bottom’. And it works. The story is simple. Faolan and Tinny share a pad, two characters well-crafted and contrasted by Kieran Lee-Hamilton and Sam Stuart Fraser respectively. Faolan is bright, went to university and has a job. Tinny is dim, finds words difficult and has a brain that ticks at the pace of a snail. They form a classic comic double-act and each knows how to play the role to maximum effect. Enter Buzz, played with a raging whirlwind of revolutionary energy by Xander Cowan. Although he abandoned alcohol as an undermining product of the establishment, his consumption of weed and LSD has led him into a world of demons and imaginary figures that only a revolution can wipe out. With all the passion of a firebrand preacher he proclaims his good news about overturning the system, believing himself to be the harbinger of Armageddon. In reality he is just a paranoid drug dealer whom Faolan sees through but Tinny falls for.On one of his zealous highs he lets it slip that all his money is stored in his dad’s garden shed. Is this an opportunity too good to miss for either of the boys? But what to do? By the end, each has had his own personal apocalypse and established relationships are turned on their head.Underpinning the play are much broader issues. As Sean Fullwood says, “Stoners are stereotyped and often dismissed members of society… Mental health problems and addiction are sky high. Homelessness is on the rise. Extremism is rising on every side.” Doped shines a comedic light on these issues and is a splendid piece of theatre.

This is an astonishing dance performance. The three masked men, almost naked, use their bodies to create visions, dreams, and nightmares of primal shapes - or humans as machines, or blinded or stupefied creatures, all combined with fully intelligent, aware, exhilarating dancing.The dancers (Kuan-Ling Lee, Kuan-Ying Ong and Chien-Tao Liao) have incredible discipline and miraculous synchronisation as they flow from movement to movement, mirroring each other, or creating complex sculptures of interdependent movements. Sometimes the bodies transform into bewildering mechanisms, reminiscent of surreal versions of ancient ballistas or boat swings or something Da Vinci might have dreamt up.The music has a recurrent soundscape of bass synths and drums similar to the music in the film Arrival, yet there is a variety of music and tone as changes in the music mark the commencement of new perspectives or stages of the dance.A sense of progression can be detected; the spectacle moves from primordial slime, to developing the use of limbs as tools, to caterpillar shapes, to figures reminiscent of classical sculptures of Laocoön. There are sequences of elegance and grace, as the creatures become individuals and then develop awareness of the external world and even of the audience. The creatures develop awareness of the music and begin to dance to the beat. Near the conclusion of this ‘ascent of man’ we move to machine-age tyranny where the dancer's movements are controlled externally and they are drilled to exhaustion.The choreographer, Po-Hsiang Chuan, was inspired by notions of entanglement, pathological interdependence and external validation and the notion of life-cycles, and these themes swell and fall throughout the performance.In the final stages we have journeyed from the frenetic drives of evolution and the psychological costs of technology to the show's final movements of community, peace and transcendence.

There’s a minimum of physical stage dressing, stripped-back costumery, and only a couple of pieces of equipment in Circa’s Humans 2.0. That lack of adornment only highlights the power of the physical performance on display in this excellent hour of acrobatics, where the lines between gymnastics and contemporary dance blur to a thumping soundtrack.The performers switch between ensemble pieces and high-flying individual sections, throwing each other around and defying gravity in continuously impressive feats of physicality. The pace is relentless, and the execution of the action very rarely falls short of excellent. Although much of it is played with a very straight face, there are welcome moments of levity mixed into the action too.While the flips, handstands and spinning swing work are impressive, the trust that the cast displays for each other is remarkable. There are no safety nets or soft landings on offer as people are flung around in some of the most extravagant and high-stakes games of a leg and a wing that you are likely to see in your lifetime. Bodies are thrown and caught as trust is rewarded, allowing the performance to become more than the sum of the people taking part in it. Much like the impressive human towers that they create, the effect of their combined efforts is striking.Gymnastics has a long and storied history in entertainment. "It is well known that the exercises of jumping and vaulting in the air are not only demonstrations of great physical skill but also prized entertainments,” wrote the Renaissance big-shot tumbler Archange Tuccaro in the 16th century. It turns out what was true in 1599 is just as true in 2024. Humans 2.0 is by turns impressive, thoroughly engaging, and well worth seeing.

It’s a lot to impress me with comedy songs. Growing up, Tom Lehrer set the bar for me very high and I’ve seen my fair share of duds over the years at the Fringe. I’m happy to report that not only is Chris Tavener is Faking Cool a great show, but Chris Tavener himself is spectacular. Entering with a guitar, sunglasses and something very James Dean-coded about him, Tavener is absolutely at home on that stage (even if his internal monologue says otherwise). From here, Tavener treats us to songs that are not only funny, but are genuinely good songs. I found myself humming one or two that evening after the show. From millennial travellers to his thoughts regarding iPhones and Samsungs, there's something in this show that will make everybody laugh. Tavener dealt with a few rowdy interruptions on his final night at The Space with huge professionalism, seemingly something that may stump even some stand-up comedians. He may be faking cool, but Chris Tavener has a huge future in this business.

