Hello reader,

Ticket sales at the Edinburgh Festival Fringe have stalled for the first time since Covid restrictions were lifted, breaking the trend of year-on-year growth.

In 2025, a total of 2,604,404 tickets were sold for 53,942 performances of 3,893 shows representing 62 countries. This marks a slight dip from 2024, when 2,612,913 tickets were sold across 3,746 shows.

Anyhow. Below are the shows that I saw during my week in Edinburgh.

Cheers!

Carl W x

Lost Lear – Traverse Theatre
Irish writer-director Dan Colley reimagines King Lear through the prism of dementia in this thoughtful, layered work. Joy (Venetia Bowe), a once-celebrated Dublin actor, now in advanced decline, clings to the illusion she is rehearsing Lear. Around her, nurses feed the fantasy with props and scripts, while her estranged son Conor (Gus McDonagh) struggles to reach her before it’s too late. Dementia, the UK’s leading cause of death, becomes both subject and metaphor here, explored with precision and tenderness. Though the supporting cast is sparse, Bowe’s uncompromising performance anchors the piece, balancing fragility and force with remarkable conviction.

She’s Behind You – Traverse Theatre
Johnny McKnight’s one-man dive into the world of pantomime is at once dazzling and slippery, constantly shifting between sincerity and parody. On a glittery Wizard of Oz-inspired set, he charts his journey from “silly billy” comic turns to thirty seasons as a dame. Panto, often overlooked, is reframed here as both cultural cornerstone and survival strategy in an era of budget cuts and shifting values. McKnight moves deftly through memory, critique, and camp excess, reminding us that pantomime is ever-evolving—an art form that mirrors its times. The late-night crowd adored it, swept up by McKnight’s wit, craft, and resilience.

Suburbia – Summerhall
Jonny Woo, legendary queer performance artist, lays himself bare in Suburbia, an autobiographical cabaret stitched with sequins, scars, and searing honesty. From suburban childhood to New York nightlife, Woo charts a life of desire, danger, and dazzling survival. His reflections on HIV, delivered with luminous clarity, are deeply affecting, while every self-penned song carries the sting of confession. By turns filthy, frank, and fiercely funny, Woo commands the stage with both mischief and vulnerability. The shocking, hilarious finale—heels, nudity, firecracker—lands as a gleeful act of defiance. This is queer storytelling at its boldest: messy, joyful, and utterly unforgettable.

A Gambler’s Guide to Dying – Traverse Theatre
Gary McNair’s solo play returns a decade on, still brimming with warmth and wit. Told through the eyes of a grandson, it recounts the tale of a grandfather who gambles against the odds—betting he’ll survive cancer to see the millennium. McNair explores how stories shape reality, blending truth and invention into a meditation on family, mortality, and legacy. Old-fashioned storytelling may seem unfashionable, yet here it remains potent, tender, and funny. The play’s bittersweet reminder—that we echo on through genes and stories—is beautifully delivered. Not earth-shattering, perhaps, but a quietly profound hour, well worth revisiting.

Orpheus and Eurydice – Edinburgh International Festival
Gluck’s Orpheus and Eurydice receives an ambitious reinvention, blending Scottish Chamber Orchestra, Scottish Opera chorus, and the acrobatic daring of Circa. Director Yaron Lifschitz sets the myth within a stark asylum, where grief blurs reality. Acrobats embody Orpheus’s turmoil with dizzying feats, sometimes dazzling, occasionally distracting. Countertenor Iestyn Davies anchors the production with an exquisitely restrained performance, his “Che farò senza Euridice” devastating in its intimacy. Samantha Clarke’s Eurydice/Amor is radiant, her soprano both playful and aching. Laurence Cummings drives the score with urgency, matched by the chorus’s precision. Bold, sometimes bewildering, but undeniably powerful, this Orpheus lingers long after.

Trouble, Struggle, Bubble and Squeak – Pleasance Courtyard
Victoria Melody’s solo piece, directed by Mark Thomas, blends personal storytelling, agitprop, and playful re-enactment to explore land, food, and community power. Drawing on her residency in a Brighton housing estate and her Civil War re-enactment group, she revisits the 17th-century Diggers, radicals who demanded shared control of common resources. Melody’s felt vegetables and period costume may appear whimsical, but beneath the humour lies sharp political intent. Though rough-edged in performance, the show is purposeful, hopeful, and disarmingly warm. Melody embodies “mission drift” not as a flaw, but as a radical necessity—feeding resilience, autonomy, and the seeds of rebellion.

