“David Alnwick: Magician. Definitely Not Creepy” one poster told me the truth in a misleading manner.

I went to see David Alnwick‘s above-mentioned show on the implicit promise of a creepy magic show, something so overt that it had to issue a statement in advance. Magic can be very creepy, so I never doubted this, and I’m all here for shows that lean into the creep factor of magic. In a labyrinth as well? Yes please!

Unfortunately for me, despite his show being fun, magical, humorous and creative, it was exactly as stated: definitely not creepy.

He ended the show by telling us that he feels magic acts have largely become comedy routines, not creepy at all, and popular enough that even he is doing one such right now. He prefers towards older magic, from the times when it was feared, loaded with history and mystery.

It was hidden, and dangerous. Why don’t we come to his next show, the Haunted Magician, which definitely is creepy.

Definitely creepy

I was snuggled away in a speakeasy, hidden away behind polite company, with a projector pointing at the wall. A brief introductory story played out, a phone call between him and his mentor, discussing an ancient book full of summoning rituals adapted as a magic act. The mentor warned that ghosts don’t see the difference between summons and theatre, and would regardless answer his summons.

The phonecall ends and Alnwick runs onto stage sporting photocopies of a special new magic book he acquired, promising a fantastic new act. The projection screen showed us various closeup snips of the book, a handful of sigils and spells and photographs.

HE’S LYING TO YOU! flashes on the screen for a moment, but we’re advised to ignore this, and focus on the magic.

He walks us through three segments of his performance. Themed around the supernatural, he had prepared tricks and magic involving ancient runes, reading spirits and seances, and finally a promise to return the dead to life, to communicate with ghosts.

These spells were slung flawlessly, even more impossible than what I had seen before. His boisterous chat and banter weren’t dampened at all by his somewhat more serious tone. YOU’RE IN DANGER! flashes up on the screen, but we’re again advised to pay it no mind.

DON’T BELIEVE HIM

Alnwick treads a fine line between keeping the atmosphere creepy and foreboding, while interjecting it with enough targeted snips of humour. A false sense of security to keep us completely unprepared for a handful of actual jump scares!

His magic included mentalist mind reading, card tricks, and prophecies and predictions. Everything was layered in occult themes, such as asking the audience to quietly pick out any sigil from a list displayed on the projector, and then asking us to count up and down and change our answer. He then went through each sigil one by one, explaining in brief their ancient meanings, before landing on the final sigiil (with the projector reading “you’re fucked”) which just so happened to be the whole audience arrived at.

The tricks became more mystical in nature and increasingly elaborate. He involved more and more people and prompts. He recurrently used pre-recorded scenes on the projector of himself in candlelight, telling us he had a dream and prophecising audience interactions. A cute touch, both solidifying the magic and casting aside doubt, but also building on the developing narrative with humorous tension break.

We would be treated to another phonecall or two (always timed as he ran out of the room to collect a forgotten prop) which would keep the narrative alive, continuing the conversation between him and his mentor, as we gradually see that he is wilfully luring us, the audience, into this ghost story.

Summoning Spirits

I appreciated how none of his tricks felt random and disconnected, but was committed entirely to the developing storyline, the atmosphere, and the meta-narrative. What is normally a bundle of disconnected acts and tricks had suddenly become a single cohesive experience, all tied together in an exciting and unsettling atmosphere.

The final act of his haunted story was a summoning of the dead. He told us how your first death is of your body, and your second death is the last time anyone speaks your name. So surely, by speaking aloud a name of someone long dead and forgotten, we spiritually revive them.

He showed us personally taken photographs of old graves and mixed them all up in a bag, encouraging some audience members to take a photo from the bag. He then performed a few different summoning rituals, using ashes, photography, and a oujia board, to determine which ghost each person had collected.

Between jump scares and phonecall lore, he divined each ghost precisely, welcoming each person to speak out aloud the ghosts name for the first time and bring them back to life, in the room with us.

The final ghost, if not now then soon enough, would be himself: the haunted magician.

But what of us, the audience now haunted by his play? Well for me, this cursed performance will surely live on in my mind. I can remember the impressive magic, enjoy the laughs, squint my eyes at the jump scares that made me hit the roof, and quietly contemplate my own mortality as I await the ghosts to visit me.

