This enjoyable comedy from Japan has a bit of everything, mime, conjuring, slapstick, and acrobatics. Akira Ishida stars as a bored office worker who decides to enliven his hum drum existence by taking on a series of challenges to impress and win the heart of the girl who drops into his life played by Alice Ayano.
Before the story begins, there is a brief period of audience participation where a mysterious figure clad all in black invites people to come on stage and remove pieces from a puzzle and have a try at the Japanese art of Kendama. The black clad figure goes on to play the role of both provider of special effects, (a watering spray providing the rain as our protagonist looks out the window no doubt contemplating another boring day at work), and announcer, holding up banners in English and Japanese describing whether our hero is dreaming, (in one sequence bravely taking on a drunk on the train who is harassing the girl of his dreams), or reality, (where he is meekly asking the pest to stop) and also describes the scene setting such as “HOME” as well as flipping over a list of days illustrating the time spent by the main character in mastering a number of tricks.
Amongst memorable moments are an exciting sword fight when our office worker is in the virtual world of a gaming headset and a mime involving a briefcase with a mind of its own! The energetic and talented cast make “Challenge” a most enjoyable show.
Edy Hurst’s Wonderfull Discoverie of Witches in the Countie of Himself is a gleefully chaotic, deeply personal comedy-theatre show that blends Lancashire witch trial lore and the irresistible pull of the Vengaboys into one spellbound hour of storytelling. Counter Culture wanted to know more about the Edinburgh Fringe 2025 showso we asked Edy.
Your show leaps from witch trials to the Vengaboys via ADHD—how did those threads first collide in your mind?
Well look, a lot of people keep saying ADHD is a big part of the show, but let me nip that in the bud. This is simply a show about the Lancashire Witch Trials, and also how the Vengaboys secretly made a concept album where they circumnavigate the globe, and nothing else.
Was I diagnosed with ADHD just before I started making the show? Sure. Does it make me find patterns in things that, at first, might appear disparate and unrelated? Perhaps. Do I go on about it all the time? Not on this watch!
There’s something anarchic about remixing history with Europop. Are you reclaiming joy as resistance?
Well that makes me feel like I’m doing something important so thank you!
I think joy is probably always an act of resistance, and to prioritise that is to welcome surprise and connection into your life, you don’t get to find it where you plan to, and it’s not something that can be measured or quantified, but it’s one of the greatest feelings you get on earth.
And because it’s joyful, and because you’re hoping to bring people along on your journey of exploration, you’re reminding yourselves that you need to be open and willing and take risks and to think about the world in a different way.
To consider that maybe our preconceived notions that cheesy dance song could be held as an insight into a time and a place in the same way as historical accounts are is both accepting the madness of our reality and the ridiculousness of the world we find ourselves in.
That, but also it’s a daft laugh, and you know what? We don’t have a lot, but we have a laugh don’t we?
What drew you to witch trials specifically? Is it the hysteria, the misdiagnosis, or something deeper about who gets punished for being ‘too much’?
One of the seeds of the show is that my mum told me we were related to some of the women accused in the Lancashire Witch Trials, so everything about the Pendle Witches and the Lancashire Witch Trials kind of came out of that.
Growing up in the North and always being interested in folklore and fantasy, they’re events that I think are really easy to romanticise despite the fact all our knowledge comes from what were at the time legitimate but problematic court documents.
The more research you do the more you find out what a complicated set of philosophical and political circumstances led to these people being accused, and how the decisions documented there led to wider witch trials, and where the turning point of someone being a ‘cunning folk’ that practices magic at the request of the community to becoming a Witch is.
Like so many things in the past it’s really tempting for people to put their own view points on what it actually meant, without there being much more than a single document of information. Something I’ve been very aware of making the show is that to create work about witch trials is to create something that directly addresses real people, unlike Dracula, Frankenstein or other staples of horror there was a genuine impact in the stories we told of witchcraft, and I think that there’s some level of responsibility you carry with that.
A responsibility just as great as knowing that the vengaboys made a concept album where they learnt to circumnavigate the globe but nobody has noticed except me.
(Some folks who I’d really recommend for additional reading is Thomas Waters Cursed Britain, Owen Davies Cunning Folk and Ronald Sutton’s The Witch.)
ADHD shapes your storytelling—not just the content but the rhythm, the pace, the tangents. How do audiences respond to that kind of honesty?
That’s really interesting to think of it as honesty! And you’re right, I think it’s something that I can’t not do, it constantly betrays or conveys my thought process even if I’m not talking about specific events or occurrences from my life.
I really like trying to do things I haven’t done before, or I haven’t seen done on stage. Part of the privilege of getting to perform for me is that you should try and creatively push both you and your audience’s experiences. Having said that, one of the things about trying something new is that it’s uncharted territory, and audiences need to feel comfortable that in taking a risk they will be rewarded, or the journey is worth that walk.
I think the audience response is often quite dependent on the context I’m in. For my own shows where an audience knows they’re coming for a particular topic told by someone with a particular image, they should have a good idea of what to expect before they walk in.
Whereas at a comedy club I’m one part of a mix of acts, and so as a musical comedian who does lots of different types of energies and paces in a set, it’s often about quickly showing that I also know that I am often a contrast to the other acts, but that it’s fine. It’s better than fine! It’s Great!
I guess it boils down to in the club context “It’s weird; I like it” and in the show context “I like it;it’s weird” or at least hopefully. Not everyone likes everything, and I think that is quite frankly very rude.
You’ve said that the Vengaboys are the sonic embodiment of “weird hope.” What does that mean in the context of your show?
That does sound like something I’ve said, and I shall add it to the worrying list of ‘things people have said I said that aren’t bad things to have said but I have no recollection of saying.’
I think the Vengaboys are a very fun celebration of difference without you realising it,. This was in the show and was dropped because there wasn’t enough time but “Boom Boom Boom Boom” is a celebration of female sexual agency that was released at a time when female pop stars weren’t often given that level of respect, whilst at the same time being a fun campy dance song.
It’s music that is catchy and, for late 90s early 00s euro-dance, doesn’t out stay it’s welcome, which I think is partly why they’re still a successful touring band to this day. I also think that their songs are easy to see as light
Fringe can be overwhelming at the best of times—how do you navigate performing with neurodivergence in a festival environment like this?
Comedy’s had a big reckoning with labels, diagnoses, identity. Are you part of a wave that’s doing away with shame?
Would you rather be tried as a witch or spend eternity on the Vengabus?
Ahhhh yes, much like the trolley problem, it is the perennial question, whether to buy a ticket to the Vengabus or sit in the dock armed with a broomstick. It’s a choice that haunts me. On the one hand, the Vengabus is a great mode of transport in an intercity disco. On the other hand, everybody’s jumping, and that could be stressful. Then on the other other hand, being tried as a witch is the absolute pits. Vengabus 100%
What’s the audience reaction you cherish most? Confusion, catharsis, or just boogying in their seat?
There’s a pretty recent interview Donald Glover (Childish Gambino) did where he talks about some advice he got from Erykah Badu. He’s worried about how his audience will feel about his new album and asks Erykah if she ever feels that and tells him “I make what I like, and they eat it how they want to eat it.”
I’ll be honest, I’m just grateful out of all the shows and experiences on earth they chose to spend an hour watching something I’m making, and hilst I hope that they enjoy and get out of what I’m trying to convey, it’s pretty fucking cool they turned up at all.
