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‘The Inquest’ and the fight for answers after a care leaver dies

November 10, 2026 at 7:33 am · Filed under Interviews, Mental Health, Politics, Theatre ·Tagged care leavers, Counter Culture Interview, INQUEST charity, James Meteyard, The Big House Theatre, The Inquest play, UK theatre

Most of us still needed someone to turn to when we’re 18. A place to stay. Help with a bill. Someone who’ll pick up the phone when things go wrong. Yet for young people leaving care, support can fall away just as they’re being asked to manage more on their own.In The Inquest, a new play at The Big House, David has spent three years trying to find out what happened to Jordan, the young man he thought of as his son. The story follows a foster father through his grief and into a coroner’s court. It asks a question that goes well beyond one family. When several services are involved in a young person’s life, who takes responsibility for making sure they get the help they need?Counter Culture spoke to writer James Meteyard about the gap between finding out how someone died and getting anything done about the failures their death exposed. We also asked how young people with experience of care helped shape the play, and what they could tell him about the way services work that he’d never have found in a policy document.

Counter Culture: The figures behind this play are genuinely shocking. A government-commissioned review published in August found that 112 care leavers aged between 18 and 24 died in England during 2025, with around 40 deaths thought to be suicides. These are young people who were, at some point, under the protection of the state. When you started researching The Inquest, what disturbed you most? Was it the individual tragedies, or the discovery that similar institutional failures seemed to be happening repeatedly?

James: I found both the individual tragedies and the repeated failures really disturbing. Young people in care have the potential to do extraordinary things, as we constantly see here at The Big House, so when their lives are cut short, it’s genuinely heartbreaking. In many of the cases I researched ahead of writing the play, I saw the same pattern of failures from the same organisations, in regional branches across England. What was most horrific was that they seemed to be preventable failures: not following procedure, staffing shortages, improper handovers… And the other recurrent theme was that these failures took place around this care ‘cliff edge’ at 18, where support drastically reduces during a key transitional phase. The fact that institutions could have prevented so many deaths is both shocking and sad.

Counter Culture: Most young people don’t suddenly become independent when they turn 18. They still rely on their parents for somewhere to live, financial support, advice and sometimes just a shoulder to cry on. Yet we expect young people leaving care, often with traumatic childhoods behind them, to manage on their own with much less of that support. Legally, assistance can continue until 25, but the reality appears very different. Why do you think we’ve created a system that places such enormous expectations on some of our most vulnerable young people?

James Meteyard

James: I don’t think many people believe that 18 is truly the age that you magically become an adult – it’s when you begin the journey of aging out of adolescence. However, care-leavers are prematurely ‘adultified’ by society. There’s some great research published by the Better Care Network on accelerated adulthood for care-leavers, which shows how care-leavers are expected to adapt, build an income, live alone, and support themselves, versus their peers who enjoy an ‘extended adolescence’. In some ways, we hold care-leavers to more traditional standards of what turning 18 meant, versus young people who haven’t been in care. Ultimately, I think this accelerated, compressed adultification comes down to money and resources at the root of it. Society chooses to view our vulnerable young people as adults to avoid spending more money on them, which is both infuriating and incredibly sad.

Counter Culture: Your central character, David, is a foster father who’s lost the young man he regarded as his son. He’s spent three years fighting for answers, only to find himself up against the legal machinery of the coroner’s court. There’s something particularly cruel about having to battle institutions while you’re grieving. What interested you about telling the story through the eyes of a foster father, and how much of the drama comes from the gap between what David believes is morally right and what the system is legally required to do?

James: A lot of the play’s drama comes down to that gap, to be honest! I spoke with a very inspiring foster dad during the writing process who kindly shared lots of his experience of the system – although we’ve been careful to not put any of his story directly in the play. I was very inspired by him and his belief in what he was doing, and the love and care he clearly showed to the various children that he’d fostered. But what struck me was his absolute frustration with the rigidity of the system, the complexity, the layers of red tape, the monitoring, the assessments.

I think that balance of frustration and belief drew me to the character of a foster dad. David’s idealistic nature gives a voice to the idea that change is and should be possible, but the drama comes from the reality being very different. It aims to champion someone who is not taking an easy route but who also isn’t perfect themselves. Parenting in general is tough, and foster parents take on that alongside everything that a young person in care has been and will go through, along with safeguarding, red tape and assessments. Add in the pain of losing a child and that’s where this idea of the wrestling between grief and institutional fight came into the work.

I also spoke at length with our partner, the charity INQUEST. They mentioned how much closure an inquest can bring to somebody who is desperately searching for facts on how their loved one died. Ultimately, somebody searching to find answers in order to process their own grief is a really important and emotional process that felt like it could dramatically drive a powerful play.

Counter Culture: One of the things that strikes me about these cases is the way responsibility can be divided between so many organisations. You’ve got social services, mental health teams, housing providers, the NHS and sometimes the police. Each may have followed its own procedures, yet the young person they were supposed to help is still dead. Is that the central problem you’re exploring: a system in which everybody can claim to have done their job, but nobody takes responsibility for the overall outcome?

James: It’s exactly that. The Inquest explores a fragmented system of multiple services all acting in isolation, resulting in a lack of coordinated information sharing. Don’t get me wrong, I am very grateful that we even have a system in place, and the system can work very well when it receives someone who ‘cooperates’ in a conventional manner. But the system really struggles when someone with higher needs enters, like some care-leavers, who have complications with their mental health, trauma, housing, and/or isolation, on top of being a teenager out in the world. A huge amount of capacity is needed in order to be able to flex and accommodate somebody who isn’t ‘behaving’ within the parameters that the system has been designed on. A ‘one size fits all’ approach doesn’t work for the many, many young people who need bespoke support. But it’s a big task, it’s not one where we can flick a switch, change a law or one policy, and it’ll solve everything. It takes close analysis of where those gaps are, why these patterns keep repeating, and why people keep falling through those cracks. It’s true that with our current system, everyone can claim to have done their job, but if somebody needs more support than what’s available, this is where services can struggle and the professionals can honestly feel they’ve done all they can within the parameters set. I have empathy for this, but I also feel there are certainly efficiencies that we can improve on to ensure that people don’t get dropped.

Counter Culture: You’ve previously described public services as being rather like faulty railway lines, carrying people from one place to another, sometimes breaking down along the way. I thought that was a striking comparison. But services aren’t simply machines that malfunction. They’re run by people, working within budgets, staffing levels and policies that they may have little control over. How did you approach the distinction between individual failings and wider institutional problems? And do you think there’s a danger that frontline workers end up carrying the blame for decisions made much further up the chain?

James: This was a conversation that Maggie and I had a lot early into the development of the work. When we were designing the story, it was exceptionally important to us that we also pay credit to the many, many, many brilliant people that work within the system who fight day and night, go above and beyond, and care deeply about the individuals who are engaged with their services. Because ultimately, those hard-working people are not in control, and they can be equally as frustrated as we are with the inefficiencies. For many, watching these patterns repeat will be incredibly painful because of their investment and closeness in which they sit to the issues and individuals affected. Maggie and I spent a lot of time researching and speaking to those represented in the play to ensure we’re painting a well-rounded picture of those who exist within these systems – and to champion many of them. We heard many stories of people who went above and beyond to completely transform terrible situations into brilliant ones.

However, it’s important to balance championing the champions without shying away from where things can go wrong. Sometimes that happens because both individuals and services are overstretched, and so therefore simple procedures haven’t been followed. Other times, it’s due to a bigger systemic problem. Unfortunately, sometimes there are cases where individuals themselves are at fault – some people within the system operate with incompetence, carelessness, and a lack of interest. It’s important that the play doesn’t sugarcoat that, but rather looks at every aspect to give an honest picture.

Counter Culture: Inquests are supposed to establish how someone died, and coroners can issue reports intended to prevent future deaths. But establishing what went wrong doesn’t necessarily mean anybody will be held accountable or that things will change. Bereaved families may also find themselves facing organisations with substantial legal resources. Having researched the process, do you think the inquest system gives families a fair opportunity to challenge powerful institutions, or does it need more fundamental reform?

James: An inquest is designed to establish the answers to four questions: who the deceased was, where they died, when they died, and how they came by their death. That fundamental framework is interesting in the sense that it is purely about establishing fact, and not about apportioning blame. So in that sense, it forces legal councils and institutions to really have to prove the facts to loved ones using hard evidence.

Of course, discrepancies can arise, particularly around timelines – for example, had a public body made a decision a few hours earlier, would that have changed the outcome? That allows people to begin to point to faults, and paint a picture of whether this death could have been prevented. Therefore, the process of an inquest itself removes some of the adversarial nature of a criminal proceeding.

When loved ones go up against powerful institutions, they may not have the resources or knowledge to establish the facts and, in the case of care leavers, they may not have family to seek justice for them. This points to why we need incredible organisations like our partner INQUEST, which fights day and night to make sure that families and individuals are well represented. They provide people with resources and free legal counsel through the ILG, preparing them to challenge these systems. Of course, the starting point is disproportionate, as these systems have huge amounts of resources – they’re well-versed in the law and can paint a picture that absolves them of responsibility.

An area that I believe desperately needs reform is how public bodies are mandated to respond to Prevention of Future Deaths Reports. These are documents that coroners often create following an inquest and are intended to highlight systemic problems that pose a risk to public safety. Coroners often make recommendations to public bodies of changes that ought to be made so that the same mistakes don’t reoccur. Worryingly, there is no legal responsibility for an institution to actually act on the PFD report. So a body like a mental health trust or the police, has no requirement to actually change anything – or even to respond. It’s wild that we can go through this whole legal proceeding, failures are identified, the coroner makes a recommendation of change which is possible to be implemented… then nothing happens and there are no repercussions. As it stands, an inquest gives a family an opportunity to get answers, but not justice. A PFD report has to be legally enforceable – it’s a key step towards stopping these patterns from reoccuring.