I walked into the stage room, a dungeon (dark, LED lit, heavy air sets the mood) and was handed a tarot card. I received the Fool, no surprise, but several different tarots made their way to each audience member. We were there to hear ghost stories and have a tarot reading, or so I’ve been led to believe. I wasn’t really sure what to expect from this, but I walked away pleasantly surprised and with my own copy of a beautifully illustrated Fool.

Dark & glittery

Sasha Graham introduced herself from the darkness, setting a mystical mood as she entered the stage. She told us some of her history; American, New York living, spiritualist. She brought a lively energy to the stage, complete with a dark but glittery outfit to set the party mood.

She told us about New York in the 90s. A grungy artistic and dangerous place, full of raw life and promising potential for someone like her, an aspiring actress looking to make it in the big city. This ghost story isn’t just a tale found on the internet, but her own witness account? She never really got into how much of this is her truth and how much is dramatized for the play. Maybe it’s to build the mystery, maybe it’s for the best we don’t know…

She announced The Fool, catching the few of us in the audience who have the tarot card in our hands. Not a reading quite yet though, but the chapter title for her ghost story.

A personal ghost story

She would go on to theatrically play out the story of a couple of years in her early twenties, new to the big apple. She is freshly moving into a bargain loft: huge, messy, with a handful of concerning caveats, but very cheap! Perfect for an aspiring star who wants to express her artistic flair.

She tells her story in first person, from her perspective and in the present tense, bringing us into the past with her. She would briefly act out some other characters, and would take micro intervals for dancing to party music when it came up, and to play out other interstitials. She took ownership of her narrow stage and made each scene feel dynamic and full of life. The lighting would shift and breathe with her, creating colourful shadows in front of and behind her, easing us in and out of the creepier story sections.

And at the end of each chapter of the story, it was time for a reading.

Tarot readings in context

She called upon the Fool first, but also later called up the Devil, Death, the Lovers, and the World. A few people had each card, but she said that everyone holding the card should hear the reading as if it was directed at them; it was no accident each person was met by their card. I am the Fool.

She took the time to explain tarot, what it means, and how it might relate to our current lives. What message we might take from it to go forward, to solve our problems.

I found this particularly interesting, as explanations of tarot cards in my experience have always felt very abstract. Death doesn’t mean actually dying, but uncomfortable changes that need embraced. The Devil is the darkness we’re wilfully blind to, the Fool is one who steps near the cliff without looking, yet never seems to fall. Very fascinating, but also very abstract: what does it really mean?

By attaching each card to a section of the story, I got to see context for these things, played out in relatable story beats. I followed her journey and how she faced her challenges, both natural and ghostly, and then got to hear about the tarot and how that applied to the situation. How it marked that section of her life, and what wisdoms she could have benefitted from during that spooky time.

Surviving ghosts

She finished her ghost story, concluding that she did indeed survive, despite the haunting she encountered. A few tarot readings were given to the audience and she wrapped up by asking us to keep our minds open and embrace these questions and wisdoms. She let us know the cards were ours to keep, and that the full deck of illustrated tarot is available for sale.

The fear factor was gentle, with more attention on the journey and the tarot readings than actual horrors and ghosts. I didn’t walk away particularly shaken or spooked, however the few creepy dips were acted out very well and supported by the lighting/music tech to great effect.

Her storytelling was vivid and captured me with her persona brimming full of energy and life, without ever feeling exhausting or overwhelming. It was paced carefully and even if I was left hungry for more horror, I enjoyed her performance and getting to witness a small part of her life.

With most modern adaptations of Shakespeare, I like to enter into those experiences with curiosity, optimism, and a healthy dose of trepidation after seeing some truly heinous offerings. With Mother, Maiden & Crone, I did not need the last of those at any point in time. This is a rapturously queer story, taking the trappings of Macbeth and spinning them into a biting, funny fever dream that I would be delighted to see again.

Fair is foul/fowl

Set in Limbo (Bar and Kitchen), our effervescent trio of shot boy, drag queen, and DJ prepare for the coming of the fated hen do. Through impressive physical acting and comedic timing down pat, our trio of witches establish quickly and fully both the world and their characters.

Then, from the fated arrival of McBride, jealousies are sparked, plans are put in motion, and things devolve into high-stakes lip syncs and scandalous revelations.

Foul is fair

There is more in Mother, Maiden & Crone than simply queering Macbeth. That in and of itself is, in the right hands, an interesting idea rife with possibility.

