Edinburgh

Jerk Off!

17/08/26

Underbelly Bristo Square (Dairy Room), Edinburgh

Don’t be misled by the title. Jerk Off! is not a bro-comedy, akin to The Hangover or The Inbetweeners. Instead, it’s a profound autobiographical play about death, abusive relationships – and hip hop.

Nadia P Manzoor is a triple threat. Not only has she penned this provocative script; not only is she a compelling actor; this woman can really dance.

Framed as a story (or perhaps a lesson) for her daughter, Rumi, the play follows Nadia in the aftermath of her mother’s death. She’s only twenty when her mother dies and she doesn’t know how to process her grief. Her British-Pakistani family want her to get married to a nice Muslim boy, but Nadia wants to spread her wings. So when her cousin Zeinab invites her to Boston, she books a ticket right away.

Boston is a revelation: an internship at Harvard (thanks, Zeinab!), a hip-hop dance class and a hot boyfriend. And if the boyfriend’s behaviour raises a few red flags, well, that’s a small price to pay for a cool new life… Until it’s not.

As well as Manzoor’s skilled performance, what makes Jerk Off! so powerful is her refusal to offer us any easy answers. There is nuance upon nuance; there are no heroes or villains here. Instead, we have a cast of flawed humans, failing and succeeding, trying their best and falling short. By the end of the play, Nadia has come to terms with the imperfect reality of who her mother was. The message to Rumi seems to be that people are tricky and love is complicated – but we can learn to make peace with that.

Engaging, informative and challenging, Jerk Off! is not to be missed.

5 stars

Susan Singfield

Omar Badawy: Guided Detour

16/08/26

Pleasance Courtyard (Bunker One), Edinburgh

Omar Badawy leads us on a Guided Detour through the life of a conflict-averse ‘Posh Arab’, who somehow keeps stumbling into situations where passivity isn’t an option. Take a grey London afternoon in September 2025, for example. Badawy is on his way to a Norwegian-themed fancy dress party. He doesn’t want to go but he’s certainly not going to risk an argument by telling his girlfriend that. So here he is, reluctantly making his way across the city, only to find himself in the midst of Tommy Robinson’s ‘Unite the Kingdom’ march, surrounded by far-right protestors.

Oops.

What’s a non-confrontational Viking to do?

Twenty-eight-year-old Badawy has an affable persona, relating his series of unfortunate events with a rueful, resigned air. The tone is light and the jokes are plentiful, but he makes some serious points. He just wants to get on with his life: he doesn’t want to be drawn into race-debates; why should he? Ever since primary school (a particularly funny anecdote, which I won’t spoil here), he’s been defined by his Egyptian lineage, expected to engage with identity politics.

Confident, articulate and perfectly in control of his material, Badawy is a deceptively breezy comedian. I laugh throughout the show, as if I’m watching something playful and inconsequential. It’s only later, walking home, that the more profound elements begin to assert themselves.

4 stars

Susan Singfield

Endgame

14/08/26

Pleasance at EICC (Lomond Theatre), Edinburgh

Which adjective best describes Samuel Beckett’s Endgame? Depressing? Dystopian? Dingy? Dark? Take your pick. And yet this is also a funny play, full of clowning, jokes and silly absurdities. Who better to illuminate the weirdness than the wonderful Flabbergast Theatre?

We’ve been fans of Flabbergast ever since we stumbled across Tatterdamelion at 2016’s Fringe; in the intervening years, we’ve been wowed by The Swell Mob, The Tragedy of Macbeth and Paper Swans. We’re excited to see what they do with “the play that Beckett considered bleaker than Godot“.

Henry Maynard is not only Flabbergast’s founder and the director of Endgame, he’s also Hamm, the blind and dying man at the centre of this piece. Hamm is angry with life, railing against his failing body and the terrible state of the world. The view from his window, he is told, is desolate, post-apocalyptic. Something dreadful has happened out there – and it’s not much better inside his home. Hamm is stuck in his chair, unable to move, utterly reliant on the hapless Clov (Simon Gleave), who’s been with Hamm since he was a boy. Part servant, part surrogate son, Clov is cowed by Hamm, incapable of standing up to him.

The play’s most transparent metaphor is Hamm’s parents’ accommodation. Old and useless, Nagg (Derek Ellwood) and Nell (Complicité’s Annabel Arden) have been discarded like rubbish: they live in a pair of dustbins outside their son’s house, popping up occasionally to beg for food. The price for a hard biscuit is high: they have to listen to Hamm’s endless shouting about how they neglected him when he was young. His accusations are born out by Nagg’s cruel replies but their helplessness makes us sympathise with the aged couple.

Mostly, though, our hearts go out to Clov. He’s the only one who’s able to move, albeit with difficulty, and so he’s stuck caring for these dreadful people, none of whom has a kind word for him. Gleave’s expert clowning gives the play its physical dynamism, preventing it from seeming static, despite the fixed positions of the other three characters.

Skilfully conceived, this production has a clarity that illuminates Beckett’s dream-like, complex play, making it more accessible than any other version I have seen. Just as in life, death looms large – but there are plenty of laughs along the way.

5 stars

Susan Singfield

Nesting

13/08/26

Summerhall (Old Lab), Edinburgh

Nesting is a difficult play – complex, ambitious and emotionally devastating. But that’s the beauty of art, right? It comes in so many guises. Sometimes it’s good to be challenged.

