Fringe theatre reviews: Club Nvrlnd | Garden Party – Truman Capote’s Black and White Celebration + more

Assembly Checkpoint (Venue 322) until 24 August

More than twenty years ago, The Donkey Show made a Fringe splash for its immersive disco-inspired interpretation of A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Now Club Nvrlnd is doing the same for Peter Pan.

This slick, hi-octane production is already selling out and attracting repeat custom at Assembly Checkpoint for its joyful club theatre spin on JM Barrie’s classic fantasy tale of escapism unfolding in front of - and behind, above and among - a partying audience of lost boys, girls and other genders.

The nightclub setting is once again germane to the themes of the tale. Who doesn’t want to retreat from the real world? This is a liberating environment for the kids who don’t have school in the morning to be what they want to be and party on to a non-stop energetic soundtrack of Noughties pop bangers played by DJ Tinkerbell.

MC Tiger Lily wants to “party like it’s 2004”. Surely she’s too young to remember? Oh yeah, eternal youth, and Spotify… Sing loud, lost boys, and let’s make the most of the night like we’re gonna die young.

The cast play fast but not too loose with the plot, using the music as party fuel. Wendy Darling jilts her groom at the altar and returns to her happy place to reunite with pixie-like rocker Peter and charismatic drag queen Tiger Lily, who knows how to strut a Beyonce tune.

But it wouldn’t be a fairytale without its peril and struggles. Peter’s Club Nvrland is a failing enterprise and the predators are circling, not least rival club owner Captain Hook, who manifests thrusting to Nelly’s Hot In Here, and a deliciously imperious East European Crocodile who doesn’t care who he devours.

The terrific eight-strong ensemble are endlessly energetic cheerleaders who hit their marks, vocally and choreographically, and sometimes it’s behind you.

Oh yes it is…a bit like a punky panto at times. And it’s the 21st century so Tinkerbell really can be revived by the lights of a roomful of mobile phones. Leave your cares at the door.

Fiona Shepherd

Garden Party – Truman Capote’s Black and White Celebration ★★★★

Annexe at theSpace @ Symposium Hall (Venue 43) until 9 August

On the 28th of November, 1966, at the Plaza Hotel in New York City, Truman Capote hosted the greatest party in history: his Black and White Ball.

In this immersive production from the French Kulturscio's Live Art Collective, we become the guests of his esteemed but scandalous event.

Greeted at the door and anonymised by the iconic masquerade mask, the small annexe space of the Symposium Hall abruptly comes alive with the greed, promiscuity and elitism of this independent period of American high society.

Among the bustle of actors moving through the space, gossip is spread, and secrets shared. “Did you know Audrey Hepburn was Capote’s second choice for the role of Holly Golightly? Marilyn Monroe was his first,” is whispered into my ear, boldly, in the back row of the party.

Truman Capote of course penned one of the most celebrated novels of the 20th century, Breakfast at Tiffany’s, where its film adaptation has become undoubtedly legendary. Whilst his consequential fame and fortune may host an outrageous party, with time, the atmosphere shifts towards the ominous, and the social hypocrisy, money power, and violent exclusivity of this noble ball is exposed.

Suddenly, this is a party we wish we were left out of, as it bubbles with greed and power, but with neither belonging to us.

The party is extremely well constructed. Music is played live from the stage, whilst the brilliant improvisation by Paul Spera does well to maintain the invigorated atmosphere. The actors are committed, and the performance is perfectly rehearsed, leaving gaps for play and instinct so moments that should be unbelievable, are easy to believe.

It is the show’s ending - unfulfilling, inconclusive, and coming much too soon - that spoils the fun. A promised after-party outside is a method to ship the audience out, and the considered collection of our masks a way to hold on to the props.

Yet what is here is enough for the audience to leave feeling uneasy, and drawing modern parallels to the actions of those at the top.

Roisin McMullan

Grooming My Ass ★★★

theSpaceTriplex (Venue 38) until 16 August

The can of shaving cream that writer/performer Ryann Lynn Murphy gradually but inexorably empties over her body (and splatters across the venue’s floor and ceiling) across the course of solo show Grooming My Ass takes on an increasingly dark and inevitably blatant significance.