But this piece pushes further into laying bare the truths of the uncertainty of existing as visibly queer in a world that can embrace or ostracize those qualities on fickle whims. The deep and global connections often found between queer people and magic and the occult. How people can be guests in queer spaces responsibly, or very much not in the case of the McBridal party here.

Overall

After a long day of possibly too many Fringe shows, Mother, Maiden & Crone was an absolute tonic. It brought delight, laughter, representation in beautiful and unexpected ways, and made me happy to be out seeing it. The writing is smart, the performances are top notch, and it is my strong opinion that this is a show and company definitely to be watched.

In her Fringe offering this year, Kate Butch explores if she is, as she fears, a bad person. She accomplishes this introspective hour through reviewing well-worn proverbs and how well they actually apply to her life as they are, as well as a few deliciously petty acts with mixed outcomes. A very enjoyable hour overall, with plenty of laughs and plenty of sparkle.

The Kate in the hand

The thing that strikes me most about this collection of stories and jokes is that it is a highly distilled opportunity for Butch to really introduce audiences to herself, in her own words and on her own terms. There are no external edits made to show her in a particular light toward some ulterior purpose, no musical numbers or other additions to distract, and no other auspices under which she must be seen. This show is Butch’s experiences, thoughts, fears, and revenges, all in her signature brand of humour.

Some of the set focuses on occasions both in her youth and as recently as the present in which homophobic abuse has been yelled or typed in Butch’s direction. Does she let it bother her? Not too much, plus the idea of bedding a bully’s brother or pointing out that someone commenting on her looks really should have some himself in order to be able to do so does soften the blow. This is certainly not to discount the unfortunately very real threats she receives, but it can certainly help with feeling a sense of ownership and control over her own life and story.

In some of the lighter fare, Butch angles for the Joke of the Fringe, discusses her mother’s ominous understanding of gender, and enlightens us on how meaningful an experience watching Shrek was for her both personally and then eventually professionally. All of these stories and the jokes sprinkled generously throughout them are well-crafted and delivered with welcome cheek.

Overall

I quite enjoyed my time in the Pleasance Dome watching Kate Butch deliver a solid hour of stand up in front of four topiary pieces that spelled out K-A-T-E. She navigated the space well, utilised props sparingly and effectively, and offered us a glimpse into the very real experiences and thoughts of Kate Butch. I will be certain to keep an ear out for future shows, as I am sure the strength, confidence, and laughs will only grow from here.

Mark Kydd’s Our Martin In The Background expertly weaves the story of a love and loss that exists in whispers and winks rather than shouts from mountaintops. With notes tucked into books and meaning-laden pleasantries, our Martin and his Hugh cobble together as much happiness as they dare allow themselves, while working as background artists on the set of Brief Encounter. And bringing this all to us with nothing apart from an armchair and a small side table with drink to hydrate, Mark Kydd provides a spellbinding hour of masterful storytelling.

Arriving at Carnforth

Upstairs at the Scottish Storytelling Centre, a space to which this particular work returns in a new stage of its development, pipe and drape block out the outside world and allow all focus to be given to the modest platform where, appropriately to the venue’s purpose, this story is told. Lighting is extremely effectively used in this show, as multiple colors and angles allow us to understand time, place, perspective, and emotion.

Mark Kydd does not have exhaustive propping nor costume changes, but in crafting the story and the performance as he has, there is absolutely no need for them.

To me, this is the kind of storytelling I remember hearing from a young age whether it was delivered by a relative, a teacher, or a friend, that feels as though it has fallen by the wayside, and that I desperately wish would come back to us more prevalently. All consuming, abundantly detailed, and with real emotional and plot depth.

Further along the line

As the piece progresses, and the excitement of the connection begins to face real world hurdles, our characters drift away from each other, left to wonder if this chance meeting may ever be revisited. And in the time shared as well as apart, our Martin runs the gauntlet of the queer male experience in 1940s England.

This story explores, at its core, the lives we want for ourselves, the lives we make for ourselves, and if those two things can ever fully be aligned. And, if they can’t, how we move forward toward dreams revised on a road paved in sacrifice.

While these concepts are indeed quite universal, seeing them played out through an intentionally queer historical lens offers additional impact and magic to the story that is inextricable from it and all the stronger for it. There are certainly no shortage of historical fictions from this time period that revolve around the love between two gay men, but rarely are those stories permitted to exist in such subtlety as is the case here, allowing the tempest to truly be in a teacup rather than raging all around. And it is all the more devastating for it.

