Category: Camden Fringe

REVIEW: None of Them Will Get Out Alive 

Published on by Jimena BatresLeave a comment

Rating: 2 out of 5.

Witty in moments, but genre confusion stops this mystery from truly shining. 

When we hear murder mystery, a very specific image springs to mind. Between The Mousetrap, Poirot, Knives Out, The Play That Goes Wrong, and even Cluedo, the genre has carved out a well-loved and recognisable formula– one that artists continue to lean into simply because it works. It’s fun. It’s timeless. Occasionally, creators subvert or modernise the trope (think Death on the Nile or See How They Run), but audiences generally know what they’re there to enjoy: a whodunnit with flair. None of Them Will Get Out Alive clearly aims for that classic tone– but despite its best efforts, it ultimately misses the mark. 

None of Them Will Get Out Alive is a self-described “thriller in the style of Agatha Christie, Among Us, and Squid Game… exploring the lengths people will go to in order to survive.” Written and directed by Samuel Winner, it follows 6 characters (Sophie Ellis Rue, Max Young, James Hardy, Sofia Robbins, Jean-Paul Mark Shlom, Colette O’Brien) over the course of a single night, in which, as the title suggests, they begin to be picked off one by one. There are twists and turns, unexpected alliances, and motives that unfold in quick succession. 

The play is self-aware– and that’s one of its greatest strengths. From the first “murder” victim (Jean-Paul Mark Shlom) twitching dramatically on the floor with his tongue out, to his soon-to-be-revealed sister Georgia (Colette O’Brien) pointing to a spotless floor and exclaiming, “That’s blood!”, the piece embraces its clichés with a wink. These moments of meta-comedy genuinely land, and when the show leans into its low-budget, trope-filled identity, it’s at its most enjoyable. 

But this tone isn’t sustained. The play repeatedly veers into more serious, thriller territory before the absurdity has time to hit its mark. The result is that neither end of the spectrum fully works: the jokes often fall flat because they’re undercut too quickly, and the stakes of the story feel deflated, because the show has already invited us not to take anything too seriously. The tonal shifts end up clashing a bit, and the piece feels caught between wanting to parody the genre and wanting to play it straight. 

The script contains flashes of cleverness– most notably in a moment of physical comedy brilliance where Bertie (Max Young) is shot in the bum, and Mary (Sofia Robbins) launches into a dramatic, utterly absurd attempt at bum-CPR. It’s genuinely hilarious, a perfect example of the kind of camp energy the show could have embraced throughout. But because the tone is so undecided, many of these good ideas get lost. What could have been a gloriously over-the-top romp or a tense night of murder instead becomes muddled, with performances pulling in opposite directions. Some actors play it for laughs, leaning into the parody, while others veer into genuine thriller territory– complete with shouting matches and high-stakes drama. The result is a show where the cast feels like they’re in different versions of the same story, making it hard to emotionally invest in any of it.

Overall, None of Them Will Get Out Alive feels like a work in progress. There are glimmers of a fun, chaotic, self-aware whodunnit buried within, but the show needs to decide what it really wants to be– and then commit to it with flair. 

None of Them Will Get Out Alive is playing at the Hen & Chickens Theatre until August 6th as part of the Camden Fringe 2025. 

Ticket link: https://camdenfringe.com/events/none-of-them-will-get-out-alive/

REVIEW: My Time of Life at Camden Fringe

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Rating: 1.5 out of 5.

Bland and unexciting with a few moving moments.

My Time of Life is a disappointment. What could have been a sweet reflection on life and aging was degraded by the almost apathetic reading given at Camden Fringe. There were moments of redemption, but the combined drag of the reading and the confused appearance of the actors made for a performance not worth the price or admission.

From the moment the actors entered the stage, My Time of Life was confused. A story of aging and reminiscence set in a care home did not jive with a cast in formal gowns, suits, and pearls. It created a cognitive dissonance between what was being read and what was being seen that made it near impossible to lose yourself in the story. 

New Anthem Theatre has a poorly executed yet pleasant script. It is difficult to determine the actual impact of My Time of Life’s story because of the quality of its reading but it had great moments of feeling and of humor. There is a lot of scope in the text for an impactful performance. The ending was particularly interesting albeit unexpected. 