If we were to set your show to a trial of its own—what’s the closing argument you’d make in its defence?
Hey now! What’s the show on trial for? What’s its crime? Enjoying a meal? A succulent Chinese meal? If that’s the case, lock me up and throw away my keys, that sounds delicious.
Edinburgh Fringe 2025 is flipping the stereotype script. Eleven plus-size comedians are staking their claim—upending fatphobia, celebrating fullness, and packing the festival with shows that brim over with bold truths and belly laughs. Each act proves that the richest humour often arrives in the most generously proportioned packages.
Mari Volar – Common Ground Mari Volar transforms the stage into a living laboratory of connection. In Common Ground, she invites total strangers into an improvisational dance—threading feminist insights through playful banter, then coaxing out the silliest thing they share. Expect a charismatic whirlwind of crowd work that reminds us how laughter unites even the most unlikely companions.
Kat Powell – Why Am I Like This? Part memoir, part roast-session, Kat Powell’s hour is a roller-coaster through adolescence and family legacies. Armed with razor-sharp wit, she skewers the people who shaped her—then gleefully turns the blade on herself. It’s cringe-laden nostalgia, peppered with savage honesty, that proves self-deprecation can still be an act of fierce self-love.
Jack Scullion – Don’t Mess It Up Jack After a well-publicized 2023 Fringe meltdown, poet-comedian Jack Scullion returns with a manifesto for self-acceptance. Don’t Mess It Up Jack stitches together two years of therapy sessions, a plus-size influencer wedding and a daring moment of on-camera toplessness. His blend of heartfelt poetry and riotous humour charts a journey from shame to liberation.
Stuart Thomas – Bad Fatty Welshman Stuart Thomas fuses his sheep-farming roots with a modern body-positive battle cry. In Bad Fatty, he tears into diet culture and societal expectations with working-class gusto. The result is an unapologetic stand-up hour that roars with authenticity—and lands each punchline like a runaway sheepdog.
Mel McGlensey – MOTORBOAT Equal parts maritime farce and fearless clowning, MOTORBOAT is Mel McGlensey’s seaborne fantasia. She literally becomes part woman, part vessel—battling stormy slapstick and nautical nonsense in a show that earned five-star praise for its outrageous inventiveness. Prepare for physical comedy that sails you straight into uncharted belly-laugh territory.
Amanda Hursy – Carted If life wrote your crime drama, it’d read like Carted. Amanda Hursy recounts a Netflix-worthy spree of brushes with the law, serving up true-crime hilarity with a wink. Her gift for transforming chaos into crystal-clear storytelling makes every “you can’t make this up” moment feel both impossible and irresistible.
Mel McGlensey – NORMAL In this world premiere, Mel invites you to define “normal” in real time. Audience votes steer a clowning experiment that proves the concept evaporates under absurdity’s glare. It’s a collaborative tour de force—one that hammers home how our need for normalcy collapses once we unleash collective creativity.
Justina Seselskaite – Best in Class Lithuanian import Justina Seselskaite slices through working-class struggle and immigrant life with precision. In Best in Class, she skewers Wetherspoons woes and bisexual coming-of-age dramas in a set that’s sharp, unflinching and darkly hilarious. Her insider-outsider lens refracts social critique into uproarious truth.
Rabiah Coon & Shuang Teng – Asian American Cultural Confusion This split-bill pairs American expat Rabiah Coon with British-Chinese comic Shuang Teng to explore diasporic double lives. From the calorie counts of “another stone to lose” to childhood rituals left behind, they riff on identity with warmth and wit. It’s a two-headed dive into cultural collision that refuses to play by one nation’s script.
Ray Fordyce – Quincunx Ray Fordyce builds a personal quilt of tales around his favourite word. Quincunx winds through awkward school days, gaming obsessions and love affairs with language itself. His conversational style invites you into life’s geometry—revealing how every anecdote, no matter how small, connects to a shared human pattern.
Bobby Sheehan & Mark Henely – Roast Me! Praise Me! Two veterans of New York’s Roast Battle scene face off in a carnival of insult and adulation. Bobby craves the burn; Mark dissolves at a kind word. In Roast Me! Praise Me!, the audience wields the power—choosing whether to torch or exalt each performer. It’s a live-wired experiment in the pleasure and pain of words.
This Fringe, these eleven comedians demand we clear the stage for voices that don’t fit the old moulds. Immerse yourself in laughter that’s as big and bright as the lives it celebrates.
Pat Harrington interviews the Comedian, Writer and Performer Gwen Coburn about her Fringe show Sad Girl Songs
1. Connecting Myth to Modern Reality
Sad Girl Songs explores how women have been punished for men’s wrongdoings from Ancient Greece to today, including Medusa’s story. What inspired you to connect your own experience to figures like Medusa, and how do these myths help shine a light on modern gender violence?
I was diagnosed with PTSD a few years back, and suddenly all these patterns started clicking into place – not just in my own life, but everywhere I looked. I kept hearing variations of the same story from women around me: we get hurt, we speak up, and somehow we become the problem. Then I started reading about Medusa with fresh eyes, and I realized she wasn’t the monster – she was the victim who got turned into a monster for what happened to her. That’s when I understood that these myths aren’t ancient history; they’re the blueprint we’re still following. Medusa gets assaulted in Athena’s temple, and Athena punishes… Medusa. It’s like the world’s oldest victim-blaming story, and we’re still telling it every day.
2. A Different Ending
You’ve said that your story “isn’t unique” but that this version “ends differently.” Without spoiling anything, how does Sad Girl Songs subvert the old narrative of women bearing the consequences of men’s actions?
Without giving too much away, I’ll say this: in the old stories, women like Medusa are gorgons whose visage will turn you to stone. But what if that’s not where the story ends? What if we look anyway?
3. Influences and Comparisons
Your show has been compared to performers like Hannah Gadsby, who blend raw honesty with comedy. How do you feel about those comparisons, and did any particular artists influence your style of turning personal trauma into something both funny and challenging?
Being compared to Hannah Gadsby is incredibly flattering – Nanette changed how I saw comedy and my ability to exist in it. I think we’re both interested in the idea that comedy doesn’t have to just make people laugh; it can make them think, make them uncomfortable, make them reconsider things they thought they knew. I’ve definitely loved the work of Rachel Bloom for her discussion of mental health and exploration of musical genre. I also just love watching people tell earnest stories through their craft, whether that’s comedy, circus, magic, or theater. On an unrelated note Hannah Gadsby is the reason I got my CPAP machine for sleep apnea, so lots to be grateful to them for.
4. From #YesAnd to #MeToo
The show is rooted in your experience of an abusive relationship with your improv teacher — when “#YesAnd becomes #MeToo.” What made you decide to transform that painful time into a comedy show?
First, I had to deal with it every other way I could. Therapy, journaling, medication, screaming into pillows – all important steps. But what made me want to write about it was seeing other women who had left comedy having had a similar trauma. Comedy was the only thing that felt like it could take this isolating experience and turn it into something that could connect people. Plus, I had already used jokes to survive through it, I wanted to write new jokes on the other side of it. And a thoughtful, dark joke can be wildly empowering. There’s something about being funny about things that aren’t supposed to be funny.