Method in My Madness (One Man Hamlet) – Assembly Square
Sam Blythe’s Hamlet is no solemn soliloquy but a restless tussle with Shakespeare’s text, filtered through clowning, Welsh identity, and familial grief. Locked in a sparse room, a script, clown noses, and a Welsh dragon sticker are his tools. He stumbles through iconic scenes, interrupted by a disembodied voice in Welsh—part nurse, part mother—that destabilises his performance and re-roots him in vulnerability. It’s uneven, sometimes jagged, but at its best it’s a dialogue with the audience rather than a monologue. Dedication to his late father adds poignancy. Not the subtlest Hamlet, but a fiercely human one—raw, messy, alive.

Lunartic – Cabaret Voltaire
Lucy Pearman’s midday slice of mayhem is a lunar-themed joyride that demands—and earns—full audience commitment. Clad in a metallic pop-up tent, she flits between moon gags, alien encounters, and planet-audience participation. The crowd become the solar system; blackout moments invite them to literally shed light on the story. At times the chaos tips into repetition, but Pearman’s energy, timing, and contagious warmth keep the room orbiting her imagination. Equal parts absurdist romp and heartfelt confession, Lunartic is witty, anarchic, and oddly moving. Pearman’s playful curiosity transforms silliness into wonder, proving that clowning, at its best, feels like oxygen.

Fly, You Fools! – Pleasance Courtyard
US troupe Recent Cutbacks compress Peter Jackson’s Lord of the Rings trilogy into a breathless, hilarious hour. With no elaborate costumes and only the barest props, performers Nick Abeel, Kyle Schaefer, and Regan Sims conjure Middle-earth through physical precision and endless invention. Kelly Robinson’s live Foley—coconuts, laptops, and a bag of tricks—becomes a fourth performer, giving the show sonic magic. Director Kristin McCarthy Parker keeps momentum high, while James Appleby’s lighting adds cinematic flair. The finale’s miniature silhouettes delight film buffs, though the relentless shouting can grate. Still, the sold-out audience roared approval. An affectionate, chaotic parody, packed with charm.

Youth in Flames – Assembly
Mimi Martin’s debut one-woman play is a blistering act of witness, set against the Hong Kong extradition protests. Drawing on her own upbringing there, she filters political upheaval through the eyes of Millie, daughter of British expats, whose perspective widens as the city fractures around her. Martin’s performance is both raw and precise, her wide-eyed energy holding the audience rapt as she evokes unity, resistance, and disintegration. What begins as personal reminiscence swells into collective testimony, making theatre and activism inseparable. Urgent, nuanced, and unflinchingly human, Youth in Flames burns with courage and empathy. A remarkable, electric Fringe debut.

Wonder Twunk – Underbelly
Lachlan Werner’s Wonder Twunk is a gothic carnival of clowning, ventriloquism, and queer theatre, co-starring circus strongman Jack Hammer. A “twunk”—twink face, hunk body—Werner spins grotesque characters, from a spectral father to a sea lion named Lippy, through a fever-dream aesthetic somewhere between Tim Burton and drag cabaret. Beneath the grotesquery lurks loneliness, twisted into hilarity and dread. Laurie Luxe’s direction lets Werner’s sharp audience play shine; he’s wicked, quick, and magnetic. Not every set piece lands—the Essex-Hun spirit sequence drags—but the invention and commitment are staggering. Strange, funny, and defiantly original: Werner is a talent to watch.

I Was Dancing in the Lesbian Bar – Underbelly Cowgate
Holly Redford Jones’s one-woman show is part musical comedy, part queer confessional, inspired by Jonathan Richman’s cult song. With wit and warmth, she recounts her coming-out journey—from awkward prayers beneath Chesterfield’s crooked spire to discovering joy and belonging in Edinburgh’s last lesbian bar. Armed with acoustic guitar and dryly funny patter (“Fuck the patriarchy—but quietly, with noise-cancelling headphones”), Jones creates a safe, celebratory space that feels inclusive and authentic. It’s a playful tribute to disappearing queer venues, and a gentle reminder of why physical spaces for community still matter. Endearingly odd, genuinely heartfelt, and quietly radical.

