Teenage Sex and Death at Camp Miasma

22/08/26

Cineworld, Edinburgh

Once again our Fringe sojourn has to be briefly interrupted for the much-anticipated release of Jane Schoenbrun’s ‘does-what -it says-on-the-VHS-box’ release, Teenage Sex and Death at Camp Miasma. It’s mostly about the transgressive consequences of watching an 18-certificate slasher movie when you’re under the recommended age – and the long-term effect that such an occurrence can have on an impressionable child.

This was a formative experience for Kris (Hannah Einbender) back when she was twelve. Now she’s an emerging queer filmmaker, who’s drawn some attention with a remake of Psycho, seen from the POV of the shower curtain. She’s determined to be the one who will successfully reboot the Camp Miasma franchise. The series has now sunk into the depths of redundancy having been remade, sequelled, prequelled and relaunched countless times. 

The film’s history is played out (hilariously) over the opening credits via a series of posters and VHS covers. It’s all about a lakeside holiday camp, frequented by teens and used as a regular hunting ground by a serial killer called Little Death. The non-binary killer hides their face behind a ventilator-styled mask and uses a gigantic spear to decapitate victims. (Think Friday the 13th and you’ve pretty much got the inspiration.)

But Kris has always been intrigued by the fact that the first film’s final girl, Billie Presley, did a runner after its release and has never been heard from again. Kris manages to track her down and finds Billie (now played by Gillian Anderson) living alone in the deserted holiday camp that was the setting for the first movie. She appears to be existing on a diet of fried chicken and regular viewings of her acting debut on 35mm.

She welcomes Kris into her Camp Miasma home so they can get to know each other…

Anyone who watched Schoenbrun’s I Saw the TV Glow will be familiar with her aesthetic: colours amped up to picture-postcard intensity; still photographs employed as landscape backgrounds; and a liking for undercutting tense situations with comic dialogue. Kris’s hapless Zoom pitch to the potential producers of her new project is a particular highlight. The film is also obsessed with multi-coloured candy bars and packets of gummies – another forbidden delight from childhood.

Anyone put off by the ‘Slasher’ aspects of this film, should note that, though it does get pretty gnarly, the kills are exaggerated to the point of absurdity with victims spouting geysers of Kensington gore. I actually laugh out loud in several places. Schoenbrun’s much more interested in the sexual side of the story. 

Einbender is nicely vulnerable as the young protagonist desperately looking to reconnect with something powerful from her past, while Anderson is as brilliant as ever as a kind of reclusive Norma Desmond figure, still inextricably ensnared in the events of the film that first brought her to the public’s attention. (Keep your eyes peeled for a brief but unmistakable tribute to David Cronenberg.)

Teenage Sex and Death at Camp Miasma certainly won’t be for everyone but I enjoy every profane minute of it. 

4.6 stars

Philip Caveney

Big Stuff

22/06/26

Assembly Roxy (RoxyBoxy), Edinburgh

Stuff. Love it or hate it, we’re all surrounded by it; it’s just the way we deal with it that differs. How about you? Are you a hoarder or a declutterer?

As two self-declared stuff-shunners, we’re fascinated to see what Canadian comics Matt Baram and Naomi Snieckus have to say on the subject.

We hit our first obstacle as soon as we enter the cutely-named RoxyBoxy shipping container (an apt venue). We’re given pencils, cards and a question: what object do you own that reminds you of someone you love? In my best handwriting (I’m always keen to please), I put, “the books my husband wrote,” not realising until later that it should be someone who’s dead. Philip is sitting next to me, very much alive and frowning at his card. “I haven’t got a clue,” he says. I remind him of his great uncle’s mandolin, which is hanging on our wall. “I never met him though,” he says, then shrugs and writes it down. I guess we’re really not ‘stuff’ people.

But that’s okay – because that’s the point of the show. One person’s trash is another one’s treasure and all that. Matt and Naomi are married and, unlike Philip and me, do not agree about clutter. Where Matt sees a bag full of half-used lipsticks, Naomi sees her late mum, putting on her face. Matt wants to chuck it all in a skip; Naomi wants to hold on to everything. The answer – unsurprisingly – lies somewhere in between.

Directed by Kay Sandler, this is a gently comic, life-affirming show – part love story, part obituary, part (metaphorical) communal hug. Snieckus provides the warmth – she genuinely has one of the friendliest faces I’ve ever seen – while Baram tempers the show’s more saccharine moments with his precisely-timed jibes. Their affection for one another is palpable and it envelops the audience too.

