“Brainsluts”, a term apparently used for those taking part in a clinical trial, titles this production of a similar context.

Following five clinical trial participants and a Doctor, we watch as their relationships build and change from strangers to something else over 5 Sunday sessions. Love blossoms and dissipates, vulnerability is shared and friendships are formed.

This production is a very simple set up. We encounter the same room with a set up like a waiting room meets clinical room with furniture and props to support. Times when the fourth wall is broken for the Doctor to speak directly to us is simply set up through freeze frames and a lighting change. It is all effective and works well for this straight forward piece of writing.

It is a humorous narrative, with very different and, at times, stereotyped characters, their interactions provide their own comedy with the help of the well constructed narrative. Their interactions with one another feel genuine and flow easily, with no trips, stumbles or lack of confidence. We utterly believe each character and their relationships with one another. Comedy is also found in awkward moments constructed and feels very “British” in its approach to these. Generally, the story is very well constructed and gives the sense of a sit com on stage.

Brainsluts is an enjoyable and well written production, with moments of well constructed comedy and plot points, all executed very well by the performers.

(3 / 5)

Confronted with different staging, a Dexter-style plastic back drop, old chunky TVs and lots of wires, we have entered Dear Annie, I Hate You – NOT a play about a severe dislike of Annie the musical, but about something much deeper.

Based on Sam Ipema’s true life, Dear Annie […] is the story of Ipema’s diagnosis of a brain aneurysm at 20. We live through her short life up to that moment, her family relationships and then post diagnosis and how she copes with this change. With the high potential of life and personality changing consequences should she have surgery, she begins to question what is more important, life or death, in many different guises.

The production does well to squeeze so much content into such a short space of time. We quickly and easily get a sense of Ipema, her life and her family, with interjections on the TV from her family to make it rounded. These screens are connected to tubes that light up and escape their connection, depending on the points being explored at the time. However, a lot of the narrative accompanying this becomes technical and scientific and, while very interesting and important to explaining her brain and how the impact of the aneurysm, sometimes it just lost me and I felt a little out of the loop of truly understanding.

Ipema is high energy, utilising the space and hopping from podium to podium and up the stairs, banishing the idea of any impediment the aneurysm should have. Unfortunately, sometimes her run up the stairs felt out of place and unnecessary, not really adding much to the story. The energy level continues high when Annie comes in; the physical embodiment of the aneurysm. It is said a lot that some like to put a name or visualise what they are coping with as a person or thing, and this is clearly how Ipema coped with this. Unfortunately, Annie is often the voice of reason, urging for truth, and through her high octane presence in the space being purposefully annoying, she often takes a higher road to Ipema, blurring the lines of good and bad.

The play ends up with Ipema thanking Annie and this feels a little confusing and misplaced. It doesn’t feel like there is a revelation that is needed, with a simply fine life pre-Annie, and it feels as if there was a need for an ending and a story moral that couldn’t quite be found. But, we are dealing with a true story and one critic shouldn’t be the judge of how one copes with something like this and what brings comfort.

Dear Annie, I Hate You is well executed in its production values and an enjoyable retelling of a true experience. However, the narrative and dramatic licences taken felt slightly out of place and unfulfilled.

(4 / 5)

We’re all familiar with tales of Knights, pulling swords from stones, their round tables, lots of chainmail. But have you heard about the one with the horse?

Madeleine Rowe brings back their one person production of Knight, Knight; an outlandish and hilarious tale of a Knight, his quest to become King, marry, have an heir and fight for his kingdom. However, the crux of this tale is – he’s in love with his horse.

Bizarre as it sounds, Rowe has created not only an obscenely funny narrative but conducts it with precision. Using very purposeful and calculated miming, movement and audience participation, they are able to evoke consistent giggling from us with just how bizarre but hilarious this performance is.

We only find out at the end that Rowe isn’t British at all. With this very posh and English accent, they fool us but over exaggerate and blur words, very “toff” like and this is endlessly funny.