It’s a sticky, inescapable reminder of the endless sexual encounters between the 17-year-old transgender girl and a man ten years older, who grows increasingly obsessive and controlling of Murphy’s time and affections – as well as introducing her to a whole wonderland of drugs.

It’s a shocking tale that Murphy presents, and an autobiographical one, she informs us (though she also warns that we can’t believe much of what she says). But it’s a story that begins with a horny teenager looking for their first thrill, and ends with the suggestion that transitioning might be a search for escape from years of abuse.

Yes, there’s plenty of darkness in Murphy’s intensely physical solo show, but she cuts it with bitter wit and sassy one-liners, constantly challenging us to consider just how wrong any of this. She’s a charismatic presence in a bold, demanding, deeply exposing performance that unsettles as much as it informs and entertains.

A personal reflection rather than a broader condemnation, Grooming My Ass nonetheless provides plenty to challenge and provoke.

David Kettle

Seltzer Boy ★★★

Paradise @ Augustine’s (Venue 152) until 16 August

Growing up, Seltzer Boy was opposed to seltzer, as it occupied a bizarre middle-ground between water and soda: “I don’t want centrism in my beverage!” he scorns. “I don’t want to drink Tony Blair!”

What follows is a painstakingly documented, often painful, descent into a kind of “carbonated madness”, where he revisits childhood memories, including his enrolment by his family into a weight loss programme.

“The noughties was a bad time to be a fat kid,” Connor McKenna confides as Seltzer Boy, a period when obesity was deemed indistinguishable from personal responsibility (Chris van Tulleken’s Ultra-Processed People has since recalibrated public and scientific perceptions on the subject).

The intervening years are marked by disordered eating (McKenna never provides a clinical diagnosis, though the term ‘eating disorder’ is mentioned). He speaks of the guilt and shame he experiences by having a body, and he articulates profoundly – and humorously – the challenges of achieving ‘body neutrality’ in a culture where disordered eating is the norm.

While the seduction of underweight remains, this is increasingly associated with a low quality of life – one that is static and unfulfilling. Seltzer meanwhile reminds him that he has a body to live, and crucially, that he is alive.

Josephine Balfour-Oatts

The Lolita Apologies ★★★

Braw Venues @ Hill Street (Venue 41) until 14 August

From the beginning, the energy is full on. A young woman bounds onto stage, eager to introduce the subject - Lolita, the controversial novel by Vladimir Nabokov. More precisely, how its adaptations have distorted its meaning and central character.

This initial enthusiasm is soon revealed to be underpinned by anger, laced with a wry smile that makes it all the more effective. Alex Keane commands attention with passion and urgency. A large screen gives the performance a PowerPoint-style, lecture-like feel - thankfully one that is not boring.

The show is made up of imagined confrontations, with Kane’s character challenging the men behind adaptations that shift blame onto the young girl rather than the much older abuser.

Jackie McKenna portrays all the men featured, from Stanley Kubrick to Steve Martin. Some impersonations are deliberately played for comic effect rather than accuracy, and McKenna balances humour and sincerity to great effect.

At times, the female character’s eloquence is clouded by mounting emotion, and the show risks feeling repetitive. This, however, is acknowledged, as she grows visibly exhausted from explaining herself again and again.

Near the end, her personal experience of abusive male power and its normalisation in society surfaces, adding emotional depth. Introducing this thread earlier could ground the narrative more fully, shaping it into a more layered and compelling play.

Suzanne O’Brien

PUMP ★★

Summerhall (Venue 26) until 11 August

Despite its overwhelming popularity with Fringe performers, the monologue format is an incredibly difficult one to pull off: nothing says ‘tell, don’t show’ quite like a single narrative fed to an audience for an hour.

PUMP, Isabella’s Gilbert’s one-woman show about clubbing, can’t quite escape the limitations of its format, remaining one-note and inert despite an engaging lead performance. Its multiple narratives never cohere: is PUMP a show about nightlife, about desire, or about making it as a performer?

Ostensibly it’s a show about all three, but delivered as a series of fragmented descriptions, it’s difficult to see where the point of it all is.

Anahit Behrooz

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