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Rainee Blake Captures Joni Mitchell’s Essence

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Joni Mitchell: Take Me As I Am at the Edinburgh Fringe 2025 is a small marvel. Rainee Blake doesn’t just sing Joni—she is Joni. She performs in character, speaking to us as if we’ve been invited into her home after a tour. There’s a wry, playful sense of humour in the way she tells stories, teasing the audience, laughing at herself, and sharing secrets that feel half-confessed. It’s intimate, and it works.

A young woman in a cream-colored embroidered dress sitting on the floor while playing an acoustic guitar.

I went in only knowing a few songs—Big Yellow Taxi and Both Sides Now. Both were delivered with warmth and beauty, reminding me why they became classics. But it was the lesser-known songs that surprised me. Coyote and Woodstock felt alive, urgent, and new. Blake’s voice, tuned to Joni’s strange chords, carried the ache of longing and the restless energy of the road.

What impressed me most was the honesty. No attempt at polish or distance—just raw storytelling woven through song. At times it felt like time travel, the room holding its breath as she played. It’s rare at the Fringe to find something this still, this sure of itself. Take Me As I Am is not a tribute—it’s a meeting with Joni Mitchell in her prime.

Reviewed By Pat Harrington

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The Legend of Queen: Capturing Freddie Mercury’s Spirit at the Fringe

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The Legend of Queen – Edinburgh Fringe 2025

For me, Queen has never just been a band. Their music was part of the fabric of my upbringing, something I shared with my late mother, who loved them as much as I do. So when The Legend of Queen was announced for this year’s Fringe, I knew I had to be there. It wasn’t simply about nostalgia—it was about measuring whether this show could capture even a fraction of what made Queen so extraordinary. My favourite track, Killer Queen, sums up their appeal: clever, witty lyrics, bound to a melody that still sparkles fifty years on. But behind that style was Freddie Mercury, a frontman whose vocal range and theatricality were unmatched. He sang like an opera star, commanding power one moment and tenderness the next. Any tribute, to succeed, has to reckon with that legacy.

A performer singing passionately on stage, wearing a red jacket with white details, surrounded by band members playing instruments in a vibrant concert setting, with a backdrop featuring 'The Legend of Queen' on the screen.
Peter Marchant radiated charisma

Peter Marchant, leading the Night Owl Band, stepped into that daunting role and didn’t disappoint. His voice carried the weight of expectation and delivered—clear, strong, flexible enough to soar and twist across the songs without ever straining. But just as important, he radiated charisma. Freddie was never only about technique; he was about presence, energy, and generosity to his audience. Marchant channelled that same generosity. He didn’t mimic Mercury so much as embody a spirit of joy in performance. The Night Owl Band were tight and versatile, taking us on a journey through Queen’s different musical phases—from the raw power of early rock, through their disco-inflected experiments, to the anthems that can still fill a stadium.

What struck me most was the atmosphere in the room. I’ve attended other Night Owl shows at the Fringe and enjoyed them, but the crowd here was far more alive. It was as if Queen’s music unlocked something in everyone. People were singing at the top of their lungs, clapping in time, stomping their feet, and before long the floor was shaking with dancing. I joined in too—I couldn’t help it. It was infectious. Looking around, I noticed the mix of people: older fans reliving their youth, teenagers discovering the music as if it were brand new, families sharing a common soundtrack. That, to me, is Queen’s true legacy. They never belonged to a single time or generation. Their songs still speak across age and background, uniting people in pure, unguarded enjoyment.

There’s also something to be said about Queen’s cultural role. At a time when rock was often macho and narrow, Freddie Mercury embodied flamboyance and theatricality. He brought camp, opera, and drama into the mainstream, unapologetically. Songs like Radio Gaga or Bohemian Rhapsody didn’t just push musical boundaries; they expanded ideas of what performance could be. Seeing a tribute show in 2025 that can still spark such joy suggests that Queen’s boldness remains relevant. In a festival full of new writing and experimental theatre, The Legend of Queen reminds us that art also survives by being passed on, reinterpreted, and celebrated anew.

By the end of the night, I felt both exhilarated and oddly moved. I had gone in with scepticism—could anyone really take on Mercury’s voice?—and left convinced that while no one can ever replace Freddie, the spirit of his music can still be shared in ways that feel vital and alive. Marchant and his band offered not just a tribute, but a communal act of remembrance and renewal. My mother would have loved it. And I walked out into the Edinburgh night with our favourite songs in my head, grateful that some legends never fade.

Reviewed by Pat Harrington

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The Billy Joel Story: A Night of Music and Emotion

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Angus Munro brings real energy and warmth to The Billy Joel Story at theSpace @ Symposium Hall. From the moment he sits at the piano, you know you’re in for something special. He doesn’t just sing the songs; he lives them, and the outstanding musicians around him give the music a full, rich life on stage.

Logo for The Billy Joel Story featuring baseball motifs and song titles such as 'Uptown Girl' and 'Piano Man'.

The show is more than a tribute concert. It tells Joel’s story, weaving together music, slides, and anecdotes in a way that makes you feel close to the man behind the songs. We see glimpses of his early days in piano bars, the rise to fame, and the personal stories that inspired classics like “Piano Man,” “Just the Way You Are,” and “Uptown Girl.” These touches make the evening both entertaining and informative, giving the audience the sense of a journey as well as a performance.

The musicianship is outstanding. Every note feels sharp and alive. The drums drive the beat, the guitars add colour, and the piano riffs drop you right into Joel’s world. Angus Munro proves himself to be not just a singer but a gifted all-round performer. His piano and saxophone solos echo the originals yet have his own style. There is humour and warmth in his storytelling, and his voice has both the power and tenderness needed to carry songs that millions know by heart.

What makes the show so enjoyable is its atmosphere. The audience can’t help but sing along, tapping feet and smiling as hit after hit rolls out. It’s joyful, uplifting, and full of life. By the end you feel lighter, happier, carried along by the music and the story. It’s a reminder of how much Billy Joel’s work still means to people and why his songs have stood the test of time.

This is not a show to miss. If you want to feel happy, uplifted, joyful, then The Billy Joel Story will give you just that.

