Penelope

11/08/26

Underbelly Cowgate (Belly Button), Edinburgh

As we file into the dank gloomy confines of Belly Button, Penelope (Grace McLean) is already sitting on a stool, awaiting us with the patient air of somebody who is well acquainted with biding time. As anyone who’s read Homer – or watched Christopher Nolan’s The Odyssey – will be aware, Penelope has been waiting for twenty years for her husband Odysseus to return from his travels. While he’s off battling a Cyclops and negotiating the Clashing Rocks, she’s stuck at home doing some weaving. As you might imagine, she’s getting pretty bored with the process.

As the lights go down, three musicians file in to provide the musical soundtrack. Alex Bechtel, who wrote the music and lyrics, takes a seat at the keyboards and he’s joined by a cello player and a drummer. The sound they create is moody and haunting – and then McLean begins to sing a mournful, soaring ballad. It’s evident after just a few bars that she has an extraordinary voice.

From this point, the story progresses through a wide range of musical styles, sometimes solemn, sometimes frivolous, occasionally edging toward rock. Penelope gets through quite a lot of alcohol as she delivers her tale of woe and, of course, it’s always interesting to hear the story from a different perspective: a woman who was always her husband’s second choice after the legendary Helen; a woman dealing with a son growing into manhood; a woman resisting the advances of those predatory suitors, who are constantly seeking ways to break down her determination not to remarry. We’ve all been there.

For me, the high point in this hour-long musical extravaganza is a lengthy conversation with Pallas Athene, whose voice is supplied by the three musicians talking in unison. It’s interesting to note that the Goddess offers very little in the way of answers.

This is an assured hour of musical theatre, directed by co-creator Eva Stenmetz and impeccably delivered by the four performers. You don’t have to know The Odyssey – or even Margaret Atwood’s The Penelopiad – but it might help to be familiar with the original story.

Or maybe just trot along to Belly Button and soak it all up.

4 stars

Philip Caveney

Goodbye Dandelion

10/08/26

Underbelly Cowgate (Belly Dancer), Edinburgh

It turns out assisted dying is a hot topic at this year’s Fringe. A mere five days in and, not only is this the second show we’ve seen about it, but there’s someone waiting outside with flyers for another one “dealing with the same issues”. Euthanasia, it seems, is in.

But if the theme is redolent of the Traverse production we saw yesterday, the form could hardly be more different. While After Party is a raucous two-act play, Goodbye Dandelion is an altogether gentler affair – a whimsical hour of musical storytelling, charting Maddie Rice’s friendship with the titular Dandelion, aka octogenarian Darcy O’Shea.

Thirty-something Maddie is feeling a bit lost. There’s nothing wrong exactly: she has a steady job, a caring boyfriend, an agreeable flatmate. It’s just… shouldn’t there be something more? When she sees an advert for Run-Relate, she thinks it might be the spur she needs. Simultaneously improving her fitness and helping a lonely pensioner; surely that’ll make her feel fulfilled?

But things don’t go as Maddie expects. For one thing, it turns out she hates running. And for another, Darcy doesn’t want her help. Still, as their spiky, unlikely friendship develops, it’s clear the benefits are mutual. Until, that is, Darcy tells Maddie her deepest, darkest wish…

Maddie narrates her tale with an engaging openness, the language simple but compelling. Her brother, Marcus, provides musical accompaniment and wry asides, knowing exactly when to undercut the more sentimental moments with a witty song or some salient statistics. Everybody Dies is easily my favourite number; who knew a song about death’s inevitability could make an entire audience laugh out loud?

Although it’s about dying, this charming, clever show is ultimately life-affirming. There’s no bold ‘seize the day’ message, no cloying, fridge-magnet platitude. Instead, there’s a clear-eyed, honest appraisal of what it means to live.

4.6 stars

Susan Singfield

The Shocking Truth about Flat Earth

10/08/26

Pleasance Dome (Queen Dome), Edinburgh

Most years at the Fringe we chance upon a show that’s so unashamedly good-natured and uproariously entertaining that it’s impossible to resist its pull – and more often than not, that show can be found at the Pleasance Dome. Coincidence? Or are there darker forces at work? (Cue eerie music.)