Families can, of course, open up criminal proceedings to seek justice following faults identified at an inquest. But there is a huge cost both financially and emotionally. Those close to the deceased have already been through an entire proceeding once, reliving testimonies and painful experiences that surrounded their loved one’s death. To then have to go through it all over again in an often adversarial way, where whole cases are built on narratives designed to apportion blame… it’s a lot for anyone to even consider, let alone go through.

Editorial note. Recipients of a Prevention of Future Deaths report must respond within 56 days unless the coroner grants an extension. They can explain why they propose no action. See regulation 29 of the Coroners (Investigations) Regulations 2013.

Counter Culture: The Government published its review of early deaths among care leavers in August and announced £25 million to expand housing and support through its Staying Close programme. We’ve had inquiries, reports and policy announcements before, of course. Sometimes the problem isn’t recognising what needs to be done but actually making it happen. From what you’ve learned, what practical changes would make the greatest difference? Is it principally about funding, better coordination between services, or changing the way we think about our responsibilities towards children who’ve been in care?

James: It’s a combination of all three. More resources are always helpful, but it would be foolish for us to overlook the fact that there is already a huge amount of money spent on our care system. This spending needs to come with a societal change in the attitude towards care leavers, a proper understanding of the challenges and trauma that goes along with a care background, when the early years of your life have been so disrupted. Early trauma has a huge knock on effect on teenage, adolescent and adult years, without the family network that so many other young people in the UK rely on.

On top of all the disruption during the developmental years, it’s really tough to have to transition out of services which have become familiar to you post-18. For example, a young person may have to move out of their children’s home or a care placement into supported accommodation. Sometimes in a completely different area and for a limited period of time. Then, they need to get a bidding number in order to be able to bid for a council flat, whilst having to get to grips with living independently, looking for work, navigating Universal Credit, paying bills, learning to cook and take care of themselves, etc. They’re also trying to be an 18 year old, enjoying life and pursuing their goals in education or training. It’s a huge transitional phase.

Additionally, when a young person is engaged with CAMHS (Child Adolescent Mental Health Services), they are discharged at 18. Sometimes a referral is made to AMHS, but the high thresholds mean that many aren’t accepted, meaning they have to start the process again via their GP. Shockingly, there isn’t a clear up-to-date public dataset on how many successfully transitioned, but we know that many inquests have cited the CAMHS to AMHS transition as a recurring failure. Automatic, guaranteed referral to AMHS, or increasing the number of care-affected young people that get to stay in CAMHS for longer could be a great step for care-leavers during a period of so much other change at 18.

We also need to evaluate police risk registers. Care-leavers aged 18-24 are estimated to be 5 times more likely to take their own lives than the general population. If a care-leaver goes missing, it should automatically go to high risk, particularly if you’ve been engaging with mental health services.

We need coordinated information-sharing, wrap-around systems, and we need to make the system more efficient. 18 is so young to have so much support drop away and to be expected to be independent. Services shouldn’t be allowed to take the easy route out by saying “This person doesn’t meet our threshold.” There has to be enforced crossover in communication between services, allowing them to overlap for an extended period of time. Ultimately, there has to be greater effort from the services to really get to know the young person.

Counter Culture: You’ve worked with The Big House before on productions including Redemption, No Man’s Island and Between the Lines. This production is also being developed through the Open House Project, involving young people with experience of care. I imagine their perspective can be rather different from that of politicians, social workers or theatre critics discussing the subject. How much have the young people themselves shaped The Inquest? Have they challenged your assumptions or taken the story in directions you hadn’t originally anticipated?

James: As with all the work at the Big House, the young people are always at the forefront of the conversation, without ever taking somebody’s personal story and putting it on stage. Instead, we have lots of discussions which inform our work thematically. Sometimes it’s anecdotal conversations through our drop-in sessions where we play drama games and topics arise, sometimes it’s when young people flag recurring issues with the system, and sometimes it’s targeted research where we ask young people to collectively share their thoughts on something. We take themes and patterns that emerge, do our own independent research, and start to build a picture of a story that we think will both resonate with and reflect our members. It has to be a story that our young people are proud to tell. The greatest piece of feedback we can get is that someone feels that our play represents them and feels it’s an important story that needs to be heard. That’s more important than what any critic or audience member can say.

Practically, our young people add a lot during the dramaturgical process. Once we’ve landed on an idea, I speak to as many people in the orbit of The Big House as possible: older members, partners, our network of social care professionals, etc.. The subject matter, the young people and the systems we represent need to be authentic. So all of that real lived experience is fed into the fictional characters we create. And these chats are always brilliant – powerful, joyful, and fun, as well as touching on the challenging aspects as well. Through those conversations, the richness of detail starts to emerge, where we uncover the gap between policy and reality. Online, it says a bidding number is issued within three to nine weeks, our young people tell us that it can take up to two years, or it never comes. These anecdotes all add fundamental layers of detail which make the stories feel real to a young person, even though we’re never telling someone’s story specifically. When one of our actors read a play I wrote for The Big House a few years ago, they said, “I am this character, this is my life.” I’d never met them before they joined the project, but that collective experience around The Big House is so strong that it all gets absorbed into the work osmotically.

When it comes to the acting, members of The Big House can get inside the skin of these characters in a way that a drama school trained actor never could. They’d be pretending, whereas our young people use their lived experience to charge these performances in an exceptionally powerful and compelling way – that can often be highly cathartic.

They also weigh in on the script. During rehearsals, the young people are exceptionally good at flagging when things don’t ring true. Sometimes it’s big things like, “This wouldn’t happen in supported accommodation”, or “that’s not how this process works.” Sometimes it’s seemingly small things like when a word or phrase feels inauthentic. We work together to find something that feels right – it’s those naturalistic ways of speaking that make the play feel real.

It’s the same with characters. The script gets rewritten during rehearsals, around new members, different energies, and their individual qualities, to make sure that the experience and personality matches the actor. It’s quite a unique process, but this collaborative approach to co-creation results in powerful performances by people who know how to bring these characters to life in a way that no one else does.

Counter Culture: The publicity describes The Inquest as a promenade production, with audiences moving from room to room as the story unfolds. What attracted you to that particular form of theatre? Was the intention to make the audience experience something of David’s struggle with different institutions, or were there other dramatic reasons for choosing that approach? And how do you balance creating that emotional involvement with the responsibility not to turn a young person’s death into theatrical spectacle?

James: The Big House is known for big, immersive, prominent productions. Maggie, who co-developed the story and also is directing the play, has a long history of directing extraordinary productions in unusual spaces, from underground car parks to the basements of cinemas. Our home venue in Islington is actually two adjoining Victorian framing factory warehouses, and so that creates a really interesting space itself for an audience to move around.

We’re careful to not use site-specific productions as a gimmick though; it’s reflective of what the show demands. Our spring show, A DoL House, explored Deprivation of Liberty orders and was set in a DoL placement. So, it felt right to set it in one small room, creating an intense atmosphere that authentically reflected the story.

The Inquest, on the other hand, covers a huge journey and is a sprawling story, set around Hackney, Highbury and Arsenal, and across a number of different services. So, it felt natural to lean into our signature style and pull the audience through that journey – David searches for answers, the audience searches for the next scene of the story. It really heightens the immersion, and allows the audience to join David on his journey for answers.

As for not turning a young person’s death into a spectacle, it’s something we’ve constantly wrestled with during the development of the piece. It’s important to avoid unnecessary detail, especially about ‘method’, but you also need to confront the reality that care-leavers are dying young every year, and that we have to talk about it. Art like this has to come back to the advocacy of the piece. If you include the death of a care leaver in the story as a twist, or for shock value, and it wasn’t connected to the work’s purpose, that would be an exploitative way of affecting an audience. But this piece is very much rooted in a mission, and that mission is to change society for the better. This does mean that the death of a young person has to be at the heart of the work. We balance that by bringing the young person to life. We see their wonderful qualities, we become invested in them, and hopefully as a result, invested in all of the young people that have tragically been lost, and in preventing this pattern from continuing. Systems can turn young people into statistics, processes, reports, words on a page. And this play lifts them out of that into someone that the audience will fall in love with. That is how you put the problem in our society at the forefront of people’s mind to hopefully affect meaningful change.

Counter Culture: The Big House has partnered with INQUEST, which has spent decades campaigning for bereaved families and challenging deaths involving state institutions. It seems to me that this makes the production more than a piece of theatre; it’s also an intervention in an important public debate. But there’s always a question about how far art can change things. Would you like The Inquest to make people angry, to encourage them to campaign, or simply to make them see care-experienced young people differently? And if someone with the power to change the system came to see the play, what would you most want them to take away from it?

James: I want all of those things to happen. Of course, I’m not expecting every single audience member that sees the production to go on to the Houses of Parliament and start passing a bill tomorrow to magically solve everything. But I want to raise awareness, and I want an audience to see young people in a completely different light, as real, extraordinary, multi-dimensional, incredible people with so much to offer. So much of the time they are overlooked, just reduced down to a collection of stats or a flag in a system of somebody to worry about, and they’re so much more than that. The Inquest serves a purpose, and that is to create a living, breathing pen portrait of an individual who was failed. It stops being a bunch of numbers about abstract people, and becomes a visceral experience whereby you are suddenly put in the shoes of a young person who needed help, and a foster dad fighting for answers. The Inquest reminds people that we are talking about human lives. That reminder can be what pushes somebody to make change.

We hope that the dramatisation of a social issue in its most authentic form will encourage people to come and see it, to have an experience which opens their eyes to a perspective that they weren’t aware of. The professionals in the audience may then come away from the work thinking, ‘What can I do?’. This can be small changes within the service they work at, big changes at a decision-making level, or huge changes at a government policy level. Maybe it’s just to support INQUEST, who have been fighting this fight for decades, unwavering in their campaign to make it a legal requirement to act on a PFD report. They’ve spent years pushing back against the rigidity of the system, and helped many, many, many families along the way.