5. The Aftermath of Speaking Out
Beyond the abuse itself, your story also focuses on what happens after. You’ve spoken about a “functional exile” you faced after coming forward. What do you want audiences to understand about the reality for survivors who speak up, especially in creative industries?
The thing nobody tells you about speaking up is that it’s often just the beginning of the story. After I came forward, I lost work, lost friends, lost opportunities – not because anyone explicitly said “we can’t hire her,” but because suddenly I was “difficult” or “dramatic” or “a liability.” What audiences need to understand is that real change requires reparative justice, which is a much larger commitment than most organizations are willing to make. It’s not enough to just remove the abuser and call it solved. You have to rebuild trust, address the systems that allowed abuse to happen, and actually repair the harm done to survivors – which means ongoing support, career rehabilitation, and structural changes. But reparative justice is expensive and complicated and requires admitting that the whole system was broken, not just one bad actor. Most places would rather just quietly shuffle people around and hope the problem disappears.
6. Navigating PTSD
You’ve been open about being diagnosed with PTSD. How did that shape the show’s development and your approach to comedy? How did you move from using comedy as armor to using it as a genuine tool for healing and connection?
Getting diagnosed was this weird relief, like finally having a name for why my brain was doing what it was doing. Before that, my comedy was very much about deflecting, keeping people at arm’s length, being funny so I didn’t have to be vulnerable. I was writing satirical songs about feminist issues I deeply cared about, but I was couching them in a “Sad Girl” character that punched down at myself. As if to say, “no worries though, I’m sorry I brought it up.” The PTSD diagnosis forced me to get real about what I was feeling and why I was mocking myself onstage. I realized I didn’t want to just survive my trauma; I wanted to transform it into something useful. So I had to learn how to be funny in a way that invited people in instead of pushing them away. It’s scarier, but it’s so much more meaningful.
7. Being Brutally Honest
You describe Sad Girl Songs as “brutally funny and brutally honest.” How do you protect yourself emotionally when you’re sharing your own trauma on stage? Were there boundaries you set for what to include or not include?
Writing and performing a piece about my own PTSD experience definitely comes with challenges – honestly, acting in general can be tricky with PTSD, so I have specific routines and tools to help me recenter after shows. I also made sure not to write anything into the show that I hadn’t already worked through in therapy, so I can feel safe genuinely connecting with my audience without worrying about re-traumatizing myself. At the end of the day, this is a story of hope and empowerment, and I love being able to share that with people.
8. Finding Humor in the Dark
How do you find humor in dark places? Can you share an example of how you turned a particularly painful moment into a comedic one that audiences really respond to?
I have one song called “Thank You For Not Murdering Me” which is about that thing all women do where we assess what our risk of being murdered is in a situation, or assess after the fact how a situation could have turned out differently and more murdery. Audiences recognize that feeling even if they’ve never articulated it, and there’s this laughter of horror but also relief. The humor comes from naming the absurd reality we’re all living in but pretending is normal.
9. Musical Comedy
Songs like “You Should Know Where the Clit Is” and “Daddy Issues Boyfriend” stand out for their cheeky, satirical bite. What role does music play in getting your message across — does it soften the blow, or make it hit harder?
Your girl loves a genre. Music gives an extra element to a joke, it’s an added aspect to subvert or emphasize an expectation. I love that extra layer it adds and how that expands the horizons for jokes. Plus this way I can tell my parents I AM using my graduate music degree after all.
10. Bumble Songs
You also turn real-life dating app profiles into songs. What made you want to include these, and what do they reveal about modern dating and gender expectations?
I love these songs. During the pandemic I used to take the aggressive or absurd dating profiles sent to me by friends and make them into songs to post- complete with my terrible home-made drag outfits. I put them in the show because they make me laugh, and also because underneath the silliness there’s often a threat (some more explicit than others) that these men are making to women publicly.
11. Mythology and the “Sad, Sexy Baby” Venus
You set your personal story against figures like Medusa and Venus. What do these ancient icons mean to you, and why bring them into a modern feminist comedy?
We tell women these mythological stories about women that sexualize them, shame them, and scare them. We tell these stories TO CHILDREN, and we gloss over the deeply harmful messaging embedded in calling Ovid’s Medusa a monster, or in Botticelli’s bodacious Venus skipping from birth right into sexy womanhood. That’s wild to me.
12. Working with an Intimacy Coordinator
Your director, Kayleigh Kane, is also an intimacy coordinator. How did that shape the creative process, especially when handling such sensitive material?
Working with Kayleigh has been incredible because she’s a super collaborative director, and she’s also an intimacy coordinator. She understands consent and boundaries in this really deep, practical way. We worked together on rewrites of the script, design, even the practices of getting into and out of Sad Girl Songs mode before and after shows. She helped me figure out what parts of my story the show actually needed versus what parts of my life weren’t necessary to tell this particular story honestly. There’s a difference between being authentic and putting every detail of your experience on stage – we’re telling a specific story that serves a purpose, we’re not sharing everything that ever happened to me.
13. Audience Reactions
How have audiences responded to the mix of raw honesty and dark humor? Have any reactions surprised you, or stuck with you?
The responses have been incredible. I’ve had people come up after shows and share their own stories, both of similar relationships, reporting in the workplace, or developing PTSD. One guy told me he realized he was going to evaluate how to better address power dynamics in his relationship. That’s the dream response – when comedy actually changes how people think and behave. The fact that people leave wanting to be better humans is everything I could ask for.
14. Shared Experiences
So many people can relate to stories like yours. Have audience members shared their own experiences with you after the show?
All the time, and it’s both heartbreaking and incredibly validating. What I’ve realized is that almost everyone has some version of this story; I think of it a bit like a feminist everyman story. Maybe it’s not exactly the same, but they understand what it feels like to blame themselves for their own hurt, or to have their reality questioned, or to feel like they have to protect other people from their own trauma. The conversations I have after shows remind me what my hope was when crafting the show – that people feel that their stories are being seen and heard.
15. What’s the Takeaway?
What’s the one thing you hope people take away from Sad Girl Songs? What conversations do you hope they’re having on the way home?
I want people to leave feeling less alone. Whether they’ve experienced something similar or they’re just trying to understand the world we’re all navigating, I want them to feel like we’re in this together. The conversations I hope they’re having are about consent, about how we support survivors, about what stories we tell and what stories we believe. But honestly, if they just leave feeling like they’ve been seen and heard and entertained, that’s enough. Sometimes helping someone feel less alone is the most radical thing you can do.
16. Comedy as Education
Some of your songs, like “You Should Know Where the Clit Is,” are both funny and educational. Do you see comedy as a tool for sex ed or myth-busting too?
Absolutely. Comedy is one of the most effective teaching tools we have. Plus, if I can leave audiences humming the anatomical parts of the clitoris, why wouldn’t I?
17. Humor and Trauma
You’ve said before that your comedy has been described as “genuinely upsetting, in a good way.” Why is that the vibe you embrace — and how do you balance making people laugh while sitting with uncomfortable truths?
Did I choose the vibe, or did the vibe choose me? Idk man, but it’s a pretty accurate description of how I come off. I think the best laughs come from when we’re brave enough to sit with the truth. I don’t look for uncomfortable avoidance-laughter, I look for the jokes and laughs that come when you break the tension of avoidance.
