Coming to the Brighton Fringe Saturday May 31st – Sunday June 1st is the Edinburgh Fringe sell-out show from Giulietta Tisminetzky, HOW TO KILL A CHICKEN. This moving coming-of-age tale follows a daring young woman embarking on her dream holiday across the Atlantic for a rollercoaster ride of love, passion, sex and self-discovery. We hold this exclusive dialogue with Giulietta.
HOW TO KILL A CHICKEN explores powerful themes of female vulnerability and confrontations of the truth. Why did you want to explore these themes?
How often do we dismiss or diminish our own experiences, brushing things off or sweeping them under the carpet? Yet these experiences linger, leaving an imprint on our psyche. They shape how we navigate our relationships, perceive ourselves, and ultimately dictate how we experience love.
I’ve often questioned how much of my personal power I gave away, how I undermined myself, and how my insecurities held me back from fully embracing who I am. Growing up is essentially the journey of coming into oneself—learning to understand and accept one’s true desires, fears, and strengths, and becoming confident enough to act upon them. But this process demands honesty, a willingness to look within.
Art, to me, provides a vital pathway for introspection because it creates a safe space to confront and explore one’s innermost thoughts and feelings openly and without judgement. It invites and demands honesty. My early twenties were defined by searching externally for validation, answers, and truths, only to eventually realise that those questions needed to be directed inward. This doesn’t mean one stops searching; learning is a continuous journey without a definitive endpoint. Yet, somewhere along the way, as we confront our truths, we find the strength to revisit the moments that have hindered us and the power transcend them.
The live music has been described as a guide to the Protagonist’s journey. Can you speak more on the importance of the music in the production and to the Protagonists character development?
Music in this production is a character in its own right. It serves as an extension of the protagonist—like an alter ego experiencing every moment alongside her. Simultaneously, it embodies mythological, symbolic roles, akin to the Fates or modern fairy godmothers, guiding her journey and aiding her in confronting and understanding the truths behind her experiences. Sometimes we hide, sometimes we embellish or rewrite our stories to please others or to shield ourselves, but at what cost? Music gives us permission to feel, both collectively and privately. It allows us to connect to something deeper and more raw. It provides catharsis, eventually empowering us to embrace our feelings honestly and fully. The music thus becomes integral not only to the protagonist’s development but also to our personal journeys toward emotional liberation and authentic self-expression.
This production starts as a dream-like holiday in paradise and ends up not going to plan. Have you got any nightmare stories from holidays you’ve been on?
Gosh, yes, quite recently! After last year’s run in Edinburgh, I was desperate for a holiday. I worked right up until Christmas to save some money, dreaming of sunny beaches and immersing myself in different cultures, hoping to disconnect from everything even if just for a moment. Somehow, based on a friend’s recommendation, I ended up on an island in Southeast Asia. Now, I don’t want to cause any negative PR, so I’ll keep it vague, but it turned out to be the worst holiday of my life. It rained relentlessly—torrential jungle rain—for twelve days straight. I only saw the sun on the very last day, and I got so excited that I managed to get severely sunburned; the flight home was excruciating. Beyond my personal misfortune, what struck me as truly sad was how the island had been overtaken by tourists like myself, without adequate infrastructure to support the surge. The result was devastating ecological damage, with rubbish and overflowing sewage contaminating the environment. This is in no way a condemnation of the actual place; the local culture and the people I met were nothing short of extraordinary. However, I found the capitalist takeover—driven by Western tourists yearning for picture-perfect selfies for their Instagram accounts—genuinely heartbreaking. And the monkeys? They’re vicious!
Did you learn anything as a performer from HOW TO KILL A CHICKEN’s run at the Edinburgh Fringe and how have you developed yourself and the production since?
I learned so much from the run at the Edinburgh Fringe. It’s a tour de force of a festival, incredibly intense and gruelling, especially when you’re performing without financial support. I’d always been wary of the toll such an intense experience might take, yet coming through it gave me the confidence and self-belief I’d previously lacked. We were fortunate to be in a great venue and had wonderful audiences overall, though our opening night had only about six people in attendance, mostly men in their seventies—not exactly my target demographic, given the nature of the show (there’s a lot of sex talk). Yet ironically, it might have been my best performance to date. I poured my heart out regardless of who was watching, finding the energy and determination to push through even the most challenging scenes. It reminded me of why I perform, why I make art, and ultimately, when things get difficult, the answer I always come back to is simple: love.
To revisit an earlier question—I learned to trust myself. I had a clear vision, and now I feel far more confident about how I want it to unfold. We’ve added more music, more musicians, and I’m fully embracing my story without compromise- well, aside from dealing with the usual financial headaches!
What do you hope audiences take away after watching this production?
I hope they leave feeling seen, heard, and validated in their own experiences. My wish is that the audience recognises the power in confronting their personal truths and finds the courage to embrace their vulnerabilities. Ultimately, I hope the performance inspires a deeper empathy and openness within them, prompting conversations about consent, about how we use our power over others, and how we give away our own.
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