But we need more than a few passionate people and a few passionate organisations. We need society to come together and say that this is a problem, and it’s a problem we won’t stand for.

Editorial note:

INQUEST supports families bereaved by deaths involving the state, including deaths in prison, police custody, immigration detention and mental health detention. The charity is independent of government and relies on grants and donations to fund its work.

You can donate directly to INQUEST through their official donation page:

🔗 Donate to INQUEST

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Sharp Edges: Sophie Max on Family Secrets, Anger and the Search for Justice

November 7, 2026 at 8:49 am · Filed under Interviews, Mental Health, Solo Theatre, Theatre ·Tagged Blair McAlpine, Camden People's Theatre, Electra, London theatre, One in Four, One Woman Play, Sharp Edges, Sophie Max, Sophie Max Interview, Sophocles, Theatre Interviews

Families have a habit of creating their own versions of the past. Some are comforting. Others conceal things we would rather not confront. The ancient Greeks understood this particularly well. Their tragedies are full of family secrets, divided loyalties and people whose determination to put things right leads them into even greater difficulties.

Sophocles’ Electra is a case in point. Electra demands vengeance for her murdered father, Agamemnon, although he was hardly an innocent man himself. It raises an uncomfortable question: how much of what we believe about the people closest to us is actually true?

Writer and performer Sophie Max has taken that ancient story and given it a contemporary setting in Sharp Edges, a one-woman play at Camden People’s Theatre from 11 to 14 November.

Her central character, Ellie, is 24 and still trying to make sense of events that changed her life when she was six. Her father and older sister disappeared on the same night. She has grown up idolising one parent and resenting the other, but the truth about her family may be rather more complicated than she imagines. Now, with her mother threatening to throw her out, Ellie believes the time has come to settle accounts.

What interests me is that Max hasn’t created a character who simply invites our sympathy. Ellie is angry, stubborn, quick-witted and sometimes outrageous. The play is described as a dark comedy, which might seem an unlikely approach to such material. Yet humour often tells us more about people than solemn declarations ever could. It can reveal their contradictions, their determination and their refusal to be defined by what has happened to them.

The production, directed by Blair McAlpine, is presented in partnership with One in Four, a charity supporting survivors of childhood sexual abuse and related experiences.

Counter Culture spoke to Sophie Max about her fascination with Greek tragedy, the creation of Ellie, women’s anger, the uses of dark comedy and whether justice and revenge can ever really be separated.

The Interview

Counter Culture: One of the things that strikes me about Electra is that nobody in the family is entirely innocent. Electra worships her father, yet Agamemnon himself was responsible for a terrible act of violence against his own daughter. Your Ellie also idolises her father and feels alienated from her mother. Are you interested in challenging the stories we tell ourselves about our families, particularly when we’re too young to understand what’s really happening?

Sophie Max: Absolutely! Life is never that simple; people are way more complex, more full of grey areas, than we think. As a child, when you experience events you don’t understand or when the truth is hidden from you, you create narratives to explain things for yourself. It’s a form of protection. Then, you have to come back and recontextualise those stories as an adult. This is absolutely what Ellie is wrestling with in this play- the gap between her imagined version of her past, the stories she told herself, and the reality- and then what that means for the beliefs she’s built her life around.

We don’t always appreciate how scary it is to be a child in a dangerous situation. Children can sense when they’re not safe, even if they can’t always articulate it- or have the truth hidden from them by the adults around them. So it’s important to me that the play takes the stories Ellie tells herself seriously, and doesn’t ridicule her for holding these beliefs, even as we uncover what the truth is.

Counter Culture: Ellie is only six when her father and older sister disappear. At that age, you’re dependent on adults to explain the world, and sometimes those adults are hiding things or telling outright lies. How much of Sharp Edges is about the damage done when a child has to construct her own version of events, and then carries that understanding into adult life?

Sophie Max: That’s definitely a major thread within the play. Ellie has the truth of a lot of really massive events in her family hidden from her, and that impacts how she sees the world and how she thinks she needs to solve problems. Sharp Edges is about how growing up in a violent home, surrounded by secrets and lies, impacts the psyche, personality and relationships of a child. But it’s also about family, about cycles of violence, about justice vs revenge, and about how we deal with grief and loss.

Counter Culture: Revenge is central to the original Greek tragedy, but revenge and justice aren’t necessarily the same thing. Ellie believes she’s going to put right the wrongs of her childhood. Is there a point where the pursuit of justice becomes another form of violence? And can somebody who’s grown up surrounded by violence really escape that cycle simply by deciding to behave differently?

Sophie Max: These are exactly the big questions the play is hoping to provoke! Sharp Edges really wrestles with justice and revenge, what they mean, how they differ, and whether they have any meaning at all in such a violent world. We’re not used to seeing female characters face concepts like revenge and violence in this way- but I think especially in the world right now, we need to be asking ourselves these questions. How can we break cycles? How can we take back control of our own life while breaking cycles of violence we’ve inherited? They’re not easy questions with easy answers- but hopefully give the audience a lot to think about…and discuss after the show!

Counter Culture: You’ve spoken about being drawn to the anger and defiance of women in Greek tragedy. I think there’s something quite contemporary about that. Angry men are often portrayed as powerful or passionate, while angry women are still too easily dismissed as unstable or unreasonable. Do you think we’ve really moved on very far from the attitudes Sophocles was writing about?

Sophie Max: I think our society is still collectively so uncomfortable with angry women. That’s why I was so drawn to these characters and plays- even as a kid reading them for the first time, I sensed that these emotions weren’t ones we were ‘allowed’ to express as girls. Society is so ready to question, dismiss, ridicule, and even harm women, especially women bold enough to speak out. The world still expects victims and survivors to look and behave a certain way, or they are vilified. Modern society is uncomfortable with the very vocal expression of grief that was common for much of human history. At least the women in these Greek tragedies are given space, time and voice for their rage and grief, and allowed to express it without demonisation- on stage, at least!

Counter Culture: Your earlier play Banned explored a world in which reproductive rights are taken away, while Sharp Edges deals with abuse, control and the consequences of childhood trauma. There’s a common thread here about power and who gets to exercise it over women’s lives. Is that something you consciously return to in your writing, or does it emerge naturally from the stories you feel compelled to tell?

Sophie Max: I’m often motivated to write by big questions I’m searching for answers for, the things that make me sad, angry, uncomfortable, that keep me up at night. What do we do when faced with impossible choices? What happens when a scary reality crashes into our homes and lives? I’m a survivor of childhood sexual abuse, so I think I’m drawn to writing stories that excavate women and children’s survival specifically, and the multitude of ways we live and rage and grieve and hope and survive when powerful people and systems harm us. I want to channel my own experiences into art which illuminates and represents the reality for my fellow survivors, and which hopefully at least gets people to think about change. Because stories have, I believe, the power to really impact people.

Counter Culture: You’ve described Sharp Edges as darkly funny, which might surprise people given the subject matter. But humour can be a way of surviving dreadful circumstances, and sometimes it’s the only means of expressing things that are otherwise unbearable. How important was it that Ellie should be funny, difficult and occasionally outrageous, rather than simply someone the audience feels sorry for?

Sophie Max: It was vital! Ellie is more than what happened to her- as all survivors are. It’s super important to me that she’s a whole person, not just the sum of her trauma. The voice that emerged as I built this character was quick, witty, acerbic, stubborn, imaginative, loving, angry, mercurial- a whole spectrum of the human experience. She’s the protagonist of her own story, and she’s definitely not to be pitied. Plus, pity kind of allows audiences to sit back and be ‘off the hook’, I think. Whereas I want the audience to care about Ellie, to root for her, to be involved, to will her to do (or not do) certain things- to be active.

Counter Culture: There’s an interesting practical detail in the story: Ellie’s mother threatens to throw her out. We talk a great deal about people escaping abusive homes, but leaving isn’t always straightforward when you’ve nowhere else to live or lack the money to support yourself. Did you want to explore how circumstances beyond an individual’s control can keep them trapped, even when they desperately want a different life?

Sophie Max: Definitely. There’s so many circumstances and elements which complicate situations like Ellie’s; it’s never as simple as just leaving. There’s also this pull in the play between leaving or not, that allows us to explore what justice means to her. I was interested in investigating: what does physical freedom mean after what she’s been through? Would leaving actually change anything? Would she even be able to feel free in her mind, without some kind of justice? Especially given the state of our justice system for survivors of domestic violence or sexual abuse, there is a part of me interested in questioning through the play how we find peace, or a different life, when ‘justice’ is so out of our control.

Counter Culture: You’re both the writer and the sole performer, which must create an unusual relationship with the character. You’ve also worked closely with director Blair McAlpine in developing the production. When you’re so immersed in Ellie’s world, how important is having somebody who can challenge your interpretation? Has Blair ever made you reconsider something fundamental about the character or the way her story should be told?

Sophie Max: As both a writer and an actor, it’s lovely to have someone I trust like Blair at the helm. I know our visions align, and our collaboration has really allowed me to realise my vision for who Ellie is in performance. Blair has definitely interpreted moments in the writing differently and we’ve discussed things deeply. That’s the joy of rehearsing- we get to try, experiment and blend all the different colours and ideas and aspects to figure out what works best for the story. One of my favourite things has been finding the moments of hope and lightness and joy- Blair has been so great at advocating for Ellie’s humour.

Counter Culture: The production is working with One in Four, which supports survivors of childhood sexual abuse and other forms of violence. I think that’s an important partnership because theatre can raise difficult questions, but people may need real support long after the performance finishes. What responsibilities do you think artists have when dealing with traumatic experiences, and what do you hope this partnership will achieve beyond simply raising awareness?

Sophie Max: My focus as a theatre maker when it comes to this issue, is on fellow survivors. I want us to feel represented, to be centred in the narrative, but not feel triggered, or like our experience is seen salacious, gratuitous, there purely to shock or as the butt of a joke.