Grab your parents, siblings, aunts, uncles, neighbors, and goldfish, and go buy your tickets for the Edinburgh University Savoy Opera Group’s production of The 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee at Paradise at Augustines as soon as you can. This heart-warming, hilarious, and spell-tacular musical has come to the Fringe to sell out completely.Brilliantly directed by Beth Cunningham and Hunter King, this production presents six children, played by fully grown adults, competing in their county spelling bee competition with hopes of making it to the final. The hilarious book by Rachel Sheinkin, accompanied by William Finn’s lyrics and compositions, promises a two-hour spectacle for all watching. You can tell how much work Cunningham and King have put into this show together with Emily Paterson, the musical director, and Amelia Brenan, the choreographer.On stage, we see each of the characters disclose their funny and touching stories about their home lives while dealing with the stress, embarrassing moments, and sad experiences of growing up. We cannot forget to mention the three adults running this competition, who are as humorous and loveable as the children.The lighting and sound design by Lewis Eggeling and Amelia Brenan were also spectacular, despite a few mishaps typical of live shows, such as performers missing their marks and a few late mic cues. Costumes by Eva Mortensen truly showcased the performers' characters on stage, completing the puzzle piece to this production.The performers were exceptional to the point where it was hard to choose who to follow. Every character was presented so clearly to the audience. We cannot ignore the brilliant depth of Olive Ostrovsky, played amazingly by Richeldis Brosnan. Her song in Act Two, The I Love You Song, brought tears to my eyes. You cannot help but fall in love with her character as soon as she steps on stage. Ollie Hiemann’s rendition of Douglas Panch was so intricate; you can tell how much time he spent understanding the character’s intentions and development in the show.This show is a spell-tacular blast of a musical, relatable to anyone watching in one way or another. The audience interaction and inclusion of the band during the show truly make this musical one not to be missed.

Leah Coloff is an impressive musician. David Bowie, Iggy Pop, Debby Harry all thought so when she played with them and so did the judges who recently awarded her a Grammy, but her show, Super Second Rate, at theSpace@Surgeons’ Hall, tells another side of her story.Complete with cello, Coloff bursts into a frantic pizzicato introduction of repeated staccato statements proclaiming “I was. I am” and many more. After the initial frenzy the New Yorker, who was raised in the Pacific Northwest, launches into the story that merges her career with revelations about her family. Her father passed away in 2000 and the old hoarder's basement is now the focus of a major clear-out. Coloff casually accompanies the narration with appropriately matched sounds and music and even the occasional song in her fine soprano voice. Her words paint a picture of the cellar and no doubt strike a chord with many who have a similarly cluttered room in their homes. It’s a den of furniture, old lamps, a piano, suitcases, costumes, a slide projector and many other items that form the accumulated detritus of life. Her father kept drafts of the letters he sent; a memoir of his life as a cello teacher. One is about Leah addressed to her music teacher, which she reveals at the appropriate time in her chronologically structured show. It comes as a shock. Even though her relationship with her father was usually strained. He had put in writing that she did not have what it takes to be a professional musician; that the teacher was effectively wasting her time, as Leah would never come to anything. She's proved the old perfectionist wrong, however, going on to work with contemporary composers including Philip Glass, Ted Hearne, Joel Thome, Sean Friar and Michael Gordon. She says the implicit rules in her family were: “Play music! Be better than other people at music! But be humble, don’t act like you’re special! Just be better and special, but with humility!” “Super Second Rate,“ she says, “put that aside in favour of being yourself and doing what you want in the way you want to do it. That’s better!”She tells the amusing story of how the show got its name in a performance that has contrasting moments of hope and despair but is personal and unusual; presented both as an autobiography and a mini concert.