This year, that show rejoices under the unlikely title The Shocking Truth About Flat Earth – and the fact that the Queen Dome is absolutely sold out suggests that word has already got around about this feel-good lunchtime production. Meet Sharon Hargreaves (Emma Norman), a woman of a certain age, who – like a lot of characters at this year’s Fringe – is coming to terms with a bereavement, though in this case, it’s her beloved dog Sam who has… trotted off. Sharon is spending a little too much time on YouTube and is getting particularly interested in the titular topic, because – well, why not? You have to pass the hours somehow. Sharon’s best friend, Debs (Emma Thornett), is worried about Sharon and impulsively books two tickets for a trip to Las Vegas to watch Adele in concert. As you do.

But at the hotel where the twosome are staying, a Flat Earth Society is having a convention and somehow Sharon gets mistaken for guest speaker, Angela (Leonie Wall). Before she quite knows what’s happening, Sharon has er…agreed to lead an expedition to Patagonia to establish once and for all that the world really is flat. Accompanied by dim-witted online influencers, Bobby (Tom Dickerson) and Brodie (Wall, again), along with ‘just-passing-by’ explorer Dave (Michael Joseph), the intrepid Sharon sets off with high hopes and absolutely no skills whatsoever.

With a book and score by Alex Moneypenny and Adam Tuffrey, this Wolverhampton Grand Theatre production takes off at a sprint, Karl Steele ensuring that his directorial foot is kept firmly on the accelerator throughout. The five-strong cast work their socks off to deliver a hilarious and exhilarating series of songs, dances and quick-fire asides. There’s plenty of audience interaction, the singing and dancing is surprisingly impressive and, while we all kind of know that the expedition is going to ultimately slam into a brick wall because… flat earth… it matters not one jot. Bobby, Brodie & Co. have their red Make Earth Flat Again caps on and huge grins on their faces as the audience delivers a heartfelt standing ovation.

If you’re looking for something deep and meaningful, well, maybe look elsewhere. If on the other hand, you’re seeking an hour of pure unadulterated enjoyment, head for the Queen Dome without further delay – and don’t forget to take your protein bars. It’s a long hike to Patagonia.

4.6 stars

Philip Caveney

After Party

09/08/26

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

Families can be complicated and the Blackwood’s are an excellent case in point. Their matriarch, Vivienne (Alison Peebles), has reached her 80th year. Once a dazzling star of stage and screen, she’s now stricken with incurable cancer and has gathered the various strands of her fractured clan for one last get-together. 

Her grandson, James (Angus Yellolees), is super-excited to see his ‘Glam-Ma’ again (he’s always adored her) and he’s even brought along his new pop star girlfriend, Cass (Ruby Glyne), to meet her in person. James’ pompous Uncle Geoff (Gilly Gilchrist) is somewhat surprised when he arrives to discover that his ex-wife, Carol (Liz Kettle), is in residence as Vivienne’s carer… and er… partner?  

Geoff’s daughter, Sasha (Rachel Dick), an influencer, has her own surprising announcement to make, while James’ mother, Lily (Hilary Maclean), is still an ardent God-botherer, stalking grumpily around the place, praising the Lord and despairing of the dissolute ways of everybody but herself. 

To add to the general confusion, Vivienne’s former husband, Bill (Benny Young), has snatched the time to make a surprise appearance before he sets off to film yet another movie. He’s handy to have around whenever a Shakespeare quotation is needed, which seems to happen quite a lot in this play.

And then Vivienne arrives to tell everybody that this gathering isn’t going to be a glass-of-bubbly-and-a-plate-of-cocktail-sausages affair. Something much more monumental is about to go down…

Morna Young’s After Party is an ambitious piece of absurd comedy, set in the near future to allow for the possibility of its central premise. It’s handsomely located in Richard Kent’s grandiose set, which features lush paintings and red velvet drapes that put me in mind of a 1950s technicolour film. (There’s definitely something of the Elizabeth Taylor/Joan Collins archetype to Vivienne, who seems to revel in making everyone she talks to feel inferior.) But I’m not always entirely convinced by the various twists and turns in this complicated scenario, that require its characters to do and say things that sometimes beggar belief. 