In terms of this partnership, I’m thrilled to be able to raise awareness for One in Four’s vital work. It means we can signpost relevant support for anyone who needs it after the show. Beyond their work with survivors, One in Four do amazing advocacy work to increase public conversations around childhood sexual abuse specifically. The topic often remains ‘taboo’, yet only by opening conversations do we make it safe for survivors to come forward, and learn how to support them and how to prevent further abuse. I hope audiences can learn about their work and join the conversation.

Counter Culture: We’ve had inquiries, reports and repeated promises about protecting children from abuse, yet we still hear about institutions failing the very people they’re supposed to protect. There’s a danger that audiences see stories like Ellie’s as private family tragedies rather than recognising a wider social failure. Do you see Sharp Edges as a political play in that sense? And what would you most like people to question, or perhaps even change, after they’ve seen it?

Sophie Max: The reality is, we’re in an epidemic of violence against women and children, and it starts young- often younger than people are willing to face. One in Four states on their website: ‘Evidence shows as many as one in four adults have experienced some form of sexual abuse before the age of 18. Only one in eight children come to the attention of the authorities and 85% of all abuse is by someone known to the child.” It is, absolutely, a societal problem and honestly until it’s treated as such, until we stop seeing it as individual tragic stories and address the systemic issues, we won’t be able to stop it.

So absolutely, in that way, Sharp Edges is a political play. Ellie’s story is specific, but it is also universal. And I hope that audiences come out questioning what we can each do, in this moment, to change the culture of violence, or to support and advocate for survivors. What can we do when the systems built to protect us don’t, and many slip through the cracks?

Sharp Edges – Production and Ticket Information

Sharp Edges is written and performed by Sophie Max, directed by Blair McAlpine and produced by Zac Hamilton Wancke.

Venue: Camden People’s Theatre, 58–60 Hampstead Road, London NW1 2PY.

Dates: Wednesday 11 to Saturday 14 November 2026.

Performance times:

Wednesday 11 November – 7pm
Thursday 12 November – 7pm (Press Night)
Friday 13 November – 7pm
Saturday 14 November – 3pm and 7pm

Tickets: £12–£18, plus booking fee.

Running time: 75 minutes, without an interval.

Age guidance: 14+

Content advisory: Contains references to violence, weapons, murder and childhood sexual abuse. The production also uses atmospheric effects, flashing lights and loud noises.

Creative team:

Writer and performer: Sophie Max

Director: Blair McAlpine

Producer: Zac Hamilton Wancke

Set designer: Jida Akil

Lighting designer: Laurel Marks

Sound designer: José Guillermo Puello

The production is presented in partnership with One in Four, a charity providing specialist counselling, support and advocacy for survivors of sexual abuse. The partnership aims to raise awareness of its work and direct audiences towards appropriate support.

Book tickets directly through Camden People’s Theatre:

https://cptheatre.co.uk/whatson/sharp-edges

Box office: 020 7419 4841

Further information: www.cptheatre.co.uk

Sophie Max on X: @sophiemaxs

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PUTTANA – Q&A with Mirko Corradini

September 19, 2026 at 5:14 pm · Filed under Interviews, Theatre ·Tagged Beatrice Elena Festi, binaural sound, Edinburgh Fringe, ethics in theatre, experimental theatre, immersive theatre, Italian theatre, Mirko Corradini, puttana, sex work, SoHo Playhouse Encore Series, Summerhall, TeatroE

PUTTANA was one of the most talked‑about international productions at this year’s Fringe: intimate, unsettling, and formally daring. It confronts prejudice, judgement, sex work, and the quiet violence of how society enters other people’s lives. Ahead of its wider international run, Counter Culture presents this in‑depth conversation with director Mirko Corradini, exploring the dramaturgy, ethics, sound design and collaborative process behind the production.

What first compelled you to create PUTTANA, a piece that confronts sex work, judgement, violence, and shared responsibility?

“PUTTANA began above all with a question about prejudice.”

He describes reading an article about a porn performer refused housing because of her job, and the question that stayed with him: why do we feel entitled to judge someone whose choices do not harm us? “I was not interested in saying that prostitution is right or wrong. I wanted to stop one step earlier.”

The show uses fragmentation rather than linear storytelling. What dramaturgical purpose does that structure serve?

“Our thoughts are never completely linear… In PUTTANA, different people speak… sometimes they seem to be in dialogue but are not really listening.”

Corradini explains that the structure mirrors the spectator’s slowly forming judgement rather than a traditional plot.

How did you approach directing a one‑woman performance that requires the actor to embody multiple characters around Laura?

“The main rule was to create together.” He recounts a rehearsal mistake that became a breakthrough, revealing how characters emerged collaboratively through experimentation

Why binaural audio and headphones?

“I realised that the real strength of the piece was that proximity… The headphones were the answer.”

The immersive sound design recreates intimacy even in larger spaces.

How do sound, proximity and moral tension interact?

“Sound does not accompany the performance. It is part of the direction.” Much of the audio is “dirty, unsettling sound” that becomes music.

Why was Beatrice Elena Festi chosen as your collaborator?

“I felt an artistic connection… elegance and precision in the transitions.”

Her subtle physical shifts made her ideal for a piece where technology completes the transformation.

How much emerged from her interpretation?

“A generous actor can create a new possibility simply through a mistake, a breath, a posture.”

How can theatre explore judgement and violence ethically?

“I can bring someone into a very intense situation as long as I continue to respect them.” He avoids literal nudity or violence to keep focus on meaning, not shock.

How did you see your responsibilities when dealing with emotional risk?

“Artistic availability must never become coercion.”

What did you hope Fringe audiences would confront?

“I wanted the spectator to ask themselves: Do I judge? Do I have prejudices?”

What surprised you in Edinburgh?

“Can this show speak to… someone from a culture completely different from ours? Edinburgh gave me an answer. Yes.”

What was the impact of the SoHo Playhouse Encore Series selection

“The New York selection gave me the confidence that PUTTANA could find an international audience precisely without giving up its willingness to take risks.”

How does PUTTANA relate to your wider work?

“I am interested in investigating what we do not say… the shadows we carry inside ourselves.”

What did this production teach you?

“That I enjoy myself more when I experiment.”

Where next?

“I can fall in love with a piece for a single actress… but also with a much larger project.”

What should spectators carry with them?

“Do I judge? Do I have prejudices? Will I look at someone differently tomorrow?”

Read our review of Puttana here

Read our interview with Beatrice Elena Festi here

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Interview with Beatrice Elena Festi

September 14, 2026 at 3:52 pm · Filed under Drama, Interviews, Theatre ·Tagged binaural soundscape, commodification, headphones, Mirko Corradini, puttana, social themes, SoHo Playhouse, Summerhall, technology in theatre, vulnerability and power

Puttana traps you in its intimacy from the first moment. Festi describes how the headphones collapse the space until she’s performing inside the audience’s heads as much as her own, navigating that strange mix of control and vulnerability. Her shifts between identities carry the same charge — especially the moment she steps into the middle‑aged man, a voice that still hits her with anger, pleasure, and a kind of unsettling satisfaction. The rapid transitions work because she’s interpreted her role line by line, each character anchored in its own emotional image and mental room.

What gives the piece its force is her refusal to soften anything. She leans into the ethical weight, the complicity, the silences that pin everyone in place. The collaboration with Corradini let her work without armour, drawing on her twenty‑year‑old self to shape Laura as someone who never collapses into victimhood. Summerhall sharpened the political edge, New York confirmed the universality, and performing it night after night turned the role into a meditation. Across the interview, one thread keeps surfacing: vulnerability as a deliberate act of power, and a commitment to reaching something stripped‑back and honest on stage. Here’s our interview with Beatrice Elena Festi.

Performance, embodiment, technique

Puttana places you inside a binaural, three‑dimensional soundscape. How did performing inside headphones change your physical and emotional approach to Laura?

“Performing while wearing wireless headphones definitely changed the way I inhabit the stage… The distance between me and the audience — who are also wearing headphones — shrinks, making the experience intimate and personal… By wearing headphones myself, I also become a spectator of my own voice: this gives me control, but it also makes me vulnerable… Thanks to the headphones, a kind of short circuit occurs: Laura becomes a tangible presence in my ears and in my head.”

You embody several characters around Laura — student, sex worker, husband, wife, young man. Which identity demanded the biggest shift in your internal state?

“The first time I heard my own voice as a man it was a shock… Being able to play a middle-aged man by ‘wearing’ his voice is an incredibly powerful experience… Playing him brings on a mix of anger and pleasure… he always gives me a sense of satisfaction while I play him.”

The show’s fragmented structure requires rapid transitions. How do you keep emotional coherence while moving between characters so quickly?

“I associate a specific image and a specific feeling with every line of the text… It’s a long process — it took three years — in which I worked to build automatic reactions… Each character has their own mental space that I can enter and leave quickly, helped along by their different voices.”

Themes & ethics

The piece confronts judgement, violence, and the commodification of women’s bodies. How do you navigate the ethical weight of representing these realities on stage?

“I believe that engaging with uncomfortable subjects is at the heart of what I do… questioning yourself, examining social and political issues, is an essential part of any real artistic exchange… If art isn’t uncomfortable… then what’s the point? What’s the point of being reassured?”

Puttana deliberately places the audience in a position of complicity. What does it feel like to perform a work that refuses moral reassurance?

“In our show the audience becomes complicit… We’re all implicated, always… From the moment I step on stage I make eye contact with every member of the audience… The audience has no way out… it’s vital to put ourselves on the line, to sit with the discomfort and confront our own dark sides.”

There are moments where silence becomes confrontational. What is the most difficult silence in the show for you to hold?

“The hardest moment is definitely the direct exchange with the audience… Physical closeness, the gaze and the silences let me dig into people’s souls… I feel vulnerable and powerful at the same time… There’s no escape route for anyone; we’re in it together.”

Process & collaboration

You’ve worked with director Mirko Corradini on multiple TeatroE projects. What aspects of his direction made this collaboration particularly effective for such an intimate piece?