18. Creating Safer Spaces
What changes would you like to see in the comedy world — or the wider performing arts — to better protect people from abuse and support survivors?
We need systemic change, not just individual actions. That means clear reporting structures, restorative justice practices, and support systems for survivors that don’t require them to be “perfect victims.” It means believing people when they come forward, and not making them prove their trauma to access help. But it also means understanding that when someone reports, they need ongoing support – people with trauma and PTSD have access needs that organizations need to take seriously. Asking someone who’s already been traumatized and afraid to share their story to sign an NDA in exchange for being heard only retraumatizes them. If we’re serious about creating safe and fair spaces, we need to spend more time thinking creatively about new solutions instead of defaulting to the same broken systems.
19. Bringing It to the Fringe
This is your first Edinburgh Fringe. How does it feel to bring such a deeply personal, American story to an international audience? What are you most excited — or nervous — about?
I’m excited to see how the show translates across cultures. I suspect the themes do, because patriarchy is pretty universal. I’m nervous about whether British audiences will get my references or find me funny, do you all know what Trader Joes is or should I say Tescos? Please advise. I’m also curious about what conversations this might start in a different context. The story might be specifically American in some ways, but the underlying issues about consent, trauma, and survival are everywhere. Plus, I’m really looking forward to discovering the coziest bookstore and tea shop in Edinburgh, if you see me give me your recs!
20. What’s Next?
After Edinburgh, what’s next for you and Sad Girl Songs? Do you want to keep touring it, record it, or move on to new projects that push these ideas even further?
I’m definitely interested in recording it at some point, I think it could reach people who might not be able to see it live. I’m also slowly getting the songs produced and recorded, which is exciting! I love writing plays and comedy – last year I wrote an award-winning fake Tennessee Williams play set in a Quiznos- and I hope I’ll meet people at Fringe who like the same sort of jokes I do. But for the meanwhile, I’m just focused on telling this story as well as I can, as many times as it feels useful. If it keeps starting conversations and making people feel less alone, I’ll keep doing it. That’s what matters most to me.
Every August, Edinburgh’s cobbled streets erupt into a riot of laughter and possibility—and in 2025, Welsh comedians are poised to steal the show. These eight acts don’t just bring punchlines; they arrive armed with razor-sharp stand-up, off-kilter character sketches and storytelling so inventive it upends every expectation you had about a comedy hour. From the warm absurdity of life in the Valleys to fearless riffs on identity and pop culture, Wales once again proves it’s a creative heavyweight on the world’s biggest arts stage. Whether you’re a Fringe veteran hunting your next comedy crush or a curious newcomer drawn by the buzz, prepare for nights of genuine insight wrapped in that inimitable Welsh wit—and trust me, you won’t forget the names you discover this August.
Steffan Alun – Stand Up Steffan Alun arrives at Edinburgh Fringe 2025 armed with a decade’s worth of sharp-witted optimism and the kind of warmth that turns strangers into friends by punchline two. Best known for his guileless charm on BBC Wales and S4C, and a stellar stint supporting Elis James on tour, Steffan has quietly honed a voice that’s equal parts self-deprecation and unshakeable hope. He’s the kind of comic who’ll have you roaring about the absurdities of dating apps one minute, then pause to remind you why falling in love with your own hometown—the Valleys, in his case—is an act of radical joy. In Stand Up, his debut hour-long show, Steffan works through what he calls “my latest identity crisis” with an unflinching spotlight on sexuality, pop culture obsessions and everything that makes Wales wonderful and gloriously maddening. He’ll riff on the baffling etiquette of modern romance, the addictive scroll of social media, and the rugby heroes who taught him that community means more than individual glory. But beneath the riffs and the laughter lies a gentler truth: this is a man who believes comedy can bridge divides—between straight and bi, local and global, hero and nobody—in a single joke More Info and tickets
Stuart Thomas – Bad FattyStuart Thomas storms the Fringe with Bad Fatty, a brazen, no-holds-barred hour that flips fat-shaming on its head and celebrates life as a big Welshman. Raised on a sheep farm in the Valleys, Thomas fuses his proud working-class roots with a modern manifesto of body positivity, gripping diet culture by the scruff of the neck and ripping it to shreds with every punchline. Candid about his bisexuality and battles with depression, he weaves personal truth into riotous riffs on sexuality, self-image and the absurdities of rural life, proving that honesty is the funniest weapon in his arsenal. Sofie Hagen’s verdict—“a big fat star in the making”—and The Scotsman’s praise—“made me laugh a lot”—only scratch the surface of his fearless charm. More Info
James Arthur isn’t a mathematician and other lies The life of a mathematician is one that most people outside of the sphere don’t understand. The mathematician is a shy reclusive animal, so says Joe Public. Imagine my shock when I realised I was one after walking off stage as Othello. Welcome to the life of a mathematician who isn’t a recluse, has social skills and apparently likes being on stage. Come join me and work out how on earth this happened and maybe I’ll tell some stories of other people just like me. More Info and tickets
Jake Cornford – Fair Play To Me Jake Cornford has fast become one of Wales’s most magnetic comic discoveries, and in Fair Play To Me he turns the everyday into a celebration. Over a lean 45 minutes in the Attic at The Mash House, he channels his infectious energy into riffs on self-improvement mantras, the humble coffee mug and the baffling etiquette of toxic masculinity. He’ll have you nodding along as he unpacks our collective nostalgia for 90s pop stars, then flip the script with a surprising insight that lands like a communal high-five. Driven by a mission to find friends and unite strangers in the dark, Cornford invites the audience on a joyous odyssey where every confession is both deeply personal and universally relatable. More Info and tickets
Bennett Arron: I REGRET THIS ALREADY Bennett Arron arrives at the Fringe with I Regret This Already, an hour devoted to life’s cruel punchlines and the art of laughing at your own misfortune. Fresh from snagging a Top 10 joke of the Fringe in 2023 and a BAFTA shortlist nod, Arron proves that even success can’t save you from disappointment—he’ll have you queuing early at the Liquid Room Studio to witness it. On stage, he weaves razor-sharp storytelling about dementia, depression and death into riotous one-liners, treating the darkest moments with a disarming honesty that turns collective gloom into shared relief. It’s no wonder The Scotsman “had the room creased up” and The Guardian christened him “a Welsh Seinfeld.” Catch this free, pay-what-you-want gem every afternoon from 2nd to 24th August at 4.15pm and prepare for a bittersweet masterclass in comedy resilience. More Info and tickets
Phil Cooper – …And such (WIP) Phil Cooper’s …And Such feels less like a work-in-progress and more like an intimate portrait of a 36-year-old finally figuring out what “adulthood” means in the Valleys. Cooper unpacks the chaos of planning a wedding in a tight-knit, working-class town, from the eccentric aunt fixated on family traditions to the baffling etiquette of seating charts and stag dos. His self-deprecating honesty about fumbling through floral arrangements and negotiating with quirky characters around every corner is both uproarious and tender. Underneath the laughs, there’s a gentle reckoning with his own insecurities—because coming of age doesn’t stop at 30, and sometimes the greatest act of bravery is admitting you don’t have all the answers. This show really has it all! (well specifically the stuff mentioned here). More Info
Josh Elton: Away With The Fairies Josh Elton storms the Fringe with Away With The Fairies, a barnstorming hour that takes three short weeks of his life—nearly letting a man die, bombing so spectacularly he ended up in therapy, and literally crashing his car on a rising bollard—and casts the blame on one culprit: fairies. With razor-sharp timing and unshakeable confidence, Elton turns near-disaster into side-splitting confession, spinning personal chaos into comedy gold. Ignacio Lopez raves that he “rocks every show,” and David Baddiel insists he’s “really, really funny,” but it’s Josh’s uncanny gift for weaving misadventure and myth that keeps audiences queuing early. More Info and tickets
Paul Hilleard – Work In Progress Come and have a look at how the sausage is made, in this hour-long work in progress from Paul Hilleard. The dry, Welsh oddball has been recognised as one of the emerging talents of UK Comedy after winning the BBC New Comedian of the Year 2024 award. Expect off-beat ramblings about Yoga, bus drivers and Epstein. As seen on Comic Relief and BBC Wales. ‘Energy and delivery on stage absolutely fantastic’ (Babatunde Aleshe). ‘Top rate comedy’ (Spencer Jones). More Info and tickets
Together, these eight acts capture the soul of Welsh comedy in 2025: generous, unfiltered and relentlessly human. Whether you’re hunting your next comedy crush or simply craving genuine connection, their shows promise evenings of laughter that linger long after the applause fades.