The younger actress was the highlight of the performance. Initially starting off quite dry, she warmed to her role and gave life to the sweet, rambling young woman she portrayed. The leading lady, playing the aged Annie, was ok. It often felt as though she was reading to a group of primary children the way she delivered monologues but this was mixed with a few very powerful moments of emotion. I would like to see what she would do with the role in a full staging. The only male actor and the other older woman, both reading for several characters, were a stark contrast to each other. He was energetic and funny while she was drier than sawdust. I wanted to like her, she carried herself like the type of performer that silences rooms but her monotonous voice and unenthusiastic demeanor made it difficult. He was cheerful and a bit silly which complimented the other characters. 

While a staged reading, or ‘Live On Air’ as New Anthem Theatre group calls it, can be wonderful, My Time of Life disappointed. New shows can live or die by the quality of their cast; My Time of Life is not likely to survive, at least not in its current format. New Anthem Theatre plans to turn this to a full stage production in the coming months, one that I would be curious to see. A story with potential, a full staging may just be the second chance it so desperately needs.

REVIEW: Londongrad at Camden’s People Theatre

Published on by fbalchinLeave a comment

Rating: 2 out of 5.

“This political comedy is unfortunately frenetic without focus.”

I knew something was suspicious when the girls behind me found literally every line hilarious. This show, Londongrad, had all the subtlety of a brick to the head. Ostensibly, the plot revolves around new Prime Minister Kiera Palmer (played by Cassia Crimin) as she receives word that Vladimir Putin is threatening to buy London or he will expose the birthday exploits of her Foreign Secretary Will (played by Cameron Wight). For some reason her husband is the editor of The Daily Mail. Secretly pulling the strings in some sort of Geordie Scarlet Pimpernel role is her Director of Communications Leela (played by Mollie Kerrigan).

Unfortunately the jokes were so uninspired I couldn’t help but long for the sweet release of that brick. The play is simply too long and ironically uninformed. I wanted a biting satire about political commentary through a London lens and what I got was an hour of shouty cheap shots about Tony Blair getting fellated by a guy in a bad wig. Kerrigan is the strongest of the trio, with her character Leela at least demonstrating a modicum of nuance and intrigue (great makeup, too). However she is caught between the one-dimension of her boss Kiera, who appears to exist solely to be the butt of of sexist pot shots and the pun in her name, and the utterly vile Will who appears to be some abominable drunk civil servant sex pest amalgamation. 

This show could have been sensational as a ten minute Youtube Short, or even longer if it wanted to discuss the actual problems London politics faces at the hands of Russian oligarchs (no discussion of all the frozen assets taking up chunks of Chelsea, then?) Instead we get absurd farce as if it was written by someone whose only exposure to politics is from TikTok reels. The use of the world leader group WhatsApp chat for example, it being a misogynist cesspit could have been interesting but it trivialized atrocities. The constant whataboutism to make light of actual dictators for the sake of boy’s “banter” commentary was again a letdown. The jokes weren’t clever, just puerile. 

The show ends inexplicably with a rap about Londongrad after a coup in which the southern half of London does in fact get sold to Putin. The trio perform the rap onstage in front of a music video projection of the same song. There is no closure to the characters and we do not know what, if any, repercussions the characters face for their awful decision making and backstabbing policies. The show is all punch-line and no set up; frenetic without focus. 

Londongrad could have been The Thick of It for the modern theatrical era. We know from TV shows like It’s Always Sunny In Philaedphia that we don’t even need to like any of the characters to enjoy the humour. For me it needs more actual politics instead of relying on social media sound bites for important historical context: ha ha Epstein is a paedophile. Ha ha politicians are addicted to cocaine and alcohol. Ha ha Big Media runs the world. And? There is much potential if the script was just allowed to breathe and the characters given more depth than a puddle. Crimin’s Prime Minister allows her to demonstrate excellent facial expressions but where is her ministerial gusto and vigour? Wight’s laddish lackey shows clear wanton abandon but where is his pathos or vulnerability? Maybe it’s just me- everyone else was laughing. Maybe I’m reading too much into it and it’s just meant to be one hour of dick jokes.  

REVIEW: Uproar

Published on by Jimena BatresLeave a comment

Rating: 4.5 out of 5.

A raw and riveting rallying cry that turns the audience into activists. 

