Fly, You Fools!

16/08/25

Pleasance Courtyard (Beyond), Edinburgh

New York-based theatre company Recent Cutbacks specialise in producing no-budget parodies of epic films. Last year, their Hold Onto Your Butts (an unlicensed version of Jurassic Park) gave us plenty of cheap laughs and, as predicted in our review, they’ve returned with that show – and also a companion piece, Fly, You Fools!, their interpretation of Peter Jackson’s The Fellowship of the Rings.

Three performers – Nick Abeel, Kyle Schafer and Regan Sims – team up with Foley artist Kelly Robinson, plus a collection of props that look like they’ve been salvaged from the back of a wardrobe, and do their damnedest to perform a version of the movie for a packed crowd at the Pleasance.

I have to confess to being a fan of the Rings trilogy, which for three years of my life were a birthday go-to for me and my daughter – but I can’t deny that they have more than their fair share of pomposity and illogical happenings, which makes them fair game for a debunk. Clearly today’s audience is in full agreement. There’s raucous laughter as the performers switch from character to character and height to height, doing their level best to depict Frodo and his crew making their way to Mordor – or as they prefer to say it, Morrrrrrdddddoooooor.

And yes, that most pertinent of questions does get a mention: why didn’t they just fly there there on the back of an eagle and save themselves a lot of hassle?

The story was developed by Matt Zambrano and directed by Kristen McCarthy Parker. It’s a fun way to spend an hour but is it as strong as HOYB? For my money, Fly, You Fools! doesn’t er… land quite as effectively as its predecessor – a lengthy sequence featuring crap shadow theatre slows down the pace somewhat – but there are close to three hundred people at Beyond who appear to be having the time of their lives.

Mission accomplished. (Now there’s a franchise they might have some fun with…)

3.8 stars

Philip Caveney

Macbeth

16/08/25

Zoo Southside, Edinburgh

The last thing we need to see is another version of Macbeth. And yet, when Barden Party’s bluegrass adaptation is recommended to us, we somehow can’t resist. So here we are, coffee in hand, ready to spend our Saturday morning in the company of cowboy-witches, banjo players and a murderous would-be monarch.

This is the most fun rendition of the Scottish play I’ve ever seen: it’s a rambunctious, in-yer-face musical, and the seven-strong cast are having a blast. The “travelling troupe from New Zealand” usually perform outdoors, often in people’s gardens, but they’re clearly very adaptable, making the most of Zoo Southside’s tiny black-box theatre space.

The genders are switched: Macbeth (Laura Irish) receives a prophecy from two weird brothers (Caleb James and Wiremu Tuhiwai). Egged on by her husband (Ollie Howlett), she murders Queen Duncan (Tara McEntee) and ascends to the throne. Frightened for her life, Duncan’s daughter, Malcolm (Kit Berry), flees to England but, although he is suspicious of Macbeth, Banquo (Criss Grueber) remains loyal to his friend – and we all know where that leads. The gender-swap doesn’t change anything much, but it does add to the feeling of irreverence: this production isn’t bound by any stuffy idea of what Shakespeare ‘ought’ to be. This is pure entertainment – and yet it remains true to the heart and spirit of the bard’s script.

It’s great to see an actor who uses a wheelchair in such an active role: Grueber’s Banquo is a fierce soldier, celebrated for his prowess on the battlefield and more than ready to show off his fighting skills. Meanwhile, James and Boyle are terribly unsettling as the cowboy-hatted witches, writhing across the stage and screaming in our faces. (At one point, Philip screams back.)

This is very much an ensemble piece, but Irish and Howlett are compelling in the central roles, Irish’s intensity ensuring that we mourn the woman Macbeth might have been, before her corruption. I especially like the way that McEntee exaggerates Duncan’s ego, as she forces people to laugh at her jokes, i.e. the dodgy puns that proliferate in Shakespeare’s dialogue.

