Scrappy, Disarming, and Thoughtfully Entertaining
‘Accidental Death of an Anarchist’, originally, is an Italian play by Dario Fo which first opened in 1970. The adaptation that I saw performed by Edinburgh students in 2025, was written by Tom Basden and first performed in 2022. The identity of the play as both obviously timeless and specifically timely becomes the central thesis of the thing. More than being a political satire of its own time, it’s a political satire about why political satire from decades ago can still feel relevant today.
This is perhaps why, in my opinion, this production gets away with all of its biggest problems. What in other cases could be derided as ill-preparedness or sloppy workmanship instead comes across as scrappy and avant guard; students banding together their meager resources to speak truth to power via the translated words of a dead Italian anti-fascist. The top of the set bulges upwards in a poorly cut line, reaching out towards the anarchic symbols painted on the back wall, and your disbelief doesn’t need to be suspended. The shoddily cut plywood feels as much a part of the performance as the words themselves.
All of this is again helped by the metatextual nature of the play. The main character (known by many names, none of which are his own) is a delusional madman who believes, or rather knows, that he’s in a play. He speaks directly to the audience, makes references to the existence of both Dario Fo and Tom Basden, and at one point throws two handfuls of sweets into the crowd after proclaiming the play to not be a pantomime (I cannot speak to the quality of the sweets as sadly I didn’t manage to catch one). Within the confines of the story itself he is obviously crazy, but in the play surrounding the play, he’s the only one who is sane.
The Maniac, as he’s referred to in the script, is the only person self-aware enough to notice the audience – and to come to the correct assessment that the titular accidental death of the anarchist has happened before, in every performance since the play’s inception. This is where the production best finds its own unique footing.
For most of act one, the actor playing The Maniac is holding the script in his hand. At first justified as his character acting out the police transcript, it quickly becomes clear the actor himself might just not fully be off-book. This drifts between uncomfortable and genius. It should reflect poorly on the production to have an actor so openly reading from a script, but the nature of the character is one that not only allows this but in many ways encourages it. Of course The Maniac is reading from a script, he’s an actor. This actually works so well with the material that I can’t be sure if it wasn’t an intentional choice. None of the audience can, based on conversations I overheard during the interval, many of which surrounded that pesky script being carried around on stage.
The thing is that it would all fall apart if anyone other than him was on-book, it would even fall apart if anyone other than him ever flubbed their lines, but these things only ever happen to The Maniac. Whether this is an intentional choice or simply a poorly prepared actor doesn’t matter to me, because what it results in is a play worth much more than the sum of its parts.
Anything bad that could be said about this production of ‘Accidental Death of an Anarchist’ would be a pointless critique, because they are all the things that actually make it uniquely good. It’s difficult then, to truly assess its quality in a review. The material itself is undoubtedly sharp and relevant, and the production itself sort of fails upwards, elevating it to something almost magical. I wouldn’t categorise my enjoyment of the piece as in any way ironic, and yet I get the feeling its merits are not in every way intentional. All I can say is that I’m glad I saw it, and that I have a great fondness for all of its failures.