Ahead of the Edinburgh Fringe, Pat Harrington interviewed Stuart Thomas about his show Bad Fatty.
1. What inspired you to create Bad Fatty? Lots of things! I’ve always wanted to do my own show at Edinburgh, and I’ve been slowly edging toward it ever since I started a Trello board of joke ideas during lockdown. During that same period, I took an online comedy course run by Sofie Hagen—an Edinburgh Comedy Award Best Newcomer winner. Sofie is a proud fat activist and a huge influence on my comedy. After lockdown, I was lucky enough to be invited to perform in a show with them called Sofie Hagen and Her Sexy Friends. That night, I tried out a fairly new joke about being a Bad Fatty, and it went down really well. It felt like the idea had legs—and more importantly, like it could be the kind of strong, catchy title I could build my first show around.
2. The title Bad Fatty is pretty provocative. What does being a “bad fatty” mean to you? I came across a piece that talked about how, within the fat acceptance community, there’s this unspoken divide between so-called “good fatties” and “bad fatties.” In simple terms, a good fatty is someone who’s actively trying to lose weight—apologising for their body, promising transformation, always striving to be smaller. A bad fatty, on the other hand, isn’t trying to shrink themselves. They’re just… existing. Eating in public without shame. Wearing what they want. Taking up space without permission. And I thought—yeah, that’s me. I’m the “bad” kind. So instead of hiding from that label, I decided to grab it with both hands and run with it.
3. Can you share a fatphobic absurdity you’ve spun into comedy? Of course! One of my favourite bits is about the people who genuinely believe that clothing brands shouldn’t make clothes for fat people—like that’s a valid stance. You’ll see them in comment sections or on daytime TV, ranting about how catering to larger bodies somehow “encourages obesity,” as if a pair of trousers has the power to ruin society. But here’s what they never seem to consider: if you don’t make clothes for fat people… what exactly is the alternative? Because the only logical outcome of their argument is more nude fat people in public. And if that’s what they want, they should just say it. Honestly, it’s giving “We fear you, but we also want to see your arse at Tesco.” I hope audiences realise that by laughing at these absurdities, maybe their assumptions about fat people aren’t all that true—and maybe they should at least question them.
4. How do you tackle diet culture in your act? Open mocking, to be honest. That’s the most straightforward way to describe how I deal with diet culture—I can’t take it seriously, and I absolutely refuse to pretend I do. To me, diet culture is one of the most absurd, joyless institutions we’ve built—worse than Good Morning Britain. It’s an entire industry designed to make you feel broken so it can sell you the illusion of being “fixed.” When you strip away the branding and the buzzwords, it’s just capitalism with a side of lettuce. And that’s just funny.
5. Have you always been this confident joking about your body? Not at all. For me, joking about being fat started as a defence mechanism. It was survival. You either make fun of yourself or get made fun of—and if I was the one telling the joke, at least I was holding the mic. That felt like power, even when everything else didn’t. I was the opposite of confident growing up. I got bullied quite a bit—which, to be fair, wasn’t exactly shocking. I was a fat, queer, nerdy kid with glasses from a sheep farm. That’s basically catnip for a school bully. But comedy changed a lot for me. It gave me a way to reshape the narrative—to say, “You don’t get to laugh at me unless I invite you in.” That, and a fair bit of therapy (though no prizes for guessing which is cheaper).
6. Sheep farm, working-class roots – how’d that shape Bad Fatty? Farming was all I knew for the first 18 years of my life. The farm wasn’t just a home—it was a full-on lifestyle, a business, and a chaotic family whirlwind of hard work and sheep poo. It shaped everything: my work ethic, my humour, my knowledge of obscure sheep breeds. Growing up working-class in that kind of environment meant you developed a thick skin early—especially when your mum’s version of body positivity was, “Eat up, that lamb is so fresh it was in that field this morning.” For years, I swore I’d never do a job that blurred the lines between life and work. And now I do stand-up comedy—a job that is a lifestyle, is chaotic, and definitely doesn’t stop when you clock out. So… great job, Stuart. Nailed it. But honestly? That upbringing taught me resilience, perspective, and how to find laughter even in the bleakest times. And all of that feeds directly into Bad Fatty.
7. How does bisexuality play into Bad Fatty? I think my confidence around being fat and being bisexual have taken turns holding each other up—like they’ve been tag-teaming my self-worth. I only came out as bi during lockdown—late bloomer energy—but I’ve been fat for much longer, so I had a head start on learning how to exist outside of what’s considered “acceptable.” There’s a real overlap in how both identities get treated. People erase you, question your legitimacy, or act like you owe them an explanation just for existing. So when I joke about being bi, it’s not just about sexuality—it’s about what it means to live in a body or identity that people constantly want to edit or shrink.
8. Fat, queer, Welsh, mentally ill—how does it all mesh on stage? It’s like a big cultural lasagna: every layer’s a struggle, but it’s flavourful. It might surprise people just how much crossover there is between these identities. Each one comes with its own stereotypes, social baggage, and survival strategies—and when you stack them, the overlap is wild. Fatphobia, queerphobia, classism, mental health stigma… they all come from the same joyless place that tells people they’re wrong for just existing as they are.
9. Mental health in comedy—how do you make depression funny? In a way, I don’t think you make depression itself funny—you make the world around it funny. You zoom in on the absurdity of everything that comes with it: therapy sessions, coping mechanisms, awkward silences when you’re honest about how you’re feeling. And most of all, the way people react to it.
10. Any topics off-limits? That’s not really for me to decide—that’s down to the audience. Society’s comfort levels shift over time, and it’s my job to spot that, work with it, and play around it. That said, I do self-censor to a degree—but it’s purely a gut reaction. And luckily, I’ve got a lot of gut to react with.
11. Most memorable audience reaction to Bad Fatty? The reactions that always hit hardest for me are from other fat people. I want the show to feel like a kind of fool’s guide to fat acceptance, so when someone leaves saying they feel better about themselves—even after all the daft jokes—that’s incredibly rewarding.