“Four years ago… I understood straight away how much Mirko Corradini cared about the project… There has never been any arrogance or superficiality… Mirko is a director who creates a performance bit by bit… and he’s very careful to create a safe space where I can feel at ease.”

How did the rehearsal process shape the emotional core of Laura’s story? Were there moments where the material felt too close or too exposing?

“To find Laura, I drew on my twenty-year-old self… I put my own personal vulnerability at Laura’s service: in a show like this you can’t hide… humanity has to seep out of every gesture, every word.”

What discoveries did you make about Laura during rehearsal that changed how you performed her?

“Laura is never a victim… Even when she momentarily loses control, she finds a way to regain it… The ending, however brutal, shows this resolution… Acting in another language was also illuminating… In English, Laura is more brazen and more self-assured.”

Fringe experience

Summerhall is known for politically charged work. How did performing Puttana in that environment influence your relationship to the piece?

“Performing at Summerhall was an honour… they always engage with topical, hot-button and uncomfortable subjects… On stage I felt at ease, because I knew I was in an environment that would protect me.”

What surprised you most about how Edinburgh Fringe audiences responded to the show?

“The Summerhall audience was a mixed one… far more men came to see us… They proved more receptive to the rawness of the performance… The audience’s reactions were positive and open to engagement.”

Did performing the show daily at the Fringe change your understanding of Laura or the characters orbiting her?

“Going on stage every night… becomes a kind of meditation… Every night Laura is different… I always tried to be as honest as possible… Laura is a very human character… she doesn’t conform to a prejudice.”

International recognition

Puttana’s Off‑Broadway run at SoHo Playhouse happened before Edinburgh. How did that New York experience shape your sense of the work’s impact?

“Performing in New York before Edinburgh was an excellent training ground… The American audience… very engaged and warm… It was the New York audience that convinced us Laura’s story was universal.”

Artistic development

How does Puttana connect to your broader artistic interests in vulnerability, power, and spectatorship?

“Puttana has allowed me to grow enormously… It’s a show that has taught me… about limits, about letting go on stage, about reaching a naked truth… I’ve always been drawn to realism and social themes… multifaceted, even ambiguous characters — ones that dig deep — appeal to me.”

Future direction

After a role this demanding, what kind of work do you feel drawn toward next? What are your plans?

“With TeatroE… we’re working on various ideas for a new production… Another show that, through technology, will let us close the distance with the audience… I’d like my work to always speak to people’s humanity… I do believe art can change the world, and in my own small way I try to do my part.”

Our review of Puttana is here

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Soft Spot: Trust, Tension and 300 Wine Glasses at the Fringe

August 11, 2026 at 1:52 pm · Filed under Edinburgh Fringe 2026, Edinburgh Fringe Festival, Edinburgh Fringe Festival 2026, Interviews ·Tagged circus, contemporary circus, Edinburgh Fringe, juggling, Live Performance, Physical Theatre, Soft Spot

Photo credit: Isak Stockas

There’s something instantly disarming about Soft Spot. Before a single glass is touched, you feel the tension humming in the room — that quiet knowledge that anything could fall, crack or collapse. It’s circus stripped of bravado and rebuilt around fragility, precision and the strange tenderness that comes from watching two people navigate risk together. Soft Spot isn’t just a duet between performers; it’s a duet between humans and the objects that betray them. What emerges is playful, nerve‑jangling and unexpectedly moving — a reminder that instability isn’t a flaw in life, it’s the texture of it.

Soft Spot plays with instability and near‑collapse. When you’re performing, what’s going through your mind in that split second where everything might fall?

When things go wrong, it often happens so fast that, before we know it, the moment has already passed. It’s really a reflex. At other times, though, there’s a moment when a glass starts to wobble and we have that split second to try to calm things down and regain the balance. To handle those moments, we really try to stay as alert and present as possible throughout the performance, so that if something goes wrong, we’re ready to react.

You’re working with 300 wine glasses, an object everyone knows can shatter. What drew you to building an entire emotional world around something so fragile?

We were interested in the contrast that the wine glasses bring. Our strict circus training usually leads us to create acts, or shows that often only highlight skills, strength and control. Introducing wine glasses as a fragile element, with their potential to shatter at any moment, gives a counterpoint to the usual position of circus artists as live performers. It was hard to work with these objects. Having them shatter left and right really slowed down the creative process. We broke 317 glasses during the creation of the show and up until the premiere. After that, we stopped counting, but we’ve kept them all. It is important for us that these broken objects, which have been part of the process, continue to be part of the show, not only because we want to avoid waste, but also because the presence of these shattered glasses carries a symbolism that we feel is an important part of what we want the show to communicate. So, in the end, the very fact that wine glasses are fragile and can shatter is exactly what drew us to work with them.

The show is built on real trust between you as performers and as a couple. How does your relationship shape the way you negotiate risk on stage?

The way we negotiate risk on stage as a working duo is based on how we have been working together behind the scenes during the creation of Soft Spot. We carefully assessed and slowly increased the level of difficulty in order to make sure that we were establishing a safe environment where risk‑taking was not too reckless. This now allows us to perform the show with a good degree of confidence. On the other hand, the trust that we have built as life partners leans on kindness and forgiveness. We trust that the other person is doing their best, while at the same time knowing that they still might make mistakes. So when one of us underestimates a risk, even if it might have serious consequences for the other, we react as much as possible with forgiveness and kindness, because we inherently know that we are both simply imperfect people who are trying our best.

There’s a beautiful tension in the piece between technical precision and letting things go wrong. How do you decide when to “save” a wobble and when to let the chaos unfold?

To be honest, we are always trying to save the wobble. But because the glasses are so unpredictable, there are moments when it feels like they are the ones in charge. That creates a tension between precision and things going wrong. It happens very organically. When we realise that we can’t save a glass, we simply follow it and go with it. We try to keep the moment as honest as possible, rather than forcing or pretending that everything is under control.

You recorded the soundtrack from the sounds of the glasses themselves — clinks, tremors, resonance. What surprised you most during that process?

The composer we worked with, Mika Forsling, likes to experiment with unusual sonorities. He was excited to record the sounds of the wine glasses and eager to experiment with the recordings in his studio. What was surprising for us is that it only took two sessions to record all the sounds. We are also impressed with the variety of sounds we were able to create and by how much those sounds ended up being used in the final compositions.

Soft Spot explores how people respond when plans fall apart. Was there a moment in your own lives that inspired this theme? We wouldn’t be able to pinpoint a specific moment in either of our lives that would have inspired this theme. On the other hand, it was important for us to address this subject because we feel that those kinds of events can happen in anyone’s life but that our way of living doesn’t really give space to it.

Performing a show where failure is built into the structure must be emotionally demanding. How do you prepare yourselves mentally before going on stage?

We warm up our bodies and try to be as awake and present as possible so that we can react quickly if something goes wrong. Before we go on stage, we often also play a reaction game together, which helps us become even more alert and focused. Luckily, it also helps that we have more than 100 shows under our belts. Over the years, we’ve experienced all kinds of surprising failures, so we’ve learned to stay calm and adapt quickly.

Circus often celebrates mastery, but your piece celebrates recovery. What do you hope audiences feel when they watch you rebuild something that’s just collapsed?

We wish for people to remember that failure is mostly just a point of view. If something doesn’t go according to plan, it doesn’t mean that it was a useless experience. We also wish for audiences to see that sometimes, achieving something unique and beautiful requires us to fail along the way.

Loneliness and connection sit quietly underneath the spectacle. How did those themes find their way into the work?

Since Soft Spot is a duo work, it will inevitably address the theme of connection. When people watch two artists on stage, their relationship will always matter and tell a story to the audience. Before creating this piece, we had both mostly been working with solo acts, so it has been a very refreshing experience for us to share every moment of Soft Spot on stage.

Fringe audiences love unpredictability. What’s the most memorable “unexpected moment” that’s happened during a performance or rehearsal of Soft Spot so far?

A memorable and completely unexpected moment for us happened right at the beginning of the show, when Arttu squatted down and his pants ripped completely open at the back. We spent the first half of the show trying to hide his underwear from the audience, and we had to change one of the sections so that Stina could do Arttu’s part while he ran to the dressing room to change into a new pair of pants. It felt completely crazy and unexpected for us in the moment, but somehow the audience didn’t notice anything. When we mentioned it during the artist talk after the show, they found it very funny.

Click here to buy tickets

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This Little Thing of Ours: Inside the Musical Mayhem of Fringe’s Mafia Comedy

August 10, 2026 at 2:26 pm · Filed under Comedy, Comedy‑drama, Edinburgh Fringe Festival, Edinburgh Fringe Festival 2026, Interviews, Music, Musicals ·Tagged Alice Humphries, Edinburgh Fringe, Fringe 2026, James Bruce, Michael Mackay, Musical Comedy, This Little Thing of Ours

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There’s something irresistible about a show that knows exactly what it is and leans into the chaos with style. This Little Thing of Ours does just that — a gleeful mash‑up of mob mythology, musical theatre swagger and the kind of character work that only comes from creators who genuinely enjoy the world they’re building. Speaking with James and Michael, you get the sense that this project didn’t just arrive fully formed; it grew out of shared obsessions, late‑night ideas, and the kind of friendship where one person says “I want to write a musical” and the other immediately replies, “Right, let’s get started.”

What follows is a conversation that gets right to the heart of the show: the rivalry, the comedy, the family dynamics, the theatrical mischief, and the sheer joy of making big, bold musical theatre out of the mafia canon. Their answers are sharp, funny, and full of the enthusiasm that’s driving this show straight into Fringe folklore.

Michael Mackay is the composer of This Little Thing of Ours, and James Bruce is the writer of the show. Here is the full interview.

Frankie Coglione’s family curse is such a fun hook – when you first started developing the show, what came first: the mafia mythology or the musical comedy angle?