This one’s very close to home: it’s about a man dying of MND, the neurological condition that killed my lovely dad four years ago. Billy Mack’s embodiment of the disease is horribly accurate and I find myself crying. A lot.

Mack plays Francis, a widower who lives with his pregnant daughter, Emma (Francesca Hess). The two enjoy a close relationship, teasing and joking and looking out for each other. Emma’s an overworked teacher, and – although he’s retired – Francis is very busy too. He’s making a crib for his new grandchild, lovingly cutting and sanding the wood he’s chosen so carefully.

But there’s something wrong with his right hand…

The diagnosis of motor neurone disease, delivered by Dr Bell (Peter McCormick, who also wrote the play), is devastating.

So far, so sadly ordinary. But then we meet Gull (Michael Guest), a seagull with a mission. If Francis agrees, Gull will kill him and take over his body, stalling the disease at its current level. It’s a no-brainer, he squawks. Not only will Emma be spared the burden of caring for her dad, she won’t even know he’s gone. Francis is very tempted. He just needs some time to think.

Under Ben Standish’s assured direction, Nesting is an arresting, deliberately stagy piece. As befits the Fringe, with its quick turnaround, the set is simple yet extraordinarily effective. A wooden frame with a curtain serves as hospital ward, bedroom window, room divider, etc. Meanwhile, Guest’s performance is a masterclass in physical theatre, committed, unnerving and utterly convincing. If the metaphor is a little opaque, that’s not necessarily a bad thing. We find ourselves discussing possible interpretations long into the evening.

McCormick’s script addresses the strain placed on carers too. Hess perfectly conveys the toll her dad’s illness takes on Emma, as she struggles to look after him as well as keeping up with her job and coping with her pregnancy. The impassioned speech she gives is perhaps the most memorable moment of the play. She pleads with Dr Bell to help her, explaining that the care homes she’s approached have rejected her dad because MND is too complex for them! If that’s the case, how is she supposed to cope? How can two hours of daily home help be enough?

Dark, funny, absurd, salient: Nesting is not an easy play to pin down. But it is an intensely thought-provoking drama, one that will stay with you for a long time.

4.2 stars

Susan Singfield

Shaun Guff: Enuff is Enuff

12/08/26

Hoots Potterow, Edinburgh

Do you want to be happier? More successful? Have you had enuff? If so, get yourself to Shaun Guff’s self-funded seminar. He’s hit rock bottom so you don’t have to, and he’s ready to share his sensational life lessons via a very Y2K PowerPoint.

Guff is the third solo show from talented actor-comedian Clementine Bogg-Hargroves, who clearly isn’t one to keep churning out the same old stuff: the three productions could hardly be more different. 2021’s Skank was a heart-wrenching comic drama about a young woman with extreme health anxiety; 2023’s Please Love Me was an exploration of societal expectations, accompanied by pole dancing. And now here’s a character comedy, featuring an unqualified life coach called Shaun Guff, whose pronouncements are, well… You’ll have to pop along and see for yourself.

Created by Bogg-Hargroves and Lewis Coleman, this is cringe-comedy at its best: think Alan Partridge with a dash of David Brent or Larry David. Guff’s lack of self-awareness is cleverly depicted, the moments of social awkwardness he creates are genuinely mortifying. Bogg-Hargroves is an engaging performer anyway, but she turns that up to eleven in this show, forcing eye contact for just a bit too long, standing just that little bit too close. It’s wonderfully excruciating.

There is some audience participation but don’t let that put you off. Bogg-Hargroves is a lot more sensitive than her alter-ego, and she knows how to pick the right people. (And let’s face it, there’s never a shortage of willing performers watching a Fringe show.)

The show is laugh-out-loud funny from start to finish – a joyous, silly hour of nonsense.

And who knows? It might just open the door to a brand new you.

4.3 stars

Susan Singfield

The Longer My Mother Is Dead, The More I Like Her

12/08/26

Greenside (Olive Studio), George Street, Edinburgh

We arrive at Greenside’s George Street venue a little early, so I can’t resist FaceTiming my mum to get her reaction to the poster of the show we’re about to see. Consequently, I take my seat with her laughter still sounding in my ears, a salient reminder of how lucky I am that my relationship with my mum is so straightforward. We have a lot in common; we enjoy each other’s company; I love her – and she loves me.

Deborah Unger, on the other hand, has a lot more to work through. In this autobiographical piece, she shares her lifelong battle to understand her mother, to come to terms with the complex dynamics of their bond. Because resolution matters – even if her mom’s already dead.

Unger switches between the roles of mother and daughter with practised ease, simply raising her glasses when she’s being herself, and peering through them when she’s being her mom. Sitting on a black box, legs dangling, she takes us back in time to when she’s five years old. Mom is clearly a difficult woman – moody and hard to predict, veering from hot to cold. But young Deborah admires her: she’s uncompromising, secretive, bold and brave, steering her family across continents for her husband’s military career.

There are a lot of threads to this story, and some of them are left dangling, which I find a little frustrating. Nonetheless, TLMMIDTMILH is an interesting exploration of the ties that bind, and there’s something very heartwarming about Unger’s realisation that she is, in fact, very similar to her mom.

3 stars

Susan Singfield

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

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