Are there any profound revelations or transformative ideas? No. But do I leave with a smile on my face and a general sense of wellbeing? Yes, I do.

I’m still a minimalist though. That hasn’t changed.

3.5 stars

Susan Singfield

Dracula: Lucy’s Dream

21/08/26

EICC (Lennox Theatre), Edinburgh

It may be that you’re thinking, ‘Hmm. Yet another version of Dracula?’

If so, think on. I’m willing to bet that you’ve never seen an adaptation like this one. French-Norwegian theatre company Plexus Polaire present their production in the spacious environs of The Lennox Theatre, using a mix of actors and life-size puppets to depict exactly what it says in the title. This is a visual representation of the dreams of Lucy Westenra. There’s hardly any dialogue, only a series of almost hallucinogenic scenes, which flow together into a surreal hour of movement, music and puppetry.

I sit there mesmerised and can honestly say I’ve never seen anything like this before. There’s a cast of only five performers – though I only realise there are so few of them when they take their bows at the end.

First there’s Lucy, wandering around the huge stage – but then there are two of her and, an instant later, three, running back and forth between gliding stone pillars – and, of course, there’s Dracula, who shifts between human and puppet and back again, at one point even breaking into separate components and floating eerily around the stage. Yngfeld Aspeli directs with all the skill and flair of a magician.

And the truly astounding thing is, you cannot see when one thing becomes another, so seamlessly is it integrated. A couple of times I fail to hold back a gasp of astonishment as something entirely unexpected happens. How do they do that?

There’s unearthly music and chanting voices, spectral lighting effects and half-seen shapes that shift and lurch through the gloom – oh, and there’s a dog! One that that looks real enough to put on a lead and take for a walk…

The Lennox Theatre is packed and the only advice I can give is to GET THERE EARLY because you’ll want to be as close to the stage as you can possibly can be, the better to see the magic unfold. Dracula: Lucy’s Dream is quite simply, a masterpiece.

5 stars

Philip Caveney

Confessions of a Mulatto Love Child

21/08/26

Zoo Southside, Edinburgh

Morning shows can sometimes have a tough time of it on the Fringe. If potential viewers have been out late the night before – and especially if they’ve partaken of a few libations – then they might prefer to wait until midday before relaunching themselves. Inevitably, that means that some fabulous shows don’t receive the kind of attention they truly deserve. In the case of Confessions of a Mulatto Love Child, it’s only the arrival of a perfectly-timed email invitation that has us dragging ourselves out from under the covers and hurrying along the Edinburgh streets to arrive at Zoo Southside with minutes to spare.

We’re glad we make the effort.

Bellina Logan’s monologue, directed by Maggie Soboil, is the story of her long and sometimes difficult relationship with her late mother, Averil, an English actress living in America. Due to a brief relationship with a Black theatre director that ended in pregnancy (or as Logan puts it ‘Imagine if Maggie Smith got in on with Shaft’), Logan is born the ‘mulatto’ of the title. (And yes, that outmoded term for a person of mixed race is frowned upon now, but was in common usage back in the 1970s.)

Logan is a gifted performer, able to portray a whole collection of characters with uncanny skill. She races back and forth across the stage, giving this her all, throwing out an entire catalogue of accents and vocal mannerisms with absolute authority. Averil is perhaps best described as ‘eccentric,’ a haughty upper-class force of nature with a gift for devastating put-downs and inventive curse words. Taking Bellina along for the ride, she restlessly flits around the world whenever she feels she’s spent too long in one place and, though she claims not to even like cats, somehow manages to end up owning a whole menagerie.

Then there’s Betty, Averil’s loyal housekeeper, who has crooked teeth and therefore always covers her mouth when she speaks. And there are local shopkeepers and neighbours and people who just happen to be passing by, every one of them captured like a vivid snapshot with only the briefest gesture.

I am laughing uproariously through the first half of this and then becoming increasingly tearful as Averil begins the long slow journey towards the end of her life, the terrible inescapable descent into dementia… but it’s been wonderful spending an hour with her and her very talented daughter.

If you’re looking for something clever, funny, heartbreaking and utterly engaging, my advice is to set your alarms. Confessions of a Mulatto Love Child is well worth getting out of bed for!