Reviewed by Jacqueline Sharp

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Immerse Yourself in Caledonia’s Vibrant Folk Tradition

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Artwork featuring the title 'Caledonia' with various musical instruments including a violin, pipes, guitar, and accordion, representing Scottish folk and traditional music.

Caledonia is a warm rush of Scottish air. theSpace @ Surgeons’ Hall suits it. The room feels close. The music fills it. Elsa Jean McTaggart is mesmerising. She sings with poise. She moves between violin and pipes with ease. It’s beautiful to hear and to watch. Gary Lister’s vocals blend well. His playing gives the songs weight and swing. You feel the ceilidh spirit in the room. Old tunes meet fresh arrangements. Stories stitch it all together. Footage of the islands deepens the mood. You can almost smell the peat smoke.

This is folk as living culture, not museum piece. The set is tight. The pace is kind. You leave lighter, and a little prouder of Scotland’s songbook. Forty-five minutes pass in a blink.

Reviewed by Jacqueline Sharp

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A Fresh Take on The Wizard of Oz: Talentz Team Review

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142 words, 1 minute read time.

The youthful Talentz team bring a fresh perspective on the popular standard, The Wizard of Oz. All the familiar characters are there, Dorothy, Auntie Em, the Scarecrow, the Tin Man and the Cowardly Lion. In this production, inspired by the recent film, Wicked, Toto talks once the storm lands her and Dorothy over the rainbow into the land of Oz. I loved seeing things from a dog’s point of view.

A young actress dressed in a pink gown smiles brightly, holding a prop while performing on stage. Behind her, two actors portray the Scarecrow and the Cowardly Lion, with expressive poses, in a colorful theatrical setting.

We all know the story, how the motley crew follow the Yellow Brick Road to the Emerald City, beset by the vengeful Wicked Witch of the West. These young people deliver this enchanting story with a freshness and enthusiasm that captivates the audience and transports them to the magical land of Oz. My only criticism was that sometimes the accompanying music drowns out the singing in solo pieces.

Reviewed by David Kerr

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Transforming Mental Health Care: Insights from SECTIONED

Poppy Radcliffe in conversation with Pat Harrington

How do you hold a system to account while it’s holding you? That’s the question pulsing beneath SECTIONED – Schrödinger’s Mental Health, the raw, poetic, and politically charged solo show from neurodiverse performer Poppy Radcliffe. In it, Radcliffe takes the audience on an unflinching journey through nine years of coercive psychiatric intervention—including eight sectionings, the most recent of which occurred just weeks before this year’s Fringe.

Blending slam poetry with sharp commentary, she takes a scalpel to a system that asks patients to be simultaneously unwell enough to detain yet well enough to self-manage. The “Schrödinger” metaphor, far from a gimmick, becomes a lived paradox—a way to interrogate the cruel logic of mental health bureaucracy where diagnosis justifies surveillance and vulnerability is met with suspicion.

Here, Poppy speaks candidly about the trauma of being detained, the institutional failures she’s endured, and her hopes for poetic protest as a catalyst for reform. In this moving and urgent interview, she lays bare the contradictions of a system that claims to care, but too often punishes, isolates, and invalidates. What follows is both testimony and artistic mission statement—one that may well leave you changed.

About the Show and Creative Approach

  1. What inspired the title SECTIONED – Schrödinger’s Mental Health, and how does the quantum metaphor shape both the narrative arc and audience experience?

The title Schrödinger’s Mental Health is a reference to two things being true at the same time.  When dealing with the mental health services, it often feels like you are expected to be both well and ill simultaneously.  You are expected to accept life long ill health and medication but act calmer and more together than people without diagnosis. If one is well why can’t there even be consideration to reduce medication? If one is ill, why do you get no practical support? 

Promotional image for the show 'SECTIONED – Schrödinger's Mental Health', featuring a person with vibrant face paint expressing intense emotion.

The show asks the question: am I ill or am I well, because I surely can’t be both? 

  1. You describe the piece as part crushing poetry and part TED talk. How do you balance raw, confessional verse with the more structured, informational elements?

This is one of my favourite aspects of the show.  The show transitions smoothly from the prose parts to the poetry, with the poems chosen to highlight the emotional impact of the policies on the patient, there is no stop and start between them.  

  1. Your debut show was shortlisted as “best emerging artist” at Brighton and won Best Neurodiverse Performance. How has that early recognition influenced your creative process this year?

It has certainly given me confidence that the show will be well received.  Writing this show has been incredibly difficult, it is a scary thing to stand up and say that a system that is universally loved and believed to be doing the best they can is in fact failing as many people as it helps.  Winning the outstanding neurodiverse performance award at Brighton was an honor and a shock, until I received the nomination, I wasn’t even aware that any awards people had seen the show.  It made me feel that there really was a chance that the show and story could get noticed at Edinburgh this year, which is both everything I want and also terrifying as the thought of being the face of mental ill health in the UK brings its own level of anxiety.  

Anxiety that got so high that my most recent sectioning was between Brighton and Edinburgh 2025.   I had to take the mental health services to a tribunal (independent legal process to determine whether I should be released from section) in order to get released in time to perform at the fringe this year.  A tribunal I won and I am very proud of that as apparently that is rare.  In a weird way I am grateful that I had recent experience of a ward, it had been 2.5 years since I was last in and it is easy to forget the horror, but if anything they are worse than they ever were.  

It has thrown into contrast the general public perception of myself and the perception of the services, the former seeming to have faith and the latter, that I am only trying to help, still doubting my sanity.

Talking Sectioning and Inpatient Care

  1. You’ve been sectioned eight times in nine years. Can you walk us through the most jarring moments during the AMHP and medical assessments—what questions or procedures stay with you?

My first sectioning and last sectionings were the most jarring. The first happened three months after the separation from my husband at a time when I felt as mentally well as I have ever done.  I slipped up, over did things and got arrested for drunk and disorderly, not my finest moment but in my view understandable given the circumstances and it was the first time ever in my life.  When I left the cell the next morning, the second lieutenant said to me “Don’t worry, a lot of people who go on to do amazing things have records for drunk and disorderly”.  I felt seen, supported and ready to repay their faith in me by buckling down and working.