12. Have people reached out to say Bad Fatty helped them? One aspect that still surprises me is when non-fat people leave the show and say it gave them a new perspective—that they hadn’t realised what fat people go through. See? Educational and knob gags. What’s not to love? Haha.
13. Have you encountered tough crowds or backlash for the show’s themes? Honestly, I’ve been lucky. With a title like Bad Fatty, the audience tends to self-select. That said, I did have one moment—in Brighton, of all places—when a guy in the front row shouted, “Yeah mate, just go to the gym, innit.” Now, I’m not the kind of comic who immediately attacks hecklers. I try to keep it light until I’ve got a reason not to. So I looked at him and said, “Yes… or you could love your body.” Cue applause. I know that sounds a bit “Mr Big Head,” but that’s genuinely how it went. And moments like that remind me that the audience isn’t just laughing at the jokes—they’re backing the message behind them. And that’s just lovely.
14. Do you view your comedy as activism or storytelling? Why not both? I’m not here to lecture—it’s a comedy show, after all—but I am here to expose the absurdity of systems that treat fatness like a crime and queerness like a phase. If they leave googling “Is BMI nonsense?”—bonus.
15. Which performers inspire your approach to comedy? So many! As I mentioned earlier, Sofie Hagen has been a massive influence. Also: Hannah Gadsby, Richard Pryor, Jo Brand, Rhod Gilbert, Bill Hicks (we all deserve a Bill Hicks phase). And outside of comedy, gritty storytelling musicians like Johnny Cash, Bob Dylan, and The Dubliners. But honestly? It’s the everyday people—the friends, family, and strangers who get through life by laughing.
16. What’s your process for writing a show like Bad Fatty? It started out as a kind of “greatest hits” of my club material—bits that had worked well, loosely tied together. But once I started writing toward a clear theme—fatness, shame, survival—it actually got easier. When you’ve got the whole world to write about, it’s overwhelming. But having a subject gives you structure, focus, and something to push against. That’s where the good stuff lives.
17. How has the show evolved since the beginning? In early work-in-progress versions, I realised some sections leaned too heavily into self-deprecation. It was veering toward “I’m fat and here’s an hour of me being mean to myself.” Now, the tone is more “Fat person kicks ass and takes names.” There’s still self-awareness, but it comes from strength, not apology. And that shift has changed the whole feel of the show—for me and for the audience.
18. What does it mean to perform this show at Fringe? Fringe can be amazing, beautiful, thrilling, and wild—but it can also be terrible, expensive, and exhausting. I look forward to it every year, and in some ways, I dread it. It’s like riding a horse: go slow, be steady, and maybe practise a bit first. This year, I’m doing a 45-minute show instead of the usual hour, and just a one-week run instead of a full month. So really, I’m probably riding a Shetland pony. But I can’t wait—not just to perform Bad Fatty, or host my fat comedy showcase Chonk, but to see other shows, reconnect with friends, and hopefully come away from it all a better comedian.
19. For someone who’s never seen your comedy, how would you describe Bad Fatty? A fat, queer, Welsh tour-de-force of a show that smashes diet culture, sexuality, and shame—all with sharp jokes and pure daftness.
20. The Takeaway? To not only be a Bad Fatty—but to use being fat as an advantage. The world is awful sometimes. And if you can’t change it, you might as well laugh and make the most of it.
Counter Culture jumped at the chance to interview comedian and writer Katie Folger. Katie was performing her one woman show, Getting in Bed with the Pizza Man at the 2024 Edinburgh Fringe.
Katie Folger
We talked to her about the show and her future plans.
What inspired you to create Getting in Bed with the Pizza Man?
Well, a number of things! I think the show is a product of an amalgamation of influences on my life over the years. I think a primary one that I like to talk about is when I was 20 and had the fortune of essentially crossing paths with Robert Redford, if you don’t know. At my university and through a very fortunate series of events, he became my mentor for about six or seven years when I was quite young. And Bob actually was, we were sitting across from each other like this at a dinner. And my first dinner I had with him and he was really the driving force encouraging me to write my own work.
Yeah, because I was. I was young. I was you know, charismatic girl, which often, you know, if you have a knack for anything artistic or especially for me and for performance, be an actor, be an actor. And I was, but I was always interested in writing, even as a child. And and he was really like the first major person in my life, obviously, by someone so esteemed and brilliant. And he told me. I know you can act. I don’t even think you act. You’re a genuine person. What I want to hear is your voice. And so that really was the major first part in my desire to make my own work. Then my program at school was also a heavy influence of new work. That was the focus of the program. And so there was like a whole, it was called the New Work Festival. And so it was so special, the university would dump a ton of resources into it. So I was also a part of so many new plays.
And yeah, that was like those were kind of the seeds. And then this I’ve been writing behind the scenes are really my whole life. I have stacks of journals just full of terrible writing. And then eventually, you know, sometimes you hit on something and over the years, of course,
if you write everyday, which I do just for me, you get better. And so I wrote this story. It was it would. I’m very much inspired by a trip that I had taken to Denver, actually. Three summers, or yeah, three summers ago now. It was right during the pandemic and 2021, ’cause the vaccines had just come out, so people were seeing travel again. And I had a really, I think when I first started performing this play, I was a little bit more cheeky about whether it was true or not true. And I think now I’m sort of like later in the life cycle of the show. So like, it is very much based upon a series of events that happened that were quite strange.
And all of the, you know, the end of the show with the pizza ,all of that is like happened. And so when I started telling this story to friends, they were like, You should do something with this.
That was really odd. And so, yeah, I’ve always, as a writer, been most inspired by telling my own stories. I’m not as much of like a, like a fantasy writer or even like, I would say my preferred genre is memoir-style fiction. Just because I would say the main reason for that is because again, a primary influence for my work is sharing my, my uninhibited opinion and perspective from my, from a, from a female perspective. And and within as much detail as possible. And so when I wrote this story, that’s all I was trying to do. I wasn’t really writing a comedy. I just wrote a story. And then when I read it to people for the first time in November 2021, people laughed the wholetime. That was like, interesting. Yeah. So those are kind of some of some of the seeds of influence.
And then I’ve also, I got really excited about solo shows about three or four years ago. Just as a poem, I felt like it seemed scary to me. And I, as a human and as an artist, have always been interested in that, which kind of scared me. Yes. And so, yeah, I wrote this in the short story. I had a best friend read it and she was like, Katie, you’ve always wanted to do a one-woman show. I feel like this could work. And so that’s kind of how it all started.
One of the aspects that I found very impressive was, you know, the physicality of your performance.
Thank you. Yeah.
Do you have some kind of dance background?
Yeah. And what’s funny is, so obviously, as we saw, this show had no tech, no sounds, no lights. The full version of the show, which I think I had mentioned that night, has all of the bells and whistles. Yes. Ihave had this microphone version of the show built for a while just so we could easily travel the show. This wa sthe first time.
Because I had received some feedback. Everybody was like, why don’t you? Because the physicality was not in this version of the show. And I was like, well, if I’m coming to Fringe, it’s one of the people, a lot of people say it’s one of the most enjoyable parts of the show and like surprising. So I built it. I built it into the show, you know, just those shitty theatre chairs on the stage. Like that was a lastminute plan, but.