The music is lively and engaging, switching from propulsive up-tempo toe-tappers to plaintive ballads at the drop of a stetson.

Murder has never been so full of life.

4.8 stars

Susan Singfield

Lachlan Werner: Wondertwunk

15/08/25

Pleasance Dome (10 Dome), Edinburgh

Originality counts for a great deal at the Fringe and I have to say that Lachlan Werner has that commodity in spades. We’re here to catch his act mostly because a publicist we work with casually mentioned that she thought it would be ‘right up our street.’ The fact that it so definitely is probably says something about us, because this is utterly weird – but, I should add, in a good way. And it’s clear from the audience reaction that we’re far from the only ones delighted by what we’re viewing.

Werner plays Jack Hammer, the Strongest Boy in the World. He might not look the type to be lifting weights and bending steel bars, what with his impeccably-plaited curls, his grotesquely-painted features and his cupids-bow lips; and yet, thanks to some shonky-looking props, he manages these macho skills with ease. He performs every night in a circus owned by his clearly dodgy dad (depicted by a monstrous life-sized puppet), and his only friend in the world is a talented sea lion called Slippy, who, it turns out, can balance wine glasses on his nose.

Werner is a gifted ventriloquist, able to switch from his own cartoonish little voice to his dad’s gruff tones (or the distinctive bark of a sea lion) with apparent ease – and, while on paper the ‘jokes’ are simply a string of lame puns and outlandish boasts, there’s something so utterly beguiling in Werner’s delivery that I find myself laughing helplessly along from start to finish.

There are elements of horror in the story which put me in mind of the theatre of Grand Guignol, as Jack slowly begins to uncover grisly secrets about his father and, ultimately, himself. A guy from the audience is invited onto the stage to become his assistant and ends up as the object of his affection, an integral part of the show, as Werner flirts outrageously with him. By the show’s final stages, the entire audience is cheering Jack on, wanting him to to vanquish the powers of evil, to find a new identity and a suitably happy ending.

This show takes me completely by surprise and I’m fairly confident that other first-timers will have the same experience. One thing’s for certain: unless you’re already a fan of Lachlan Werner, you won’t have seen anything quite like it before. It’s sublime.

5 stars

Philip Caveney

Weapons

15/08/25

Cineworld, Edinburgh

Yes, I know it’s the Fringe and I do appreciate that cinema is supposed to be taking a back seat this month, but anyone who caught Zach Creggar’s debut movie, Barbarian, back in 2022, will doubtless be as fired up for his sophomore feature as I am. Like its predecessor, Weapons is a wild ride, one that has more twists and turns than a passenger could ever anticipate. I sit spellbound as I am thrown this way and that, sometimes mystified, occasionally terrified, but never ever bored.

The story begins with an inexplicable event. In the little town of Maybrook, Pennsylvania, teacher Justine Gandy (Julia Garner) arrives at school, ready to teach her class – to find only one pupil waiting for her. He’s Alex (Cary Christopher) and he’s the only kid left because, earlier that same morning (at 2.17am precisely), all his classmates woke up, got out of their beds and ran off into the night with their arms held out at their sides.

Now, nearly a month after that event, the children still haven’t been located. Archer Graff (James Brolin), the father of one of the pupils, wants to know why Justine hasn’t been arrested. After all, it’s only her class that has vanished; she must know more than she’s letting on!

Archer wants an explanation and so does the film’s audience, but, just as he did in Barbarian, writer/director Creggar refuses point blank to offer a straightforward, linear narrative. Instead, he gives us seven different points of view, allowing us to gradually piece the events together as we are flung back and forth in time.

As well as Justine’s and Archer’s observations, there’s the story of what happens to mild-mannered school principal, Marcus Miller (Benedict Wong); the misadventures of Justine’s old squeeze, police officer, Paul Morgan (Alden Ehrenreich); there’s Paul’s clash with vagrant drug addict, James (Austin Abrams); and, of course, Alex’s account. Dare I mention a propitious visit by Alex’s Great Aunt Gladys (a bone-chilling performance by veteran actor, Amy Madigan), who provides the final piece in the puzzle?