I got sectioned two days later after nothing more than a row with my parents who didn’t know how to handle the arrest.  In that meeting, and it was until recently the only one that I had seen the section notes of, I was called delusional for believing I could build a database (my area of expertise), they commented that my speak was laboured when talking about my parents, people who had broken a promise and with whom I had always had a difficult relationship.  At the time I was a satellite engineer, I may have used the term “rocket scientist” a slight exaggeration.  The section notes wrote there were “elements of truth”.  I felt that they saw a distressed woman and formed their own conclusions when there was nothing at that point to be worried about.  That decision was the start of my mental distress, not the culmination of it.

In general, I could not tell you what parts hurt the most because I have not been given access to what they have written about me, you are almost periphery to the decision process about your own future.

The most recent sectioning hurt because prior to it, I had spent a week trying to get myself voluntarily committed.  I called an ambulance on myself 8 times, because I was so mentally unwell that it was also physically ill, an interconnect between my mental and physical health now being something I deal with on a daily basis.  The ambulance came 5 times and each time wrote me a note, saying “Talk to your sister” or on one “If you experience unconsciousness, dial 999” which is impossible advice and then left without me.  I honestly thought I was going to die and they left me and only sectioned me after I had recovered my strength.  Yes I damaged church property, but if I committed a crime whilst psychotic then charge me with a crime and allow me to tell my side of the story.  It is not right to lock people up with no ability to advocate for themselves.

  1. Mind’s guide to sectioning stresses the right to an interpreter, a friend present, and full explanations of each stage. Which of these rights did you find most critical in preserving your dignity, and where did the system fall short?

None of these were offered for any of my admissions, I was not even aware until this interview that I had a right to have a friend with me at the assessment phase and have never done so.  The explanations for the treatment tend to amount to “We believe you need medication” but no explanation given to what exactly they believe they are treating.  

I can not think of any way that the system has not failed, nearly all actions in my life that sound shameful were during the sectioning process at first admission to a ward.

  1. Looking back at your ward admissions, which practical changes—big or small—would have transformed a punitive experience into a genuinely therapeutic one?

The key thing I would change would be the welcome.  Arriving at a ward is scary, no one greats you.  You are just dumped and left to wait.  It’s a minor change but if you were met by a nurse and given a cup of tea and taken to a quiet place to talk and have the rules of the ward explained to you, I think this could do wonders to transform the experience.  The first time I was in a ward, I had my phone confiscated after putting a post on Facebook trying to track down a woman’s partner.  She had been picked up and taken with no notice and no ability to get a message, believing he may have thought she just left, she was desperate to reach him.  I thought I was doing a good thing, no one had explained to me that you weren’t allowed to post publicly about patients and for doing so they confiscated my phone, my only link to normality.  It was just hours after this that the first signs of psychosis occurred in my mind.  Something I had never experienced before I was sectioned that first time.

So give a proper explanation and tour.

Also the way they deal with medication is atrocious.  You go into a ward and are handed small pots of pills to take throughout the day, you are often not even told what they are or what they are supposed to be treating.  Medication can be transformative is done right, my sister is the poster child for the positive effects of the right medication, but in wards they do not listen to you when you say that the pills they are giving you are not right.  People in mental wards are not stupid, they are the ones with lived experience of the medication, believe them and listen to them about what they are struggling with and try different meds with their agreement until you find something that actually works.  Nobody wants to be chaotic, no one wants to be in distress.  The arrival of the mental health services should feel like the cavalry has arrived, in reality it often feels like shelling from the enemy.

Systemic Reflections and Remedies

  1. You argue that a successful service is one that makes itself redundant. From your research and lived experience, what three concrete tweaks to acute inpatient wards would most accelerate that goal?

1: Believe what the patients are telling you.  You do not end up in a mental ward because you have a supportive family and good people around you.  In my most recent admission I was called delusional for believing in the threat to my wellbeing from my neighbours, a very real threat.  Even if they seem far fetched, start from a place of trust.

2.  Make the services point of contact, make it easy for someone to self refer, have a more GP like system for appointment, mental health does not occur on a regular monthly basis, if a crisis happens, they must respond quickly.  Conversely don’t force people to appointments when they have nothing that they need to discuss.

3. Make people create recovery plans as well as crisis plans.  The services always insist you make a crisis plan for what they should do in an emergency.  It forces you to think about the past and your ill health and then, at least in my case when a crisis hits, is not followed anyway.  There is currently no concept of a recovery plan.  Allow people to think about a positive future, allow them to define the steps they need to take to experience good mental health again.  The mind is an incredibly malleable organ, the viewset that once you become ill, you will always be ill is in my opinion not only wrong but self fulfilling.  If you do not have positive encouragement from friends and family, you need it from the services and this is something they currently don’t provide.

  1. In preparing the show you must have come across pockets of best practice. Which trusts or units seemed closest to “care that empowers recovery,” and what lessons do they offer?

The most positive thing I experienced in a ward was one ward that held weekly patient and staff feedback meetings where you could give your opinion on what had been good and bad the previous week and what you would like to see going forward.  There was also a particular nurse one time who always seemed genuinely pleased to see me and was always available for a chat and who even came in on her day off because it was the day I was being released just to say goodbye.  Her kindness has stuck with me to this day.

  1. Underfunding and staffing shortages are chronic issues. How might frontline practitioners advocate for incremental improvements—say, in ward layout or daily routine—that cost little but yield outsized benefits?

They say they are understaffed but there are loads of staff on the wards they just sit around.  We do not need more staff, they need to change the way the staff are trained and the processes they have to follow.  Staff sitting around all day just watching the patients does nothing.  I once saw a nurse on 1 to 1 sitting by and watching a patient hitting her head against the wall till it bled.  There is a never ending stream of people wanting to work in mental health, let them actually help.

Neurodiversity, Performance, and Stigma

  1. Winning the neurodiverse performance award at Brighton Fringe must have felt momentous. How has that validation shaped the way you frame the show’s themes for audiences unfamiliar with neurodiversity?