Overall

If you love a good story, want to be swept away into a vivid and heartfelt romance, and have a healthy understanding of Lancashire culture(not essential, but definitely helpful), this is absolutely a performance not to be missed. I enjoyed every aspect of Our Martin In The Background, and look forward to seeing where and how this work may grow next.

At Jill’s Tupperware Party, I and my fellow attendees/Jills stepped directly into an immersive 70’s b-sci-fi horror world, and what an absolute camp confection of a time it was.

As much as I’m dying to discuss all the brilliant details of the show here, I wouldn’t dream of spoiling any of the goodness for those of you lucky enough to attend a future performance at Fringe, during its brief London engagement next month, or onward in any future life this show may/hopefully will have.

Nevertheless, I will describe as best I can the goings on at the 80^th Annual Tupperware Convention.

A company of friends

Starting from the queue, Coral Bevan and Ricky Hunt appeared in their fabulous Jill attire and makeup, offering welcome packets and bon mots to each ticket-scanned Jill. Inside these packets were a name sticker, a hair net, a two-pronged wooden fork, a conversation starter, and one of a variety of standard UK sweets. Once inside the space, every Jill was encouraged to mingle with other Jills, to strike up conversations with their prewritten questions, and generally get into the convention mindset.

This may be the moment to mention that Jill’s Tupperware Party is performed with the audience standing throughout. There can of course be a very small number of chairs made available to accommodate audience members who may need them in order to participate in the show, but otherwise it is bags down and right into the thick of it. Folks who have concerns about being affected by temperature may also want to plan ahead by bringing water, a fan, etc., as the warmth of space and bodies really was significant.

What started as a practically perfect in every way sales celebration quickly simmered over into cracks appearing in the façade of the event and the hosts running it. There was singing, there was worshipping, there was competition, and there was, above all else, Tupperware. And I genuinely could not have asked for more.

Tup-aware

As I write this now, I wonder was Jill’s Tupperware Party a sort of cult experience? And more importantly, if they may have been actual aliens, was it then still a cult, or something else? While I mull that over for myself, I want to highlight some of the other questions the piece brought up, doing what performance has done best since time immemorial – holding a funhouse mirror up to us to reveal deeper truths.

Have sales and advertisement been so fully integrated into our culture that they are now fully a part of it and a lens through which we instinctively view the world? Can there truly be such a thing as a fully functional capitalist company made up of genuine friends? Can artifice and spin actually smooth over the atrocities we commit and be considered justification for them?

Taking my cue from the show, I’ll say never mind all that heavy talk for now, as I want to be sure to give appropriate accolades to the minds who created and performed this piece. Coral Bevan and Ricky Hunt have a true understanding of and love for the topics they explore here and the immense style in which they do it. These are folks to keep an eye out for, who are sure to deliver unimaginable and brilliant fare now and in the future.

Overall

The show is poignant, and the performances put it over the top. Every inch a pastel-covered, terrifyingly delightful experience, Bevan and Hunt deserve nods not only for their creation and realization of the event, but also for their pitch perfect turns as Jill and Jill. I feel lucky to have caught these performers and this show at the height of the Tupperware pyramid. Thanks, Jill!

Coming into the Udderbelly (my first show inside the big cow this Fringe), I had an idea of what to expect both from parody musicals as a genre and Heated Rivalry as the source material. While this show is absolutely a combination of those two things, and it serves both mostly faithfully, its sum is orders of magnitude greater than and because of its parts.

This is one of the smartest, most memorable, and skillfully made parody musicals I can remember, and I had an absolute blast taking in the work of this immensely talented group of performers gifted with a real gem of a script and score.

The show, from top to bottom

Right away, one thing I appreciated about the show is that while folk who have seen/read the source material will find extra meaning and laughs throughout, one needs not be familiar with Heated Rivalry to enjoy or engage with the show.

From the first note, we are welcomed by characters who are essentially us, enthusiastic watchers ready to see and dissect the goings on between two particular Canadian and Russian ice hockey players, and all named Susan. This group of friends are led by May Tether who brings incredible vocal acrobatics and power, as well as a commanding and endearing stage presence.