The inception of the story came from Michael. He mentioned in passing that he wanted to write his own musical, and two days later I was on the phone asking to get involved. It was always going to be a musical given Michael’s background, and we both love mafia‑related films and TV shows, so that cemented the initial direction. Once we dove into the writing, comedy came most naturally — the characters were so laughably ego‑driven that we needed to take them down a peg.

The press release hints at a real tug‑of‑war between Frankie and Tony. How did you approach building that rivalry so it feels both dangerous and delightfully theatrical?

Frankie and Tony are both bad guys — Tony is just much worse. Frankie has had a speedrun to the upper tiers of the mafia while Tony has had to grind, scheme and hustle to get where he is. There are a lot of back‑and‑forths between them, culminating in an 80s glam‑rock style duet.

Your Nonna character sounds like a force of nature. What inspired her, and how central is she to the emotional spine of the story?

We wanted Nonna to be the all‑seeing eye in the family business. Nothing gets by her and she’s sharp as a tack. We liked the idea that she had a secret web of informants throughout the crew, reporting every tiny piece of information so she could use it to her advantage. Female characters in mafia shows are often complicit bystanders; we wanted Nonna not just to witness events, but to be the puppet master pulling the strings.

You describe the show as “The Sopranos with full‑scale musical mayhem.” What elements of classic gangster cinema were irresistible to parody or reimagine on stage?

The way characters express themselves — in their words and gestures — in mafia cinema is so captivating and feels prime for parody. We loved the idea of these big macho guys singing about their beef with other members of the “Family.”

The idea that you don’t just whack someone – you give them a closing number – is brilliant. How did you balance the comedy with the stakes of a mob story without tipping too far in either direction?

Alice came up with that line — thanks, Alice. Shows like The Sopranos can have comedic elements in the darkest scenes. We tried to keep the story ticking over without getting too dark, but anything mafia‑related certainly heats up in the second half.

Michael Mackay’s Fringe experience and James Bruce’s BBC background make for an interesting creative pairing. How did that collaboration shape the tone and rhythm of the show?

Our collective experience allowed us to take ideas that worked well and avoid the things that didn’t. We’ve been friends for a long time, so we tend to be on the same page about what we find funny.

Alice Humphries’ previous Fringe success clearly brings strong directing pedigree. What new energy or perspective has she brought to This Little Thing of Ours?

Alice has been the real driving force of the show. She’s brought so much experience that we desperately needed. We met her in February and since then she’s been invaluable in bringing the songs to life.

You’ve assembled a cast of local Scottish talent. What qualities were you looking for to bring this heightened, musical‑gangster world to life? The obvious requirement was that they needed to pull off the accent and sing. We also looked for people with a bit of dark energy about them. I think all of the cast would be quite comfortable playing villains.

The show features a live band of professional musicians. How integral is the live sound to the storytelling, and what does it let you do that a backing track never could?

A live band is essential — it brings the show to life. Backing tracks or playing to a click creates a stale, repetitive atmosphere. Having four musicians playing live and feeding off the audience is much more fun.

Fringe audiences love a late‑night discovery. What do you hope people walk away with after seeing your 22:30 performance – what’s the lasting flavour you want them to carry home?

We hope they ignore the Omertà oath the mafia enforces and tell everyone they know.

Click here to buy tickets

See our review here

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Inside MOMME DOMME: A Mistressclass in Power and Provocation

August 9, 2026 at 8:49 am · Filed under Edinburgh Fringe 2026, Edinburgh Fringe Festival, Interviews, Kink ·Tagged BDSM in Theatre, Blemme Fatale, Edinburgh Fringe 2026, Edinburgh Fringe Festival, Feminist Performance, MOMME DOMME, Pan‑African Storytelling

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Some artists send a press release. Blemme Fatale sent a warning shot wrapped in velvet. MOMME DOMME arrives at the Fringe already humming with danger — part ritual, part trapdoor, part love letter to women who refuse to be tidied up for institutional comfort. It’s a show that doesn’t just perform power; it handles it, tests it, breaks it open to see what’s inside.

Across London, Toronto and Jamaica, this team has been building a world where pedagogy becomes theatre, theatre becomes seduction, and seduction becomes a political act. Their answers came back with the same energy as the work itself: sharp, funny, unbothered, and absolutely certain of the stakes.

Below is our full conversation.

You describe MOMME DOMME as a “mistressclass that becomes an artwork.” When you first conceived that shift — from lesson to entrapment — what problem in contemporary performance were you trying to expose?

It’s sort of sadistic how much we love a bait and switch. When Love Island dropped Casa Amor on us. Everyone swears they’d win on Traitors. When Michelle and Emma were fake evicted on Big Brother. This is a dopamine tried and tested bait and switch.

I wanted to expose how easily institutions lure you in and censor you swiftly and how that is a gag order on risks and is flattening the cultural landscape. They’ll own you to do what they please, to make you more palatable or to shelf you.

And when the instittuon is making these decisions you can absolve yourself.

I want the audience to relish in the entertainment your the decisions produce (please do have a good time) but own how degrading and exploitative your actions can be. I want the audience to feel that bait‑and‑switch in their own bodies, so the feeling of vouyerism lingers well after the show.

The show pulls from Kirsta Kelech’s Ladies Lounge at MONA, The Slumflower’s self‑love movement, and Chantal Heide’s dating coaching. These are very different cultural ecosystems. What made those three strands speak to each other in your head?

Powerful, unapologetic, cunty women.

I discovered the lawsuit against Kirsta Kelch’s Ladies Lounge at MONA in Australia because it was a women’s only exhibit and it was so hot how they extended the artwork by sashaying out of court in stylish blazers and red lipsticks.

Cunt. I came across Chiedera Eggerue (The Slumflower) and her #SaggyBoobsMatter, provoking and catching one podcast bro at a time in their double standards.

Cunt. I was entranced by Chantal Heide’s dating coaching, defending how Body Count Doesn’t Matter, not even leaving a beat for her words to be misconstrued and for misinformation to spread.

Cunt. Three completely different rooms, a gallery, a podcast, a live stream, each woman holding a boundary which they’re prepared to defend till queendom come for their sake and mine.

Each night you bring in a fresh cast drawn from “clubs, collectives and covens” across Toronto and Edinburgh. What changes most when the room is filled with new women, and what never changes at all?

Personal boundaries, what history they’re bringing in with them, how fast they trust the postcards, the questions asked about BDSM based on experience (we’ve got femdoms to actors) and levels of surrendment to the show. Whether you just want to drop the aubergine gently or thrash it with your heels to crack it right open. We’re the last show of the night so don’t worry needing a dry stage immediately afterwards.

What never changes is the architecture. “Different women, same architecture, varying result,” that’s actually a line in the script. The mistressclass is pretty fixed. With twelves scenes, twelve lessons from “How To Spot A Sub” to “How To Pick A Fake Name”. We keep the onboarding ritual and safe words consistent across all shows so there is structure and a safety framework.

The press release mentions “online rape academies” as a provocation. That’s a stark phrase. How do you navigate referencing that digital violence without reproducing its harm onstage?

The show is interested in the pervasive sense of surveillance and control of women that drive exploitative characters from Andrew Tate, to pick up coaches to meta‑glasses content harvesters to rape academies.

The show is a call to action for what women can do once they’ve clocked; they are not safe dating and they finally mourn the fantasy. My abundant mindset is too clear to gatekeep the world of female domination for any longer.

MOMME DOMME uses BDSM language to expose “the architecture of exclusion and exploitation.” What did you discover about power — theatrical, social, or sexual — once you started working with that vocabulary?

From aftercare to hard limits, BDSM already has a vocabulary for negotiating power out loud, which most institutions don’t. You don’t negotiate, you sign on the dotted line cos you’re replaceable. Once I put the gallery, the artist, the audience and the domme in that same vocabulary, the exploitation got very easy to see, because suddenly everyone had to declare what they wanted instead of hiding behind “it’s just how things are done.” It became clear how the mindset of an understood divinity and how accepting your matriarchal inheritance can get you what you want. Don’t ask, dont get.

You’re based between London, Toronto and Jamaica, and your work is rooted in Pan‑African oral traditions and the Seven Generations Principle. Where does MOMME DOMME sit inside that lineage of storytelling?

Stories are the oldest currency in the world. When you’re lost or down on your luck, stories garner response and can shift realities. MOMME DOMME is a ritual passed down and rebuilt each night with a new set of women, the way oral tradition has always worked. What gets carried forward is our responsibility even if that may be tips for your next sub, trick or paypig.

The show contains themes of sexual violence, coercive control, surveillance and institutional abuse. How do you build an environment where audiences can sit with those realities without being overwhelmed by them?

We weave these themes together with British pop culture TV shows, high‑energy lipsyncs and gag‑worthy soap opera moments to allow the audience to settle into the familiar as they discover the sex‑positive world of MOMME DOMME. The material is a lot, it’s spicy, it’s vulnerable, it’s vulgar, some may say uncouth but we priortise care and wellbeing to the people we bring into this world.

Peggy Mitchell, your “aspiring institutional darling,” leads the audience into How To Be A Domme 101. What does Peggy let you say — or critique — that you couldn’t express through a more conventional narrator?

Peggy gets to be wrong by looking away when she shouldn’t, and that lets me critique institutional complicity from inside it rather than pointing at it from a safe distance. A conventional narrator tells you the gallery is exploitative like it’s their first day on Earth. Like they’re brand new. It’s a worthy cause, bringing the end of the patriarchy but to what extent is it justified or even possible when it’s bankrolled by these highly problematic institutions compromising your belief that we’re not free until we’re all free. Can BP or Shell sponsor the matriarchy if they also promise to cover the AC?

MOMME DOMME is described as “chronically online” and “hyper‑local.” In practice, how do you balance the internet’s speed and chaos with the slower, embodied rituals you weave into the performance?

Thank Goddess for the internet. From TikTok tarot readings to Are We Dating the Same Guy facebook groups and all the discourse in between. The ritual gives us a pace where fast paced sound can complement slowly putting on lipstick, looking directly at the audience. The chaos of the show is rooted in the audio, and the tasks allow for the women to set the intentional speed of the room.