4.6 stars

Philip Caveney

Redacted: The Cover-Up of a Cover-Up of a Cover-Up

20/08/26

Pleasance Dome (King Dome), Edinburgh

A wet Thursday at the Fringe seems like the perfect time to review Redacted – The Cover-Up of a Cover-Up of a Cover-Up. It’s one of those frenetic, utterly silly slices of physical theatre that are a mainstay of Edinburgh’s three-week extravaganza. Sure, it’s not going to stick in your mind for very long, but it’s great fun while it’s happening.

It begins with Roswell. Doesn’t everything begin with Roswell when we’re talking conspiracies? 

This is the story of Marnie Makowski, who arrives in that fabled New Mexico outpost in 1973, looking for her missing sister. She soon discovers that the disappearance is somehow mixed up with the mysterious 1947 sighting of an alien spacecraft – or is it something else – something even more extraordinary – that nobody seems able to mention without their words being covered by an eerie wailing sound?

Marnie sets off on a convoluted journey to try to uncover the truth, pursued by a couple of relentless detectives and a mysterious guy with an eye-patch and a knife. Meanwhile, the solution she’s looking for is a complex riddle, written in invisible ink and wrapped up in a great big enigma.

Voloz Collective’s turbo-charged adventure features actors Olivia Zerphy, Paul Lofferon, Emily Wheatman and Sam Rayner, who throw themselves maniacally around the performance space, while musician and foley artist Jonny Venvell provides accompaniment on drums, guitar and melodica.

As the story unfolds, there are ski chases, helicopter chases, foot chases, underwater chases and… well, you get the general idea. This doesn’t slow down for more than a few seconds at a time and, even then, it’s only to throw in another conspiracy or three. Princess Diana? Elvis? How do they fit into this?

Using only a modicum of props and their own agile bodies, the young ensemble conjure the necessary landscapes, buildings and methods of transport – while Marnie occasionally pauses to remember precious moments shared with her sister.

When we finally reach a conclusion I feel almost as breathless as the cast, but the enthusiastic applause from the packed crowd at King Dome suggests that a good time has been had by all.

3.4 stars

Philip Caveney

Long Way Home

20/08/26

Gilded Balloon Patter House (Snug), Chambers Street, Edinburgh

Layla Warren’s earliest memories are of war-torn Tehran, where she is sheltering in her grandparents’ basement from Iraqi bombs. Four decades and three continents later, here she is at the Edinburgh Fringe, recounting her almost incredible tale.

Warren is an engaging speaker. She knows how to turn those enormous eyes on her audience, demanding our attention. The problem is, there’s so much extraordinary information packed into the hour that it’s impossible to take it all in. It’s like listening to a podcast on triple speed. There’s five shows’ worth of material crammed into one, so that – inevitably – we find ourselves skating over the surface.

Directed by Sepy Baghaei, the best moments are those when things slow down; when we’re shown instead of told. A scene where Warren dons traditional Iranian dress and dances at her leaving party stands out, as does her blind grandmother memorising Layla’s face through touch.

There are so many incidents I want to see in more detail, to understand them better and marvel at teenage Layla’s blagging skills. A fifteen-year-old bluffing her way onto an international flight? Landing a job at a top London club? Deciding she wants a TV career so just heading to LA and finding one (the evidence is on YouTube; she was known as Layla Kayleigh then)? It’s all fascinating, but we’re only allowed a tantalising glimpse before we gallop on to the next event.

Sometimes, the breakneck speed works to Warren’s advantage, illuminating the astonishing nature of her life. More often, it undermines the importance of traumatic experiences, such as sexual assault or family breakdown. As an audience, we need longer to process these incidents.

There’s so much potential in this autobiographical show – but its depth is obscured by its overwhelming breadth.

3 stars

Susan Singfield

Amnesia

19/08/26

Pleasance Courtyard (Bunker Two), Edinburgh

What comes to mind when you think of Rhyl? If it’s “Blackpool after a neutron bomb” or “Satan’s armpit” then you’re not alone.

For me, it conjures up fond memories. I grew up in a village a few miles inland and Rhyl was the nearest town. The Little Theatre, where I spent my teenage Saturdays. The White Rose Centre, for shops and summer jobs. Nightclubs (I was a Bistro girl). And all the fun of the fair.