Yeah, I have a background in dance. I started. I was a dancer well before I was an actor. I started dancing at the age of two and I was primarily a dancer. I mean we were I was in four to five hours of dance after school every day for 14 years. I was on the dance scene.
You can tell.
Thank you. But and then but it’s kept up with me because I’m also so I transitioned from dance. Well, I started acting that kind of took my focus and. But I’ve been doing yoga for like very like I’ve been practicing it very dedicatedly for now. How old? Yeah, 16years. So since I quit dancing, I transitioned onto yoga. And so, yeah, you can kind of see all of those influences in in the show.
I do yoga myself. Oh, nice.
I’ve done it for years. I keep trying it. So it keeps me good.
Yeah. Yeah, it’s very good. It is good.
So, you know, you talk about sort of personal relationships and sexual relationships and it kind of, I suppose there’s a, kind of, a theme of identity there. You know, there were a lot of young women in the audience when I went there.
There were.
What do you think that they draw from the stories?
I think for me, as a young woman, like I said in the show, I think kind of like a main thesis statement is that as a woman, you’re never taught that sexuality or sex is more real, especially in like a more Western conservative mindset, patriarchal society. I think that’s the main part.
I think so many young women in this society and and there’s so many French shows that in their own ways actually talk about these things, which I think only underscores the universal nature of of You know, this theme of of the fact that obviously we’re in a patriarchal society and that, you know, women are objects to be desired. And so if you’re desired, then yes, OK, I show up in this thing and I ain’t getting you what you want. But I think with my show,
I I say this a lot when I talk to people about the show. I have a great friend who says the art that we write is the medicine that we need. And so for me, as you can see, like I was just, I was processing and for years processing these like. these grander themes and trying to flip the script of my own life and and kind of take the reins of my experience. Because really for so many years I was just kind of floating like a feather, just like the character in the show, you know, and and trying to figure out what sexuality and relationships meant to me. And it’s funny, like I feel that This show really helped me process a lot of those things.
And And I really, since I wrote the show, my life has changed quite a bit. And now, you know, I’m in I’m in a really happy relationship. And it’s like now it’s interesting because, like, I feel like the first iteration of this was what are my physical needs? What do I really feel like physically? And now it’s what do I think emotionally? What do I think about marriage? What I think about all of these expectations, what I am to be a woman, emotionally.
So anyway, like it’s constant, constant learning.
Do you journal?
Oh, yes. Yeah. Yeah, every day, pretty much.
I mean, My opinion is that most people aren’t too reflective. about what’s going on in their lives. They’re so busy living lives.
Yeah.
That they don’t have time to pause and reflect on it.
Sure, sure
And I mean, it did come through very strongly that you had taken out time to sort of think about relationships.
Yeah. I came across very strongly. Almost too much time.
And, you know, obviously what you’ve said there, there is a serious theme toit, but your show is also very, very entertaining.
Thank you.
It’s also to a certain extent what an old fashioned word we would use is “racy”. I think that is the word. Yeah, I’d use. Yeah. How do you balance all that and get the balance right in that?
Well, I think a huge piece of finding that kind of like that like. walking that tightrope of, you know, going deep into the core with it, and also staying light is with my collaborator and director of the show, Matrix Kilgore. Matrix really helped shape the really–
Second opinion.
Yeah, so the musicality of the show, and, you know, there are these– They’re honestly my favourite moments, and it’s when when you– like, people laugh when You like totally flip what you were doing. That gets a laugh. So, you know, my favourite moments sometimes when I’m performing are when I’m hanging out in a more serious space with the audience and I can feel like, you know, we’re all, they’re really watching me and I can see everybody’s eyes and then I cut it into a completely different tone and then everybody laughs. That’s really fun. But I think, you know, I think that’s I I think. You know, there is that craft to it. But I think for me as an artist, that is my sweet spot. It’s I’m not just, I’m not a surface level comedian. I’m not like ha ha jokes, jokes, jokes. I’m also not just sort of. I mean, I am funny, but I’m also, I think I’m only funny because it’s just kind of. It’s observational humour.
Yes. Yeah. I think you send that in your review, which I really appreciate it because it is. That’s what I and it’s from your own experience. And obviously if people, I suppose everything’s had certain experiences in their life, but similar if not the same. So, you know, people can relate to it as well.
Exactly. And is this yourfirst time in Edinburgh?
Yes. . Oh, my gosh. I I absolutely love this festival. Yeah, I was. I’ve been kind of saying, I feel like I came on a blind date with friends. Like, I’ve never been. I didn’t know what to expect. I just booked things ahead of time and had people help me. Didn’t even really do that much research because I didn’t have time because I’ve been touring the show in the States all year and in order to even have the funds to come and do this. And there are so many times, ’cause it’s so expensive to come do this. Yes, it’s things. And it continues to be more expensive and little things come up. And there were a lot of times where I tried to talk myself out of doing this, ’cause even before getting here, it’s been a really challenging year, a really rewarding and like successful year for me, but the most challenging alongside that, those wins and like the recognition, it’s been so hard.
To, like, pull this stuff off independently. And so, yeah, there were a lot of times where I wanted to bail on fringe for those tired. Yes. And because I’m also producing the show, I’ve had, of course, help. But I am the primary force that is driving this. It’s not just creative. I’m I’m producing.
And yes. And I’m so glad that I didn’tbail. And I can think, I can completely attribute. the continuation of this to my loved ones and my team. Yeah. My publicist in Austin, my director, my boyfriend, my family, my best friend.
You got them all working.
Yeah, well, they were all like, No, like, you have to go do this. And And my manager too. And so I’m I’m in love with stuff. Like me and my, I have like seven really close friends here and also my boyfriend and he and I just feel like this is one of the most special things we’ve ever done and it’s so inspiring and healing.
Do you think you’d come back next year?
I’m, I’m, yeah, like I’m. I would absolutely consider doing this again. I I think it’s definitely in my wheelhouse. I can also see the benefit of like continuing to come back. Yeah. I think I, now that I’ve done it once, I can, I now know what not to do. Yes. And what to do. I did not know what to do. Like, I made some big mistakes in coming here, namely in where I put my money and where to invest resources that I worked really hard to have and I put them in some of not the best places. So, but yeah, regardless, I think, like, I came here and I’ve achieved what I set out to do. pretty much after the opening night, so I’ve just been having fun ever since.
So, I mean, if you’ve if you’re a writer and a performer, you’ve got a lot of choices about what you might do next.
Yeah.
What are your plans going forward?
Yeah, so I think… I mean, it’s sort of maybe cliché at this point, but a major reason I would even, like Ed Fringe was even on my radar was the Phoebe Waller-Bridge Fleabag. My show is much different than Fleabag. I mean, there are adjacent themes, but it’s really like, I call it the Fleabag model of coming and doing work here, getting some eyes on it, getting some recognition, and taking it to rank a series. And I’ve had a series concepts that I’ve been ideating One for several years and I have a bunch of notes on my iPhone of like, yeah, all of these different episode ideas. It’s a comedy. It’s yeah not quite like maybe I could have an episode that in my it’s a manuscript, but it’s more so the tone and the type of character. And who would she do that with? Yeah, yeah, I so I’m deeply embedded in the often film theme I have been for. I guess, 14 years now. And I have a– I’m such a heart for grassroots development. I think that’s very much within the ethos of the community, largely, I would say, inspired by Richard Linklater, if you’re familiar with him, and all of the people around him. I kind of wrote– those people are kind of like my mentors. Umm I kind of rose up in the scene, like Rank, Linklater, and some other filmmaker. that are in his generation, they were kind of the people that grew me.