Director Katie Posner (of Paine’s Plough) does her utmost to present the various goings on to their best advantage and the second half is definitely stronger than the first but, to my mind, there’s something at the heart of this that doesn’t quite click. This is a shame because the production values of this show are impeccable and there are a lot of talented actors up the stage giving it their all. But they’re essentially playing caricatures and, perhaps inevitably, the overall effect is that I don’t quite buy the package they are trying to sell me.

Nonetheless, this is a timely and thought-provoking production, offering a convincing argument on a divisive issue.

3. 5 stars

Philip Caveney

Cathy

09/08/26

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

Cathy has all the hallmarks of a sitcom: distinctive characters, familiar settings and a serious of humorous conflicts. Like the best of the genre, it also carries some real emotional weight.

The eponymous Cathy (Elaine C Smith) is based on writer-director Eilidh Loan’s own grandmother. She’s a spiky, complicated woman, struggling to deal with the death of her beloved husband, Tommy. She’s angry in her grief, lashing out at everyone she cares for: her daughter, Florence (Michele Gallagher), son-in-law, Colin (Alan Orr), and pregnant granddaughter, Amy (Chloe Hodgson).

She’s furious with God too. She’s been a good Catholic all her life, done everything He’s asked. So where is He when she needs Him? Cathy is adrift, unable to imagine a future without Tommy. But when she takes his clothes to the local charity shop, she meets an unlikely angel of deliverance in the form of Lizzie (Sally Reid), who manages the store. Boho, woo-woo and musically ignorant, Lizzie isn’t the sort of person Cathy normally warms to. But there’s something disarming about the cheerful, crystal-wearing volunteer – and Lizzie has her own experience of devastating loss.

I don’t usually like a stage full of props, but Kenny Miller’s set design perfectly complements the play’s themes: the stuff that accumulates over a long life; the items we cling to and those we have to learn to let go. The transitions are complicated but extremely well-managed, so that we move with ease between realistic sets, from funeral home to Cathy’s dining room to Lizzie’s busy, bustling shop.

Unsurprisingly, this is very much Cathy’s play, and Smith’s performance is flawless, allowing us to see the central character’s hidden warmth and vulnerability, as well as delivering every gag with deadly precision. The supporting cast are very good too, Reid in particular lighting up the stage.

Cathy makes me laugh and cry. Part Christmas play, part family drama, it feels like the start of something bigger, with characters that could easily be drawn out over a series.

If you want all the feels, this is the show for you.

4 stars

Susan Singfield

Bog Witch

09/08/26

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

Bog Witch is an elusive concept that initially wrong-foots me. The opening minutes of Bryony Kimmings’ semi-autobiographical show are like a gentle stand-up routine, built around the idea of a contemporary woman, addicted to doom-scrolling and online-ordering, pouring scorn on all those silly people wringing their hands over climate change and plastic pollution. All they really need to do is knock back some alcohol and get out on the dance floor! But happily, as it develops, the story turns out to be much more nuanced than that.

Kimmings relates the events of one year in her life, when she falls in love with ‘Will,’ a man with an urgent need to get back to the soil, where he can grow his own food and live at peace with the land. To Kimmings, it sounds like a perfect nightmare but she loves Will and, against her better judgement, decides to move with him to the countryside. They each have a child from a previous relationship and fresh starts are good, right? What can possibly go wrong? She just needs to ensure that she doesn’t turn into the titular creature…

As the year unfolds, season by season, Kimmings gamely attempts to adapt to her new life – and, despite all her misgivings, she is beginning to change…

Kimmings has clearly put her heart and soul into this, taking the directorial reins and really exploring the possibilities of the central concept – and trust me, it’s a lot more fun than I’ve made that sound. She’s assisted by a whole team of talented individuals: Tom Rogers’ set and costume designs are fabulous, as are the linking animations from Raf Vartanian and Nathan Fernée. In addition, Tom Parkinson has written some suitably plaintive folk songs, which Kimmings sings beautifully.

She’s an accomplished storyteller, acerbically funny in the earlier sections and confidently steering her ship into darker waters as a bleak autumn heads inexorably into a tragic winter. My only reservation here is with a concluding section where she invites nine audience members to join her on stage for ‘the great council meeting.’ Though there are some magnificent costumes for the participants to put on (with masks by Kiera Saunders), the lengthy set-up disrupts the momentum and I find myself wondering if it would work just as well with fewer participants. But that’s a niggle, really, because Kimmings does make it work – and naturally two shows are never going to be the same.