For Kelly (Kimberley Hart-Simpson), it’s home. She lives on West Parade with her bestie, Amrit, in a flat above Les Harker’s arcade with a glorious sea view. Everywhere they need to go is only a short walk away: the Bryn Môr nursing home, where they both work; the Cob and Pen, where they socialise (and where Kelly’s mum performs weekly Tom Jones tribute gigs). Kelly’s happy with her life – but Amrit, it transpires, is not.

And Kelly isn’t good with change…

Hart-Simpson paints a convincing portrait of life in a forgotten town – the sort of place that politicians love to talk about but where nothing ever seems to improve. Outsiders mock Rhyl: it’s “the Costa del Dole” – somewhere to escape from. But Kelly mounts a spirited defence. She’s proud of her home, the tourist spot that spawned not only Carol Vorderman and Mike Peters, but also Lisa Scott-Lee and, well, Kimberley Hart-Simpson. No one should need to feel ashamed of where they’re from (especially when it’s as beautiful as the North Wales coast).

If this all sounds a little po-faced, don’t be fooled. Directed by Kate Wasserberg in association with Theatr Clwyd, Amnesia is a wild ride, with as many highs and lows as Ocean Beach’s infamous Runaway Train. Kelly is always in motion – even when she’s still  – and Hart-Simpson effortlessly draws our attention to her pent-up energy and frustration, fizzing fit to burst. From Ibiza nightclubs to old ladies’ bed baths, we’re under the spell of a talented actor, who knows exactly how to engage her audience. 

Although Kelly is thirty-seven, this is essentially a coming-of-age story, as she learns to accept two crucial truths: things don’t always stay the same, and her own idea of happiness is perfectly valid.

4.5 stars

Susan Singfield

Don’t You Forget About Me

19/06/26

Assembly Roxy (Downstairs), Edinburgh

Don’t You Forget About Me is described as ‘a monologue about nostalgia’ – and anyone who recognises that title from a popular Simple Minds song will know exactly which John Hughes film provides the inspiration. 

In David Shopland’s script, he imagines himself as the forgotten sixth member of The Breakfast Club. Some 32 years later, he’s eagerly waiting for the others to arrive at his flat, where he’s hosting a bit of a reunion. He refers to them as the archetypes named in the film – The Athlete, The Brain, The Basket-Case, The Princess and The Criminal – each represented by a different coloured stool.

He predicts how they’ll behave when they arrive and then goes on to describe what happened to them in the past. In doing so, he is essentially recounting the plot of The Breakfast Club. Okay, he does it with confidence and some theatrical flair, but his character is barely present… I’m expecting a fresh perspective on the infamous Saturday detention but none is forthcoming.

Like a lot of other people, I saw the original film at the cinema on its 1985 UK release, and I rewatched it in 2017 as part of a John Hughes season. In my opinion, it stands the test of time very well.

So as somebody who’s familiar with the film, of course, I already know what happens, and I also recognise the references to other celebrated movies of the 1980s – Back To the Future, Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, the awful Sixteen Candles – but this simple retelling doesn’t add anything new to the mix. Then I find myself wondering what people in the audience who aren’t familiar with the movie are going to get from this and decide that doesn’t really compute. If they don’t know who the characters are and where they come from, what does that leave them with? A summary of a film they haven’t seen?

There is a coda to the play: a meditation on nostalgia and why the cultural landmarks of our teens remain so important throughout our lives. But it feels like too little, too late.

Don’t You Forget About Me is a new piece of work from production company Fake Escape – and Shopland tells us at the end that they are working it up here in Edinburgh. This makes sense: it feels like a WIP, even though it isn’t billed as such. I can’t help feeling this one has some way to go before it’s ready.

2.5 stars

Philip Caveney

The Trials of Magnus Coffinkey

19/08/26

Summerhall (Red Lecture Theatre), Edinburgh

On a stage littered with autumn leaves, the Storyteller (Rebecca Camilleri) begins a whimsical, rhyming fairytale about a doomed bell hanger called Magnus Coffinkey (Jospeh Zammit). In the middle of the night, high up in a belfry, Coffinkey is spooked, first by a malevolent gargoyle and then by a cauldron of bats. As he falls, he grabs the bell – which proves a near-fatal error. He and it tumble together, the silver bell entombing him in the graveyard.