And so I’m really interested in kind of carrying the torch of making within the community, but then also like bridging the community into higher earning tiers and also more, more eyes, larger audiences. Austin is very much an indie film scene. Yes. So yeah, I have like I really wish and have fantasized about creating a project that activates and engages my community while also calling in like the dream would be to have a bunch of people within my community cast or working on it, but then also getting key. Yeah, providing work to the community and so on. But then a few higher profile comedians who, and I’ve even been hereat shows this week and watching people, and I’ve been like, oh, that would be a good person. Oh, you’d be a good person to have like write with me or to have in the show.
Yeah. But I have these amazing managers now that I got through the show, and I feel like they came on to my team for one of the main reasons that we can develop this show and sell it, hopefully by next year, and like the actual show,
Would you try Netflix?
Yeah, yeah, like a streaming service would be the goal. Yeah. Yeah
Because they do a lot of comedy.
Yes. And I and I want this one. I I obviously would love to be in it. I want it to be more so about like a community of friends, the actual show. So more than one storyline. Yeah. Iwant it to be like a group of people.
Yeah. Yeah And. What’s the kind of, how would you say the audience have reacted to everything?
You know, I always kind of maybe this is a bit self-deprecating. I’m always like, no one’s ever going to come out to me and tell me they don’t like it.
I know people who would.
Oh, really? OK, good. I will say from my perspective, I’ve been observing my audiences and everybody’s really engaged and leaning in. Nobody’s dragging over their phones. My boyfriend was standing outside of the theatre, like he didn’t go watch the show that night and he was watching people come out and he was like nervous ’cause he was like, and he said that they all were saying how phenomenal and amazing the show was.
Yeah, yeah Thank you very much for this interview. It’s much appreciated.
“Bouncers and Shakers” was a riotous exploration of gender roles. It was set against the backdrop of a typical weekend night out. The performance was a masterclass in role reversal. The female cast members embodied the quintessential ‘laddish’ men, complete with manspreading and crude banter. Meanwhile, the male actors took on the roles of women prepping at the hairdressers. They also played women getting ready at home for a night out.
The humour was sharp and unapologetic. The actresses delivered their lines with a comedic timing that had the audience in stitches. They captured the essence of machismo with a playful edge that was both satirical and endearing. I really enjoyed the cocktail waitresses sarcastic comments about male customers predicting what they would say or do nex
The men, on the other hand, brought a delicate balance of humour and authenticity to their portrayals of women.
The show did more than just entertain. It held up a mirror to the audience. It reflected the pre-night-out rituals that are familiar to many. The shared experience of drinking at home and at pubs was a relatable touchstone. People did this to avoid the exorbitant nightclub prices. Many could relate. It resonated with the crowd. The routine was a nod to the communal aspects of socializing. It also highlighted the lengths we go to in order to enjoy a night out without breaking the bank.
Musically, the show was a journey through time, with hits from Sister Sledge to Wham! providing a nostalgic soundtrack for the older audience members like me. “The Only Way Is Up” seemed to be the unofficial anthem of the night. The song encapsulated the uplifting spirit of the performance. The dance routines were a highlight. The male cast members showcased their impressive skills. They infused their movements with a comedic flair.
The young cast brought an infectious energy to the stage, their enthusiasm palpable and their talent undeniable. It was a performance that didn’t take itself too seriously. Yet it managed to deliver a poignant message about gender expectations. It provided insight into societal norms.
“Bouncers and Shakers” is a performance that managed to be both uproariously funny. It was thought-provoking, leaving audiences both entertained and reflective. If you want great music, you will love this show. For fantastic dancing and a very funny look at gender differences, “Bouncers and Shakers” is the show for you.
The Edinburgh Fringe is a festival that thrives on the unexpected, and Matt Forde’s “The End of an Era Tour” is no exception. Forde, a seasoned political comedian, has returned to the Fringe with a show that is as much about resilience as it is about satire.
Forde’s journey to the stage this year is nothing short of remarkable. After a diagnosis of cancer at the base of his spine and major surgery, his presence at the Pleasance Courtyard is a testament to his determination. The show begins with Forde walking on stage, supported by a walking stick, and humorously explaining his situation. It’s a powerful moment that sets the tone for the evening – one of humor intertwined with human vulnerability.
The show itself is a rollercoaster ride through the current political landscape. Forde’s ability as a former Labour advisor shines through as he lambasts Rishi Sunak and the outgoing Tories, while also sparing some jibes for the SNP to acknowledge his Scottish audience. His impersonations are a highlight, capturing not just the voices but the mannerisms of political figures with impressive accuracy. His take on the new Prime Minister is particularly noteworthy, as is his portrayal of Trump, which oscillates between hilarity and horror.
What stands out in Forde’s performance is the lack of malice. Even when poking fun at political figures like Lee Anderson or Nigel Farage, there’s a sense that it’s all in good jest. This is comedy that appeals to a broad audience, akin to a Guardian op-ed with a generous helping of humor.
Despite the political barbs, there’s an underlying current of optimism in Forde’s show. His gratitude for the NHS, which he credits with his ability to do, serves as a reminder that not everything is bleak. In a time of political turmoil, Forde’s show offers a space for laughter and reflection.
For those who appreciate political satire delivered with a personal touch, Matt Forde’s “The End of an Era Tour” is a must-see at this year’s Fringe. It’s a show that celebrates the power of comedy to discuss the serious, the power of the human spirit to overcome adversity, and the enduring importance of the NHS. Forde may joke about the end of an era, but if this performance is anything to go by, his era as a top political comedian is far from over.
Edinburgh Fringe is a festival that never fails to bring a kaleidoscope of talent to the forefront, and Ed Patrick’s show “Catch Your Breath” is no exception. With his unique blend of medical knowledge and comedic flair, Patrick has crafted a show that is both enlightening and entertaining.
As an NHS anaesthetist turned comedian, Patrick brings a perspective to the stage that is as rare as it is riveting. His show delves into the life of a junior doctor, the intricacies of the NHS, and the often-overlooked pitfalls of modern medicine. But what sets Patrick apart is his ability to inject humour into these serious topics, ensuring that the laughter is as steady as the pulse of his narrative.
The show has been described as “brilliantly funny” by Matt Lucas and has received accolades from various critics, noting that Patrick had the audience in “fits of laughter” . His masterful storytelling and playfully provocative writing have earned him a spot among the best comedy shows at this year’s Fringe, as listed by The Scotsman .
What’s truly remarkable about “Catch Your Breath” is its accessibility. You don’t need a medical degree to appreciate the humour or understand the anecdotes. Patrick has a gift for making the complex relatable, and his show is packed with funny anecdotes that resonate with everyone, whether you’re a healthcare professional or someone who’s simply navigated the maze of a hospital visit.
Ed Patrick’s “Catch Your Breath” is a must-see at this year’s Edinburgh Fringe. It’s a show that will have you laughing, thinking, and perhaps even appreciating the medical professionals in your life a little more. For those looking for a dose of humour with substance, Patrick’s performance is the perfect remedy.