In today’s world, fear is everywhere—amplified by headlines soaked in violence, misinformation spread by those in power, and the furious noise of intolerant voices scapegoating the vulnerable. It’s easy to feel overwhelmed, even paralysed, by the relentless waves of chaos and blame. We’re fed fear to keep us compliant, distracted, and silent. But some voices cut through the noise—voices that remind us of our collective power. Uproar is one of those voices: bold, defiant, and moving. It invites us to stomp our feet, shake our sonajas, raise our fists, and remember that real change has always come from below. Solo el pueblo salva al pueblo—only the people can save the people.

Uproar is an interdisciplinary performance born from the political crisis in Peru during 2022–2023, following the deaths of civilians during protests against the government of President Dina Boluarte and the Peruvian Congress. The piece raises awareness of the ongoing crisis and invites audiences to “sound together in a collective call for social justice,” fostering empathy and solidarity in facing global injustices. Created by the Rieckhof-Silva Collective—Peruvian artists Carolina Rieckhof (costume and prop designer) and Moyra Silva (director, performer, and movement thinker)—Uproar is a quiet, layered riot. It doesn’t just make you want to fight; it makes you want to learn, connect, and stand up for the stories we’re not being told.

The show explores its themes through a rich blend of movement, sound, and projection, creating a space that feels both contemplative and electric. Silva, performing almost entirely solo, commands the stage with nuance and power. She moves effortlessly between tragedy and absurdity, carrying moments of levity without ever diminishing the gravity of the subject. Her physicality is expansive and intimate—a journey that reveals the impact of systemic violence from the collective to the deeply personal.

From a grotesque parody of Boluarte—portrayed with a stripper-like, money-wasting flair and a giant demonic piñata head (to the audience’s glee, filled with sweets)—to the haunting resurrection of fallen protestors as neon condors, Silva leaves no stone unturned. Her body becomes a vessel for grief, satire, rage, and resistance.

Rieckhof’s costumes and props create a visual language steeped in symbolism and cultural memory. They don’t merely dress the show—they are the show. Costumes become percussion instruments. Audience members join in, shaking their pallares—strips of black cloth with Lima beans—alongside Silva’s movements. At one point, she pulls fabric masks bearing the faces of victims from a black cloth on the ground, wrapping them over her own face as recordings of grieving families fill the space. Textiles shimmer, shift, transform into landscapes—every object feels charged with meaning. Rieckhof’s designs are not only visually striking; they are essential to the piece’s soul.

Audience participation is one of Uproar’s most powerful tools, turning passive spectators into active participants. Whether shaking pallares, raiding Dina’s piñata head, singing with Silva, or dancing onstage in a final act of joy and protest, the audience is not just watching—they are with the artists. These moments go beyond empathy, sparking political solidarity. We weren’t merely witnessing injustice—we were implicated, activated. And as the piece unfolded, reflection stretched far beyond Peru to the wider world—and our place within it.

Uproar is a potent reminder of our agency and our responsibility to protest injustice. Urgent, layered, and unforgettable, it’s a piece that will stay with its audiences long after the final note fades.

REVIEW: Lost Property

Published on by Ben BreenLeave a comment

Rating: 2 out of 5.

Comedy and drama fail to mesh in a show that asks an interesting question, but never answers it

Contained within a single tram journey, Lost Property is acomic monologue about Alice (Amelia Dunn), who has ‘lost’ her vagina. By this, Alice means she no longer experiences sexual arousal, and the story’s central thrust focuses on her efforts to ‘find’ it again. She attends evening classes for rediscovering womanhood, switches to non-biological washing powder, and sees a sex therapist who makes her wear a vagina-shaped mask. The zany humour of these interactions sits uneasily alongside the pre-show trigger warnings – mainly concerning sexual assault – a tonal clash that plays out awkwardly on stage. Consequently, the humour never quite lands, and the interesting issues raised by the story’s big revelation feel superficial.

Performer Amelia Dunn is one half of Lost Property’s writing team, alongside Tuia Suter, and does a good job embodying a range of remembered people. Dunn’s shifting posture and mannerisms sketch a gallery of characters, from the workplace receptionist who always bakes matcha cookies to an old friend recounting their first sexual experience in the school toilets. Particularly funny is Dunn’s personification of her own vagina, a mass of fluttering eyelashes and floaty head-movement that immensely displeases her sex therapist.