You’ve been shortlisted for the UNTAPPED Award 2025 and previously won Most Innovative Bite at Bitesize Festival. With MOMME DOMME now premiering at Toronto Fringe and Edinburgh Fringe, what feels newly possible for you artistically?

We want to do work rooted in pedagogy and process with breathing room for interpretation and less dictation. Where natural storytellers can shine. Toronto let us test whether the form could hold with women who’d never met each other before curtain. Edinburgh is the first time I get to see if it travels, whether the same architecture works with a completely different city’s clubs, collectives and covens. In terms of my relationship with cultural recognition, I have turned my attention to leadership by starting the Binge Fringe x Blemme Fatale Productions Black Performers Award in 2025 which returns for Edinburgh Fringe 2026!

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John-Luke Roberts: What I Talk About When I Run About Talking

August 6, 2026 at 12:53 pm · Filed under Drama, Edinburgh Fringe Festival, Edinburgh Fringe Festival 2026, Interviews, Theatre ·Tagged Absurdism, British comedy, comedy, Edinburgh Fringe 2026, Fringe shows, Interviews, John-Luke Roberts, Stand-up

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★★★★★ John‑Luke Roberts returns to the Fringe with an hour that blends surrealism, sharp language play and candid reflections on health, therapy and mortality. In a small room that suits his conversational style, he delivers a show that’s warm, inventive and consistently funny, proving once again why he occupies such a singular corner of British comedy.

John-Luke Roberts has long occupied a distinctive corner of British comedy, where surrealism, wordplay and intelligent observation meet. What I Talk About When I Run About Talking demonstrates why he has earned that reputation. This is a show that is often gloriously absurd, occasionally deeply personal and consistently engaging.

The intimate venue suits both the performer and the material. With room for around sixty people, it creates exactly the kind of atmosphere this show needs. Audience and performer feel part of the same conversation rather than separated by a stage. There’s also something pleasingly Fringe about the adjoining bar, where people can gather over a drink before taking their seats. By the time Roberts walks on, the audience already feels relaxed and receptive, and he rewards that goodwill from the opening moments.

One of Roberts’ greatest strengths is his command of language. He clearly enjoys words, not simply as vehicles for jokes but as toys to be turned over, stretched and occasionally twisted into unexpected shapes. His delivery is conversational yet meticulously controlled. There’s never a sense that he’s racing towards punchlines. Instead, he allows ideas to unfold at their own pace, trusting the audience to follow him wherever he’s heading.

What impressed me most was his ability to move effortlessly between comedy and subjects that, in other hands, might feel overwhelmingly serious. He speaks candidly about a recent health scare involving blood clots on his lungs, alongside reflections on mortality and therapy. These are not easy themes to make funny, yet Roberts never trivialises them. Instead, he finds humour in the way we process frightening experiences and the strange mental journeys they provoke.

His stories about therapy were among the afternoon’s highlights. The recurring image of his therapist ending sessions with probing questions for him to ponder until the next appointment became an inspired comic device. It reminded me, oddly enough, of the cliffhanger endings from the old Batman television series, forever leaving viewers hanging until the next episode. Roberts mines that structure brilliantly, turning psychological introspection into something unexpectedly hilarious.

Interspersed throughout the show are short poems that arrive almost without warning. They provide delightful changes of pace and consistently earned some of the biggest laughs of the evening. Roberts understands the value of surprise. Just as the audience thinks they know where a routine is heading, he quietly changes direction and lands somewhere entirely unexpected.

His physical presence on stage should not be overlooked either. Although this is a language-rich show, he uses movement economically and effectively, maintaining the audience’s attention throughout. He projects warmth and confidence without becoming overbearing, and there is a generosity to his performance that keeps everyone with him.

Perhaps the most impressive aspect of the hour is its rhythm. Many stand-up shows have noticeable peaks and quieter patches. This one scarcely does. Roberts maintains a steady flow of laughs from beginning to end, moving naturally between stories, observations, poems and surreal detours. The different strands might appear unrelated on paper, yet on stage they knit together into a coherent whole.

Comedy that embraces the surreal can sometimes become self-indulgent or leave audiences behind. Roberts avoids that trap. However eccentric the destination, he always provides enough emotional truth to keep the audience invested. Beneath the absurdity lies an astute observer of human behaviour, capable of making us laugh at life’s anxieties without ever dismissing their seriousness.

Above all, John-Luke Roberts knows how to entertain an audience. He combines intelligence, imagination, excellent timing and complete command of the room into an hour that feels fresh, thoughtful and consistently funny. Fringe audiences looking for comedy that rewards careful listening as much as spontaneous laughter should make time for this show.

Reviewed by Patrick Harrington

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Room 1219: Douglas Arbuckle on Reclaiming Roscoe’s Story

August 6, 2026 at 7:55 am · Filed under Biographical, Drama, Interviews, Theatre ·Tagged Biographical theatre, David Lyle, Douglas Arbuckle, Early Hollywood, Edinburgh Fringe 2026, Hollywood scandal, James Beyer, one‑man show, Room 1219, Roscoe Arbuckle, Silent film

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Some stories arrive already warped by the decades — bent out of shape by gossip, studio politics, and the public’s appetite for a villain. Room 1219 walks straight into that fog. In this production, Douglas Arbuckle takes on Roscoe Arbuckle at the exact moment his life detonates, and what follows is a study in collapse, reputation, and the uneasy space between fact and folklore. Our conversation moved between research, responsibility, and the strange intimacy of portraying a man history has half‑remembered and half‑invented.

You’re stepping into Roscoe Arbuckle’s shoes at a moment when his life implodes — “arrested and charged with murder” in Room 1219. What part of that emotional freefall hit you hardest as a performer?

I think the more you find out about Roscoe, the more you realise how much his difficult upbringing — and specifically his loneliness — propelled him to seek acceptance and approval from everybody. So it would be the loss of his friends and love from the public that hit me the hardest, as it was undeserved and unjust.

The show promises to tell “his side of the story.” How did you approach portraying a man whose public image was shaped more by scandal than truth?

I’d already read widely about Roscoe’s life, so knew a lot more about him than most, I’d say. The contemporary histories of his life and story are essentially agreed on the truths and untruths — the public records of the trials are available. I approached it as I would approach any character, trying to tell their truth, based upon what I had researched and what I felt.

Arbuckle’s downfall was brutal — the press, the public, Hollywood all turned on him. What did you discover in your research that surprised you or challenged the received narrative?

Nothing really surprised me. I was more disappointed that the story is very human, and there is avarice, greed, jealousy… and that in a sense it is no different, over a hundred years later, today. We seem not to have learned anything, in some ways, and put ourselves above others when there is a dollar to be made or someone to destroy.

This is a one‑man show. What’s the biggest challenge in holding an audience through a story that spans fame, scandal, and collapse without another actor to bounce off?

I think pacing is always a huge challenge when you are solely responsible for dictating it. You should always remember as a performer that you are there to tell a story, entertain, and most importantly hold a mirror up to society. So the biggest challenge is getting that story across in a way that engages and allows you to paint a picture of that particular world at that particular time, to allow the audience to reflect on their own thoughts. And not put them to sleep!

James Beyer says he wants to “set the record straight.” Did his script push you toward a particular emotional truth, or did you find your own angle on Roscoe?

I think both. There were obviously details of Roscoe’s story that were new to me too, despite my previous knowledge. James, the writer, does not try to make Roscoe a man without faults. But we do lay out the facts, and use artistic license to a degree, to imagine the emotional impact on Roscoe. Because the themes are universal though — love, loss, loneliness, struggle, success, greed — it’s not hard to find emotional truth, playing Roscoe and knowing what the historical facts were, as far as we can determine them.

Arbuckle was a silent‑film star. How did you translate that physical, expressive performance style into a modern Fringe setting without slipping into caricature?

I don’t know — let’s see! In a way avoiding caricature is easy because there is very little to go on playing Roscoe, as opposed to Fatty. The play is about Roscoe, and to a lesser extent his screen persona, Fatty. The childishness, playfulness and physicality that made him so successful on screen is of course naturally part of him, but is by no means all of him. So you can exhibit some of those qualities playing him as a person, rather than a performer, and to a large degree that is the creative process, because there is very little to go on about how Roscoe genuinely felt and expressed himself about the tragedies and injustices that befell him.

The production features original music by David Lyle. How does the score shape your performance rhythm or the emotional temperature of the piece?

It’s used in different ways, and allows me to play the lightness of the man, the romanticism, which was effervescent. So in terms of emotional temperature, it’s great for me to unlock the joy that Roscoe had in entertaining people, which is his essence. We are lucky to have such accomplished contributors musically, and theatrically in the creative team. I’ve not sung on stage for a while and the pipes are a little rusty, so David and others have been invaluable to me. And very patient!

The scandal destroyed careers — “No one was hit harder than Arbuckle himself.” Do you feel the show asks the audience to reconsider him, or simply to understand him?

Both. Before I started reading years ago, which was because I was researching the Arbuckles — my ancestry — all I thought I knew about him was that he was a silent film star who killed a young actress in sordid circumstances. I think most people even today would give you a similar view. So I think the play asks you to look at the evidence presented — not just about the scandal but his whole life — and make your own mind up. It doesn’t answer all the questions, it can’t.

You share a surname with Roscoe. Has that created any unexpected connection, pressure, or curiosity from audiences or the creative team?

No pressure, certainly from the audiences or creative team, but certainly curiosity. When I saw the advert for the audition (sounding like Roscoe himself here) I saw it as fate. Everybody of course asks if we are related. I can say with quite a lot of confidence that we probably are. I’m one step away from proving Roscoe’s lineage back to South Lanarkshire, and I know my own is from that area and/or Glasgow. There are not many Arbuckles and it’s fascinating trying to put it all together. I’m hoping to get records from Jefferson County Library in Indiana… Lots of Arbuckles left Scotland for the US via Northern Ireland, and it looks like Roscoe and my line may be the same. And there are other performers in his ancestry too. I do feel a certain responsibility though, to make a good job of telling the story, as it’s my name too and my family’s.