I touch on the topic of my autism during the show and indeed it is the autistic neurodiversity that I most associate with. At the time it was given and to some extent, to this day, I am very uneasy with the bipolar diagnosis that I also have.  It is a very common misdiagnosis for autism.  I try to show the positives of autism, I was a natural at maths and physics in my youth and I liked my honesty.  As I say in the show, I fail to see how an intense interest in subjects and difficulty lying can be considered negative traits and not attributes to aspire to.

  1. You’re reaching people who’ve never spent a night on a psychiatric ward. How do you tailor your language and imagery so that lived-experience audiences feel seen, while newcomers remain engaged without feeling overwhelmed?

I focus on a few key moments in the process, particularly on the initial greeting and the overwhelming boredom that is the most prevalent emotion in the wards.  The poetry adds depth to the descriptions as they are poems that were written at the times of the stories so show the emotional impact.  I am trying to show that wards don’t often feel like places of recovery but places where distress is exacerbated by a system that says it cares but where the staff tend to seem aloof and disparaging, which is the opposite of what someone going through trauma needs.  There are good sides, the craft groups that are sadly becoming rarer especially providing some respite to the monotony.

  1. Performance art can crack through stigma in ways policy papers never will. What moments in the show do you think resonate most in shifting public empathy?

This is a tricky one, I think the most impactful poem in the show is one called help

Don’t tell me that you’re helping

When your help is nothing thus………….

Don’t tell me you don’t see them

The hopeless, disenchanted mass………

I’m hoping that this will encourage people to open their eyes. The same actions with different motivations can be good or bad. That we live in a society now that seems to support the bullies and those that shout loudest rather than the gentle and those trying to obey the laws.  There are thousands of people struggling and when the care criticises and leaves you alone it does less good than kind words and practical assistance.  

I have tried to make the show as light as possible but I hope it shocks people into realising that the “care” provided by the acute services is very different to that provided for less intensive situations and that there is a significant difference to receiving help you have requested than having help you don’t necessarily want thrust upon you

Just let me lick my wounds in peace

And somehow make it through at least  .

Future Directions and Impact

  1. You’ve said that after Edinburgh you want to use your birth name, Robyn, and move into standup comedy. How do you envision translating your poetic confessions into a comedic set—what stays, what goes?

The poetry and standup I think will become separate. I love poetry but social reform is really what I’m aiming for. My recent poetry is much lighter than the stuff included in the show, in part because my mindset is much lighter now.  I have one called “we’re doing AI backwards” which is a piece about wanting AI to help me search and categorise existing human made art rather than create art for me and I even wrote my first love poem a few months ago.  I’ve signed up for a comedy course starting in October. I do not know yet how successful it will be but I’ve done a lot of absurd things in my struggle to survive and I hope to uplift people by being vocal about the rubbish I have done and showing that the past is not the future.  We all deserve a fresh start.

Of course if Edinburgh goes well, I will consider touring this show, I hope to do a London date in the autumn.

  1. Beyond moving seats in Laughing Horse’s Little Cellar, what change in policy or public mindset would you love this show to catalyze over the next year?

I want to blow the doors off the whole system, though I know this can not be done in a year. There is a brilliant book called Fragile Minds by a mental health nurse called Bella Jackson who sees the same problems that I see with judgement, disbelief and lack of care. I’m hoping together we can start a movement for reform. 

I am also hoping to get actively involved as an expert by experience or peer worker within the wards, my dream is to run poetry groups within wards and within time to publish and anthology called “Poetry from the wards” to show the world that many of the people detained in mental wards are gentle, good people trying to get their lives back on track.

  1. If you could pose one urgent question—about rights, resources, recovery—to a mental health commissioner, what would you ask, and what would your ideal answer sound like?

Good question.

Why are there more opportunities for convicts in prison to upskill and start again than there are patients in mental wards?

My ideal answer would be:

Many people in wards are only there for short periods, (but this is not true, many people are there for 6 months going onto years).  I would like them to recognise that heavy sedative medication prevents people from really engaging in meaningful recovery, to acknowledge the empty craft and therapy rooms and suggest that a move towards more holistic therapy and practical help and guidance could have better results.

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Top Welsh Comedians to See at Edinburgh Fringe 2025

1,229 words, 7 minutes read time.

Every August, Edinburgh’s cobbled streets erupt into a riot of laughter and possibility—and in 2025, Welsh comedians are poised to steal the show. These eight acts don’t just bring punchlines; they arrive armed with razor-sharp stand-up, off-kilter character sketches and storytelling so inventive it upends every expectation you had about a comedy hour. From the warm absurdity of life in the Valleys to fearless riffs on identity and pop culture, Wales once again proves it’s a creative heavyweight on the world’s biggest arts stage. Whether you’re a Fringe veteran hunting your next comedy crush or a curious newcomer drawn by the buzz, prepare for nights of genuine insight wrapped in that inimitable Welsh wit—and trust me, you won’t forget the names you discover this August.

  1. Steffan Alun – Stand Up
    Steffan Alun arrives at Edinburgh Fringe 2025 armed with a decade’s worth of sharp-witted optimism and the kind of warmth that turns strangers into friends by punchline two. Best known for his guileless charm on BBC Wales and S4C, and a stellar stint supporting Elis James on tour, Steffan has quietly honed a voice that’s equal parts self-deprecation and unshakeable hope. He’s the kind of comic who’ll have you roaring about the absurdities of dating apps one minute, then pause to remind you why falling in love with your own hometown—the Valleys, in his case—is an act of radical joy. In Stand Up, his debut hour-long show, Steffan works through what he calls “my latest identity crisis” with an unflinching spotlight on sexuality, pop culture obsessions and everything that makes Wales wonderful and gloriously maddening. He’ll riff on the baffling etiquette of modern romance, the addictive scroll of social media, and the rugby heroes who taught him that community means more than individual glory. But beneath the riffs and the laughter lies a gentler truth: this is a man who believes comedy can bridge divides—between straight and bi, local and global, hero and nobody—in a single joke
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  2. Stuart Thomas – Bad FattyStuart Thomas storms the Fringe with Bad Fatty, a brazen, no-holds-barred hour that flips fat-shaming on its head and celebrates life as a big Welshman. Raised on a sheep farm in the Valleys, Thomas fuses his proud working-class roots with a modern manifesto of body positivity, gripping diet culture by the scruff of the neck and ripping it to shreds with every punchline. Candid about his bisexuality and battles with depression, he weaves personal truth into riotous riffs on sexuality, self-image and the absurdities of rural life, proving that honesty is the funniest weapon in his arsenal. Sofie Hagen’s verdict—“a big fat star in the making”—and The Scotsman’s praise—“made me laugh a lot”—only scratch the surface of his fearless charm. More Info
  3. James Arthur isn’t a mathematician and other
    lies