At times, however, the jokes seem over-embellished – Alice’s voice is a little too shrill, her facial expression overly clowned – making them feel sterile. The audience titters politely rather than belly-laughing. This manic comedy occludes the foreshadowing of a dramatic revelation, which is a shame as there is real menace in the throwaway lines and sound clips which hint at the cause of Alice’s lost libido. These snatches of darkness are skimmed over, crammed into the gaps between fart jokes and silly faces.

Lighting and sound cues effectively transport the narrative between remembered places, ensuring the intimacy of monologuing never becomes stifling. Several props, including the vagina cosplay, are used to good comic effect. It is a shame, therefore, that when the dramatic reveal arrives, it’s handled superficially. The question of how much women owe one another is an interesting one, and the emotional turmoil Alice feels is affecting, but the narrative never takes this anywhere. A trite conclusion wraps the story up with little impact, leaving the audience disappointed at an opportunity squandered.

Lost Property is fundamentally a show where drama and comedy are two whirring cogs that never quite mesh. Its off-the-wall, absurdist humour feels a little too practiced to be genuinely funny, and drains impact from the darker, more interesting drama. The result is a show which takes a long time to get to the point, and then fumbles it.

Lost Property plays at the Etcetera Theatre at 7pm until 2nd August. It then transfers to the Edinburgh Fringe, at Surgeons’ Hall from 11th – 23rd August. Tickets can be purchased here.

REVIEW: Stupid Hug

Published on by Santiago Guerra ArrangóizLeave a comment

Rating: 3.5 out of 5.

“The concept is interesting. It’s compelling to see these female performers play male roles.”

Edit: We were informed by the venue that this was the company’s first performance in the venue and thus they’d been unaware of the effects on sightlines until performing – we wanted to include this for clarity due to our commentary on it.

I was seated on the left side of the theatre. At the centre, four women, dressed in black, were interpreting men. Also, a projector behind them, with pictures and subtitles translating what they’re saying because the show was entirely in Spanish.

And here’s one of the flaws of Stupid Hug: because of where I was seated, I couldn’t appreciate the slides displayed behind the women clearly. Luckily I’m fluent in Spanish, but that’s a hiccup for a show set in London, where not everyone can get on strategically placed seats to witness and, most importantly, understand the piece. 

Because movement itself is not enough: language is a key element of this production. Not only because, this feels more like an exposé of Latinx masculinity in many shapes and sizes rather than a story, but because Argentinian folklore is fully present in the way the characters speak and interact with each other. Again, I was lucky to understand the context as I am a Latin American person, and a cisgender man, but I’m not sure if everyone can comprehend the intricacies of those constraints by watching the show on its own. 

The concept is interesting. It’s compelling to see these female performers play male roles. There was thought behind Damián Le Moal and Emmanuel Burgueño script as a resistance piece. Because you have the “Barcelona friend”, “The dry”, “The best of us all” and “The one left behind”, who is mainly the narrator for most of the situations these other three other characters go through. The names and over-the-top acting from Celeste Aranegui, Agustina Modernel Barbat, Valeria Piscicelli and Sofía Urosevich are meant to be both a satirical look and a subversion of expectations regarding said roles. The “dry” is soft at times, for example. Or the “best” can be mean and harmful.

There are various topics examined accurately, such as homophobia, misogyny, virility and male friendships. The arguments run particularly well when described in poetic statements, such as “survival is not a victory” or “violence would have its own state of gluttony”, or with blunt ones, like “you have to confirm all the time that you have two balls”. The statements land, but the scenes that surround them not always. 

Nothing against Damián’s direction, or the performances from the cast. The narrative is more to blame here. The characters can be so plain at times, because the topic overshadows narrative, and the play tries to do them both with mixed results. 

Because when the lighting design and these small essays work, it really shines through. If only Stupid Hug focused more on making its show be less repetitive. 

Summary sentence: Meditations on masculinity through female performers is a good idea, but not as engaging as it could’ve been.

REVIEW: A Journey to the West

Published on by Jimena BatresLeave a comment

Rating: 3.5 out of 5.