Bog Witch is an accomplished production with so much to commend it. Anyone toying with the idea of moving out to the sticks might want to check this out first. Or be like Kimmings and watch that helpful documentary before you head off. You know the one: The Wicker Man.

4.5 stars

Philip Caveney

An Echo in the Void

08/08/26

Assembly Roxy (Upstairs), Edinburgh

Written and directed by Jason Weiss, No Boundaries’ An Echo in the Void deals with the timely topic of AI. When journalist Ivy (Grace Serrano) logs into her regular Sanctuary session, she’s surprised to find three strangers there. It’s supposed to be a private virtual space and should only be populated by those she chooses. But here are soldier Toby (Adam Sinclair), programmer Arthur (Sunkrish Bala) and CEO Miranda (Lee Rodriguez), each as dumbfounded as she is by the others’ presence. What’s happening? Has the tech model gone rogue? And if so, why?

If Arthur is the brains behind the platform, Miranda is the money – and Ivy has long been petitioning to interview them both. As for Toby, he’s the company’s poster boy. Sanctuary offers a safe place, where people can leave their real-world troubles behind for a few hours, so who better to front its ad campaign than a war veteran suffering from PTSD?

But Sanctuary is addictive. If life on-line is so much better than off, why would anyone want to return?

This minimalist production is performed on a bare stage, which works well, echoing the blank canvas of a Sanctuary space. Like the platform’s users, we are invited to create our own imaginary setting. Simple tech is used to good effect, with pinspots emphasising the characters’ isolation, and a repeated sound motif signalling glitches in the machine. The actors inhabit their roles convincingly, and a sense of dread builds steadily.

However, although I applaud Weiss’s decision to eschew set and props, the piece could benefit from some more visual elements. It’s very dialogue-heavy, with a lot of information for the audience to absorb. It would be easier to engage emotionally with some of the more complex sequences if they were played out rather than reported. I also think the actors could change their voices and mannerisms when they are taking on characters from each other’s pasts, in order to clarify exactly who and where they are.

An Echo in the Void questions what it means to be human, when everything we think we are can be so cleverly mimicked by computer code. In the twenty-seven years since the similarly-themed The Matrix was released, the issues have only grown more urgent. It’s hard to imagine a more topical play.

3 stars

Susan Singfield

Mortal Sin

08/08/26

Gilded Balloon Teviot (Wee Room), Edinburgh

One of the greatest joys of the Edinburgh Fringe is when you book in to see a little show with no real expectations – and it turns out to be a solid gold winner. Mortal Sin is exactly that, a joyful two-hander about a couple of kids in a remote seaside town in the Republic of Ireland. As the two of them negotiate the puzzles – and occasional joys – of growing up in a rural community dominated by Catholicism, you share their laughter and their pain

It’s 1963 and President John F Kennedy has recently paid a long visit to Ireland. Best friends Colm (Benjamin Reilly) and Peggy (Isolde Fenton) are infatuated with the man, seeing him as a sort of Latter Day Saint – as do many others in Ireland. As I said, Colm and Peggy are besties but they know that they will never end up married with kids. Colm is already presenting in ways that his hardline father condemns as ‘sissy’ and Peggy is adamant that she will not be bound to this desolate, straight-laced community forever. And when she leaves, she’ll be taking Colm with her.

And then the unthinkable happens: JFK is assassinated. Peggy persuades Colm that, because of this tragedy, they should have a day off school to mark his passing. So the two of them set about engineering a protest, with the aim of making that happen…

It’s quite something for adult actors to take on junior roles and play them believably, but both Reilly – who also wrote the incredibly witty script – and Fenton, inhabit their respective characters as though it’s second nature to them. They convey so much through gestures and facial expressions, coaxing big laughs from the smallest things. And while most of the story is played for humour, there’s also a brilliantly understated coda, where the couple’s respective tragedies are skilfully sketched in just a few lines of dialogue.

I laugh until I cry.

Sensitively directed by Lee Coffey, Mortal Sin is an eloquent piece of work, demonstrating what can be achieved with talent and a modest budget. Those looking for a memorable piece of theatre should grab a ticket for the Wee Room, before the word gets out and the seats are gone.