    The life of a mathematician is one that most people outside of the sphere don’t understand.
    The mathematician is a shy reclusive animal, so says Joe Public. Imagine my shock when I
    realised I was one after walking off stage as Othello. Welcome to the life of a mathematician
    who isn’t a recluse, has social skills and apparently likes being on stage. Come join me and
    work out how on earth this happened and maybe I’ll tell some stories of other people just like
    me.
    More Info and tickets
  4. Jake Cornford – Fair Play To Me
    Jake Cornford has fast become one of Wales’s most magnetic comic discoveries, and in Fair Play To Me he turns the everyday into a celebration. Over a lean 45 minutes in the Attic at The Mash House, he channels his infectious energy into riffs on self-improvement mantras, the humble coffee mug and the baffling etiquette of toxic masculinity. He’ll have you nodding along as he unpacks our collective nostalgia for 90s pop stars, then flip the script with a surprising insight that lands like a communal high-five. Driven by a mission to find friends and unite strangers in the dark, Cornford invites the audience on a joyous odyssey where every confession is both deeply personal and universally relatable.
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  5. Bennett Arron: I REGRET THIS ALREADY
    Bennett Arron arrives at the Fringe with I Regret This Already, an hour devoted to life’s cruel punchlines and the art of laughing at your own misfortune. Fresh from snagging a Top 10 joke of the Fringe in 2023 and a BAFTA shortlist nod, Arron proves that even success can’t save you from disappointment—he’ll have you queuing early at the Liquid Room Studio to witness it. On stage, he weaves razor-sharp storytelling about dementia, depression and death into riotous one-liners, treating the darkest moments with a disarming honesty that turns collective gloom into shared relief. It’s no wonder The Scotsman “had the room creased up” and The Guardian christened him “a Welsh Seinfeld.” Catch this free, pay-what-you-want gem every afternoon from 2nd to 24th August at 4.15pm and prepare for a bittersweet masterclass in comedy resilience.
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  6. Phil Cooper – …And such (WIP)
    Phil Cooper’s …And Such feels less like a work-in-progress and more like an intimate portrait of a 36-year-old finally figuring out what “adulthood” means in the Valleys. Cooper unpacks the chaos of planning a wedding in a tight-knit, working-class town, from the eccentric aunt fixated on family traditions to the baffling etiquette of seating charts and stag dos. His self-deprecating honesty about fumbling through floral arrangements and negotiating with quirky characters around every corner is both uproarious and tender. Underneath the laughs, there’s a gentle reckoning with his own insecurities—because coming of age doesn’t stop at 30, and sometimes the greatest act of bravery is admitting you don’t have all the answers. This show really has it all! (well specifically the stuff
    mentioned here).
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  7. Josh Elton: Away With The Fairies
    Josh Elton storms the Fringe with Away With The Fairies, a barnstorming hour that takes three short weeks of his life—nearly letting a man die, bombing so spectacularly he ended up in therapy, and literally crashing his car on a rising bollard—and casts the blame on one culprit: fairies. With razor-sharp timing and unshakeable confidence, Elton turns near-disaster into side-splitting confession, spinning personal chaos into comedy gold. Ignacio Lopez raves that he “rocks every show,” and David Baddiel insists he’s “really, really funny,” but it’s Josh’s uncanny gift for weaving misadventure and myth that keeps audiences queuing early.
    More Info and tickets
  8. Paul Hilleard – Work In Progress
    Come and have a look at how the sausage is made, in this hour-long work in progress from
    Paul Hilleard. The dry, Welsh oddball has been recognised as one of the emerging talents of
    UK Comedy after winning the BBC New Comedian of the Year 2024 award. Expect off-beat
    ramblings about Yoga, bus drivers and Epstein. As seen on Comic Relief and BBC Wales.
    ‘Energy and delivery on stage absolutely fantastic’ (Babatunde Aleshe). ‘Top rate comedy’
    (Spencer Jones).
    More Info and tickets

Together, these eight acts capture the soul of Welsh comedy in 2025: generous, unfiltered and relentlessly human. Whether you’re hunting your next comedy crush or simply craving genuine connection, their shows promise evenings of laughter that linger long after the applause fades.

By Pat Harrington with thanks to Stuart Thomas

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David Corenswet’s Superman: Balancing Power and Humanity

588 words, 3 minutes read time

In the 2025 Superman film, David Corenswet takes on the role of Clark Kent/Superman, offering a fresh perspective on the iconic character. The film delves into Clark’s journey, balancing his responsibilities as Superman with his life in Metropolis. Rachel Brosnahan shines as Lois Lane, adding depth to their romance. The film also features a compelling performance by Nicholas Hoult as Lex Luthor, a corporate head, whose envious and greedy nature raises questions about power and ethics.

From the moment the credits rolled it was clear that James Gunn’s 2025 Superman is more than a flashy reboot—it’s the heartfelt story we didn’t know we were starving for. Fans celebrated the film’s “different formula,” applauding its refusal to rest on blockbuster explosions alone and instead placing moral weight and humanity at the centre of every scene . Where previous DC outings often felt weighed down by spectacle, this Superman takes the opposite tack, weaving in the personal struggles of both hero and villain to create a narrative that resonates on a deeply human level.

David Corenswet’s portrayal of Clark Kent earned near-universal praise for bringing real soul to the cape. He is the best Clark Kent since Christopher Reeve balancing youthful naiveté with a gentle strength that makes his character profoundly relatable.

Opposite Corenswet, Alexander Nicholas Hoult’s Lex Luthor emerges as a chilling, rational antagonist whose motivations mirror Superman’s own ideological dilemmas. Luthor is more than a two‐dimensional foil.

