Perfectly merging the political, personal, and entertaining, “Batshit” powerfully calls out the centuries-old monsterization of women
Batshit, created and performed by Leah Shelton and directed by Ursula Martinez, was an Edinburgh Fringe hit in 2024, winning both the Scotsman Fringe First and Mental Health Foundation Fringe Awards in the same year. Now touring around the UK with Soho Theatre in London as its first stop, Batshit presents a piercing gaze towards how the patriarchal society defined and monsterized women through the so-called “female madness.”
Despite the deluge of solo shows in recent years, Batshit shines through with unique precision and intentionality. The show opens with a sensory overload of flickering lights and loud, glitching noises. Then, a dim spotlight reveals a monstrous, almost-animal-like creature moving slowly, revealing itself bit by bit—a “mad” woman. An opening that is peculiar, eerie, and visually striking.
It is rare to see a fringe show where every element speaks so directly to its central message while also calling back to itself. All design elements speak to each other. The lighting echoes the character’s inner world; the sound embodies the voices in her head and those that tame her. The set, consisting only of an armchair, storage boxes, and an old-fashioned TV, blends the hospital world with the home, the public with the personal, and order with (later) destruction.
Leah Shelton’s performance is as impeccable and precise as her writing. Her acting strikes a perfect balance between the dramatic and the contained. She drives the tone of each scene, making every one feel just right.
Unlike many other solo shows, the story of Batshit is not narrated by the performer. Instead, it is revealed through mosaic-like scenes with projected hospital documents, voiceovers, movement, and direct audience interactions. Scenes switch between the theatrical space and the screen of a small, old TV. The setting itself also feels like a 20th-century entertainment TV show set, confronting how the public media and pop culture throughout history create “mad women” both on screen and in real life. This choice to unfold the story through design and pre-prepared footage, rather than the character’s direct narration, is poignant – it shifts its gaze from the “mad woman” herself to the environment that held her hostage and made her “crazy.” In doing so it also highlights how she is robbed of a voice, as were so many women throughout history labelled “hysterical” or “mad” by society. Thus, when we finally hear the performer’s own voice—not her grandmother’s character, but herself, speaking to her deceased grandmother—the moment is profoundly moving.
By weaving together the political, personal, and entertaining, Batshit powerfully functions as both a poignant critique and a triumphant redemption of the centuries-old monsterization of women.