Once into the world, we are treated to portrayals of Shane and Ilya that bring both comedy and drama through earnest performances and a deep willingness to lean into the ridiculous. Zheng Xi Yong showcases his balletic grace, dulcet notes, and unwavering enthusiasm as Shane Hollander, the bright-eyed Canadian. Joseph Dann offers both the self-assuredness and deep psychological angst that define Ilya Rozanov, paired with strong singing and physical comedy.

A selection of the other characters in the world are brought to life by the truly impressive Sylvie Stenson, and pinch hitter extraordinaire, Mateo Chavez Lewis. Each of the actors in the show shone in their featured roles, but also came together throughout to turn in an absolutely stellar ensemble performance.

Taking a second to talk about the music, I’ve been humming a number of the melodies of this show’s songs at random moments in the day, which speaks to the quality of writing going on here. There are many widely known and obscure musical references stitched through the show (Kerrigan and Lowdermilk alongside Lin Manuel Miranda), which only enriches the fun further and allows the theatre nerds to chuckle.

As for the book, it works cleverly in tandem with the music to move forward the story while allowing for as many jokes as can possibly be fit into this tight 70 minutes. At a couple points, the musical’s plot diverges from the source material, but it is effective within its context and serves the medium a bit more easily than verisimilitude might.

One other thing to note is that while the venue is solidly in three quarter thrust, and the staging does a good amount to ensure those sat in the side sections get nods and access to viewing the entirety of the show, there are some moments that will be difficult to see and some set/prop pieces that may be missed entirely from those particular points of view. A small misfortune, but ultimately forgivable, and not grave enough to take away from the experience as a whole.

Overall

While I have not seen the other concurrent productions of parody musicals based on the same property, I feel completely satisfied in my viewing experience of Heated Rivalry: The Unauthorized Parody Musical as a definitive entry for it. Laughs are near constant, the music is brilliant, and the performances are world class. And, for the sceptics, there is always the haphazard reference to sport. Which this musical is allegedly about.

Summary

In Heated Rivalry: The Unauthorized Parody Musical, hockey sticks meet high notes, and yearning is showcased through dance and zero count light cues. An absolutely superb company of actors bring to life our favourite rivaled lovers, aided by the merit of an incredibly strong score and witty book. With streamers, bananas, and many wigs, this show provides a sublimely fun and funny evening at the Fringe, not to be missed.

From a plucky new company comprised of recent uni graduates, comes Fantasy World Adventures Mega Park! The Musical. Laughs abounded throughout the 70 minutes, accompanied by some accomplished singing, effective propping, and a clear passion and joy for the work.

Setting the scene

A large sign lit and made fully of neon tubes announced the show and the setting, as the primary focus onstage while the audience entered, supported by some directional signage pointing toward various rides and a “must be this tall to ride” measurer.

The audience was more full than not, and many supportive faces were peppered throughout, often snapping photos and cheering on the cast.

A true rollercoaster

The show itself centers around Teddy Mega, played by Owen Wardle, who must wrestle between following his professional passion, or fulfilling family obligations by taking on the role predetermined for him.

On the one hand, the familial pressure mounts from his mother(Charlotte Farthing) and the memory of his father(Rhys Rogers), thrusting him into a leadership role he neither wants nor feels particularly prepared to do.

On the other, he has fervent support from long time work friend and possible romantic interest, Pippa, portrayed by the highly vocally skilled Maeve Gallagher, as well as self-proclaimed mother figure Barb, with a standout comedic performance by Gee Case Watson in the role.

Many further hijinks ensue, involving interestingly shaped attraction plans, mascot meet and greets, hidden identities, and a particularly tenacious STI making its way through much of the staff. Ultimately, the show resolves in such a way as to find new possibilities for many of its characters, and a rousing reprise of the title song.

Also to note, David Bygraves brought absolute commitment and physical comedy aplomb to the role of Jason, while Elena Lacy showed great facility with dance throughout the show and had some memorable line deliveries particularly as Karen and Designer.

The company as a whole worked cohesively together to bring many more characters than their number to the stage, as well as handling their sets and prop pieces smoothly.

Overall

This is a show that exemplifies what Fringe is for; a group of artists coming together to cut their teeth on new work with the time, resources, and attendees to be able to do so. With this production in the books, FWAMP! Theatre Company takes further steps toward establishing themselves and honing even more precisely in on the work they want to create.

Frogs in Bogs is a joyfully chaotic children’s show that throws itself wholeheartedly into silliness. Set in an underground, sewage‑like world where mischievous frogs live among squelchy pipes and boggy tunnels, the show builds a playful atmosphere from the moment it begins.