And of course, there is Lois. Rachel Brosnahan’s Lois Lane and David Corenswet’s Clark Kent ignite the film’s emotional core with romance. Brosnahan infuses Lois with relentless intelligence and genuine warmth, challenging Clark’s earnest idealism and coaxing him toward emotional honesty. Corenswet returns her fire with a gentle vulnerability, admitting that beneath the cape he fears failing those he loves. When Clark falters under Lex Luthor’s reactor blast and Lois rushes to his side, her tears and unflinching resolve crystallize their bond: a partnership grounded in mutual respect, shared obsession with truth, and the belief that love itself can be the greatest superpower.

The plot centres on Superman’s battle to protect the world while facing personal challenges and difficult choices. The movie explores themes of identity, humanity, and the impact of one’s actions. With well-choreographed action sequences that don’t overshadow character development, the film delivers an engaging and positive message about the choices that shape who we are. It explores bigger questions about media weaponization, political power, and what it means for an omnipotent being to choose compassion over conquest.

Critics greeted the film with scepticism. Peter Travers dismissed it as “all spectacle, no soul,” and Alex Horton in The Guardian lamented that “the emotional heart never beats strong enough to justify the grandeur.” Yet audiences have embraced Corenswet’s earnest Clark Kent, propelling the film to an 82 percent audience score on Rotten Tomatoes and earning it a B+ CinemaScore. I saw it at 11.20am and it was unusually busy for that time. Whatever reservations reviewers may hold, viewers seem hungry for a Superman who feels as human as he is superhuman. I think they are right and would have liked it to explore that more, even at the expense of cutting some action/fight scenes. In a time filled with troubles this Superman reminds us that there are forces for good in this world.

I loved Krypto the Superdog. Far from the obedient cartoon sidekick of past iterations, this version of Krypto is a chaotic, superpowered mutt based on Gunn’s own rescue dog, Ozu. From the moment he crashes into the film—literally jumping on a bloodied Superman while the hero groans in pain—Krypto sets the comedic tone. He’s not just unruly; he’s a walking disaster zone with heat vision and a stubborn streak.

The humour is classic Gunn: absurd, deadpan, and laced with emotional sincerity. Krypto destroys the Fortress of Solitude, flings Lex Luthor across a room in the climax, and prompts a robot to dryly remark, “The dog is unruly.” Yet beneath the slapstick chaos is a genuine bond. Superman, at his lowest, finds hope in Krypto’s loyalty—even risking arrest to rescue him from a pocket universe where Lex plans to euthanize him. Their relationship is messy, loud, and deeply felt.

In a mid-credit twist, it’s revealed that Krypto isn’t even Superman’s dog—he belongs to Supergirl, who left him in Clark’s care while she partied across alien worlds. It’s a clever inversion that sets up Supergirl: Woman of Tomorrow and repositions Krypto as a bridge between the two heroes. Through this scrappy, scene-stealing canine, Gunn delivers a film that’s both riotously funny and unexpectedly tender,

In an era of franchise fatigue, Superman (2025) stands out by asking big questions about identity, choice, and the true meaning of strength. The film reminds us that power untethered from compassion is hollow—and that even the greatest heroes need someone to bring them back to earth. For longtime fans and newcomers alike, it offers spectacle and soul in equal measure, proving that the most enduring superpower is the courage to stay human.

By Patrick Harrington

Picture credit: By “Superman Movie Poster (#26 of 26)”. Internet Movie Poster Awards. Retrieved June 22, 2025., Fair use, https://en.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?curid=77337619

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‘Bad Fatty’: Humour, Identity, and Acceptance at Edinburgh Fringe

Ahead of the Edinburgh Fringe, Pat Harrington interviewed Stuart Thomas about his show Bad Fatty.

1. What inspired you to create Bad Fatty?
Lots of things! I’ve always wanted to do my own show at Edinburgh, and I’ve been slowly edging toward it ever since I started a Trello board of joke ideas during lockdown.
During that same period, I took an online comedy course run by Sofie Hagen—an Edinburgh Comedy Award Best Newcomer winner. Sofie is a proud fat activist and a huge influence on my comedy. After lockdown, I was lucky enough to be invited to perform in a show with them called Sofie Hagen and Her Sexy Friends.
That night, I tried out a fairly new joke about being a Bad Fatty, and it went down really well. It felt like the idea had legs—and more importantly, like it could be the kind of strong, catchy title I could build my first show around.

Close-up image of a man with the words 'BAD FATTY' stamped on his forehead, expressing a bold and provocative theme.

2. The title Bad Fatty is pretty provocative. What does being a “bad fatty” mean to you?
I came across a piece that talked about how, within the fat acceptance community, there’s this unspoken divide between so-called “good fatties” and “bad fatties.” In simple terms, a good fatty is someone who’s actively trying to lose weight—apologising for their body, promising transformation, always striving to be smaller. A bad fatty, on the other hand, isn’t trying to shrink themselves. They’re just… existing. Eating in public without shame. Wearing what they want. Taking up space without permission.
And I thought—yeah, that’s me. I’m the “bad” kind. So instead of hiding from that label, I decided to grab it with both hands and run with it.


3. Can you share a fatphobic absurdity you’ve spun into comedy?
Of course! One of my favourite bits is about the people who genuinely believe that clothing brands shouldn’t make clothes for fat people—like that’s a valid stance. You’ll see them in comment sections or on daytime TV, ranting about how catering to larger bodies somehow “encourages obesity,” as if a pair of trousers has the power to ruin society.
But here’s what they never seem to consider: if you don’t make clothes for fat people… what exactly is the alternative? Because the only logical outcome of their argument is more nude fat people in public. And if that’s what they want, they should just say it. Honestly, it’s giving “We fear you, but we also want to see your arse at Tesco.”
I hope audiences realise that by laughing at these absurdities, maybe their assumptions about fat people aren’t all that true—and maybe they should at least question them.