After living inside this story, what do you hope audiences walk out questioning — about Arbuckle, about celebrity, or about how quickly public judgement hardens?

All of that! But more than celebrity and public judgement, questioning how we behave and treat each other as humans. Celebrity and status did not really matter in original drama — comedy and satires — as they were stripped away with the targets not only front and centre in the audience but often paying for the whole festival. So hopefully it’s a leveller in some way, like all good drama, and we reflect on ourselves and our own relationships.

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James Beyer on Reclaiming Roscoe Arbuckle: The Story Behind Room 1219

August 4, 2026 at 1:16 pm · Filed under Drama, Edinburgh Fringe Festival, Edinburgh Fringe Festival 2026, Interviews, Theatre ·Tagged Douglas Arbuckle, Edinburgh Fringe Festival 2026, James Beyer, Room 1219, Roscoe Arbuckle, Theatre

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Hotel St Francis, San Francisco, September 1921: a silent‑era star at the height of his fame, a young actress in distress, and a companion whose testimony would ignite one of Hollywood’s earliest media infernos. Roscoe “Fatty” Arbuckle, Virginia Rappe and Maude Delmont — three names forever tied to the secrets of Room 1219. Arbuckle, the man who turned slapstick into gold, saw his world collapse overnight as a charge of murder shattered his career and made him Hollywood’s first fall guy.

A century later, writer James Beyer revisits that pivotal moment in Room 1219, exploring Arbuckle’s meteoric rise, the scandal that consumed him, and the ruthless machinery of public opinion that ensured his downfall. In this interview, Beyer discusses the research, the responsibility, and the creative choices behind bringing one of Hollywood’s most contested stories back into the spotlight.

Roscoe “Fatty” Arbuckle’s case is one of Hollywood’s earliest and most explosive scandals. What drew you to this particular moment in cinema history, and why revisit it now?

The inspiration for writing Room 1219 came from attending many solo shows at previous Fringe Festivals, where performers portrayed figures from film or theatre. Arbuckle’s story struck me as an ideal vehicle for that format. The process hasn’t been urgent in a topical sense — it’s actually been quite protracted — though perhaps there’s a personal urgency now that I’m 77 and keen to ensure the play finally reaches an audience. I hope this won’t be my last chance, but it certainly motivated me to finish it.

The show promises to tell Arbuckle’s side of the story. How did you navigate the balance between historical fact, public myth, and emotional truth?

Historical fact, public myth, and emotional truth are all essential to Arbuckle’s story. Each has been carefully researched and woven into the script so the audience experiences a subtle shift in tone as the play progresses. It builds toward an emotionally charged final section where Arbuckle reveals the anguish and torment he endured as a result of the scandal. All three facets are handled fairly and sensitively.

James Beyer is both a musician and a film historian. How does that dual background shape the tone, pacing, and perspective of the script?

The music complements the mood on stage and creates comedic moments throughout. It supports both comedy and tragedy — reflecting Arbuckle’s early life, his later career, and the events of September 5th, 1921, with their tragic aftermath. The music isn’t the driving force; Arbuckle’s story is. Sound effects are also used to enhance the atmosphere.

This is a one‑man show led by Douglas Arbuckle. What made him the right performer to carry such a complex and controversial figure on his own?

Douglas Arbuckle is an excellent choice for several reasons. First — he is an Arbuckle. He has researched Roscoe’s character extensively, making his portrayal compelling and authentic. He has read accounts of Arbuckle’s life, watched his films, and perfected a convincing accent. All of this gives him a deep understanding of Arbuckle’s complex personality. In addition, Douglas is a highly experienced actor.

Alan Borthwick directs the production. What was his approach to staging a story that is both intimate and historically sprawling?

We had to choose between an intimate focus and a sprawling historical narrative to keep within the 50‑minute Fringe allocation. We chose intimacy. The play shows that despite Arbuckle’s immense talent and popularity, once he was branded a scapegoat for Hollywood’s perceived moral failings, there was no escape from ruination.

The press release mentions Arbuckle being treated harshly and unfairly. What aspects of his treatment by the media and public are most misunderstood today?

There are countless variations of the Arbuckle story in the public domain — some well‑researched, others sensationalised. Sensational news captured the public’s attention in 1921 and still does today. The embellished accounts of the press galvanised people into believing Arbuckle was guilty of murder (later reduced to manslaughter). Both the public and the film industry judged him quickly, fed by the biased gutter press of newspaper barons like Hearst.

The show includes original music by David Lyle. How does the score support the storytelling, and what emotional colours does it bring?

Although the press release indicated original music, the company later decided to use published material for the mood‑music extracts and the two songs performed in the show. Arbuckle would have been familiar with the songs chosen, and the mood music comes from material written for silent cinema. These extracts and songs are taken from published works of the period. For how the music supports the storytelling, see my earlier response — it mirrors the emotional shifts of the narrative.

Keystone Theatricals is a new Edinburgh company. What does launching Room 1219 say about your artistic identity and ambitions?

Keystone Theatricals was set up primarily for Room 1219. The name “Keystone” was chosen for two reasons: it was the studio that launched Arbuckle’s film career, and it also suggests a strong base or foothold. Artistically, I see Keystone promoting solo shows about significant historical figures, not necessarily limited to stage and screen. Tickets are selling well, so perhaps 2027 will see a re‑run. Beyond that, there are no immediate plans.

Arbuckle’s rise and fall mirror the early power structures of Hollywood. How do you explore those dynamics without turning the show into a lecture on film history?

The play explores these dynamics through significant episodes from Arbuckle’s life and career. It uses the masks of comedy and tragedy to tell his story. The storytelling style prevents the show from becoming a lecture, and ideally it will motivate some audience members to learn more about this period in cinema history afterwards.

With a 50‑minute runtime, the show is tightly focused. What do you hope audiences walk away questioning or reconsidering?

We hope audiences leave more enlightened about this period in cinema history and better understand the circumstances surrounding the scandal, which may previously have been coloured by sensationalised accounts. The powerful ending should evoke sympathy for Arbuckle and encourage a reassessment of how he was treated.

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Archive for Interviews

The Interview

Sharp Edges – Production and Ticket Information

What first compelled you to create PUTTANA, a piece that confronts sex work, judgement, violence, and shared responsibility?

The show uses fragmentation rather than linear storytelling. What dramaturgical purpose does that structure serve?

How did you approach directing a one‑woman performance that requires the actor to embody multiple characters around Laura?

Why binaural audio and headphones?

How do sound, proximity and moral tension interact?

Why was Beatrice Elena Festi chosen as your collaborator?

How much emerged from her interpretation?

How can theatre explore judgement and violence ethically?

How did you see your responsibilities when dealing with emotional risk?

What did you hope Fringe audiences would confront?

What surprised you in Edinburgh?

What was the impact of the SoHo Playhouse Encore Series selection

How does PUTTANA relate to your wider work?

What did this production teach you?

Where next?

What should spectators carry with them?

Performance, embodiment, technique

Puttana places you inside a binaural, three‑dimensional soundscape. How did performing inside headphones change your physical and emotional approach to Laura?

You embody several characters around Laura — student, sex worker, husband, wife, young man. Which identity demanded the biggest shift in your internal state?

The show’s fragmented structure requires rapid transitions. How do you keep emotional coherence while moving between characters so quickly?

Themes & ethics

The piece confronts judgement, violence, and the commodification of women’s bodies. How do you navigate the ethical weight of representing these realities on stage?

Puttana deliberately places the audience in a position of complicity. What does it feel like to perform a work that refuses moral reassurance?

There are moments where silence becomes confrontational. What is the most difficult silence in the show for you to hold?

Process & collaboration

You’ve worked with director Mirko Corradini on multiple TeatroE projects. What aspects of his direction made this collaboration particularly effective for such an intimate piece?

How did the rehearsal process shape the emotional core of Laura’s story? Were there moments where the material felt too close or too exposing?

What discoveries did you make about Laura during rehearsal that changed how you performed her?

Fringe experience

Summerhall is known for politically charged work. How did performing Puttana in that environment influence your relationship to the piece?

What surprised you most about how Edinburgh Fringe audiences responded to the show?

Did performing the show daily at the Fringe change your understanding of Laura or the characters orbiting her?

International recognition

Puttana’s Off‑Broadway run at SoHo Playhouse happened before Edinburgh. How did that New York experience shape your sense of the work’s impact?

Artistic development

How does Puttana connect to your broader artistic interests in vulnerability, power, and spectatorship?

Future direction

After a role this demanding, what kind of work do you feel drawn toward next? What are your plans?

Roscoe “Fatty” Arbuckle’s case is one of Hollywood’s earliest and most explosive scandals. What drew you to this particular moment in cinema history, and why revisit it now?

The show promises to tell Arbuckle’s side of the story. How did you navigate the balance between historical fact, public myth, and emotional truth?

James Beyer is both a musician and a film historian. How does that dual background shape the tone, pacing, and perspective of the script?

This is a one‑man show led by Douglas Arbuckle. What made him the right performer to carry such a complex and controversial figure on his own?

Alan Borthwick directs the production. What was his approach to staging a story that is both intimate and historically sprawling?

The press release mentions Arbuckle being treated harshly and unfairly. What aspects of his treatment by the media and public are most misunderstood today?

The show includes original music by David Lyle. How does the score support the storytelling, and what emotional colours does it bring?

Keystone Theatricals is a new Edinburgh company. What does launching Room 1219 say about your artistic identity and ambitions?

Arbuckle’s rise and fall mirror the early power structures of Hollywood. How do you explore those dynamics without turning the show into a lecture on film history?

With a 50‑minute runtime, the show is tightly focused. What do you hope audiences walk away questioning or reconsidering?

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