“Myth meets migration in this playful, poetic portrait of growing up and letting go.“

We all know what it feels like to step away from the safety of the familiar and into the unknown. Maybe it was moving into university halls just two streets from our childhood home, or watching our family relocate and leave behind the bedroom we swore we’d never part with. Or perhaps, like young Xiao Hua (Yitong Fu) in A Journey to the West, it meant crossing continents to begin again– leaving home to study in London, in a brave new world full of possibility. 

A Journey to the West is an honest, bold exploration of the immigrant experience, particularly through a Gen Z lens. Written by Ziqi Ling and Yi Tang and directed by Yi Tang and Haonan Wang, the show reimagines the 16th-century Chinese epic Journey to the West with striking originality. It weaves the classical and the contemporary– blending Sichuan opera face-changing, electronic soundscapes, traditional music including nature sounds and throat singing, and even moments of audience interaction– letting the ancient text pulse through a modern and relevant story. 

The show begins by grounding us in the legend through the introduction of a simple yet cleverly crafted puppet representing the Monkey King. Once this mythical context is set, we meet our protagonist: Xiao Hua (Yitong Fu), a young student preparing to begin university in London, and his overbearing parents (Yi Qu and Qi Chen). Raised in a strict household where everything was solved and planned for him and in spite of him, Xiao Hua finds that even an ocean away, he’s still tied to his parents’ relentless expectations. He’s overwhelmed– not just by the cultural shock of a new country, but by a language barrier, unwelcoming faces, unfamiliar food, a lost phone, and the ever-present voices of parents who refuse to let go. But one fateful night, a surreal encounter with the Monkey King shifts everything– offering Xiao Hua a new way of seeing the world, and perhaps, himself. 

Overall, the show is a successful, often funny and moving portrayal of what it means to spread your wings– especially as an immigrant. The performances are strong across the board: through clever physicality and effective multi-rolling, the cast guide us confidently through the story, even for those unfamiliar with the Mandarin language or the legend of the Monkey King. It’s easy to empathise with Xiao Hua’s plight, and Yitong Fu delivers a nuanced performance, shifting deftly between distinct roles. Yi Qu and Qi Chen are both hilarious and oddly menacing as the parents, with lovely, distinctive physicality. In fact, physicality deserves special mention here: not only is it precise and aesthetically pleasing, but it serves as an alternative form of ‘subtitling’ for non-Mandarin speakers. Choreography is full of gesture and symbolism, allowing the audience to occasionally look away from the subtitles and still follow the emotional and narrative threads unfolding onstage. 

The symbols, props, costumes and concept are all very clever. The sound and music, designed by Hao Liu, are triumphant and interesting, and the lighting by Sheron Luo felt almost like a character itself– minimal, often just a single moving spotlight, but active and responsive to the action. A standout element is the Monkey King puppet: a simple floating

head draped in red with an ornate headdress, it charms with its magical ability to change faces in a blink. Each performer manipulates it at some point, making it a shared and ever-shifting presence. 

If there is one drawback, it’s that the narrative and physical motifs begin to feel a little repetitive. The show could benefit from a deeper exploration of Xiao Hua’s life before meeting the Monkey King, to develop more layers around the ideas of freedom and control. At just 45 minutes, there is room for growth– more narrative nuance, more insight into the inner life of this young person navigating impossible pressures. Still, this is a memorable and exciting production. The Rosemary Branch Theatre is a fitting host for such an epic story in miniature, and A Journey to the West is a valuable addition to this year’s Camden Fringe. Audiences will be entertained, moved– and, most importantly, reminded of what it takes to begin again.

IN CONVERSATION WITH: Gareth Gwynn

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Cyril Gwynn (1897-1988), also known as The Bard Of Gower, was “a tall, sunburnt, unsmiling farmer”. Gareth Gwynn (1983-Present) is none of these things. Gareth did not spend the First World War in the Merchant Navy, nor has he ever been shipwrecked, run a farm or tried to emigrate to Australia – but he’s found a book of poems by his great-grandfather, and he’s determined to find something they have in common. This is still a work-in-progress, but also, some of it is over 80 years old – so it’s safe to say, those bits are run-in. It probably balances out.