4. How do you tackle diet culture in your act?
Open mocking, to be honest. That’s the most straightforward way to describe how I deal with diet culture—I can’t take it seriously, and I absolutely refuse to pretend I do.
To me, diet culture is one of the most absurd, joyless institutions we’ve built—worse than Good Morning Britain. It’s an entire industry designed to make you feel broken so it can sell you the illusion of being “fixed.”
When you strip away the branding and the buzzwords, it’s just capitalism with a side of lettuce. And that’s just funny.


5. Have you always been this confident joking about your body?
Not at all. For me, joking about being fat started as a defence mechanism. It was survival. You either make fun of yourself or get made fun of—and if I was the one telling the joke, at least I was holding the mic. That felt like power, even when everything else didn’t.
I was the opposite of confident growing up. I got bullied quite a bit—which, to be fair, wasn’t exactly shocking. I was a fat, queer, nerdy kid with glasses from a sheep farm. That’s basically catnip for a school bully.
But comedy changed a lot for me. It gave me a way to reshape the narrative—to say, “You don’t get to laugh at me unless I invite you in.” That, and a fair bit of therapy (though no prizes for guessing which is cheaper).


6. Sheep farm, working-class roots – how’d that shape Bad Fatty?
Farming was all I knew for the first 18 years of my life. The farm wasn’t just a home—it was a full-on lifestyle, a business, and a chaotic family whirlwind of hard work and sheep poo.
It shaped everything: my work ethic, my humour, my knowledge of obscure sheep breeds. Growing up working-class in that kind of environment meant you developed a thick skin early—especially when your mum’s version of body positivity was, “Eat up, that lamb is so fresh it was in that field this morning.”
For years, I swore I’d never do a job that blurred the lines between life and work. And now I do stand-up comedy—a job that is a lifestyle, is chaotic, and definitely doesn’t stop when you clock out. So… great job, Stuart. Nailed it.
But honestly? That upbringing taught me resilience, perspective, and how to find laughter even in the bleakest times. And all of that feeds directly into Bad Fatty.


7. How does bisexuality play into Bad Fatty?
I think my confidence around being fat and being bisexual have taken turns holding each other up—like they’ve been tag-teaming my self-worth. I only came out as bi during lockdown—late bloomer energy—but I’ve been fat for much longer, so I had a head start on learning how to exist outside of what’s considered “acceptable.”
There’s a real overlap in how both identities get treated. People erase you, question your legitimacy, or act like you owe them an explanation just for existing. So when I joke about being bi, it’s not just about sexuality—it’s about what it means to live in a body or identity that people constantly want to edit or shrink.


8. Fat, queer, Welsh, mentally ill—how does it all mesh on stage?
It’s like a big cultural lasagna: every layer’s a struggle, but it’s flavourful. It might surprise people just how much crossover there is between these identities.
Each one comes with its own stereotypes, social baggage, and survival strategies—and when you stack them, the overlap is wild. Fatphobia, queerphobia, classism, mental health stigma… they all come from the same joyless place that tells people they’re wrong for just existing as they are.


9. Mental health in comedy—how do you make depression funny?
In a way, I don’t think you make depression itself funny—you make the world around it funny. You zoom in on the absurdity of everything that comes with it: therapy sessions, coping mechanisms, awkward silences when you’re honest about how you’re feeling. And most of all, the way people react to it.


10. Any topics off-limits?
That’s not really for me to decide—that’s down to the audience. Society’s comfort levels shift over time, and it’s my job to spot that, work with it, and play around it.
That said, I do self-censor to a degree—but it’s purely a gut reaction.
And luckily, I’ve got a lot of gut to react with.


11. Most memorable audience reaction to Bad Fatty?
The reactions that always hit hardest for me are from other fat people. I want the show to feel like a kind of fool’s guide to fat acceptance, so when someone leaves saying they feel better about themselves—even after all the daft jokes—that’s incredibly rewarding.


12. Have people reached out to say Bad Fatty helped them?
One aspect that still surprises me is when non-fat people leave the show and say it gave them a new perspective—that they hadn’t realised what fat people go through.
See? Educational and knob gags. What’s not to love? Haha.


13. Have you encountered tough crowds or backlash for the show’s themes?
Honestly, I’ve been lucky. With a title like Bad Fatty, the audience tends to self-select.
That said, I did have one moment—in Brighton, of all places—when a guy in the front row shouted, “Yeah mate, just go to the gym, innit.”
Now, I’m not the kind of comic who immediately attacks hecklers. I try to keep it light until I’ve got a reason not to. So I looked at him and said, “Yes… or you could love your body.”
Cue applause.
I know that sounds a bit “Mr Big Head,” but that’s genuinely how it went. And moments like that remind me that the audience isn’t just laughing at the jokes—they’re backing the message behind them. And that’s just lovely.


14. Do you view your comedy as activism or storytelling?
Why not both? I’m not here to lecture—it’s a comedy show, after all—but I am here to expose the absurdity of systems that treat fatness like a crime and queerness like a phase.
If they leave googling “Is BMI nonsense?”—bonus.


15. Which performers inspire your approach to comedy?
So many! As I mentioned earlier, Sofie Hagen has been a massive influence. Also: Hannah Gadsby, Richard Pryor, Jo Brand, Rhod Gilbert, Bill Hicks (we all deserve a Bill Hicks phase).
And outside of comedy, gritty storytelling musicians like Johnny Cash, Bob Dylan, and The Dubliners.
But honestly? It’s the everyday people—the friends, family, and strangers who get through life by laughing.


16. What’s your process for writing a show like Bad Fatty?
It started out as a kind of “greatest hits” of my club material—bits that had worked well, loosely tied together. But once I started writing toward a clear theme—fatness, shame, survival—it actually got easier.
When you’ve got the whole world to write about, it’s overwhelming. But having a subject gives you structure, focus, and something to push against. That’s where the good stuff lives.


17. How has the show evolved since the beginning?
In early work-in-progress versions, I realised some sections leaned too heavily into self-deprecation. It was veering toward “I’m fat and here’s an hour of me being mean to myself.”
Now, the tone is more “Fat person kicks ass and takes names.” There’s still self-awareness, but it comes from strength, not apology. And that shift has changed the whole feel of the show—for me and for the audience.