Cringe Effect unfolds in a Portland Anorexia Rehabilitation Centre where Ce, a long-time anorexia struggler, confides in her audience about her treatment journey. It is worth mentioning at the outset that this is - as one might expect - very, very strong stuff and may trigger. But it is also affirming, inspirational and, perhaps more surprisingly, very funny. Ceceilia Marshall is magnetic as Ce: initially all toothpaste smiles and wholesome girl-next-door vibes. She talks us through scenes of her life with a shrewd and engaging eye for the ridiculous. This includes sessions at her recovery centre, where the narrative is deftly drawn to tempt the audience into conspiracy with the control which lies at the heart of her illness. Once a carefree little girl with silly pastimes and a loving - if somewhat too focused on perfection - family; before long, anorexia has its grip on Ce's life, inveigling its way into every interaction and activity; every sleeping and waking moment. Marshall switches between playing Ce and creating a succession of saccharine therapists, well-meaning family and friends, and even the embodiment of anorexia with ease. And these caricatures and the humour woven into the self-deprecatory narrative not only lift the piece from becoming too preachy, but deepen the sense of sadness that Ce's outwardly cheery persona is protecting. This is a brave and brutal piece which blends fantasy and fact with confidence and charm. And theatre is perhaps the perfect medium through which to share the bruising realities of a disorder characterised by artifice, pretence and discipline; the layers of performance truth mirroring the constant grapples with acknowledgement, deceit, and rehabilitation.

Writer and performer Ed Saunders-Lee presents the remarkable untold true story of his step-grandfather, Special Operations Executive (SOE) agent John Cox MC in the charming solo show, I Am Yours Sincerely, at theSpace Triplex.SOE was known as ‘Churchill’s Secret Army’ or ‘The Ministry of Ungentlemanly Warfare’ whose members conducted covert operations behind enemy lines. Cox, a member of the renowned Jedburgh team, parachuted into enemy territory to collaborate with local resistance groups, carrying out reconnaissance and espionage missions under the motto “Surprise, Kill, Vanish”.This compelling one-man play chronicles Cox’s journey from a university student to war hero, complete with daring escapades under the constant fear of being discovered. A contrasting parallel saga tells of how he found love in the midst of the dangers that surrounded him. The script incorporates Cox’s own words from interviews, memoirs, and letters he wrote during his service, which he always signing them off with the respectful line, ‘I am your sincerely.’Saunders-Lee, a recent graduate of the Guildford School of Acting, embarked on writing this piece as a tribute to his step-grandfather. He carried out extensive historical research with visits to museum exhibitions, exploration of the SOE archives and extensive background reading. It’s a highly informative memoir. Accuracy and attention to detail shine through the play, but it is the charm of his storytelling that makes this a moving and endearing production. He knows how to engage with his audience by deploying looks, a smile and even tears. His eyes penetrate and he breaks up the narrative with well-timed pauses and changes of mood and tempo along with sequences of movement and physicality.I Am Yours Sincerely is a fitting tribute to his brave relative and his comrades in SOE that is also filled with hope for a more peaceful future thanks to thier service and sacrifice.

Working Progress Collective is ‘a Midlands-born theatre company, making theatre for, by and with working class communities’. Sessions, written and directed by Sam Bates, at Zoo Playground, is a fine example of how that mix can make for topical, relevant and powerful theatre.The new government’s assessment of the situation they inherited, is that our prison system is in crisis, because the courts choose to incarcerate more offenders than can be accommodated in what are notoriously schools for criminals; rehabilitation is a more positive option.George (Adam Halcro) managed to avoid a custodial sentence. Instead he was given community service for his violent crimes, partly because he was only 17 at the time. Another condition of his sentence was to be placed under the supervision of a care worker for weekly counselling sessions.He turns up for his first session with David (Naytanael Benjamin) and the contrast between the two could not be more pronounced. George is hyper-active, aggressive and foul-mouthed. David has heard it all before. He sits calmly and listens to the tirade until a term of homophobic abuse slips out and he puts his foot down. George is surprised, but begins to realise that he’s not going to get it all his own way. As the sessions progress he becomes more relaxed and we learn of his troubled background, but also his talents as a footballer. We also discover that the otherwise seemingly untroubled David has demons of his own. They emerge gradually and a subtle change in the balance of power occurs.Halcro’s performance is packed with energy and anger. Some scenes feel violent but he is no threat and also engages in quieter more reflexive moments until his final magnificent outpouring of emotion, which leaves him shaking. Halcro treads a calmer path as befitting his role. He is softly spoken, compassionate and understanding as he calmly elicits responses from George. But he too has his moment when everything he has been bottling up finally has to be released.Session runs the gamut of modern social issues: homophobia, substance and sexual abuse, toxic masculinity, trauma and violence are all met head on, often with the offensive language that accompanies them. It is certainly a play for our day and makes a powerful case-study contribution to the debate about reforming young offenders, as early release programmes are announced. It’s a work of fiction rooted in contemporary reality.