They engage with us throughout and does brilliantly with improv on our ludicrous suggestions and off-script guidance. Their main source of comedy is repeated gestures, simple yet effective moments, such as trying and failing for a long time to scabbard their sword, or a moment of evading the crown being put on their head with surprising flexibility. This simple slapstick is so ridiculous, we only find this more and more funny as time goes on. It almost becomes overly hysterical and we love it.

Knight, Knight is a totally bonkers and fantastically executed clown show, with nothing outlandish but well constructed slapstick and repeated comedy.

(3 / 5)

Think High School Musical meets Twilight and throw in a queer tilt to and I may present to you, Count Dykula.

With high production values, Count Dykula is the story of a loner lesbian vampire, who seeks to set the record straight for vampires everywhere and fight against the attempt to add a fluffy exterior around the monster/human dynamic, changing horror culture forever.

This threat comes from Scare University, run by a stereotypical lesbian vampire headteacher who fully leans into this with large breasts and a siren-esque facade before biting your neck. Throughout the Count’s journey, she comes across many monsters, merged with Americanised stereotypes, such as werewolf football jocks and zombie cheerleaders. These provide endless comedy and are well performed throughout, with the help of changed costumes in quick succession and great character acting.

If this description fools you however, it is not one for the children. Some of the comedy is sought in queer references, lewd and sexualised jokes and this twist on the story makes it full of laughter but also very camp and adult. We laugh at the clever stereotype merging and the content that comes with it.

The production value themselves are perfection; with well constructed costumes, props and staging, it already feels like a firmly planted production. But this doesn’t let you miss out on jokes of reduced staging at fringe; audience members are brought up to act as a mirror or a wall or help with a wrestling ring rope and this interaction adds yet another layer to the comedy.

However, for me the merging of a school aesthetic with something else felt a little twee. While the production is clearly well invested in, from the fantastic professional performances and writing, all the way down to the costumes and props, it felt like something that had been done before and, while entirely enjoyable, it felt a bit of an overused approach. They do well to combat this with satirical pop culture referencing but it still feels a little over-done.

Count Dykula is a very enjoyable and well constructed production, with clever merging of different genres and themes, it is sadly something that feels a little over saturated in theatre.

(5 / 5)

Disclaimer before we begin: the star rating is in no way impacted by the fact I myself ended up being pulled up to “perform” in this show. If it was, it would certainly be at a 0!

Bouffon has to be one of my favourite theatre genres. If you’re unaware of what this is, this is “clowning” but more about the taboo side of society. The aim is to highlight themes, ideas, topics and be highly satirical about this. What I love is there seems to be more of this at fringe this year, and that can only be a great thing.

CVNT, with its highly coded title (not really) is all about empowerment, of taking back the reins of your life, yet still knowing that you aren’t a perfect person, as well as the taboo around female menstruation and female anatomy. A topic that even in 2025 there is a struggle and a taboo around discussing openly.

Sophie Power immediately enters the stage after creating slow anticipation; singing slowly “Don’t you want me baby” as she plays with the nearest audience from behind a curtain, she begins to add a level of fear and nervousness amongst us. Revealing herself, in true bouffon form, she is dressed head to toe in shades of red and pink tulle, silky gloves with sharp nails (reminiscent of HIM from the Powerpuff Girls) with only her face on display that contorts and plays with us. This is somehow threatening but also inviting and creates much confusion.

Audience participation is at its top in this – we laugh, we are shocked, we are surprised, we are confused all in unison but somehow, Power creates a really powerful union within us. We root for each other but also laugh. Some participation is vulnerability and taking that power back, some is an anatomy lesson, some are “party games” and, in my case, the chance to blow the dust off my own bouffon days (and poorly may I add!). But for once, no one is reluctant. Despite this foreboding figure, we trust them and this helps in luring us into the hilarious, the shocking, the taboo and we accept that fully.

CVNT is a stroke of absolute genius in bouffon/clowning but isn’t for the faint hearted or the meek. Prepare to be fully thrown into the obscene, the madness, the chaotic but laugh so unbelievably hard for the entire thing.