When Magnus wakes up, it’s to find a sweet, guileless creature stealing his heart. From her, he learns that he is in The Gloom, a space somewhere between life and death. If he wants to return to the world he knows, he’ll need Harmony’s help to mend his broken ticker…

So far, so twee – but there is more to this dark fable than meets the eye. Zammit imbues Magnus with real sorrow, while Camilleri perfectly inhabits a whole host of roles, most heartbreakingly that of Harmony. The piece is, in fact, an ode to grief, Magnus’s story serving as catharsis for Lara (Camilleri), a writer trying to cope with immense loss. Cleverly, despite the allegorical structure, there are no glib answers offered here. In fact, when Lara’s husband, Jeremy (Zammit), attempts to provide the ending Lara’s struggling with she dismisses his maxims as useless platitudes.

Something deeper is required…

Co-written by husband and wife team, Malcolm and Angele Galea of Malta’s Give or Take Productions, this play is at once profound and beautiful, precise and dynamic; the script perfectly complemented by Philip Leone-Ganado’s sure-footed direction. Sam Edmunds’ imaginative use of simple lighting – a bell gobo; a couple of coloured bars; a few overhead lamps – provides the finishing touches, establishing whether we’re in Magnus’s story or Lara’s reality.

Only the most stone-hearted person could fail to cry at this play – but only the most cynical could fail to smile.

4.3 stars

Susan Singfield

The End of Oak Street

18/08/26

Cineworld, Edinburgh

I know, I know, the Edinburgh Fringe is in full swing, we’ve got umpteen shows to review and cinema is supposed to be taking a back seat for a while… but…

Well, I was a big fan of director David Robert Mitchell’s 2014 horror, It Follows – and I also know that a sequel, They Follow, is currently in the works. But The End of Oak Street, a mega-budget extravaganza featuring dinosaurs, has been quietly dropped into the multiplexes with hardly any fanfare at all and I’m intrigued. Because this is the last thing I would have expected from a director who seems previously to have worked on low-budget indie films.

It’s 1982 and the Platt family are living in a suburb that looks like it’s been inspired by a Steven Spielberg dream. Dutiful Mom Denise (Anne Hathaway) works hard looking after the family and secretly harbours desires of being an author. She spends hours toiling away on her novel down in the basement. Dad Greg (Ewan McGregor) can’t seem to find regular employment and works part-time as a pizza-delivery man, mostly to fuel his drink problem. Daughter Audrey (Maisy Stella) can’t make friends at school and son Brian (Christian Convery) is developing into a bit of a tearaway.

And then, one fateful night, their neighbourhood is suddenly transported millions of years into the past and, when they wake up, the electricity and water have been turned off and the house is surrounded by dinosaurs…

Yes, I know. Stay with me.

Now, the familiar images of screen dinosaurs have been established since the earliest days of cinema – you know: reptilian, smooth-skinned. And that concept was pretty much cemented in 1993’s Jurassic Park. These dinosaurs – when we finally get to see them – are different. They are feathery, hairy and, in some cases, very poopy. Ever watched that Spielberg classic and wondered why there’s never any sign of dino-poop? Well, in Oak Street, the first intimation we have of their presence is a great big steaming pile of the stuff in the Platts’ neighbours’ back garden. And it’s a good half hour before we actually see one of the beasts properly. But I quite like the gradual way they are introduced; it somehow makes them more threatening.

However, once they are in the story, the film becomes problematic. Mitchell has opted for a kid-friendly 12A certificate, but some of the dino-kills here are pretty gnarly, meaning that the camera is obliged to cut quickly away from the chomping and chewing. The effect of this is that the carnage will probably still induce nightmares in younger kids, who have been brought along to this by their well-meaning parents, but will fail to satiate the teenage thrill-seekers who will be shouting for more bloodshed.

Hathaway really sells the premise of the film, putting everything into her role, but McGregor occasionally looks a bit dazed as though he’s wondering how his agent ever got him into this mess. However, I cannot deny that some of the chases are thrilling and one scene in particular – where a giant snake-like creature invades the family home – is a real high point. In the movie’s final third, I am genuinely shocked by one incident which appears to break that unwritten law that lead characters cannot be killed – but then the script impudently undoes the damage in a have-your-cake-and-eat-it twist. Hmm.

All-in-all, I’m glad I’ve seen The End of Oak Street (though I still think that title fails to sell the movie’s premise) but ,for a variety of reasons, it falls somewhat short of that all-important four stars. But kudos to David Robert Mitchell, who at least has the guts to give this well-trodden genre a thorough reinvention.

3. 8 stars

Philip Caveney