I really can’t say any more about the plot without giving too much away; suffice to say, Weapons is an absolute smorgasbord of delights, by turns poignant, tense, bloody and, in its later stretches, darkly comic. It keeps me enthralled from start to finish and, happily, my initial fears that the central premise would remain unexplained prove to be completely unfounded. The explanation might be as mad as the proverbial box of frogs, but it’s right there, waiting to punch you in the kisser, then run gleefully away with its arms held out at its sides.

If Barbarian was a promising debut, Weapons is proof that horror has a brilliant new exponent. Creggar has created one of the most downright unmissable films of 2025 and I’m already hyped to see whatever he comes up with next.

5 stars

Philip Caveney

Help! I’m Trapped in a One-Woman Show

14/08/25

Pleasance Dome (10 Dome), Edinburgh

Kate Skinner offers a nuanced perspective on widowhood in this frank one-woman show. The septuagenarian actor lost her beloved husband, Ron McLarty, in 2020, after seventeen years of marriage – and has mourned him ever since. “The thing about closure,” she tells us, “is that it isn’t real. It was made up by Oprah.”

But it’s been five years now and Skinner is torn: she doesn’t want to “move on” into a future without Ron, but she’s still here and she wants to live. Over the course of an hour, we learn how she makes her peace with this dichotomy, accepting that her grief will always be present, while forging new connections for herself.

Make no mistake: there are a lot of laughs to be had here. Skinner is searingly open, divulging every detail of her disastrous foray into online dating. It’s refreshing to hear an older person speak so candidly about sex; so often, these voices are muted. Her occasional bitchiness is also amusing, and she’s a born performer, creating a relaxed and intimate tone, so that we feel we’re being taken into her confidence.

There’s not a lot more I can say: this is a gentle and ultimately life-affirming piece of work. It’s a pleasure to spend sixty minutes in the company of this vivacious woman, who is unafraid to address a complex emotional subject that clearly resonates with many in the audience.

3.5 stars

Susan Singfield

Vagabond Skies: the Van Gogh Musical

13/08/25

Gilded Balloon at the Museum, Edinburgh

Far removed from the rough-hewn scramble of so many Fringe Productions, Vagabond Skies has all the precision and style of a West End musical. The brainchild of creative team Tony Norman and Mark Edwards, the show comes to the Fringe in a stripped-down version, designed to slot into a shorter running time. But on the evidence of viewing this, I’ll be one of the first in the queue for the full-length version.

Vagabond Skies skilfully avoids many of the pitfalls of the true life biography and in its telling, it’s both informative – I actually learn things about the great artist I didn’t previously know – and genuinely affecting. There are some superb vocal performances throughout, and not just from the leads. The ten-strong cast offer fabulous ensemble work, moving effortlessly from scene to scene, each character given the opportunity to make their mark.

We first encounter Vincent (Alex Bloomer) in 1879 when he is working as a missionary, struggling to spread the word of God to the dirt-poor mining communities of Borinage, Belgium, who clearly have bigger things to consider – such as where their next meal is coming from. After that, we follow Vincent’s early years as an artist in Nuenen and Antwerp, and we share his correspondence with his supportive brother, Theo (Richard Dawes). Next, we are plunged headlong into Vincent’s tumultuous time in Paris, his difficult relationship with the bullish and self-centred, Paul Gauguin (Patrick Jennings), and we see him suffer at the hands of bullies and art critics alike.

Some of the most memorable solo performances here are from the female members of the cast. Jordan Frazier is fabulous in the role of Agostina, the owner of the Café de Tanborin; Maren Ovidia offers a bruising ballad as prostitute, Sien; and Francesca Layland performs a stunning solo as Theo’s wife, Joanna. But once again, it’s when all the voices come together that the piece really dazzles, the harmonies soaring. It would take a staunch soul indeed not to well up when listening to the show’s extended finale – or to Vincent and Theo’s heartbreaking duet on Brother of Mine.