18. What does it mean to perform this show at Fringe?
Fringe can be amazing, beautiful, thrilling, and wild—but it can also be terrible, expensive, and exhausting. I look forward to it every year, and in some ways, I dread it.
It’s like riding a horse: go slow, be steady, and maybe practise a bit first.
This year, I’m doing a 45-minute show instead of the usual hour, and just a one-week run instead of a full month. So really, I’m probably riding a Shetland pony.
But I can’t wait—not just to perform Bad Fatty, or host my fat comedy showcase Chonk, but to see other shows, reconnect with friends, and hopefully come away from it all a better comedian.

Close-up of a person's forehead with the words 'BAD FATTY' stamped in a bold, distressed font.

19. For someone who’s never seen your comedy, how would you describe Bad Fatty?
A fat, queer, Welsh tour-de-force of a show that smashes diet culture, sexuality, and shame—all with sharp jokes and pure daftness.


20. The Takeaway?
To not only be a Bad Fatty—but to use being fat as an advantage.
The world is awful sometimes. And if you can’t change it, you might as well laugh and make the most of it.

You can find more details about the show here

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Fringe 2025: A Sneak Peek at Upcoming Highlights

A Counter Culture Preview | Words by Patrick Harrington

796 words, 4 minutes read time.

The 2025 Edinburgh Fringe programme reads like a chorus of unfiltered voices—frayed, fearless, and fighting to be heard. Whether exploring myth through futuristic gaze or revisiting icons with raw intimacy, these shows aren’t just entertainment—they’re interventions. Here are just a few we’re planning to see and review. And if you like what you read, click on the title to purchase tickets.

🎧 Fun At Parties

Berlin Open Theatre | 1–25 Aug | 17:30 (1h) Set in Berlin’s fading club scene, this piece feels eerily current—a quiet elegy to joy as resistance. As authorities tighten their grip and safe spaces flicker out, we follow queer organisers pushing back with light, sweat, and sound. Expect immersive storytelling that blurs the line between performance and rave, with a thumping political pulse beneath the hedonism.

🎭 I’m Not Saying We Should, But What If We Did?

Minotaur Theatre Company | 11–16 Aug | 12:05 (50m) Two clowns in pearls and power suits debate banning men—on live breakfast TV. What could go wrong? This whip-smart satire skewers performative politics, gendered violence, and the optics of progress. It’s messy, sharp, and beautifully furious. One to watch for fans of Newsnight crossed with Clown Funeral.

🧖 Sauna Boy

Dan Ireland-Reeves | 1–16 Aug | Venue & time TBC Told with sweat, sass, and sincerity, this solo show reclaims the stories of men working in gay saunas. Expect intimate detail, ghosted clients, and glimpses of real connection in the steam. Dan Ireland-Reeves mixes autobiography and theatrical flair in a world rarely shown on stage.

🎸 Bob Dylan Under Cover

Night Owl Shows | 1–23 Aug | 13:10 (50m) Dylan’s protest ballads get a new coat in this soulful reimagining. The Night Owl Band’s arrangements stay true to spirit without being stuck in sepia. Thoughtful, stripped-back, and surprisingly moving—expect quieter revelations between the chords.

🎤 Women Of Rock

Night Owl Shows | 1–23 Aug | 18:50 (50m) This tribute is unapologetically loud—electrifying in voice and politics. Reine Beau commands the stage through the voices of Joplin, Benatar, and Stefani. Less nostalgia tour, more firestarter. An ode to feminine power on full volume.

🎹 The Elton John Story

Night Owl Shows | 1–23 Aug | 14:50 (50m) Part biography, part musical love letter. Angus Munro carries Elton’s vocal gymnastics and wit with uncanny ease, but it’s the honesty of the narration that elevates it—a portrait of resilience in sequins. Even the most casual fan will walk away moved.

🦅 The Rise Of The Eagles

Night Owl Shows | 1–23 Aug | 16:10 (50m) Beyond the harmonies and Hollywood veneer, this is a story of artists chasing transcendence and breaking apart under the weight. With pitch-perfect vocals and archival richness, it’s a thoughtful retelling for those who lived the music—and those just discovering its wings.

👑 The Legend of Queen

Night Owl Shows | 1–23 Aug | 19:50 (50m) More than a tribute—this is a communion. With Peter Marchant’s Mercury-esque magnetism and musical precision, it captures the operatic heart of Queen. High camp, yes, but laced with raw defiance. Don’t be surprised if the audience becomes the choir.

😈 #11th Annual Haters Ball

Hate N Live | 1–25 Aug | 21:00 (1h) Late-night comedy with teeth—and venom. Comedians roast your rage-fuelled suggestions in real time. Think Have I Got News For You meets a group therapy session led by stand-up sadists. Unfiltered, uneven, and frequently hysterical.

🎶 Joni Mitchell: Take Me As I Am

Rainee Blake | 1–25 Aug | 17:30 (1h) Rainee Blake doesn’t impersonate Joni—she honours her. With dulcimer and aching falsetto, she channels a voice that changed everything. This show is as much about memory and myth as melody. Come for the songs; stay for the feeling.

🌀 Caligari

SUSU Theatre Group | 18–23 Aug | 10:35 (50m) A silent film reimagined through physical theatre, shadow play, and creeping dread. Visually striking and morally slippery, this version of Caligari feels like a warning from both the past and for the future.

🏆 1966

Talking Shadows | 1–25 Aug | Times TBC It’s not just about the World Cup. This jukebox musical wraps itself around a pivotal year—when class, culture, and pop collided in glorious technicolour. Working-class dreams kick off, boots first.

🧘 The Anti ‘Yogi’

Mayuri Bhandari | 1–25 Aug | Times TBC Part dance-theatre, part political awakening, this blistering piece dismantles colonial wellness trends and reclaims sacred space. It’s riotous, reverent, and deeply intelligent—featuring storytelling that demands yoga be seen as revolution, not retail.

🌍 Echoes of Nuwa: The Last Human Project

Muddy Lolos | 1–23 Aug | 10:00 (50m) Three celestial beings debate whether to rebuild humanity in this post-anthropocene fable. Told through movement, mask, and multilingual poetry, Echoes of Nuwa is mythic, strange, and stirring. Equal parts cautionary tale and cosmic love letter.

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