Underbelly Bristo Square, Dexter • Fringe 2026 ★★★
There's a lot of great material in this quirky, important cabaret show, which mixes audio recordings and live performance in a variety of genres to explore the trans experience. Much of this is created using verbatim scripts, recasting people's words into songs by our host Fempath, aka Mari Moriarty, who sings and plays a keyboard, accompanied by Carolina on cello and Bevan on flute and sax. It's scrappy and tricky to follow, mainly due to the complex sound mix, but it's packed with seriously powerful moments.
Fempath wryly approaches a stage that is littered with camp iconography, including a giant plastic pink triangle pillow, a pair of drama masks and an oversized stuffed boom box (which she calls an old time radio). Her own voice comes through the speakers, narrating her story and describing the costumes and props before she dives into various songs, starting with one from the perspective of a child who says, "I knew I was trans before I ever heard the word gender." These kinds of honest expressions add a lovely sense of urgency amid the broader comical bits.
The uneven collection of songs range from the raucous anthem Throat Goat (props include a banana and a cucumber) to darkly moving pieces that use the words of victims of violence or Mari's grandfather speaking to his wife as she deals with dementia. These sit at odds with the wacky stage aesthetic, which is shiny and plasticky. But the profound moments are so beautiful that they continually take us aback. Yes, these are sharply political observations, rightfully angry that society is making vulnerable people feel like they don't belong. But as a defiant statement against transphobia, the show has real power, reminding us that everyone deserves to be here.
For more: FEMPATH • 13.Aug.26
Underbelly George Square, Bluebell • Fringe 2026 ★★★★
With a steady stream of goofy punchlines and clever wordplay, Tom Neenan tells an amusingly spiralling story about a specific period in his life when everything began to feel a bit overwhelming. So there are sharply pointed personal touches laced throughout this otherwise playfully silly show, remaining buoyant even while grappling with big issues like identity, legacy and mortality.
On a stage framed with, well, empty picture frames, Tom recounts being invited to a destination wedding in Seville, which of course brings a whole range of stresses. Meanwhile, he is commissioned to paint the portrait of an older man who wants the image to truly capture him. As he speaks, riffs are triggered on a variety of topics, starting with how monetising a hobby like painting can take the joy from it. He also diverts to discuss the intersection of Gaudi and Goya in Barcelona, an ambitious feature film he made as an overconfident teen, which sweet treats are better than others and his experience with not-so-helpful call to a suicide hotline.
Cleverly, Tom holds all of this together by using witty callbacks, recurring gags and hilarious impersonations of the people he encounters. He's a vivid storyteller, and everything is, well, framed by his need to get his own portrait taken as a passport photo, so he can travel to this dreaded wedding with its "luxurious linen" theme. His patter is riddled with hilarious asides ("A portrait is just a landscape with someone in the way") and off-handed remarks, delivered in a way that's thoroughly present with the audience. So his awkwardness actually becomes charming. And the serious notes he makes have a surprisingly deep impact.
For more: TOM NEENAN • 14.Aug.26
Just the Tonic Caves, The Wee One • Fringe 2026 ★★★★
Appropriately, I'm not quite sure what I witnessed here. Eric Lampaert opened by saying he would not be putting on the play as usual, but instead would sit with the audience and talk us through his harrowing experience of losing all of his memories. He said that the play was created with a deliberate fourth wall, to divide an intimidating audience from the scary things inside him. But he realises that he needs to build bridges instead, and find a better way to tell this story. So was I watching the show itself, a deconstructed reinvention of it or a workshop? Whatever, it was absolutely riveting, hugely involving and often jaw-dropping in its implications.
A gifted physical actor, comic and clown, Eric is an unfiltered performer who darts between personas Robin Williams-style, delivering lacerating jokes and mind-boggling insight. Dressed in an un-hooked straitjacket, he walks the audience through the day he woke up in 2019 with no idea who he was, reverting to a childlike, feral creature. But his constant sideroads offer telling glimpses into the nature of this breakdown, from hypnotherapy sessions to sleep deprivation to rather a lot of weed. At the centre is the salient question of what you are if you lose your memory. And even if everyone and everything you ever knew hasn't vanished, how much does our memory inform our identity? And how much do we impact the places and people around us?
These deeper, darker ideas emerge as he recounts anecdotes that are funny, scary and honest, laced with his relentless search for meaning. Most impressive is how the show encourages us to remain tapped into our inner child. He clearly is! Watching even his most frightening impersonations completely take over his body is remarkable. In Eric's situation, memories began coming back right from the start, but it took a couple of years before he rediscovered himself. He says that there are no words to explain what happened and how he still feels, but the way he connects with us communicates far beyond words.
For more: ERIC LAMPAERT • 14.Aug.26
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