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★★★★★ Some Fringe shows come armed with spectacle; Monster Made arrives with something far more dangerous — an actor who has spent more than a decade sharpening his craft under some of the most demanding teachers in modern performance training. Alex van Ric’s debut is not simply a play. It’s a confrontation. A study. A descent. And, at times, a reckoning.
Van Ric writes, directs and performs the piece, stepping into the skin of Thomas Duncan — a mass murderer whose crimes echo the worst realities of contemporary violence. Opposite him is Astrid Gutscher pres as Amanda Crowley, a lawyer determined to understand the “why” behind the horror. The production is stripped back to its bones: a table, two chairs, two cameras, and the relentless clank of cell doors. It’s all deliberate. Nothing distracts from the acting — because the acting is the point.
A lineage of training that shows in every moment
Van Ric’s performance is steeped in the traditions he’s trained in. You can see the Drama Centre London lineage — the psychological rigour of Christopher Fettes, the movement‑rooted character analysis of Yat Malmgren, the emotional truth‑seeking of Stanislavski as taught by Harold Lang. His body carries the imprint of Laban’s movement psychology; his emotional shifts feel like they’ve been excavated rather than performed.
This is not academic trivia — it’s visible on stage. The way he holds tension in his shoulders when Thomas resists memory. The sudden, violent propulsion when he pushes the table. The collapse into stillness when a buried truth surfaces. It’s all technique, but never mechanical. Giles Foreman’s method‑based coaching is evident in the depth of internalisation, and Roberta Wallach’s influence — that insistence on human truth — pulses through the quieter moments.
A performance that feels like a masterclass
There are scenes where the audience barely breathes. Van Ric moves through rage, denial, cruelty, panic, and — eventually — something resembling remorse. The emotional whiplash is intentional; the script demands it, and he meets it with precision. When Thomas revisits his childhood abuse, the shift is so visceral it feels unsafe to watch — not because it’s graphic, but because it’s honest.
Gutscher pres matches him with a performance that refuses to be overshadowed. Her Amanda Crowley is controlled, furious, compassionate, and exhausted all at once. She pushes him, challenges him, and refuses to let him hide behind ideology. Their scenes together are electric — two people circling the question the play keeps returning to: Is a monster born, or made?
The script: simple, sharp, and devastating
Van Ric’s writing is lean. No ornamentation, no melodrama. The 911 call that opens the show is chilling in its simplicity — a plumber, a machine gun, 416 shots, 12 women and 9 children dead. It sets the tone: this is not a play about spectacle, but about consequence.
The dialogue between Thomas and Amanda is where the piece truly sings. Their exchanges are jagged, painful, and often uncomfortable. Thomas declares himself a fascist; Amanda fires back that fascism is not an opinion but a crime. He insists he would kill again; she insists he was raised to be a monster. The play never excuses him — but it does interrogate him.
A rare Fringe production that aims beyond the festival
By the final scenes, Thomas begins to crack. Not in a sentimental way — van Ric avoids that trap — but in a way that suggests the possibility of self‑awareness. His request for books after the trial is a small moment, but it lands with weight. It’s the first time he asks for something that isn’t rooted in hate.
This is a production that should not end at the Fringe. It belongs in prisons, rehabilitation centres, community programmes — anywhere the question of violence, trauma, and radicalisation needs to be confronted. It’s not comfortable theatre. It’s necessary theatre.
Verdict
Monster Made is one of the standout productions of this year’s Fringe. Not because it is loud, or shocking, or provocative — but because it is precise, disciplined, and anchored in a profound understanding of acting craft. Van Ric delivers a performance shaped by the giants who trained him, and Gutscher pres meets him beat for beat.
A brutal, intelligent, unforgettable piece of work.
Reviewed by Jacqueline Sharp