Whale, Where Are You Going? – Assembly
This Taiwanese gem is a miniature marvel of puppetry and theatrical invention. A lonely old man and a curious child embark on a search for a whale, their journey unfolding through shadow play, tabletop puppetry, and ingenious stagecraft. Paper planes soar, waves engulf the stage, and finally a vast blue whale fills the walls—a breathtaking reveal. The small puppetry team animate the boy with extraordinary delicacy, drawing gasps from young audiences and adults alike. With humour, wonder, and deft audience interaction, it’s theatre that awakens curiosity. Another highlight of the Taiwan season, proving children’s theatre can be magical and profound.

Elon Musk: Lost in Space – theSpace
David Morley’s satirical take on Musk imagines the billionaire stranded in orbit with only an evolving AI “mum” for company. The premise has comic potential—visions, Trump phone-ins, even a Mick Jagger cameo—but it never gels. The script lacks structure and wit, leaning instead on half-baked impressions and surreal non-sequiturs. Even absurdist satire requires a strong spine, and here disbelief collapses under the weight of randomness. What could have been a sharp lampoon of tech messianism drifts off course. Instead of a rocket-fuelled send-up, this is a space flight to nowhere. Musk may be lost, but so is the show.

Motor Home Marilyn – Gilded Balloon
Michelle Collins makes her Fringe debut as Denise, a Marilyn Monroe tribute act living out of a motorhome. Ben Weatherill’s script, inspired by a real figure, balances comic one-liners with glimpses of loneliness and grit. Collins delivers moments of poignancy—her rendition of River of No Return is unexpectedly moving—but the characterisation never fully blossoms. The humour often feels grafted on rather than arising naturally, leaving stretches of inertia. Collins captures Denise’s determination but not the sparkle that would make us root for her. Imperfect yet intriguing, Motor Home Marilyn is a patchwork piece: flawed, uneven, but oddly compelling.

Jeezus! – Underbelly
An Untapped Award winner, Jeezus! is a queer musical romp about a Peruvian boy discovering both sexuality and sacrilege. Performers Sergio Antonio Maggiolo and Guido Garcia Lueches throw themselves into this brisk two-hander, blending camp parody songs with a playful skewering of religious dogma. Its cheeky central conceit—Jesús falls for Jesus—works as both pun and provocation, though the satire rarely digs beneath surface jokes. The music charms more than dazzles, and the story feels slight, but the show’s heart is big, bold, and joyfully queer. With sharper writing, it could be a cult favourite; as is, it’s spirited, scrappy fun.

Refuse – Assembly Square
Lucy McIlgorm’s Refuse (the title punning on both rubbish and resistance) begins as a warm portrait of a Ukrainian community and its genial binman, Maks, before darkening into a meditation on invasion and survival. Vasyl Sydorko delivers a compelling central performance, supported nimbly by McIlgorm and Maria Shtofa, who slip between multiple roles with wit and clarity. Anastazie Toros’s direction makes resourceful use of minimal props—a wheelie bin, a door, scraps of clothing. At times, the tonal shift from gentle comedy to looming threat feels abrupt, but the play’s closing devastation resonates powerfully. A funny, tender, chillingly timely three-hander.

BAIRNS – Pleasance Bunker
Annie Davison’s one-woman show explores surrogacy through the sharp-tongued voice of Lottie, a surrogate navigating hormones, sisterhood, and conflicting impulses. With cheeky wit, sweary humour, and direct audience address, Davison keeps energy high, even if the character never quite gains full depth. The script’s straightforwardness limits dramatic tension, but it’s peppered with amusing asides and moments of raw honesty. Most affecting is the tension between legality and emotion: the child is technically Lottie’s until birth, a fact that haunts her growing attachment. Part stand-up, part monologue, BAIRNS is rough-edged but heartfelt—a messy, funny, touching portrayal of complicated love.