The performers burst onto the stage with high energy, big movements and exaggerated expressions, immediately signalling that this is a space where noise, laughter and messiness are not only allowed but encouraged.

Audience partcipation is encouraged

The structure is loose and intentionally chaotic, moving between songs, dancing, slapstick moments and audience interaction. Rather than relying on a traditional storyline, the show focuses on creating a sensory, participatory experience.

Children are invited to shout, wiggle, dance and copy silly actions, and the cast are skilled at managing this excitement so it feels lively without tipping into overwhelm. They know when to ramp up the chaos and when to pause, giving the audience space to breathe and follow along.

Light‑hearted, silly and full of toilet humour

The toilet humour is constant and central to the show’s identity. There’s talk of poop, bogs, splashing, squelching and all the things children find irresistibly funny. It’s mischievous rather than crude, giving kids permission to laugh loudly at something usually considered off‑limits. The actors clearly enjoy this aspect, reacting with dramatic horror or delight that sends the children into fits of giggles.

What really stands out is the warmth and responsiveness of the performers. They handle unexpected audience comments with quick humour and kindness, making each child feel acknowledged without derailing the flow. Their physical comedy is strong, and they commit fully to the absurdity of the underground frog world, which keeps the whole thing bright, friendly and engaging.

Remy was completely absorbed. He loved the dancing, the silly jokes and the chance to shout along with everyone else. The badge he received at the end was a thoughtful touch — something small but meaningful that made him feel proud and included. It turned a fun show into a memorable experience he talked about afterwards.

Overall

Overall, Frogs in Bogs is a lively, messy, joyfully ridiculous show that delivers exactly what it promises: laughter, movement, silliness and a whole lot of toilet humour. It’s perfect for young children who love to be part of the action, and it’s performed with genuine warmth and playful skill.

Harry Stachini is very easy to like. There is a warmth to his performance that makes you want him to succeed, and Lobster has the foundations of a very good comedy hour. Unfortunately, for me, it never quite found the energy or big laughs needed to make it a memorable one.

Comedy

There are some genuinely great jokes throughout Lobster, and the strongest part of the show is its central idea of change. Using the lobster’s need to shed its shell as a way of looking at the changes life throws at us is a clever through-line, giving the hour more structure than a collection of unrelated anecdotes.

Some of the callbacks are particularly well crafted, with earlier ideas returning later in a way that rewards paying attention.

The issue for me was that there weren’t quite enough of those bigger moments. I found myself waiting for the show to build towards something that would really land, but it never quite delivered the big punches I was hoping for.

Performance

Stachini is a good performer and undeniably likeable. His relaxed delivery makes him easy to listen to, and there is a natural warmth to the way he interacts with the audience.

At times, though, that relaxed style worked against the show. Rather than feeling like a fully developed hour of stand-up, parts of Lobster felt more like sitting down for a funny conversation with someone you have just met.

There’s nothing particularly wrong with that approach, but for me it meant the show lacked some of the energy and momentum I was looking for from a Fringe comedy hour.

The material

What I think Lobster demonstrates most clearly is that Stachini has plenty of potential.

The stories about change, family and life moving in unexpected directions give him strong material to work with, and there is a clear sense of personality behind them. The more personal moments are also where I found myself most invested in what he was saying.

I can particularly see Stachini doing well in the comedy club circuit. His easy-going presence and ability to tell a story should translate well to a club set, where the atmosphere is naturally more conversational and the audience is there primarily for the laughs.

For a Fringe show, however, I wanted a little more. The hour needed a few more moments that made me sit up and think, ‘that’s why I came to see this show.’

Final thoughts

Lobster isn’t a bad show. In fact, there is plenty to like about it: Harry is personable, there are some strong jokes, the central theme of change gives the show a solid through-line, and the callbacks show some thoughtful construction.

But I left feeling that I’d enjoyed the experience without being particularly excited by it. It didn’t stay with me in the way some of the stronger Fringe shows I’ve seen this year have.

Perhaps that’s the frustrating thing: I was willing more from Harry because there are clear signs that he has it in him. With a little more energy and a few more of those big comedic punches, I could see Lobster becoming a much stronger show.

For now, though, it’s a fairly average Fringe hour from a very likeable comedian, and one that makes me interested to see what Stachini does next.