A palliative ward in a hospice is hardly a cheery portent for an afternoon at the Fringe. This was a charming piece, however,Two men are approaching the end of their days. Henry’s son, Justin, visits him frequently, dealing with a myriad of emotions. There is the obvious pain of watching his father slip away, but he is also wounded that his father kept details from him for so long. This triggers a memory muscle from his childhood. He has also recently split from his wife. Hamish’s daughter, conversely, relocated to South Africa and is not in touch. We meet medical practitioners, tasked with making their final days as comfortable as possible under the circumstances. One of the nurses, Bronwyn, is deeply empathetic. She is also something of a singer/songwriter, or more specifically used to be. Justin hears her voice and something stirs within him.Henry has a treasured life journal, a battered book containing hitherto deeply private thoughts spanning his decades. Upon hearing of Bronwyn’s prowess, he commissions her to write a collection of songs about his life. Her brief has two potentially difficult conditions: the final song should be sung when he is passing and she is not to disclose the project to Justin.She sets about this task, her song-writing memory muscle twitching once again, after her self-imposed hiatus of a decade. The songs, accompanied by guitarist Jon Lawrence, are an uplifting joy, offering a counter-point to the sadness of the environment.Meanwhile, Henry unexpectedly engineers a lovely final act of kindness for Hamish.There had been an embryo of a romantic relationship brewing between Justin and Bronwyn; this is cast into doubt when Justin stumbles upon the album project. He is suddenly suspicious of Bronwyn and is rapidly, perhaps a little too rapidly, angered. This is, however, transference; his frustration lies with his father’s propensity for privacy. There is a highly moving denouement.The play is well constructed, nuanced with light and shade and successfully sidesteps mawkish sentimentality. The performances are strong, especially Anne Yeomans as Bronwyn.The production is in part a tribute to healthcare professionals. Moreover, it has at its core the message that love conquers all and, touchingly, that it doesn’t just stop once somebody passes.God is in the big and the small – do remember to stir the tea in the right direction.

Long Distance is a new play which explores intimacy and connection through a series of text messages.This premise is as simple as the staging: in which two young queer men sit, stand and recline against nothing more than a black background and two red metal chairs. The stark emptiness is entirely apposite for a piece whose gaping silences scream for human touch in a world which both facilitates and destroys such brave new relationships.Having met - the situation itself is somewhat muddy but seems to involve a conference - a tentative relationship is conducted almost solely through text messages which range from the banal to the awkward to the sexually frustrated.The incompatibility of these two lonely souls is sensitively drawn from the start, and there is some lovely business involving choice and use of emojis as a courtship ritual. The script fizzes with longing and untapped potential: the lengthy silences speaking as loudly as the lively dialogue.Jonathan Rubin is all wholesome smiles and inner sadness as an attractive and optimistic character we all root for to find the attachment he craves. His partner is slightly aloof: only recently out and with a scientific mind somewhat more literal than whimsical. This leads an audience towards a rather lopsided understanding of their connection: but perhaps this is the point.Eli Zurovsky’s production is a delicate and sorrowful eulogy to those ephemeral moments of wasted potential destined to remain dusty memories.

Building an IKEA wardrobe is probably a challenge at any time. Doing it while a war rages around you adds yet another dimension to the task, but you can see how it’s done in DNA Studio's latest immersive show, RTFM (Read The F***ing Manual), at Greenside @ Riddles Court, directed by Dor Frenkel.Structurally the play is far simpler than the IKEA manual. Olivia (Helena Harrison) and David (Philip Honeywell) enlist the help and advice of numerous audience members throughout the show, making it immersive and participatory. It opens with people helping them arrange the flatpacks on the floor before the battle to open them up commences. Once the contents are revealed they too have to be arranged ready for the sequenced assemblage. David discovers the manual and immediately casts it aside, but Olivia reclaims it; his disregard for its advice is balanced by Olivia’s devotion to following it to the letter.She unearths the plastic bag of nails, screws and wooden plugs. She is compelled to place them in groups, count them out and then hand each of the different types to an audience member for safe-keeping until they are needed. Meanwhile, the wardrobe is taking shape under David’s expert eye and the big moment comes when the back has to be nailed on. Olivia gathers the nails, of which there are 47. One of the comic highlights ensues as everybody becomes involved in the debate about whether it’s really necessary to use all of them and if not how many can you get away with banging in to ensure the rigidity of the structure. Sweden might be a democratic country but extending its political philosophy to flat-pack construction is not a good idea.The serious side of RTFM comes as the construction process is interspersed with physical theatre and the cutting-edge 3D sound technology for which the company is renowned. The newscaster voice-over relates events and calls upon the population to stand firm and cooperate with each other in the face of the attacks. The enemy is no longer the flat-pack but the bombs raining down around them. Harrison and Honeywell leave the banter and laid-back comedy to become contorted figures symbolically portraying the agonies of war.Thus the themes of love, loss and resilience are merged and we realise that the act of building goes beyond furniture to life, relationships and community and that hope must always prevail.