Gwynn (1983 ed.) has written for The News Quiz, The Now Show, Have I Got News For You and many more. He is the co-writer of Ankle Tag (BBC Radio 4), Tourist Trap (BBC One Wales) and The Goodies: The Big Ben Theory (An Audible Special). On BBC Radio 4 he presented Gareth Gwynn Hasn’t Fin- (“Hilarious” – The Guardian) and is the co-presenter of the multi-award nominated comedy/history podcast I’m So Not Over It. We sat down with Gareth to discuss his upcoming show.

Let’s start with the big one – Cyril Gwynn is your Great-Grandfather, what made you want to create a comedy show about him? 

It came about in a slightly odd way. Cyril was a seafarer and farmer but also a poet and, between the wars, he became a bit of a local celebrity in Gower, which is a rural area just beyond Swansea (if you’re approaching from the Camden direction!)

These poems were all about the area and local characters. He’d write them while ploughing fields and then perform them in pubs at night around Gower. By the 1970s, he was long retired from the seafaring, farming and poetry games, but was encouraged to publish them in a small book. 

Growing up, I’d given it a cursory look from time to time, but in 2022 I was invited to an event at The Gower Festival about poets from Swansea. They asked if I would read some of them out – and they were much funnier than I was expecting. So it was standing on-stage in Reynoldston Village Hall when I thought “oh, there’s something in this…”

What’s it like digging into your family history with a comedian’s eye? 

Honestly, I think the trick has been keeping the rest of the family away!

The first time I did this, outside of Gower, I booked an hour in the Machynlleth comedy festival, to see if there was anything in the idea, and I put in the brochure “Family members are banned.” I was completely serious. I appreciate now it looked like I was going to lay down some long-hidden scandal, but I had to trial it in front of people who weren’t pre-disposed to the material or going to fact-check me mid-gig.

I want to lock the jokes down first and then deal with any factual issues later and I am treating the Camden Fringe as a work in progress still, but I’ve not formally banned anyone from these gigs yet and am purely relying on the distance from South Wales to put off any Gwynns from turning up. Let’s see how determined they are! 

Incredibly (and despite my hard-line stance on matters regarding attendance) my family have actually been really supportive of the whole idea. My uncle has provided me with letters and poems that didn’t make the book – as well as a couple of newspaper articles about him from the time. I’ve also got the notes my dad made from a talk he gave about Cyril in the 1990s, the problem being my dad died a few years ago so when his notes just say “Pigs Story Here”, I have no idea what he means!

Actually, if anyone knew Cyril and can elaborate, do get in touch. 

Were there any discoveries that genuinely surprised you? 

Yes, but I almost don’t want to mention them here and save them for the show. But I have been constantly dogged by the question of how Cyril would feel about it being left to me to tell his life story. I’m not entirely convinced we’d get on!

You’ve worked on some of the biggest shows in comedy – The News Quiz, Have I Got News For You, Ankle Tag – how different is it putting together something as personal and solo as Cyril? 

The great thing about writing for shows like The News Quiz and Have I Got News For You is there’s a person/character you’re writing for and it’s fun capturing their voice and writing jokes which could only work for them. During my own very brief foray into stand-up many years ago, that was something I know I never quite got right. 

In the meantime, as well as writing, I’ve done quite a bit of radio presenting and also podcasting, co-presenting the show I’m So Not Over It with Esyllt Sears and, in particular, doing the live shows for that have really helped me work out the version of me that makes sense on-stage.

Ahead of doing Cyril, I went back to gigging, to work up the material (although I’ve spared the open mic audiences 90 year old poems), but also to get my head around me as a character. It’s been a really enjoyable part of the process and easily been the biggest difference from my day job.

Cyril will be part of the Camden Fringe – what drew you to the festival, and how does it feel to be bringing this story to that kind of stage? What do you hope audiences take away from the show?

I’ve been to shows at the Camden Fringe so many times and I always knew, from the moment I started writing it, it would be a key part of working the show up. At some point I had to try performing Cyril’s poems outside Gower and, eventually, outside of Wales. Come to think of it, I wonder if this is the first time Cyril’s stuff has been performed in London? It might be! 

Anyway, I’m absolutely thrilled I’ve got three consecutive nights in a great venue (Aces and Eights) to work towards and potentially tweak across the run. But as for what people may or may not take away? Look, if you’re from Gower, you’ll may well leave with a specific anecdote about a family member. If you’re from further afield, you’ll have to wait and see!