But then there are the visual delights to consider: a back-projection screen the size of the stage blooms with vivid images of some of the artist’s most iconic works, gradually rearranging and erasing them to be replaced by others, with subtle flourishes of animation added to the mix. The danger here is that those paintings could overpower the performances, but somehow the production walks the precarious tightrope between the different disciplines, ensuring that everything is kept in perfect balance.

Vagabond Skies is a sumptuous and brilliantly performed entertainment, worthy of the unique artist who inspired it.

5 stars

Philip Caveney

Living on the Moon

12/08/25

Gilded Balloon at Patterhouse (Dram), Edinburgh

I have to hand it to Molly McFadden. Recently diagnosed with ‘mild cognitive impairment,’ she could be excused for deciding to take things easy and put her feet up. Instead she’s opted to bring a show to the Edinburgh Fringe, a daunting ambition for the average teenage drama student, let along for a woman in her seventies. The fact that she recently discovered that she has the gene for Alzheimer’s must feel like a potential threat and was perhaps the spur she needed to bring her show to the Fringe.

Living On the Moon, directed by Michael Glavan, is mostly about Alzheimer’s (a recurring theme this year) and is based around McFadden’s recollections of her own mum, who spent the last twelve years of her life stricken by the condition. Those who’ve managed to catch Lost Lear at The Traverse, will have seen the subject captured and portrayed to harrowing effect, but McFadden’s approach is more gentle than that. In her one-woman show, McFadden’s mother, ‘Memory’, is a skilfully-made puppet: a carefree, occasionally irascible mother-figure given to interrupting her daughter’s torch songs with unfettered recollections of earlier times when she was clearly ‘a bit of a one.’

The tone here is whimsical, suffused by a bitter-sweet sense of loss, and McFadden’s former career as a cabaret singer comes to the fore. She has an impressive vocal range and delivers the songs with absolute authority. ‘Memory’ is a delightful creation, full of character and mischief.

I do however sense that in places, McFadden is pulling her punches a little, shying away from the full horror of the situation. Perhaps she needs more time to process what has happened before she can fully explore its depths. Nevertheless, she delivers an absorbing hour on the stage.

Those who prefer a soft approach to this most distressing of subjects will find McFadden (and Memory) at the Gilded Balloon, Patterhouse.

3.6 stars

Philip Caveney

Michelle Brasier: It’s a Shame We Won’t Be Friends Next Year

12/08/25

Gilded Balloon at the Museum (Auditorium), Edinburgh

Ah, who doesn’t dread a wee-hours-of-the-morning shame spiral? It turns out that even the uber-confident Michelle Brasier has to deal with these joy-sapping tummy-churners. Yes, that’s right: the bold, brash, in-yer-face Aussie, who struts about the stage like she couldn’t give a flying fuck, even she lies awake wincing with embarrassment, remembering old slights, reliving awkward encounters. But, unlike most of us, Brasier decides to tackle them head-on.

The title of the show refers to something a mate said to her at the end of Year 6. Clearly, it resonated, making her second-guess herself for years, wondering what was wrong with her. I’m guessing Brasier is popular IRL: she comes across as warm and funny, open and engaging. But still, that comment niggled, chipping away at her self-esteem.

It’s a Shame We Won’t Be Friends Next Year is a gentler affair than last year’s Legacy and, to our great delight, this venue has much better sound. This really matters: we get to hear the full range of her impressive singing voice and can also discern most of what she says (her speaking rate still clocks in at a gazillion words per minute). IASWWBFNY is a nostalgic show, looking back at the hurtful moments that shaped her: that offhand remark from a primary school pal; a scathing comment from an industry snob; a brutal review from a snippy critic. Brasier decides to track them all down and demand answers.