This is fabulous stuff. See it and weep. Miss it and weep more.

5 stars

Philip Caveney

Badgers

07/08/26

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

Malaika Kegode is the storyteller and we, she tells us – gently persuasive – are Meles, a young woman, struggling to make our mark as a podcaster. Our mother looms large: not only is she a famous TV journalist, she’s also dying of corticobasal degeneration (and no, Kegode sighs, a long walk won’t help). We move home, our emotions a mixture of resentment and relief. It’s good to escape the daily hustle and London rents, but it’s hard to be back in our childhood bedroom, aimless and under-occupied, fearing our mother’s death.

So, when we hear about the mysterious disappearance of a local musician, ten years ago, little wonder that we grasp the opportunity to investigate. A true-crime podcast might just be the thing to finally impress Mum. So off we go, into the woods, to visit an old crone called Dora Brock, who freely shares her tales of secret songs and magical badgers, unaware we’re using her…

Badgers is a harmonious hybrid, Jakabol’s eclectic score perfectly complementing Kegode’s beguiling narration. Rebecca Wood’s set design is ingenious, its colour palette stark, all black, white and red; musicians Joe Williams and Beth Roberts sit in a glass box, centre-stage, a theatre within a theatre, part cage, part display case. It’s very techie, with flickering screens and distorted voices (video by Christopher Harrisson and sound by Jack Drewry), and tonally as slippery as the shape-shifting badger-humans at its heart, switching seamlessly from contemporary online vernacular to fairy tale to folk horror. It’s this last element that allows Mike Gunning and Natalia Chan’s lighting design to shine (sorry), ramping up the jump scares and other-worldliness. And then there’s Kegode again, speaking softly, bringing us back down to earth, helping us to accept Meles’ troubled reality.

If the sound levels are a little off at first, so that I struggle to hear Kegode over the music, this is soon rectified, and I leave the theatre still wearing Meles’ skin, still caught up in her life. Directed by Jenny Davies, this is a spellbinding production, weaving us into its fabric and leaving us utterly disarmed.

4.8 stars

Susan Singfield

Water Colour

07/08/26

Traverse Theatre, Edinburgh

Winner of the St Andrews Playwriting Award 2025, Milly Sweeney’s Water Colour focuses on the lives of two very different young people, who both go through bouts of depression. If that sounds off-putting, please don’t be misled, because this is an invigorating slice of theatre that moves kinetically through its rapidly-evolving story, cutting back and forth between the two characters, who move restlessly around Natalie Fern’s ingenious set design, which will eventually reveal some secrets.

Esme (Molly Geddes) is in her final year at the Glasgow College of Art and it only remains for her to submit one more painting in order to graduate. But she somehow feels unable to stir herself to undertake that final picture. Locked up alone in her student flat, friendless and far away from the nurturing powers of her mother, she is beginning to fall into a dark, enveloping world where she can no longer function. 

Harris (Ryan J Mackay) would seem her polar opposite, a cheeky lad from the schemes, who has just moved into a flat with his best pal. He’s recently secured regular work as a dishwasher at a posh city restaurant, ruled over by a glowering Head Chef of the Gordon Ramsey persuasion. Harris is happy-go-lucky and ready to adapt to just about any situation.

But Harris and Esme are destined to cross paths one dark night, when Harris is simply wandering home from work and Esme has come to the end of her tether. Their interaction ignites a series of dramatic changes…

Director Sally Reid keeps the pace up to full throttle as the pair interact, while movement director Steve Laude-Russell ensures that the unfolding story is kept in restless motion throughout. Ross Brown’s sound design lends the piece an eerie, dreamlike quality and both performers are at the top of their game in their respective guises, handling their lead roles and a string of supporting characters with aplomb. I am genuinely thrown by a late-stage revelation as middle-class Esme finds therapy and heads towards redemption, while working-class Harris, unable to afford private health care, seems destined to plunge in the opposite direction. In the final section I find myself holding my breath as everything goes haywire.

It’s easy to see what caught the St Andrews’ judges’ eyes, and the heartfelt ovation from this audience is proof enough that Water Colour exerts a powerful hold. It’s an utterly compelling script and this fabulous production plays to its strengths. I for one can’t wait to see what Milly Sweeney comes up with next.

4.5 Stars

Philip Caveney