Catch Gareth Gwynn: Cyril at the Camden Fringe 28th-30th July. Tickets are available here.

IN CONVERSATION WITH: Anoushka Cowan

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We sat down for a quick chat with Anoushka Cowan, actor and writer, about her latest project: 2.36, which will be taking place Friday 1st – Sunday 3rd August, 3pm at the Etcetera Theatre as part of the Camden Fringe.

1.⁠ ⁠2.36 touches on sibling dynamics and hidden family secrets – what inspired you to write this story?

Neither Elijah nor I have siblings, so we were drawn to the idea of exploring what that kind of relationship might feel like through writing. I’ve always believed that strong characters naturally lead to compelling plots, and once we landed on the kinds of personalities and themes we wanted to explore, the story started to take shape on its own. We had countless brainstorming documents, and one thread we kept returning to was the idea of people not being who they seem—how first impressions can be misleading. We were also fascinated by the theme of forced proximity—being stuck together in confined spaces like an elevator or a locked room. From there, the concept evolved into two characters who aren’t just physically stuck together, but emotionally too—siblings, close in age, navigating the complexity of being bound to one another.

2.⁠ ⁠What drew you to set the story in Vianden, Luxembourg? 
Luxembourg is a tax haven, which was the main reason for setting it there, but I also recently met a friend from Luxembourg, so we were able to ask for names of some nice places there and eventually settled on Vianden.

3.⁠ ⁠You’re playing Keira as well as co-writing and co-producing the piece – how do you switch between those hats, and what do you enjoy about each role? 
The most exciting part for me is getting to have so much creative control over a character. When you play any character, it’s up to the actor (and director) to interpret the text and create something unique, but being able to invent somebody from scratch, and have complete creative freedom is really fun. Producing is the thing that I’ve found the hardest, as it’s newer to me – but luckily Elijah knows a lot about that aspect and can guide me when needed.

4.⁠ ⁠What was your biggest learning curve in producing this show?
I think simply discovering how many roles need to be filled, whether it’s a director, sound, lighting or even costume, I hadn’t thought about how difficult it would be to organise schedules and find people who were available.

5.⁠ ⁠What’s one moment in the show that you really love, that you’d encourage audiences to look out for?
There are a few individual lines that for some reason, I just love. There is one moment where Josh just says the word “riveting” and it really makes me laugh, I don’t know why.

REVIEW: Ghar Ghar

Published on by chelseajinaLeave a comment

Rating: 3 out of 5.

Against the backdrop of her sister’s wedding, Maya is to return home to Karachi, inevitably facing the embodied trauma she hoped to leave behind

Maya moved to London four years ago. She is quite settled there, or so it seems. She has a well-paying job, a social life, and her independence. Now it is time for Maya to return home to Karachi for her sister’s wedding. What ensues is a bubbling pot of trauma finally, and quite vitally, boiling over.

Ghar Ghar expertly explores the tumult of returning home when you have lived overseas for a significant period of time. Maya’s family is moderately baffled by her changes in appearance, personality, values, and much else. While her siblings, as peers close to her age, are relatively on the same wavelength as Maya, her parents present the real obstacle she must overcome. Once Maya settles back into the familiarity of home, she is forced to confront a deep-set childhood trauma, one her parents seem unable to acknowledge. Set against the backdrop of a dazzling wedding, Maya has no choice but to confront her trauma with the ultimate aim of healing what turns out to be deep-set filial angst. 

Annum Salman’s writing offers a distinctive voice, shedding a new light on a topic that in and of itself is often left undiscussed. The perspective of the Global Majority is even further isolated from discussions of childhood abuse and trauma; Salman presents a specific point of view and truly opens up this topic for further discussion without seeming intimidating or oppressive. Humor cuts through the pain, allowing the audience to laugh as they ponder the production’s offerings. 

Performances from Anoushka Deshmukh as Sanam, Rea Malhotra Mukhtyar as Maya, Arbaz Afzal as Maaz, Sharandeep Salh as Rabeea, Samir Gurung as Fahad, and Shiraz Khan as Shaaz were a pleasure to watch. The performers seemed to have cultivated a deep understanding of and connection to their characters. Though there were a few shaky moments and the pace at times verged on marginally haphazard, this did not detract from the overarching enjoyment of the production.