With musical support from her partner, Tim Lancaster, the show is cleverly-crafted, as poignant as it is hilarious. And it’s not all about the bad stuff: there’s a lot here about the positive differences people can make, most notably the high-school drama teacher, who provided a safe space for her and other “freaks”, telling Brasier that she could fly and opening the window to a wider world. The standout for me is a song about her schoolfriend Sally, which makes me cry. Sensibly, there are no jokes in this section, just a beautiful reminder of why we need to “stand up for the dolls”.

Part self-reflection, part-eulogy to that drama teacher, IASWWBFNY is a memorable and thought-provoking hour of musical stand-up. And you’ll learn more about The Fast and the Furious franchise than you ever wanted to.

2 stars (just kidding)

4.5 stars

Susan Singfield

A Small Town Northern Tale

12/08/25

Underbelly, (Iron Belly), Edinburgh

Nathan Jonathan’s engaging 60-minute monologue is based on his own recollections. He tells the story of ‘David’ – a Jamaican-English teenager, who, after he and his mum suffer domestic abuse at the hands of his dad, is forced to move from the city of Manchester to an unspecified small northern town.

Dumped into a local school, where he literally doesn’t know anyone, David’s is the only non-white face in evidence. Perhaps inevitably, he suffers repeated bullying at the hands of the school’s hardcase, ‘Kevin.’

It’s the early noughties and, over the ensuing four years, David navigates his way through the trials of puberty, a disastrous first date with an Emo girl he’s fallen for, and the trials and tribulations of adapting to a newly burgeoning phenomenon: the internet. In one flashback, he cuts away from the scene depicting the incident that made his mum flee their home, promising us that he will return to it…

Jonathan is an engaging and fearless performer, racing energetically back and forth across the stage of Iron Belly as he takes on a whole gaggle of characters, slipping into different accents, as he demonstrates the many pitfalls that lie in wait for luckless strangers in small towns. It’s not all dark and despairing. A scene where Jonathan goes through a series of noughties dance routines has me laughing in recognition.

There’s no doubting the commitment of this young actor/writer, though I do think that, when he finally returns to that earlier scene, he pulls his punches somewhat. I’d prefer to see the scene addressed full-on, the true horror of the situation stripped bare, thus offering catharsis to the audience.

Nevertheless, A Small Town Northern Tale is an impressive debut, one that explores racial identity without ever falling into the pitfalls of cliché.

4 stars

Philip Caveney

James Barr: I’m Sorry I Hurt Your Son (Said My Ex to My Mum)

11/08/25

Underbelly George Square (Buttercup), Edinburgh

Comedian/presenter James Barr tackles the thorny issue of domestic violence in this candid one-hour show, as he looks back on an abusive relationship and considers how it has affected him. There’s no denying that there’s some dark material here, but Barr is quick to assure us that we’re allowed to laugh – he’s a comedian, he says; if we don’t respond to his macabre jokes, then we’re just adding to his trauma.

By sharing his story, Barr exposes some of the masculine stereotypes that amplify his feelings of shame: he’s a man; he’s not supposed to be a victim. And there’s the added pressure of being gay: of having already been through the stress of coming out, defending his homosexuality, reassuring his family that he will be okay. How now to admit that he’s really not okay at all?

Directed by Madeleine Parry and Chris Gau, ISIHYS (SMETMM) is a bleakly funny piece, with plenty of laughs to leaven the mood. In fact, I think there’s too much humour here – which I know is an odd criticism to level at a stand-up show. It’s just that the joking feels like a defence mechanism: whenever Barr gets close to revealing some emotion, he cuts away to a smutty one-liner. While these are always funny and elicit laughs, they also serve as a barrier, pushing the audience away. Perhaps he needs more distance from his trauma before he can really open up and mine this material to its full effect – or maybe he will never be comfortable with that.

Either way, ISIHYS (SMETMM) is a witty and thought-provoking stand-up show, and it’s a pleasure to spend an hour in James Barr’s company.

4 stars

Susan Singfield